Details |
Charlotte Aitken Poem
Forever lost in space and time,
These stagnant seconds are divine.
With steady hand and shaky mind,
Pursuing something we’ll never find.
Drawn out hours that never cease,
The mental crypt allows no release.
Passing moments as best we can,
Devising yet another ill-thought plan.
Time stands still for those that wait,
Unable to face their looming fate.
Evading restrictions of endless rules;
Brushing shoulders with mindless fools.
Forever lost in space and time,
Those static seconds were divine.
Forever wishing we could rewind:
This is the delusion of our kind.
Copyright © Charlotte Aitken | Year Posted 2009
|
Details |
Charlotte Aitken Poem
Underneath the watchful sky
Lies the stealthy, fickle spy;
Hidden eyes that we forget,
That sets in stone what we regret.
Unravelling webs of our deciet,
No secret can we truely keep.
That little voice within your ear
Makes consciousness a thing to fear.
Unforgiving of hearts desires
And never fooled by crafty liars;
A witness to our deepest shame,
Pointing out what's ours to blame.
Underpinned by the pursuing lens;
Inside and out, it never ends.
And no respite can be found alone,
Surveillance even invades our home.
Unconscious devices shape our path,
Yet we never have the final laugh.
The joke's on us, but we're the last to see,
That freedom really isn't for free.
Copyright © Charlotte Aitken | Year Posted 2010
|
Details |
Charlotte Aitken Poem
I'd heard of this woman called Esther,
Who much prefered London to Leiceter,
Coz you could stay up all night
And still have the right
To behave the next day like a jester
So I met that woman called Esther,
That the world and his missus did pester,
"I do what I can"
She'd say to the clan,
"If you don't like it then find it in Leicester."
Copyright © Charlotte Aitken | Year Posted 2009
|
Details |
Charlotte Aitken Poem
Staring at my reflection, but she will not look at me,
Maybe she knows something that I’m too blind to see.
That look of disappointment for the things I haven’t done,
Bitter sweet resentment for what I’ve now become.
She aspired to be better than what stares at her right now
A world of opportunity that this reflection won’t allow.
The hopes and dreams she harboured, but now it’s all too late
Now all her secret ambitions rest in the hands of fate.
The never ending rat race seems to be just a silly game,
Doing as everyone else, so that we all end up the same.
Her naive ideas are empty because life has other plans
Her fragile future is balanced in my weak and shaking hands.
In a puff of smoke I abandon her ever scornful glare
The pressure of expectation is all too much to bear.
Crawling along the bottom where judgment is reserved
Reality is but an illusion, so sit back and observe.
She warned me of the dangers this road would lead me to
Avoiding life itself would surely never see me through.
The prospects slowly dwindle like the fickle hands of time
The burdening responsibility I never wanted to be mine.
A conflicted soul is torn by the things it cannot see,
Jekyll and Hyde rage defiantly in the darkest part of me.
Assessing two perspectives that merge themselves as one
Now I’m left here wondering which soul I have become.
Trying to see my reflection, but finding nothing there
Maybe she’s given up and found her ‘self’ elsewhere.
That gentle part of me has finally given up the ghost
And now I’m stuck with me, the one that I fear most.
Copyright © Charlotte Aitken | Year Posted 2009
|
Details |
Charlotte Aitken Poem
What made her go this far?
What drove her to this place?
Her words are incoherent
The answers etched across her face.
Her eyes are sad and empty
With a lifetime of regret,
Doing everything in her power
To make herself forget.
Life has lost its meaning,
But was there any there to start?
The sole evidence of existence
Is her rapidly beating heart.
Plagued by self destruction:
Oblivion equals bliss.
Escape from all emotion
It couldn’t have always been like this.
Trying to place the pieces
Of a picture that is unknown
Searching for the demons
That won’t let themselves be shown.
Copyright © Charlotte Aitken | Year Posted 2009
|
Details |
Charlotte Aitken Poem
Staring from the inside
At the world that I've shut out.
