I’m not usually one for writing poetry, but tonight something possessed me and I couldn’t stop. The mother of Ada Byron, Countess of Lovelace, would have probably called a priest to exorcise me.* (*Speculative, though she dedicated her life to preventing Ada from falling into her husband’s poetic trappings.)

Based on my recent reading of Benjamin Franklin’s autobiography and the book on Lovelace & Babbage, whenever you write poetry your friends hate it and then have to say, “Don’t quit your day job,” but since I don’t have a day job at the moment… 😉



Peering deep inside
the image there supplied
of who I think I am
and who I ought to be


A blurred mirage
a tear-stained collage
an actor, a cheat
naught but emotion, deceit


My sight is obscured
my perspective perturbed
of what I think I was
and what I should have been


Well it’s time for new eyes
to throw out the old lies
what has, is done
what will I become?


I’ve burdened my heart
it wants to restart
to shake free from its pains
to grab back the reins


To awaken once more
please free me, dear Lord
my mind is my prison
my doubts are a schism


My passions seem rapt
at nothing I’m apt
my hope wants to cede
my willpower, bleed


This dark day will end
my being will mend
for now I must fight
to enable new sight


That reflection I see
is a better, current me.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s