Everything, even my secrets lay here in this poem. 07 June 2007. *edited 01/11/2012*


Pragmatist.

Pathological desire to test life,
spitting at my own self drowning.
Shown beyond a logical explanation;
Mocking those of hesitation.
Retreated into my own private world,
those that smile in my head.

A sorrow of absolute hatred to authority.

Placebo;
In this simpleton I wish for anger,
my fist painted a breath later.
I ask this acid to scratch my back,
and then I smirk to myself.
My fingers tremble with atrocity.
I believe the worst has happened -

Yet it didn't.

Yet it did.



Poetry by John Ashleigh
Read 1277 times
Written on 2007-06-07 at 17:54

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Stan Cooper The PoetBay support member heart!
John, your ability to demonstrate your emotions in your
writing indicates a rare talent...

I particularly enjoyed, "spitting at my own drowning
of pity and self-hate."

Stan
2010-11-23


Kathy Lockhart
your secrets are your own but your words are words for the world. Your talent is amazing. Whatever life has brought you, it has at least feed your creative mine and resulted in outstanding poetic expression.
2007-06-09



"my fingers tremble with atrocity"
and although atrocious, we eventually deal with reality one way or another. Life happens to us anyways, laying bare both inside and out.
2007-06-08