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#poetry

3 Nails

When you are full of thoughts that you cannot suppress

Pick a simple pattern from which you cannot digress

Thoughts of the future, the past; long narrow corridors that undermine the art

On the walls of these halls so squalid and dark

They are questions to be answered, there to pick apart

We’re all part of a history rewritten to the convenience of a few,

Adapted by survivors of the wars that passed this knowledge to you

Reading epic stories about men who could part the sea for their people

In shock & awe, we must write our sequel

As we attempt to invade the media

As our own personal promoters in a haze of hysteria

We dig a little deeper, but history seems to repeat like a beat to the same meter

Hoping with our tongues in our cheeks on our letters that may never be read

Billions of words bottled up and thrown into the sea in our heads

Chanting in the street the few not left unsaid;

Our thoughts float like boats down paths marked by high vis wrapped cones,

As our bodies are stoned by those who have lost hope in our dream encrusted boats

But as long as you still float, don’t lose hope,

You could be picked up near the coast when, damaged, filling and sinking almost

You write a letter that lengthens, which floats in a bottle

You swear you will never return home for the fear you will sink to the bottom

Until a gentle wind comes to salvage the broken battered beams of your boat and its holy sail

If someone opened the bottle, they wouldn’t find a letter, inscribed with perfect detail

Instead they would read the words of artists, preaching pastors, farmers, martyrs;

Mothers and fathers of future teachers,

Words of extraordinary seekers of a country for as many speakers and believers

Who are demanding new meters from the drum beaters

Here to become leaders, who are poor feeders & not for the needless because its time to write our sequel,

You don’t have ages, life is just a turning of pages and your fingers will turn them

You are the thinkers and the barbarians that will burn them

It’s simple, this is your time.

 

By Seb Lloyd

Writer, South London

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