A letter to me of the past.

A few words to me of the past

Hold steady, hold fast.

Your troublesome times won’t always last.

That feeling in your soul will be a problem no more, she will do away with it, of that I am sure.

Your thoughts race quick, uttering to yourself is it a mind trick? Or of me… Is everyone just sick?

The pain in your brain, too rapid to catch, too poisonous for a bandage or patch, they will heal quick, those troublesome thoughts she will definitely catch.

You feel alone now, you feel surrounded but disconnected and wonder how? You may wander in the dark, but you found the way somehow.

You found the hidden bits of your soul, you held her hand and with happiness you did stroll, she loves who you are and it isn’t a toll.

She accepted you, and soon you will too.
To me of the past, if only you knew, what life has in store for you.


The aftershock of the first arrow ever shot by Cupid, thousands of years ago, shakes simultaneously in both our hearts.

The running of the ink from the first love poem ever written binds the blood in both our veins.

The first utterance of the word “love” echoes in both our souls.

Me and You, we are the love that not only dares to speak its name but dares to shout it to the heavens.

We are the picture which artists wish to capture and the words that poets wish to right.

We may have both gone through life for many years not aware of the other, but our spirits are kindred.

We are the different sides of the same coin, incomplete without the other.

We both walked along our roads of individual destiny, and as the stars aligned, as the artist painted, as the poet wrote, as Cupid fired his arrow, our paths crossed.


I spend a lot of time trying to make sense of things, It’s my profession, my hobby, my strength and my weakness.

Chaos. It is impossible to make sense of Chaos. Chaos is the predictable unpredictability that always exists. Chaos is the flip of a coin, Chaos is the sudden turn of a storm, Chaos is a certainty that ceases to be certain.

I struggle with Chaos, I know, all too well, the power of its fist. I learnt to fear Chaos, I learnt to anticipate its fury, its indiscriminate sting, the certainty of uncertainty. In Greek mythology, it was believed that “at first Chaos came to be….but next came to Gaia, Tartarus, and Eros”. I no longer fear Chaos.

Gaia, the mother of all life. Through Chaos, I have my Gaia. The fertile soil, from which the tree’s of life will rise to the sky. The branches that spring forth and provide food for sustenance. The calming rivers which water the earth, maintain life and keep chaos at bay. I have my Gaia, she provides the fertile soil for my soul, allowing the tree’s of happiness, enjoyment and fulfilment to grow. The calming rivers in my mind, providing peace and ensuring that it does not die of a thirst for more. I no longer fear Chaos.

Tartarus, the deep abyss. The blackening hole which prisons my damaged past. Where torment and suffering rest its head. It may sound like a horrid place, but without it, the monsters that lay within would not be kept at bay. Without Tartarus, there would be no Gaia. Tartarus, the guard to all that I wish was not there. I have my Tartarus, the strong fortress she provides which houses all my monsters. The Guard who halts all that would bring darkness to my now bright world. I no longer fear Chaos.

Eros, the liberating feeling of love, the burning desires of passion that turn love to lust. The madness of the gods, often depicted as a tragedy, a sickness which doomed all. Often true, but Chaos had other plans. Chaos turned its ugly, unpredictable fist, opened a soft palm and showered my world with the rain of true, unconditional love. I have my eros, she gave my heart the freedom to sing with the magic of her soul, she gave my body the fire of passion with the scent and sight of her skin. Chaos gave us both its sweet touch and blessed us.

I no longer fear Chaos, I thank it.

My Honest Poem 

My Name is Dan, I’m 22 and this is my honest Poem. 

I was inspired to write this poem by a man called Rudy. Instead of being about him, it will focus on yours truly. 

None of my friends know I write poetry, because I’m a “confident person” with no confidence at all. I was a “problem child”, who’s only problem was to be beguiled and easily riled.

Apparently I’m doing really well because I have a good degree and a good Job.

However, I spend too much time on dating apps on my phone, because broken hearts and a future unknown has made me scared of dying alone. 

People tell me their jealous of me, because I’m so full of life and I have all this never ending energy, it’s true

Just know, I talk alot to keep my brain muted, my behaviour is mostly anxious rooted and the awesomeness of having all this energy should definitely be disputed. 

I’m a psychologist and I try my best to help people who are struggling. 

That means I ask people alot of questions, but if I think whether or not I should ask them of myself, I will quickly deny it, I won’t apply it, my tongue might start to wag but I’ll quickly tie it…..I guess you could say I’m a hypocrite.

I’m always trying to chase love, I think it’s because I’m scared of chasing my own shadows. 

With girls I always seem to try and construct a perfect moment. I think it’s because I’m trying to make these painful thoughts a little less potent and create a sense of atonement.

My name is Dan. 

Im more comfortable opening up to strangers than to my own friends. 

It’s easy to rant to people who can easily turn and run away, but it’s scary to talk about your demons to people you wish to see another day whilst hoping they don’t look at you a different way. 

