Night comes and I shiver,
Another time that I’m alone again,
Green lights fill the gloom,
My heart beating drowns out the silence,
There’s a kind of hush that can’t be made,
A kind of darkness that can’t be penetrated,
It can’t change or rather won’t,
But maybe one day it will,
But who can say for certain?
Night comes and I shiver,
Another time that I’m alone again,
Green lights fill the gloom,
My heart beating drowns out the silence,
There’s a kind of hush that can’t be made,
A kind of darkness that can’t be penetrated,
It can’t change or rather won’t,
But maybe one day it will,
But who can say for certain?
I’ve been so quiet,
It’s been so quiet,
The wind blows but the leaves don’t rustle,
The water flows but the river doesn’t splash,
The blood pulses but the heart doesn’t beat,
The poet breathes but the pen runs dry.
There are words forming, stories growing,
But everyday they die again,
They are stuck and settled, retained and sure,
They’ll never leave, they’ve been here too long,
This is the silence breaking, the sun through the cloud once more,
Yet still that voice is fading like the moon in the noon sky.
I see orange in the sky tonight,
Alas the sea of black is broken at last,
Whether they be flames of the fire that will enwrap my soul,
Whether they be the bright days ahead,
I walk to them quaking with fear,
The brightness gets nearer and nearer,
And all at once I see the dark behind me,
Be this the end of pain or the end of life,
Be this the end of all or my start a new,
I am ready now,
A new day will dawn,
If I stand here still I shall go mad,
Let the brightness descend upon me,
Let it end me or change me,
Let this be my epilogue or my preface,
Let this be the time,
Now and forever more the new day will always dawn.
Sometimes in the night I see shadows and figures,
And they’re holding me tight with their dagger like fingers,
They move in close and shroud me in pain,
And they drag out my soul and I’m falling again.
Sometimes in the dark when there’s nobody there,
I reach out to the light in pain and despair,
The figures surround me and draw me in close,
And I feel their hands as tight as a noose.
Sometimes when it’s black and day is dead,
I scratch through my skin laying still on the bed,
And although my screams are silent one day someone will hear,
As they’ll be ever nearer and the darkness will clear.
You bought a cleaver and you brought it down on my wrist.
You didn’t touch me, and neither did your sodding blade,
But you were acting careless, I suppose you were pissed.
Your words lashed out into my rotting brain and the story played,
It played out like they all do. It made my heart burn.
It made my eyes sting and my cheeks were soaked in salt.
That cleaver you bought, It’s what I now yearn.
You should have just cut me, saved all this mental assault.
All you did now leads me back to the river of blood,
All I did to clamber out and now I am drowning again.
I do things I cannot comprehend or even pretend to,
When the blades in my hands another force Spurs me on,
When the knifes cutting deep it isn’t me holding the handle.
The changes that happens aren’t my decision,
When I make an action I’m not present,
My hands move without me, my mouth moves without me.
Everything I do isn’t done by me, innocent of all charges am I.
If it’s not me that controls me then let me know who,
Let me meet the one who believes they have power,
Let me look into the eyes of my killer.
When I break free, because I will,
I’ll be the first one on that plane,
I’ll be out of here without a care in the world,
I’ll be me finally and I’ll be free finally and the time will go by and I won’t ever cry for I shall be my own King.
Hedwig Robinson 