Locking all the doors
To banish all the doubt.
Blocking all the feeling
And emotion from the brain;
If Pandora's Box is opened
All there is is pain.
Not looking to the future
And resisting what comes next;
Not wanting to confront
That love is such a mess.
Looking from the inside
At the turmoil that's within;
I'm the only one at fault
For what we could've been.
The great tragedy of love
Is that the pain is yet to come;
And only in looking back
Do we see what we've become.
Copyright © Charlotte Aitken | Year Posted 2009
|
Details |
Charlotte Aitken Poem
In this one big city
Where the lights are always on,
The people lower their heads
With the burden which they were born.
The lights, they always sparkle
With a promise it never keeps,
Tormenting the souls around them
Preventing them from sleep.
In this one great city
Where the traffic doesn't cease,
And tired souls trudge endlessly
Through dark and empty streets.
Dark and empty streets
That lead you down to hell,
A demise of soul and sentiment
Discarding an empty shell.
In this one dark city
Where clouds gather in wait,
To spill their murky load
On those awaiting their fate.
Some struggle through
And make of it what they can,
Others are easily defeated
With no survival plan.
In this one decietful city
Nothing is as it seems,
Where fantasy is reality;
Consciousness is dreams.
There is no distinction;
It all merges into one.
And no one would give a damn
If the moon became the sun.
In one impulsive city
Where everyone gets high;
A relief from the monotony,
Or the fact we're going to die.
Obliteration and disaster
Is what we have created,
Money, greed and religion
Somehow lead to hatred.
This is London city
So beware to those that come,
Bewitched by all the prospects
When really there are none.
Copyright © Charlotte Aitken | Year Posted 2009
|
Details |
Charlotte Aitken Poem
A pack of individuals who are really all the same,
To think that we're unique is bordering on insane.
Make up that special someone, anyone but you,
Peter Pan or Wendy, as furthest from what's true.
Go to that special place, that's far away from here,
Put all your cares aside and deny your inner fear.
A delusion in reality to keep our thoughts at bay,
But fantasy is the trap that leads us all astray...
Copyright © Charlotte Aitken | Year Posted 2009
|
Details |
Charlotte Aitken Poem
Cruising through existence
Each minute counts the hour;
The present is the moment
For the future to devour.
Languishing in this eternity -
In the purgatory of the mind;
When looking for the answers
Beware of what you’ll find.
The demon has many faces
All of which are yours;
It delights in every weakness
And demolishes us in scores.
These devils dance in packs -
Partners withered at their feet;
The demons of our soul
Are hungry for the feast.
Crafty creatures of the dark,
Nimble nymphs of the night;
When earthly hopes are lost,
Beware the devils' delight.
Copyright © Charlotte Aitken | Year Posted 2009
|
Details |
Charlotte Aitken Poem
An escape route out of life from the chaos which we started,
Broken and fragmented where human order is retarded.
Illusions and aspirations are all forgotten at her door,
Say goodbye to reality – you won’t be seeing it anymore.
Pondering in a limbo where the party never ends,
Indulging with total strangers who soon become your friends.
Vultures bearing smiles that only run skin deep,
Creatures of the night that have no need for sleep.
She’s feeble from exhaustion and ravaged by excess,
Her minute is like an hour; one day becomes the next.
Like a mobile fire hazard, except she doesn’t move
And what’s so wrong with that if you’ve got nothing left lose?
Her suspicious eyes are watchful beneath her glassy stare
A necessary reflex considering the people that are there.
A party full of sorrow with faces of broken dreams.
Trying to hold it together, but bursting at the seams.
Yet we all are drawn here and our reasons all the same;
Knowing that the consequences are only ours to blame.
The mask of normality have snapped their fragile strings
And we bask in the oblivion that escapism brings.
Copyright © Charlotte Aitken | Year Posted 2009
|