Wednesday, 4 May 2016

The Days of Youth

How I long for childhood days of the past,
When simple fancies filled my youthful head
But those summer days, so short did they last
Now just the wintry paths are left to tread.

My time now is filled with nothing but fears,
Of money to earn, and of food to eat
And how to while away these tiresome years
Until, at last, with my Maker I meet.

My heart aches to feel the sun yet again,
To sense its rays bathe my unworthy face
To escape from this world riddled with men,
To one plagued with nothing but infinite Grace.

I pray that my time in this world flows fast

To live once more childhood days that have passed.

Forbidden Fruit

Have an apple my dear,
One bite and all your dreams will come true.
One bite. Dead.
Is my mother trying to kill me?

Cruelly she lets it lie,
A temptation
A reminder of my sin
The last time I gave in.
How repugnant my body appeared to me after.
I covered it for an eternity
So that no one could see my shame.
The snake!

Pushing me away from my paradise
Of ribs and hips and collar bones
And hollow cheeks, a concave form
The beauty she tries to steal for her own.

Each new apple is greener than the last
She is jealous, she is
Of my thinner body
And my fragile frame

But I will not break.

Friday, 25 March 2016

The Looking Glass

I wonder, is it a looking glass
Or a look-in glass?
Where only the latter defines the subject as we
Who watch, and not the mirror that sees.

For with a ‘looking’ glass, the usual phrase,
 The mirror is the subject executing the gaze,
Thus the mirror that looks, it that can view,
All the things that we say, and those that we do

So why do we have the feeling of peering inside
Behind that glass pane where nothing can hide
When in fact our reflection, does it have more control?
Is it we who are playing the mimicking role?

We think of a world trapped in that frame,
Where the lives of the people are played out the same,
Yet if the glass does the looking, it is we who are trapped,
Only copying the life someone else has mapped.

Thus for our whole lives have we had it wrong?
We’ve been fooled, we’ve been tricked and yet all along
Our face the reflection, actions a simulation
While the clue was in the word and its devious translation.

Thursday, 28 January 2016

The View from Behind

I seem to have a tendency
To look back at things too long
Meaning I can only see
The things that now are gone

In only looking back behind
To people that we’ve been
The only view we’ll ever find
Is that which we have seen

For the view is somewhat restricted
If our backs are at the front
We can only do the things we did
And win what we have won

If only I could turn
To face the future not the past
I’d realise the things for which I yearn
Were never meant to last

If only I could see the hope
Of the path I am to take
Then maybe I could learn to cope
And my heart would not so ache

For those times gone and people met
For all the broken ties
I’d find it easier to forget
In pursuit of brighter skies

But I’m moving backwards just because
I won’t have to let things go
I’ll never move past who I was
Its far too difficult to grow


By Cachella Smith

Sunday, 24 January 2016

On the Edge of the Bright Side

It’s hard to see clearly, when a blinding light
is shining at you from the side that is bright.
Where there are pathways and choices leading to hope,
Pursued by a people who know how to cope.

Meanwhile, you’re on a side that dwells in an ink
So dark, so demanding that you could not think
Of a life in the light, a life lived without it,
A life in a world where the darkness is lit.  

You appear to be trapped, looking on at the fun,
Held back in the shadows and removed from the sun,
Your devils, your demons, they’re holding you back,
From pursuing the happiness you so desperately lack.

So why can’t you transfer to the bright side of life,
Where they are lacking in troubles, in pain and in strife?
Oh, my dear, isn’t it clear, couldn’t you see all along,
That a star cannot shine once its darkness has gone?

Cachella Smith