Poetry By Martin Pham from Canberra, Australia e-mail: seppuku4@hotmail.com     The night comes and I start to think. I wonder, and dream. I see my life, I see my errors I see my hatred. I see myself. The darkness brings sadness. It brings despair. I see no point. I think about the things I wish I'd done. I think about how my life could have been. I think about the time that has been wasted. I think about the futility of the rest of my life. Death is coming. What difference, now or later. Nothing will change. Life will still be without meaning.     I fly the world beneath me I soar the wind around me I dive the sky above me I turn the leaves surround me I land     They race along the plains hundreds, thousands in perfect harmony. The thundering of their hooves loud, deafening but magnificent. They are wonderful to behold. The many different types colours, sizes, shapes. All without masters, all free All roaming the earth trying to find a place where they belong.     The beauty of the sea, is ugly compared to she The rising of the dawn is pale compared to when she was born The purity of a dove is dirty compared to her love The most vibrant of dyes cannot compete with her eyes I would travel a million times a mile just to see her smile I would break the moon in half just to hear her laugh Life would be a blur if I could not be with her.     The patter of the rain is to help her with her pain The flash of the lightning is to help her keep on fighting the crash of the thunder is to tear her fears asunder the howling of the wind is to deny that she has sinned the passing of the storm is to coincide with the dawn the beginning of the day is to have her hear me say "I don't care what you were" and say to the world "I love her"     In the emptiness of the hills below deep cliffs the waters of the earth collide The silence of the mountains the depth of the caves the life of the trees the gathering of the animals the world.     The darkness of the night clouds cover the sky the earth is shrouded in fog the light has forsaken us the moon has been overcome the stars, vanquished the darkness reigns and the would despairs.     Poetry, the art of subtlety of false flattery of untrue words of pretty phrases of hidden meanings of different purposes of different people of different lives.     Insanity, wandering aimlessly the mind, lost the body, uncontrolled ethics, morals, stripped away the soul, the life, exposed the love, lost.     Let's pretend that we are lovers and what we feel is pure That everything is perfect and if married we'd endure Pretend that I am taller and the man that you desire That I'm rich and powerful and can set your heart afire See all this happening, right before your eyes Then tell me that you love me. Please don't act surprised. Say that you will come with me and stay until the end That you have always loved me and we needn't just pretend.     The knife lies there, unused its purpose, about to be abused. He sits there, all alone his actions, none will condone He feels that he is right he does not deserve to see the light. The others just don't comprehend how a life like his will end. He cannot live with his shame there is no one else to blame. They think that he will find a way but that is all they have to say. They can offer nothing more their words he must ignore. What they cannot see is that he must be free. There is nothing left this is for the best.     He feels the pain It is excruciating His flesh burns It is agony His bones crack He screams out His body is consumed He is dead He is gone The perpetrator leaves and goes on about his life. The world does not notice.     The world closes in he cannot escape he is frightened, afraid he is lonely, alone he is suffocating. He cannot handle the pressure He cries out His mind shatters.     The chains constrain him The darkness blinds him The cloth silences him The stillness deafens him He is blind, deaf, dumb, frozen His mind is wild, raging, thrashing He despairs; he dies.     There is a girl, her name means truth. No it's not Amy, and certainly not Ruth. She is tall, blonde and pretty not at all like this little ditty. She is so young, and so fair, I must glance, then look and stare. I have been blessed, to gaze upon her face but alas, I have yet to feel her sweet embrace. The name, you ask, of this wonderful creature? Why that, of course, is Alicia.     The dawn of a new day The sun, bright in the morning rises slowly and majestically while the birds trill and chirp greeting each other to a new day. Cocoons open, and give to the world a gift the butterflies, colourful and numerous disperse throughout the world displaying their beauty and vibrancy for all to see Then the humans awaken. They are rushed and busy and so, do not spare the time for peace and tranquility they create a beauty of their own, the continual roar of a motor the multitude of vehicles, the intensity of hard work Throughout the day, the humans work, while nature plays and then the sunsets, so many different types So many hues, red pink, gray, blue. The passing of the sun the end of yet another day and the world spins round, and so, elsewhere the setting of the sun has coincided with the rising of the sun with death comes life with the passing of a day, the beginning of a day and so the world is.     Top | Back to Collected Poems | Back to Main Page