Insomnia V

Why am I awake?
Well that answer is simple.
You're talking to me.
In this moment nothing else matters;
the essays due in next week,
the lesson tomorrow,
heck even the storm outside is insignificant.

Because you're here with me.
Okay you're not here with me.
You're actually 3,000 miles away,
across an ocean,
on a different continent.
That's beside the point.

It's 3am here, 10pm there.
I have a lesson tomorrow.
You have work.
Yet here we are.
3,000 miles apart.
Tripping over words,
sharing stupid smiles.

The internet is a wonderful thing,
but it's also a cruel thing.
Linking people together
but not letting them touch.
Leaving the physical affection to be desired,
but just out of reach.

Tell me again (aka Insomnia IV)

Tell me again
why you hate me.
Tell me again
how you love me.

Tell me again
what makes you run away.
Tell me again
what keeps you here.

Tell me again
why you worry about me.
Tell me again
how it's all in my head.

Tell me again
what I can do to make you mine.
Tell me again
how I can avoid you forever.

Insomnia III

My mind is whirling and I don't know why.
Is it something to do with that guy?
Maybe it's that coursework due date.
Or just something weird that I ate.

I wish it would just be be silent.
Or else I'll easily get violent.
This lack of sleep is getting stupid.
Just like my friends playing cupid.

Travelling Canada VIA rail. - a complete rewrite of my Place Writing Piece.

The Trans-Canadian railroad gives its passengers a magnificent view of some of the most picturesque landscapes of Canada. Passengers can either enjoy the views  of mountains coated with snow and winding river-carved canyons from the luxury glass dome seating area or from the confines of their own cabins.

I chose to spend my three day journey from Jasper to Toronto within my own cabin, as an introvert I didn’t particularly want to try and navigate the narrow passages of the train cars and risk getting thrown into my fellow passengers on steep bends. This gave me a private and unrivalled seat for the passing scenery to indulge myself in.

Occasionally the porter in charge of the car I was in would pop his head through my door and ask if I was okay, being only sixteen and spending a lot of time by myself in this very foreign environment. I would assure him that I was fine, even showing him the writing that I had produced in the few hours he had left me alone, as a goodwill gesture he would give me little chocolates that the porters left on the pillows of the beds. I must’ve eaten about twenty of those chocolates in three days. It was very thoughtful of him.

When we weren’t gliding alongside the roaring white water rapids of various rivers, we’d be sat in a bypass waiting for eternities as freight trains ambled past; apparently in Canada rail freight is more important than tourists. I would take this opportunity to wander to the outside viewing platform to get some fresh air without getting bugs stuck in my teeth or my hair restyled to rival Frankenstein’s bride.

Every now and then I would happen to run into this boy who was on the same holiday package as my family, his name was Will and he was from Hawaii, a fair way away from England. He was a quiet lad and he wasn’t much younger than me so we’d occasionally exchange stories about our different childhoods; mine of rainy English summers spent in woodlands and his of sunny beach holidays spent surfing the ocean waves.  It was nice to have a conversation with someone other than the porter.

The benefit of staying in my own cabin was that I didn’t have to go to sleep at any specific time, this meant I stayed up until one a.m. on this particular night. As I decided to finally get some sleep, breakfast being served at the ungodly hour of eight, I glanced out the wide window next to my bunk into the darkness. Something caught my eye in the distance, at first I thought it was another outpost or road crossing judging by the white light however the fact this light was pulsating and seemed to disappear briefly for seconds at a time said otherwise.

The train continued to surge into the darkness, towards this white light that had piqued my interest. The longer I watched it the more convinced I was that this was some kind of outdoor light show or aircraft hanger in operation.  As the train slowed down to sit in a passing loop again the lights seemed to have spread across the horizon, pulsating at a faster rate than I had originally seen. We sat in the loop, my eyes fixed on the sky where these lights seemed to now be originating from.

Lightning, I deduced a second later when the flash illuminated the trees. It was lightning. I hadn’t seen such an active sky. The train lurched forward, moving once more, carrying me towards the storm which had made no noise as of yet and not a single drop of rain had fallen.

