Straight From The Desk Of Nuin Giliath

Surrounded by laughs, A somewhat distant memory, Yet after so long, An entirely new experience, I watch them running between dreams, The outside world doesn’t exist beyond these fences, The swings, The slides and the climbing frames, Void all.

A love is lost, here by the sea, It begins with harsh, unsaid words, And ends with bleeding feet, The board was set so very long ago, But all except one of the pieces were to know.

Without fear, It clings to darkness, It’s dead hands gripping steel. Upon a black steed, Eyes on fire, It’s hooves devastating the ground. Beneath it’s robes, There is only hate, But it’s soul, Long since gone. Haunting the night, It never sleeps, Reminding us why we fear the dark. A Wraith, Without life, It screams in the shadows, Chilling the hearts of men.

I used to sit up on the cliff, Under the blossom tree, And look out, across the sea, From under the blossom tree. There I would write my poems, Under the blossom tree, And part of me will always be, Under that blossom tree.

Stardust, That’s what they call us, A billion years worth of Stardust, Born of dying stars from across the universe, Bathed in the light of a thousand suns. Stardust, That’s what they call us…

A fox stood in a woods one day, Talking to a badger. “Good Sir”, he said, “When do you think, These tree’s will no longer stand”. “When will the grass run out, and turn to sand”. “When will the birds fly on, and make their nests else where”. “When will the snakes leave their holes and venture on”. On he went, and on he went, asking without rhyme. The badger just smiled and then replied, “All in it’s own time”.

I remember when I was younger, There used to be this… Unsaid truth, That you were loved and you loved back, No-one ever need proof. Then the years went by, And it seemed to me, That this thought Had passed out of memory. And what had once been no more than a whisper, Has been shouted, and thus shattered Into a thousand tiny pieces, And now everyone needs reminding.

Tell me, When you were younger, Did they talk like they do now? Do they play and run, and hop and jump, The way that we do now? - Tell me, When you were younger, Did they feel like we do now? Do they laugh and cry, and hope and wish, The way that we do now? - Tell me, When you were younger, Did you ask like I do now? Did you quiz and ask a wise old man, The way that I do now?

I heard a saying a while back, Jack’s a wise boy in hindsight, No, Jack’s a scared boy, A frightened boy, A haunted, regretful, Shadow of a boy, Like you will never know!

Don’t fall for her voice, her accent, her way of speaking! Don’t fall for her smile, Or what lays hidden in the corner of her mouth. Don’t fall for the way she laughs, Softly at your little jokes, Don’t fall for her empty promises, One day she will go! Don’t fall for the idea of love, It is just that, an idea! Don’t for love itself, She’s too far off to hear. You are too far, And mean to little, To ever be taken in to consideration, So just forget!

I used to write because I was angry, Which looking back is a silly thing to do Because I saw words as something beautiful, Yet, how are you supposed to make something beautiful out of anger? I wrote because I thought I couldn’t talk to anyone, Which is just as silly, because when you write, You can talk to anyone who reads it, But that’s something you can only learn For yourself. I wrote of made up things, Because it was so much more exciting than the truth b ut looking back, it’s not, Our own adventures are just as exciting, Our own souls run just as deep. Now? Now I write because it makes me happy, I may not be a very good poet, or a very good storyteller, But I’m pretty sure that should you cut me open, I will bleed words.