The Brown Eyed Dreamer

'Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.' William Wordsworth


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Unbreakable.

I built my walls up strong and high

So nothing could harm me; 

But when those walls came crashing down 

It set my old heart free. 

And though this world is dark and cold 

When you’re trapped here all alone;

In your absence I’ll find strength 

I’ll seek happiness on my own.

(As part of my new blessing counting mantra, I’ve decided my poetry should be a bit more optimistic as I tend to scribble with cynicism most of the time. I’ve always found it harder to capture hope and happiness than melancholy and sadness, but I hope in time I can improve my positive writing and, in turn, my positive outlook in life.)

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Sans Doute

Aujourd’hui, pour le premier temps 

Je peux dire que je me sent vraiment content 

Et ces sentiments existent grâce à toi. 

Quand j’imagine tes yeux, ton beau sourire 

Ou le son de sa voix 

Je me trouve avec un sourire grand et 

Sans doute, je t’aime. 

Et si cet report n’est pas l’amour, 

Si tu me blesse, 

Si mon cœur se sent chagrin 

Je me sentirai pas de tristesse, pour 

Sans doute, je t’aime-

Et le reste? Ça ne fait rien.

(I wrote this poem a while back, and while things have changed, feelings never really do, so this will always be relevant. Also, excuse my terrible French, I have not spoken the language in months)


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The Storm

A storm is on its way.
I often wonder how I would react to hearing this; knowing that life is but an hourglass and that the last few grains of sand are about to fall? How would I feel knowing that the end is but a few heartbeats and a final breath away? I wonder would I be able to utter a final sentence- a shaken ‘goodbye’, a stuttered ‘I love you’, or maybe a soft and bitter ‘I’m sorry’? Would words burst out of my mouth in a tidal wave of shocked emotions, spilling a kaleidoscope of stumbling sentences across the empty rooms before me? Would I sit in wounded, wide-eyed silence, unable to even believe the words I am hearing? Or would I raise my head to the skies, open my arms wide to the heavens and smile, knowing that finally it would all be over? Maybe I’m ready to be washed away with the rain, have lightning race through my blood and thunder roar through my skull.
A storm is on its way, and I think I’m ready to face it.

(Inspired by the song ‘Time’ by Hans Zimmer.)


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The Art of Living

I want to live a life full of colour and vitality,
A life full of potential and opportunity;
I want to get out and see the world
Feel foreign soil below my feet and smell
The strangeness of foreign air.
I want to fall in love with life and living,
With personalities, places,
Feelings and faces-
I want to discover.

I want to dance, sing, taste, smell, hear, see
The kaleidoscope of beauty that cascades
Through the air and ripples through the sea.
I want a life full of smiles and laughter,
A life where I wake up with wonder
And fall asleep with satisfaction gliding
On tired but smiling eyes;

And in my time of dying I want not
To think of ‘could have beens’ and ‘what ifs’;
In my final moments I want a familiar smile
To crawl across cracking lips, a smile that knows
‘I may have not lived a perfect life,
But I gave it a damn good shot.’


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We Could do Worse than be Lovers of the World

I do not understand those who do not love art. Mathematics and sciences are exquisite in their own right; there is something magnificent in the intricacy of numbers and something oddly beautiful in the proving of theories, of correction, and of truth.

But art, art is beautiful in that it asks no questions, and yet holds every answer. Art is beautiful in that there is not simply the stark black and white of rationality, but a kaleidoscope of colours in between. Art is beautiful in that it lets us see inside ourselves, to beyond the bones and blood that science comprehends, the cell counts and pulse rates that mathematics understands- it sees our being, and it reflects us in itself.

Art is beautiful in that it is not just present in pictures and poems and films. Art is a showcase of the parts of us we cannot fathom into sentences. Art is in the tears that course down on our faces in those dark empty nights, art is in the smiles that glide effortlessly from our lips on those bright mornings. Art is in the gentle sighs that lace through the fading twilight, and the laughter that froths in the afternoon sunlight. Art is in every hair that raises along goose-bumped skin, it is in hasty goodbyes and lingering kisses. Art lives in the words of our favourite song, and in the patterns our footsteps make in the first fall of snow. Art hides in the scribbles of our cluttered words on crumpled yellowing pages; it is smeared across the canvases we paint in blood and tears, in lies and love. Art nestles in the crevices of our palms, in the curves of our eyelashes in the dusk. Art is there in every breath, every heartbeat.

I do not understand those who do not love art. For we are human, and in ourselves, we are art.


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One Day

One day you’re going to wake up to an empty bed
And realise exactly what you’re missing.
In between the sheets will lie the soft scent and gentle laughter
Of a girl you fed lies to, a girl you led to her demise
All in the name of a love you knew was never true.
So I hope that laughter tugs at your chest,
And that scent wraps itself around your throat
And reminds you how beautiful she was, how wonderful she was
And how stupid you are for noticing too little too late.
One day you’re going to watch her walk straight past
And realise exactly what you just let go.
Cry out all you want- curse until your lips crack dry,
It was always going to end this way;
You let her slip between your slithering grasp
And she’s too far away to get back.


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Darling- A Letter of Hope

Darling, how could you want to die?
Times have been hard lately darling,
We can see the pain in your eyes-
But please don’t utter those horrible words;
Don’t tell us you want to die.

How could you want to die
When you have ears to hear music,
And feet to dance along?
When you have a head to feel life’s pain
And a heart to grow strong?

How could you want to die
With so many books to find and read
And so many waiting tales?
With so many paths to be uncovered
And so many seas to sail?

Darling, how could you want to die?
There’s still so much hope here
And it’s waiting outside your door,
Darling how could you want to die
When there’s so much in life to live for?