How did it ever come to this.

 

How did it ever come to this?

The emptyness in my stomoch, makes me scared and sick.

Where once in my heart, was a feild where roses would bloom.

Now a carpet lies soft orange embers, rough, jagged and ruin.

In between cracks, I find no comfort in old messages and broken promises.

Between waves of medication I experience moments of pure clarity,

Perfect vision and understanding of my current conditon.

As Each wave ends and a new begins,

I am certain I know how to save you.

Thi is the place where I am brave without having to think.

Alas, like the missing minute at midnight,

All my progress is quickly stolen from me between dreams

Dreams that dont come easily, Fighting my grasp as I try to contain my insomnia

Fate does not seem to matter anymore, neither does coincedence.

We are all just a cluster of atoms, trying desperatly to understand itself.

The line between what we see and what we feel is blurred,

Yet it seems warm and inviting.

Like a loved one taking you in from the cold.

Im reality I'm sad that I've lost a freind.

Sadder I opened myself up to get hurt again.

How did it ever come to this?

The emptyness in my stomoch, still makes me scared and sick.

When once in my heart, was a feild where roses would bloom.

Now a carpet lies soft, orange embers,

Around a gate thats now forever closed to you.

 

 

 

Edward Ramsden

2/05/2013

Your camera

 

You picture's are sepia stained

Born though a unatural desire to obtain every beautiful moment for yourself

Keeping them stored through digital magic

Time stamps over images you felt nothing snatching from me.

Your names embossed over a memory you will not bother to keep inside your head

So many people, thrown, already overwritten in you mind

Done, rewoud and ready to over expose on the next unwary subject.

You'll never know your what your camera took from me.

Empty pages where future possibilies once lay.

Freinds forgotten for the sake of breaking a heart for pleasure.

Love denied where real love lies, all for the sake of an easier ride.

Torn pictures lay in your wake, you seldom stop to pick up the peices you scatter.

Instead you make plans to destroy the images of the ones who threaten your progress.

You post your adventures and mock us with what once belonged to we.

Making sure to smooth out personal wrinkles that weigh you down.

Your camera stole my a large part of my comfort and a small part of my humanity.

Making me distrust the lens glare from your eyes and the subtitles you spew

Targeted to inflict deep bones and open wounds, designed to simply ease the pain.

When the dark room is empty and no one is left to look at your pictures.

Who will you be then?

 

 

Edward Ramsden

 

10/2/2007

 

We who cant stand the sun

 

 

 

I omit my graze, from where the sun shine reflects,

Keeping equal footing between each pacing step.

Desperate to get back to the comfort of the shade

Familar and warm, with little space for social demands.

Working hard to better myself for no one but me.

Keeping away from beutifuly lit, untouchables.

Each skill I aquire hopes to impress,

To move the branches of my tree and allow for a small shaft of sunlight

To illuminate my pride in the land where normally shadows lie.

Few notice and fewer keep focus

With turned heads and almost sorrowful sighs, the clouds return

Draggin you all into sharing my world

And you begin feel sorry for the poor boy, who could never stand the sun.

 

 

Edward Ramsden

 

20/04/2013

 

For the few that ran away when I became afraid,

I lay no blame on you

for only love and forgivness can exist in my world.

And you are always welcome 

Puddles

Here I go again.

Watching myself fall over you in front of you,

Desperate to cover the miriad of puddles, dead ahead.

Trying to save you from getting your feet wet,

Lifes terrain is random and jagged.

Littered with a million relfections of a beautiful blue sky.

All I see, is the rough brown horizen and your figure shinking.

I know why I still drop to my knees everytime you approach.

It's to save myself from having to spend the coming months,

Watching you go through the pain of drying all over again.

Id like to forgive myself and stand back up.

Then who would I be?

Giving up on the passion for love and freindship,

I use as scaffolding to keep my broken parts together.

That keeps me grounded in bitter tasting serendipity.

To become like you, willing to walk over someone to keep my feet dry.

My chest and body take longer to dry than your feet.

Yet I'll still be here to cover your path on your return.

I guess thats what makes me happy to be a puddle cover.

Smiling chin down in murky water, never seeing the full majesty of a baby blue sky

With my eyes fixed on the most beautful sunset and your figure as it shrinks.

Edward Ramsden

20/4/2013

Always giving, even when I have nothing left for myself.
I would rather the sadness be contained in my putrid vessel,
Than it ever afflict the ones I love.

Um, somethings going on.

I don't quite know how to tell you this,

I think I found god today.

I know what your thinking, religion or cult?