I love greeting people with a smile and showing them I’m doing well. 

It’s a message I try to put across any chance I can, I think it’s because if I say it enough maybe I’ll start to match up to their ideas of Dan. 

My name is Dan and this poem is an attempt at honesty, but if you ask me about it I’ll dismiss and deny it with convincing modesty.

The Beaten Path 

​Salty sea’s and a pebbley beach, a small pathway where the trees from the forest can reach. 

Oh, this beaten path. 

Warm camp-fire’s and the memory of the cold, a time you’ll cherish especially when you are old. 

Oh, this beaten path.


Perfect smiles and eyes that kill, love her with all your heart? you surely will. 

Oh, this beaten path.

Skimming stones and hopping rocks, moving faster than your heart, is the ticking of the clocks. 

Oh, this beaten path. 

Silent harbours and dream-filled boats, your hopes and dreams never sink because they only float. 

Oh, this beaten path.

This special place will pierce you like dagger, you’ll always have a soft that is spot for the place where nothing else matters.

Oh, this beaten path.

​Mae’r goleudy gan y marina

Two souls, who needed to escape.

Two hearts, held together by tape.

They craved it more than anything, the fresh sea air.

 Maybe the waves of the sea would bury their despair. 

Two fishes, swimming on seperate streams.

Both plagued by the same pain, it haunted their dreams.

Two become one, their smiles were a lie.

Here by the sea, they prayed for love to die.

A now lonely man, he sat there in silence.

He desperately sought some well worded guidance.

He looked for a way out, he wanted to scarper.

So he set for the lighthouse, down by the harbour.

He walked the pebbley beach, felt the stones on his feet.

The shandy shores of wales at one with his hoofbeat.

The heavy thoughts refused to cease.

All the man craved was the tiniest moment of peace.

The lighthouse he saw, there it stood so noble and bold

A sight to him that was more valuable than gold.

Rusted green paint, marked with a dull white complexion.

To this lonely structure he felt a connection.

The unforgiving waves were ever so violent.

Yet he found in this place, a brain that was silent.

The gannets he saw, he saw them a plenty.

They stood guard over the sea, a white pearl sentry.

He watched the birds closesly, saw them hunt, dive and fly.

His soul did sing, no longer a tongue that was tie.

The man found comfort in his pain, accepting he would never be the same.

Towards himself, he did no longer speak in a manner of declaim 

He found his place, his one true home.

A place from which his soul had no desire to roam.

A place that gave his heart a steal strong armour .

He found his place, at the lighthouse down by the harbour. 

A Tribute to Manchester


Today, England is scared and full of pain

We pray for those in Manchester, so willingly slain.

Man, or Woman, Black or White, we all shed a tear

We condemn those monsters who would drown us in fear.


But those of the north show great resolve

Love and Hope keeps them together, their spirit will never dissolve.

They come together, arm in arm across the town

Not the fires of fascism, nor the screams of extremists can bring them down.


Attempts to divide, bring them together

Their enemies say fall, but they scream never.

Some might say we will find a brighter day

It will be the people of Manchester who show us the way.


Today, atlas shrugged, but the northerners took the weight

This alone, is what makes the city so unquestionably great.


The world is on my shoulders, or is it just my brain?

This unbearable weight, it brings me pain.

It drags me down.


I am the star that shined next to the moon.

A brief breeze, blowing into a typhoon.

I am the prince with no crown.


I walk through the glen with the girl in the golden grass, a part of me never left.

That which taught me to love, stole my heart in an unintentional theft.

Still I drown.


I drown in the ocean of my mind.

I swim in these waters, while my heart is rendered blind.

The weight of the world drags me down.


The weight of love drags me down.

Oh, the unbearable weight of this invisible crown.

Within these waters I still drown.


But yet …I breathe.


I breathe with a fiery pain.

My collapsing lungs, will always sustain.

A prince, fighting for his crown.


I breathe praying for inner peace.

I breathe, but yet …within these waters, the drowning will never cease.

I drown within these waters but yet …. I still hold the world on my shoulders … dry and untouched.


Blood is thicker than water, yet we still allow brothers and sisters to be led off to slaughter?

Imagine if that was your son or daughter.

The world has food a plenty, yet we still allow little babies to have their stomachs be empty?

Imagine that you knew their name, maybe jenny? maybe benny?

Slavery is bad, yet we have banks who will put you in debt, smile and be glad?

Imagine if I called that “Economic slavery!”… you’d probably call me mad.


This world wants to us beat us down, yet were taught that’s its bad to frown?

Imagine that, a world where everybody is taught to always smile like a clown.


We all want peace, to smile in the sun, yet we have no army willing to drop a gun?

Imagine if one day we stopped squeezing triggers while praying for the rise of a new sun


We all want something new, yet we all say “I’m just one person what can I do?”

Imagine that I tell you all change comes from somewhere and it could all start with you.