Without Focus

a secret told in hidden depths of blackened skies.
Rains fall. Dreams end. subjected issues plague the mind.
Stillness reigns. Inertia, fear & regret.
The explosion of the chase that was racing over yonder hill was but a day away before. & gone.
Now past.

I find myself in solitude. Pages of dread stare at me from the silence of the leather bound case.
Pens stare. Keyboard distracts. & waits.
Intelligence still.
I cannot work.

& reasons forth are many & in multitude.
Rush forward to speak & understand the problems that are or which delay.
– Dreams sir!
Dreams!

Of a child known which smiles & laughs & in her wisdom avenges with such cheek & wit.
Her probing retaliations & curious ways fend me off in such pleasant ways.
She brings me in. entraps & snares.
A witch of youth who torments my heart & mind with thoughts of her alone.
& still no single kiss from lips unknown.
I beg.

Hand which types & struggles forth in unfocussed mind seeks to touch
To gentle caress her blushing cheek.
I smile.
& die.
& stare at words which flow upon the screen & not through work.
For I think of her.
Of her.

& perhaps she knows my secret now.
– She teases so!
That love & lust & wanton desire & soft & luscious warm affection awaits.
Seeks her.
Wants her.
But I must focus.
On tedium that must daily transpire & urge my mind to focus thus.
Away from her. Away from dreams. Away from yearning that consumes me so.
& as I type & struggle to conquer days ahead, I will think of her.
Of impish delight. Of conversations held in jest.
& best…
Her beauty thrown in perfect form which leads me into thinking things that many say I should not.
But do.

For love, or delusion, or boyish want
Will keep her in my mind this quiet night.
I love her!
With all my heart I think of her.
But torn heart which cannot touch her precious soul, must now instead win over mind
& focus on the struggles of thought & work
Such is the fight within my head that now exists.

~ Procrastination & thoughts of her. I cannot concentrate. Nor focus on my work.

© ed simkins

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A man of false success & a boy of defeat.

In the mirror he sits. Calm & withdrawn .
Another defeat cripples his face. The tears heavy with the ignominy of being alive.
His hate wells up.
He wanted success, he wanted joy!
Man calls back at the face that stares.
“Paine is the knife. The weapon that bleeds.
Look at your eyes and witness defeat.”
Boy shouts back & cries. “I breathe & I cry, I taste nothing but hate.”
Man holds him close.
“I cannot do anything. I am no good. I drive & I see no road.
The water that falls is the rain from my mind.
I enter the house & call out her name.
No-one replies.
An echo sounds out & it’s then
Its then that I wish to die.
That I could sit & end it all. & no-one would miss me. No would care.
The house speaks of ghosts.
Of death that fell apart. Of lives destroyed.”
Boy weeps.
& breathes. Mist forms on the stolen mirror.
“How can we love?
So many defeats. I cannot cope. I am swamped by the deluge.
A broken mind which leaks. & floods.”
Both close their eyes.
“Maybe we should sleep.”

(c) Ed Simkins