But in a completely different way.

Our god is no deity, created by faith.

A level 3 intelligence, a Omnipotent race.

A creator of life, on a much bigger scale,

He created our existence, with the ability to fail

He provided this planet and gave passive for life,

Watching Mountains persevere, through fire and ice. 

That we all have to power to become just like him.

Not through magic or the avoidance of sin.

Through the understanding that we, are all just ants on a hill

With unlimited potential for greatness, with a tendency to kill.

14 million other races, seems so far out of reach.

If we taught the whole planet, to stop preaching and teach.

He gave no rules, no directions to be.

Just a small chance of existence and let us be free,

There is no heaven, subsequently no hell.

Just one life to help the future become more than ourselves.

Some say religion is needed, some say it serves to teach.

God never wanted to segregate love, but let it spread it beyond our reach.

We can all become much more than ourselves,

Our arrogance holds us back.

Where love should be issued to so many in need,

Instead we choose to attack.

This race isn't over, but nothings for sure.

As we may destroy ourselves.

But if sanity wins and love is abundance.

Then maybe all will be well.

Edward Ramsden

18/04/13

Anybody Got Any tips on naming poems? Cause I'm stumped!

I invite shadows to lay where sun once stood

Yet I dont ask you to join me.

Your invisible facade intends to amuse

Only stands to vex and annoy me.

Your coat, two sided, with mistust I confide in.

Your happines was worth more than a million horizens

But when my face was the footing you needed to ascend 

You wrote epilouge endings, about moving on freinds

Leaving a part that no one else seems to miss.

Like holding a hand or sharing a kiss.

Your soo near the top but cant quite grab hold

Of the journeys finale, about to unfold.

Now shadows deny what other accept.

The cliches of life that you often wept.

You soon found a place for my brick in the wall,

Talented, giving, Handsom and tall

A freind with a benifit, a shadow cant provide.

Logic fails where emotions thrives.

Its so great you are happy

But I feel sad I'm no longer your thing.

As you dance out of shadows and into the sun light

A welcome the coming of spring

Edward Ramsden

16/04/2004

Great god this shit sucks.

The forgotten chapter of Dictionary boy

 

 

Were you scared your crop had failed,?

When i left open my door.

Did you have to leave so quickly?

I had nothing more to offer to you.

I failed to present to you my gift when you left.

My attempts were only left empty when your cart didnt return that night,

I had a plan to adorn your shoulders with lavender and gold,

To present a feast I worked years to afford.

You left me a note with the name of a town, written hastely on the back of a reciept.

Its all but faded today, but back then the paper still smelled of your perfume.

I had a small speech, written down in the back of my brain.

Devised from years of old poems and scrap book dreams.

My stomoch hurt,

Patiently waiting day by day with my eyes fixed on the crest of the old dirt road.

Nothing kicked the dust like it used to.

I waited for what seemed like 10 years.

My feast untouched, it became home for vermiculite and small insects.

My offerings still sat nearby incase she returned.

The speech has slowly left my cerebral cortex and all i can remember is the name of a town.

My muscles heavy with years of anxiety and ache with every small vibration.

What would she think of me now?

My clothes are all but strips of cloth held together with dust and salt,

From the small amount of pain I allowed to leave my quiet desperation.

Through silent crying and a moments of whispering your name.

I took me two years to reach you,

I gave up everything I had to own to get here.

Where are you?

This old hamlet looks dead.

I look through windows and peer over hedges.

I go over the name of the town in my head,

hoping I had made some mistake and I was in the wrong place.

Have you gone?

I find a small graveyard but cant find your name.

I slump behind a cold stone.

Thumping my fists into the ground with mercyless anger.

Something falls heavy to the ground.

An old dictionary, forgotten and abused.

Peering out a small scrap of paper, a torn recipt.

The smell of perfume snaps my synapses and shocks my body.

A small peice of my heart breaks.

My breathing stops and arrests my senses.

just enough to allow the cold to take the last of my warmth.

My last wish was for your harvest to bloom,

For your love to be shared by someone worthy.

With my final breath,

I hold onto a memory of when my door was still closed.

Of a time when you believed I could love you

When you still smiled at me and I knew I didnt have to pretend.

That i was a brave man.

But you loved me all the same.

 

   Edward Ramsden

34.2.10

 

The great thing about long poems is that not many people can be bothered to read the whole thing.

If they do, they more often than not disregard meaning and context.

Rendering the poem, in their eyes, just a nice poem about something sad.

This is a fantastic way of expressing myself without people who dont give a shit noticing.

 

This poem is really important to me