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My First Blog Post

Tap Tap

Every time I go I tap tap on my back pockets, the subconscious feel I have forgotten.
I have all I had, standing on the odyssey, and now I have a reminder, I have a tick. Tap the back and front then realise I have just tapped. Cracked into a thing that was not apparent or in front, rather at the back of my mind, always on my mind. Scrumaged to the back my the army of positive optimistic ambassadors proclaiming I’m aiming accurately at life. Precisely, on the money. And aboard the donkey. Chasing the carrot in hopes of a moat. But fear afloat on this sea of misery. Sailing on the boat with my car and my jar.
Tap tap on my pockets.
Again, and again and again. Forever to feel this forgotten pain. Now I am aware. Awake. Sidated and mandated, convicted to the tap tap on my pocket. To seal the cushion on your bright tunnelled future. Channeling for you both. All love you are yet to know. I only pray and hope you shall grow to understand that one must do what’s required to be a better man. Sacrifices that must be made to make you all that you can be. But in a blink my darlings, in a blink, we will be harmonious. – C.L.Y.A

All Aboard

Inhibition seems this mission.
Afloat a sea of lost dreams and desires, I start to feel the letting go getting me higher. So close to the wire. My life line thinning and spreading the vast mass of the ocean as I look at the horizon. Leaving behind all that is me, ironically selflessly, in search of something. Not better. Not more. Rather something I don’t have and can’t get here. The pain and fear to leave my darlings at such a young year only seems contrived and derived from an insecurity and fire that I aim to nestle. Quell once the day is done with my daughter and my son. A nest and a home with soul and love. Built on tears and labour out of love for them. Though each brick could seem faint, their love enforcing like nuclear proofing paint. These children, my saints, a price I underpaid now interest smacks me in the face. It’s not a marathon, rather a race to gain our own space. I never knew of pace, or stance. Just of sprinting and the moonlit dance.

-C.L.Y.A

Intro

I have a dying urge to publish all my poetry… But it can be too much for the ‘knowing’. So here, the outlet shall commence. And remember, no one ever did anything sitting in their room.

My style is not set, I think… Although spoken word is something I enjoy dabbling with.

I hope you enjoy but ultimately, this is for me…

Have a scan or have a glance, pen to paper sparks this romance.