Spartanmouse

The clock has ticked and tocked again, To bring another day, So to the office now I go, To work these hours of light.   There I know I'll miss a boy, Who's had to stay away, Because it's not as bright for him, But cold and dark as night.   I'd light another sun to help, If I could find a way, But I'm no god; a mere man, I've no such mystic might.   I can but hold him in my heart, Where he'll always stay, And know, deep down, his hand's in mine, There grasped forever tight.

The sweet aroma of cheap lager and cider, The delicate fragrance of stubbed out spliffs, The uplifting sound of 20 young voices roaring with laughter and shouting jibes and expletives in shrill cacophonic chorus, The invigorating pleasure of being jostled by Kappa-clad adolescents as they entertain themselves by throwing things at the turbans of fellow passengers and pouring alcopops on one another. If I ever called it snobbish to refuse to use buses, I take it back.

You let me adore you, once. Warmly, you smiled at me, And tenderly you spoke, I never wanted a hero, Just something warm and tender to cherish.   Now you are gone, You deny me.   All I have left are my memories. Weightless, like ash, I hold them in my hand, And watch as the breeze steals you piece by piece.   I’ll drink to your memory, while it lasts, While it lasts it will sear me inside, A toast will subdue the sting.   I’ll drink to your memory, while it lasts, When it’s gone, I’ll be empty inside, A toast will help it linger on.   I’ve no more tomorrows. I’ve no more todays. I lost them all when you shunned me, You took them all away.

It’s not been long since I hit the ground, Thrown down from my misguided dreaming, He told me in truth I had got it all wrong, So I embraced him and left, my eyes streaming.   My hopes were delusion, I then realised, Nought but a mad fantasy, The affection I felt, I thought was returned, But it seems that my mind had tricked me.   The insufferable sun has shone since that day, Throwing light and warmth over my grief, Finally, today it is overcast, And a dismal grey brings me relief.   The clouds press down and burst with emotion, In pity, the skies freely weep, Tired from fighting the summery cheer, At ease in the rain, now I’ll sleep.   Each person, each tree, every inch of the ground, Like the pillow that rests on my bed, Is soaked through and though, to tell of my hurt, Drenched in tears, which for him I have shed.   Everyone carries umbrellas around, To snub and ignore me with scorn. They care not how deeply I’m aching within, But today they will join me and...

Announced only by the faintest whisper, you crept in and settled inconspicuously amongst the kindling of my heart.   Ignorant and careless, I tended you, faint ember, welcoming your gentle friendly light. As the brief days flickered by, I checked your glow with barely more than a cursory glance. How could I have noticed your flames audaciously leaping heavenward, daring to singe the sky?   Your unostentatious entrance belied your peculiar designs. You did not come to seek shelter and rest discreetly. No. You were not modest, meek or mild. Insidious, insouciant, insuperable, you took me by surprise.   Alarms begin to ring all around me. Disoriented, I look around to the place where last I watched you glow. Whence came this raging blaze?   What am I to do? Nothing, but look on as you scorch me. Can I be content, helplessly to witness you flare with sanguine enthusiasm around me?   Untouchable and untameable inferno, you crackle with laughter. With infinite confide...

Earlier today, I had assumed I would be in Berlin by now. Oh how wrong I was. Crucial to the success of my journey was accurate information about the travel time between London Euston and London Heathrow Terminal 5, but it turned out that this was the one thing I lacked.   I spent some time planning the domestic leg of my jaunt to Germany - my first in some 15 years. Little did I know, when planning and booking my train and tube tickets, I was carefully arranging to miss my flight by a matter of minutes.   I don't remember from whom I heard it takes only forty five minutes to travel from Euston to Heathrow on the tube, nor why I believed them. Neither can I fathom why I didn't think to check this bit of trivia before making the rest of my plans around it.   Today I learnt that on a weekday afternoon, it takes not forty five minutes, but an hour and twenty minutes to travel from Euston to Heathrow by tube. I arrived at departures precisely four minutes too late and was ass...

Why do we do what we do? Why do we do anything? What drives us? What do we live for? People say that you can't live for others and that you have learnt to live for yourself; to make yourself happy. Well they may just be wrong, at least about the second part, as the notion of living to make oneself happy is just about the most ridiculous and pointless existence of which I can conceive. Perhaps I haven't understood what is meant when people say this. I think S., P., S. and B. may be right. Why should we get up in the morning, go to the shop for milk or indeed do anything at all if not ultimately for love? There's not much love in my life at the moment. I'm too busy being angry, frustrated and, as a result, a bit self-obsessed to love a great deal. Perhaps the source of my distress is my failure to my responsibility to love. There are people whom I love, and my love for some of them commands more of my attention than my love for others, but for no-one do I have a love that...