In The Eyes Of The Lord Janey had slipped under Mrs Parsons fence and out in to the meadow, she’d noticed the curtains twitching as she crossed the garden, she was desperate to know if she’d been seen but couldn’t stop to think about it just now, she had to be back home before
Now anyone that knows me knows I love walking, I’ve walked the Yorkshire Three Peaks four times and the National Three Peaks once, I even attempted to walk the Leeds/Liverpool Canal from one end to the other with a couple of friends (that’s 127 miles and a quarter, in case you were wondering)
Your face, it whispers of beauty and your eyes tell tales so grand. A wisdom shines from beneath, they anticipate your words. I look upon you for solace, for a haven that is eternally bound, You are my inspiration, my protector, my forever and always. For you, Mum.
The heavy wooden pier stretches out from under my feet, The mixture of salt and candy is sharp and sickly sweet A whipping wind that flips my hair, it lands across my face, I lose sight of you for a second, my heart begins to race. Your chubby cheeks are smothered with sugar
Look closer Every day the same damn things, Rushing people, The chaos it brings. ‘Just slow down’ I long to yell They’d never hear me, Over this hell. Where are they going? Where’s the fire? What’s the use? The outlook’s dire. I just sit back and Let them go Their troubles pass And overflow.
The church was practically empty, this wasn’t particularly surprising given how unpopular Thomas had been throughout his life, he was a cruel, spiteful man and this empty church was a true reflection on just how unloved he really was, if it wasn’t for this unseasonable heat wave we were having I’d have expected people
A moment in time Captured by the silent one They will never know. Brains! They shouted, The unmistakable sound. Zombies are coming! Click, click goes the pen Writers block has you speechless, Will it ever end? Im not entirely sure these are correct now I’ve actually gone over them again,
It seems to be the norm these days for tragedy to strike before action is taken, that treacherous part of the road you cross everyday, nothing ever gets done until a child is knocked down and killed. why does somebody always have to die before we listen up and make a difference? On the 11th
Most of us long for life to find us as we drift along its roads, it doesn’t occur to us, as often as it should, that this is life, people spend theirs searching for the why? and the how? why can’t we just live? If I was told tomorrow that this was it, life is just this,
Your face it fills me with such feeling, A dread that drills and drums, A shaking sweat, spills out, I’m kneeling Until my saviour comes. Your touch it terrifies me to tears, A horror that’s hell not healing, A fumbled fall that releases fears A nightmare still unreeling. I’ll sit and suffer, supressed