The sky lit up every few seconds, lightning crawling across the dark clouds like a spider web woven between leaves on a tree. I was in awe, sitting up so I could marvel at the weather England seldom saw. In a way I felt selfish, that I was one of the only people likely to be awake at this hour and I had a front seat to this spectacular demonstration of nature, this beauty that I had never really laid eyes on first hand.

I felt in touch with the wilds of the country, where the city lights did not reach so nothing was watered down by pollution, I could see Mother Nature’s power in full swing with nothing but a pane of glass between me and her.

The next morning I was greeted by my porter as I made my way to breakfast.

“Did you see the storm last night?” he asked with a smile, somehow I think he knew that I was likely to have seen it. “I don’t think many people did, you’re lucky.”

That I was, for my parents had not seen it, nor my new friend Will, it made me feel like Mother Nature had given me something to take away from my trip to Canada; more than the cheesy maple leaf keyrings or the ‘I love Canada’ shirts from the gift shop. I had witnessed the hidden character of the country and that made the seven hour flight home worth it.

Insomnia II

There's a limit to how long someone can suppress their emotions.
There's a limit to how stoic one can remain.
There's a limit to how long someone can stay awake.
There's a limit to how many times one can force their eyes closed.

There's a limit to how interesting the ceiling can be.
There's a limit to how comfortable the bed seems.
There's a limit to how much more of this I can take.
There's a limit to how much longer I can stand this madness.

Insomnia

Darkness surrounds me, the absence of light usually signifies that the body must rest. It is 1am. My alarm will go off in five hours and fifteen minutes and I will curse myself for not getting enough sleep.
It's not that I don't want to sleep, I am tired and want nothing more than to slip into a world where there is nothing to worry about.  My body will not rest.
I close my eyes, pulling my duvet around myself to try and lull my mind into believing that everything is alright, yet this does nothing.
I stare at the darkness between me and the ceiling, letting my mind wander in search of peace.
The distant drone of the traffic on the motorway keeps me grounded though, normally it's a constant comforting noise; signalling that all is in order out there. Tonight it is a distraction from the dreams I could be having.
It reminds me that regardless of what I want, the world will keep going and will cease to consider my wishes. That regardless of my troubles this planet will continue existing.
Maybe it's these thoughts that keep me from resting; this world is just reminding me that time will keep passing, whether I want it to or not.

Place Writing - 2nd draft

Sunlight too bright to see in, wind too sharp to keep my eyes open. Weather-worn benches slouch on the grass in perfect view of the skeletal fortress that is the soon-to-be-new building. Directly opposite it sits the oldest building on campus, the binary opposition of old and new with at least a decade in age difference. Trucks pass by, their diesel fumes attacking my nostrils and the roar of their engines mixing with the wind whipping around the benches. Leaves cling on with all their might as they are torn from the branches they call home, much like a child on their first day of school.

Compare that to the vast emptiness of the field beside them; where the feet of students from years gone by have stepped. Where goals and tries were scored, games won and lost year by year.
And standing on the edge of the field, like a silent guardian of this place, older than any of the buildings; a proud oak tree who's seen both the good and the bad of each year, yet still remains like it always has done. A symbol of time passing and a reminder of the past that is long forgotten.

This was one of those moments where you take in the world around you; the birds calling to one another, the whispering woods on the edge of the field and the distant rumbles of traffic passing by. A strangely secluded college yet it was alive with the sights and sounds of any inner-city school. The students were very vocal; hearty laughter, excited chatter, even the occasional scream could be heard from the driveway. The setting may have changed over time, the students may have come and go but the college kept its charm; a haven of learning and a social scene.

Dreams had been born within its walls, some more successful than others, lives had been altered throughout the years, not always for the better. This was a place that shaped a person one way or another, I didn’t realise it at first when I walked the winding maze of corridors on my first day. However one year on I can safely say that as a person I have grown. Sure it’s been scary, there have been days where my stomach has twisted into a tight knot just thinking about the tasks ahead of me. But I have survived so far. The sunlight that streaks through the windows of each classroom brings comfort to the worried souls, the wind that sucks the life from my body has taken my fear with it.

