Paul Latham Poems

Your life in dreams, such a funny thing,
It might be great or totally fake,
Bizarre, surreal, leave you in a state.
From Africa to Rome, then suddenly home.
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A bad night sleep, I did have.
I dreamt of nothing, for I was sad.
The world was spinning and my head was sore,
Confusion bundled through my door.
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We work to live a life that’s free,
But free for who? We just don’t see.
Freedom to work and slave away, freedom oppression are here to stay.
The meaning of freedom has disappeared.
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I sat and watched the sky,
Birds flew, free and high,
Swirling and wishing through clouds in the sky,
The blue glow bearing down into my eyes.
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Life is all quite funny really,
It’s only real to you,
Like strawberry grass, And beachfuls of glass,
It’s just you,
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The emptiness inside my head,
An abyss of darkness, love and dread.
With eyes closed in front of mirror,
What on earth seems to shimmer.
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A bridge I saw, and upon its floor, I walked, I trembled, I shook.
A fragile little bridge I saw, a bridge of rope, wire and hope,
But hope not enough to cross.
Stuck in the middle, crumbling and tumbling into a bottomless pit I fall,
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Deep and dark inside my head,
Devouring up what I said,
Why do we speak, before we think?
It’s easy to sink, into the brink,
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I sit,
I watch,
I look,
I learn
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Head explodes with pressure, building like that of a volcano ready to erupt.
Lava flowing down my neck and face as it spills through my nostrils, ears and mouth.
Eyes growing heavy, worn out and tired after absorbing endless visual stimulation of which I do not choose.
A physical assault on my body, the worse kind, yet nobody has physically touched me.
...