Brother. Dearest.

What a great poem, based on a great book.

The Princess Bard

Catherines poem for MichaelYou left me here all alone

Barely grown

And you have gone

Leaving me to go on

No more picnics

No more poems

No more smiles

No more home

I am the last of the family

That is it

Just me


And crying

Part of my heart dying

With you not by my side

They said that you died

Without pain and without strife

But how can that be when someone ended your life

The knife to your heart

Also pierced mine

And no I am not fine

I am not okay

Though that is what they want me to say

My brother is dead

My dearest is gone

And I am left here all alone

With no will to go on

A poem for a girl who lost her beloved brother. The last of her family. A poem for Catherine. The sweet girl has never had it easy…

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We’re not the same, you and me
Lost is the time when we could both see
the same path forward together,
and now the future seems like forever.

All the plans that we shared
all the dreams for which we cared
the joy and the pain,
taken from us for no gain.

Our love for one another is lost within
and we fear to search but must begin.
To find ourselves inside
is to heal each other outside.

There is no path in darkness
without light no progress
but through caring we light a beacon
and in sharing everything it can never weaken.

We’re all sharing an infinite container
and only collectively as neighbours
can we expand the light
and push back the night.

Fake News?



I’m not the boy I was

When I was born

No one knew

What was hiding within

I was always part of it

And now it’s part of me

Still hidden, but no longer hiding

Is the secret I hold within


I’m reminded I’m a zero

That I must be

That I should want to be

That I must become

A hero

But how can I be a hero outside

When I still feel zero inside?

My superpower isn’t the power

To make a zero feel like a hero inside


You say I must

That it’s just

But it’s a bust

So, what if I just

Believe in me?


If I had claws I’d fear they could

Accidentally slice you

If I had eyes that could burn

I’d have to spurn you

For fear of what my loving gaze

Could do to you.

But thankfully, I can’t do those things

Regretfully however, I can do worse

And you’ll never understand

What that means to me

No it’s not what it’s cracked up to be


Some say I must

that it’s just

but it’s a bust

So, what if I just

Wanna do my own thing?


Neither good nor bad

Is this power growing

But for now this power is unused

And that is the question

To use or not use

This power within?

Which is the greater sin?


And it seems that

Everyone says I must

That it’s just

But it’s a bust

So, what if I just

Ignore everyone but me?


I’ve learned you have to endure

Hoping to become strong enough

To survive

And if you can survive

Long enough

Then maybe one day thrive

And only then


Become a hero

From the zero


You say I must

That it’s just

But it’s a bust

So, what if I just

Believe in me?

True death

Death. One word, a mere five letters that when arranged in this unique way can collectively mean more than almost any others. In part this is because whilst the word in part defines a definitive event, the end of life, it is also intangible, indescribable and unknowable.

Death has affected us all, at least indirectly and we each know that death will one day also touch us directly. For whilst what we know as life is tenacious, it is also fleeting and extremely fragile.

For many, lucky to be young enough and healthy enough to not be expecting death there is little reason to fear death lurking, but as the simple fear of the unknown generally defines fear, and ultimately, regardless of science or religion, death is the ultimate unknown, the fear never truly ceases to exist.

If one enquires one may discover much regarding death. There is much written on the topic, and no one need look for it as one will inevitably encounter it nearby in strangers, and loved ones and eventually in oneself.

We can potentially lament the fact that of all those who have gone before us unto death, not one has left us a comforting tale, nor even simple knowledge of what to expect, and therein lies the inherent problem. One could argue that many pronounced dead have returned with tales, but these cannot be trusted either, and one could even argue that anyone dead and revived, is not truly dead. There appears to be no return from true death.

Beyond the fear of the word, is the fear of the event, for oneself, and for everyone else. But what of the who? Is there such a thing? Is death also an entity of some kind. If so, death is clearly beyond our understanding. Perhaps though, there are clues, previously unnoticed insights into the intangible and indescribable that can make death knowable?

Personally I am only aware of one such insight and it only allowed one person one small aspect of understanding. It potentially shows that death is indeed knowable, but only so far as to allow a few meagre words that attempt to describe what seemingly will always be intangible, but this time not from the point of view of one experiencing near death, but via the living and talks of death from death’s point of view.

To be continued…