"IF WE ONLY MEET AS STRANGERS" If I should not For thee exist In memories hour Now long since past. Forgotten, Lone, Neath marble tomb Where dandelion And roses bloom Where mortal bone Stripped flesh from life Bear loveless tears From a tear stained wife. Do not regret the hour we met And follied neath The sun and moon, For whence such time Our time, abide, Loves fleeting chance Slipped from your side And withered in another's gaze To bear its fruit on summer days. If thee For me did not exist Fare not the wind That bloweth lost Caressing soft the scarlet cheek Of loves lost passion Mild and meek "THE END BELONGS TO SOMEONE ELSE" Everyone he knew Would rather be somebody else Than the reflection that lies to them Every morning in the mirror. They are not satisfied With who they are But rather Who they are not! The person they truly despise Is not themselves But the image Other people see as themselves. So many people wanting to be So many other people. It's no wonder the human race Is running towards extinction. And When the fat lady Reaches for the microphone Who will be left To press the button And who will be left To point the finger. "THE EVOLUTION OF NOTHINGNESS" Sometimes the speed of the ride Is so breath-taking That it takes you by complete surprise. Like the love of a good woman Who puts your sadness before hers - Or the belly of a dog After a good meal. There is no escape from the madness No reasoning back into the safety Of the womb. When love dies It dies for eternity. Only the memory of feeling persists Until the numbness overtakes you - And then it's too late. There is no age without time And there is no use in screaming At the hands of a clock When love and youth have deserted you. Know that It is the destiny of mankind To be forgotten But the destiny of man To believe in eternity. The evolution of nothingness depends on both. Coarse wind so sharp Would cut a blade And carve a grave on winters smock Whilst beggars sun Snared thick and flack Grieves - out behind a bletcherous moon. Beware The kingdom of the Crow Its branches bare as battlefields That vein the bloodless sky to tears And curse the heavens black. And as the hourglass ticks down The sting of spring's once envious song Takes flight amongst the daffodils To join the milling throng. "THE KID WITH THE VELVET EYES" He was a little over 21 But the drugs had prematurely aged him. His sallow face gave nothing away And neither did his velvet eyes That stared out towards a futureless future. Immune of love, Hope, An un-selfishness They shone out like shitholes from a shit world. His hoody, baggy pants And streetwise gangsta patter Gave him instant membership into that shit world. Christ, whores only destroy their
bodies, I thought, These fuckers want to lobotomize their minds too. There is an eagerness about him that reminds me Of a hamster on a wheel. And I wonder if it's the drugs or His natural appetite for destruction That drives the mania? Living life at that speed he won't see the wall coming. It doesn't matter though, There's a wall born every minute. And the kid with the velvet eyes? There'll be another one along soon enough. Wayne Riley is a poet/artist who lives in South Yorkshire, England.
He has been published in various magazines and anthologies
throughout the UK and the rest of the world. His YouTube channel,
"STORIES FROM THE RABBIT HOLE" , features over thirty videos
showcasing his writing on a visual and musical platform. Also, his
Dadaist collages and ready-made art pieces have been featured in
various local galleries though poetry remains his one true love.