It
After all I've said and done
I've gone and done it again.
Despite the short lived elation,
the turmoil, heartache and pain.
I thought I'd learned my lesson,
but here I am once more.
My defence has totally collapsed
and I've fallen again for sure.
Why does it lurk around the corner
and smack you in the face.
It hits you when you don't want it
and never minds the time or place.
I really don't have time for it,
but it's here and that is that.
It hurts you when it leaves you
and it hurts when it comes back.
poem by Orlando Belo
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Conscience
The soldier’s conscience was troubling him,
the enemy was foremost in his thoughts.
Day and night he questioned his decisions
whilst mentally and physically he fought.
One early morning as the sun climbed the sky
he made sure his back faced the sun.
with bayonet fixed he stabbed his shadow
all day and until the moon did come.
The day left him exhausted, tired and hungry,
but convinced he’d beat the enemy within.
But the next day his conscience had returned
with the message that killing was not for him.
poem by Orlando Belo
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The Shuffler
An old man scuffed his feet across the floor
as he headed for the Café’s exit door.
He shuffled along with his walking stick,
a lit cigarette stuck to his bottom lip.
His jacket looked like an open ferry door,
at least two sizes too big, maybe more.
A stoop kept his eyes fixed to the ground,
cursed with old age, and deaf to sound.
A nose dew dropp was moved by his sleeve,
apathetic to all who watched him leave.
He opened the door and again shuffled his feet,
as he became a number on the busy street.
poem by Orlando Belo
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The Wingless One
Where has man's conscience gone?
What's happening to this place?
Increasing numbers of people here
are daily falling from grace!
Across the universe he was carried
by a silent solar wind.
Planet Earth was the destination
for this spirit without wings.
It was time to re-teach the mortals
about the fellowship of man,
of love, respect, trust and sincerity,
and to be there, whenever we can.
To offer help in times of trouble,
and a shoulder to lean upon.
To give a caring hug when needed,
and hope to carry on.
poem by Orlando Belo
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The Truth
One who is a universe within a greater one
seeks only to discover the beauty of truth.
To venture though the mist of deception
that conceals the only path to the proof.
How will I know it when I meet it?
Has it a sound, does it have a smell?
When I see it, will I know it for certain?
Is it like heaven, or more like hell?
Why does the greater universe hide its beauty
if truth is so essential to the existence of man?
Maybe, its discovery is our only true purpose
and the journey there is just a part of the plan?
poem by Orlando Belo
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The Lady In Grey
Nowadays I only go out in the early hours
amongst the trees, shrubs and flowers.
There’s fewer people walking about at night
to frighten away at my first sight.
Strangely I can’t be seen in the light of day,
but the moon shows me in a shadowy way.
Lovers and poachers sometimes glimpse at me
then realise there’s somewhere else to be.
I often attract the drunkards and inquisitive,
who bring their cameras to film a negative.
Some who have heard of ‘The Lady in Grey’
come to see me, but very quickly run away.
poem by Orlando Belo
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Break Ups, Teardrops, and Lies.
Don’t play sad songs on the jukebox
I’ve got enough misery in my heart.
I’m drowning in a sea of fallen teardrops
and I don’t want my crying to restart.
I guess that I’m an emotional kind of lover
who takes being jilted harder than most men.
It doesn’t take many sad words to upset me
and tear jerker songs do it time and again.
Play something that’s tuneful and happy,
something to take my mind off cloudy skies.
I don’t want to listen to lonely hearts music
full of break ups, teardrops, and lies.
poem by Orlando Belo
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I Love You
There’s a dark winter cloud hovering above me,
and it follows wherever I go.
It’s been there since my love went away
and it only brings teardrops not snow.
Even though I’m cold and lonely without her,
and my tears may yet turn to ice.
I’m hoping she’ll bring the sunshine back again
if I can make some sort of sacrifice.
I told her the entrance to my heart has been shuttered,
and only she can take them away.
The words ‘I love you’ is all it takes to gain access,
and without them the dark clouds will stay.
poem by Orlando Belo
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Eleanor
She’s in the garden before light, because of her heart I suppose,
she strokes and stares at the petals of the deepest crimson rose.
Her slender right-hand’s delicate fingers grasp the stem so tight,
as blood drips through her fingers onto her clothes of the night.
No signs of pain show on her face as the thorns pierce her skin,
but tears roll down her cheeks, as she suffers a greater pain within.
Her once only love has gone because he has found someone new,
now she has only memories and a heart that’s been torn in two.
poem by Orlando Belo
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NIght Feeders
As the light begins to hide from the darkness
and the nocturnes again rise from their sleep.
The creatures of the night shout out in excitement
as those that normally slumber begin to weep.
For they know and fear what is coming
and it won’t be long before they arrive.
No matter where they hide there’s no escape
from those that walk, but are not alive.
As the night noises and howls become louder
the stalkers move closer to their prey.
The sweet smell of blood is what they’re after
and they always get their way.
S
poem by Orlando Belo
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