Aa Harvey





Poetry is my self-portrait, for all the world to see.

I show you my every thought and wonder about yours.

What do you read into me?



Are we all, all we could have been,

If we have never tried to study our dreams

And chased them through to the conclusion?

Why is love such an optical illusion?



What would I be if I chose to never write again?

If wishes are real,

Then why can we not all feel the need to love another? 

Why is it so easy to just throw it all away?

Such a waste and expectations so unreal;

Lovers always find new lovers.



Surrealist art shows an image from inside,

A dysfunctional mind, that slips and slides as worlds collide

And atoms separate.

Who is to say what is first-rate?

Who is last to take their place?

Who is humble enough to have nothing to say,

But are happy to wait, to be given their way?

Their way to go; a way to be.

A way to avoid the shared misery.



Pull me out of this slumber, for my mind is awake

And I cannot wait to try again, to brighten up my miserable face.

I used to smile a long time ago,

But those days are far away from me now and I can see no return,

But hopefully with just a little bit more hope,

I can ignite my future and leave my past behind to burn.



(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.


  • tundrol

    Burn baby burn! I don't know where the quote comes from, but it feels right. Make a bonfire of the past, like the Indians with their potlatch.

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