The bitter chill of winter, with its deathly silence, knocks at the door. Still it stands, just as the oak tree has stood; braving every winter for decades gone by and as it will stand for years to come. The suffocating blanket of snow that may arrive in the New Year will challenge those who inhabit the grounds to battle their way in. Another challenge, another battle, another standard day of a student.

Place writing

Written outside A block on a bench, it was very windy.

Sunlight too bright to see in. Weather-worn benches slouch on the grass in perfect view of the skeletal fortress that is the soon-to-be-new building. Directly opposite it sits the oldest building on campus, the binary opposition of old and new with at least a decade in age difference.
Compare that to the vast emptiness of the field beside them; where the feet of students from years gone by have stepped. Where goals and tries were scored, games won and lost year by year.
And standing on the edge of the field, like a silent guardian of this place, older than any of the buildings; a proud oak tree who's seen both the good and the bad of each year, yet still remains like it always has done. A symbol of time passing and a reminder of the past that is long forgotten.

Euphoria

(I am not entirely sure what I was doing with this, it just kinda happened.)

Euphoria - definition: mental and/or emotional state where the person experiences intense feelings of happiness, well-being, elation, excitement and joy.

Fast chords, heavy beats, high and low notes sung.
There won't be another night like it.
I won't forget how it felt to be there, barely inches away from those responsible for filling my life with happiness.

To feel at one with those around me.
Our combined love of those we hold so important.
Each for our own reasons but love all the same.
We pressed ourselves towards them, an intimate show for an intimate family.

No matter how terrible our singing, they smiled all the same.
We sang their songs back to them with every ounce of love that they gave us.

To me they are more than just six dudes in a band, they're dreamers and believers.
They do what they love and they gave me hope to do the same.
To not stop dreaming, to create and express the love they've let me experience.

And that is what I took away from that concert, a sense of love and the ambition to do what I love regardless of the obstacles.

A poem about death

A poem I wrote for a film competition, any thoughts on the last two lines would be appreciated as I'm not sure whether it fits or not...

A world where one person can kill us all
where millions die before nightfall.
The lives around us die in a flash
all reduced to rubble and ash.
Everything that we hold dear
will just simply disappear.
Burning flesh and toxic fumes
turns people's homes into tombs.
Imprinted shadows as a constant reminder
that the world should’ve been a little kinder.
If however we do persist
the world around us will cease to exist.

There are words in my mind, but I cannot grasp them.
There are feelings in my heart, but I cannot act on them.
For words and feelings have consequences
and I am not ready to deal with them.

Memory poem draft (1)

The first of what will be probably many, many drafts.

The tangle of ropes and mangled words
made way for a welcome handshake.
Words turned to laughs.
Laughs to hugs.
With the roar of the crowd not a million miles away.

O how it felt in that crowd, pushed
towards thunderous riffs.
Encased in his arms many hours later.
The buzz of only three hours sleep and
awakening to the midday sun.

Cheap coffee.
Mud-stained clothes.
Warm lips
and hearty laughter.

The music started and once more
his arms wrapped around me tightly.
Safe.
Protected.
Loved.

Rain fell light and quick.
We listened from our embrace as
our friends threw mud and talked
of the good old days.

A moment where everything was perfect; light patter
of rain and warm breaths. I think back to that weekend
of music all around us and waking up in 
his arms.

One day I'll see him again
and we'll listen to the rain again.
Honestly, I kind of miss him.

Just something that kind of struck me whilst I was on the bus home from college, I'm not used to writing poetry so this was a weird experience.

Long roads, stretching out
endless strips of tarmac and dotted lines.
How I wish I could be home
where the sweet smell of you resides.

Passing fields, green and brown
cows and sheep graze in herds.
I feel so alone on this road
without your smile and your laughter.

The lights of the city, bright and colourful
remind me of the stars in the sky.
I wonder if you watch them too
they give me comfort like your sweet whispers.

A simple text, three words in bold
the room feels empty without you here.
Cold and passive like our world
when we are countries apart.

Sunrise in my city, early afternoon in yours
rain and wind here whilst you have snow.
Forever waiting for the day
that I can return to your embrace.