The Suffer Ring

I cannot promise roses will eternally bloom or that the light will ever eclipse the gloom. I may make mistakes more often than not and cannot comprehend how much I forgot. I cannot promise you a happy every after. We will share sorrow to balance the laughter. The road will be rocky upon our life’s … More The Suffer Ring

Paid for a poem: “The Clumsysaurus & the Grumplepuss”

Hello again, my lovely followers. Those of you who read the last article will already know that due to my hours being dramatically cut, I’ve now started writing in a freelance capacity as a means of boosting my income (see https://philipcraddockwriter.wordpress.com/2017/04/14/authors-note-now-for-hire-accepting-donations/). I’m in a pretty desperate situation, as I have a disabled fiancee and a … More Paid for a poem: “The Clumsysaurus & the Grumplepuss”

Don’t Pass Her By

The day dull done, the sorry sky turns grey. The crowded commuters have nothing to say. The train track traversing, a clickity-clack. My course set straight, seems no turning back. My station arrives and as I rise then to leave, I see her awaiting and I struggle to breathe. Her beauty bedazzles, I dream what … More Don’t Pass Her By

The Sole House

The path was dark dirt twisted, dull moon barely lit the sky. The thunder truly terrifying as rain fell for you and I. The birds were not a tweeting, the trees bare eerie still. Whilst wet we weaved wearily to the sole house on the hill. The welcome mat was missing, a door damaged hung … More The Sole House

The Sleeping Curse

She sleeps in the darkness, pale skin draped in red. He cries, lies beside her, a spectre shares her bed. Walls they may fall around her, seas share his roar, still she’d sleep silent, stranded on slumber’s shore. He holds her hand, feels flaccid fingers frail within. Does she know he’s here, take warmth from … More The Sleeping Curse

Burden Unburdened

They made you feel like a burden, borne by those stronger than thee. They would push, pull & carry, help but complain constantly! Some days they would milk it more, martyrs pushing your wheelchair. “Look strangers, aren’t I lovely for pushing her here to there?” They made you feel like a burden, baggage best left … More Burden Unburdened