Something for the 30 Somethings..
"life begins at 30" they say,
to calm one's woes ad fears,
but really now the countdown starts,
As life's shufflin' through the gears.
Clairol becomes one's best friend,
to hide those subtle greys,
when all it does is mask the truth,
the colour fades away.
So let your hair down, tangles n' all
enjoy each and every day,
thank god we're not in Hollywood now,
or else we'd look decayed!
So dont get your nips and tucks and fills,
enjoy your new life, beer bellies n' bills,
for life comes once and once alone,
unless your Hindu, and 7 lives will you own....
...i think i might convert come to think of it...
poem by kenneth conway
A Bit’a Fiction
I remember clear those summer days,
When sadness melted to joy,
Innocent and care free,
Just like any other boy.
I wake up cold and wet and scared,
Not knowing black from white,
Taking in the events gone bye,
I cry here through the night.
Nothing now seems real to me,
Just fictions, dramas and plays,
I need to wake up from this dream,
And lie there in a daze.
Innocent I was, naïve and thin,
There for giggles and entertainment,
Little did I know back then,
I would create a future confinement.
‘Shadow’ selves surround me,
Nowhere to run and hide,
Not an innocent soul out there,
Better join them before the tide.
Lovers, hidden by masks of deceit,
My faith grows thin and thin,
When some new mask takes my eye,
The guard goes down and they come in.
Conscious, weak, terrified and fake,
I sit and wait for the bells,
For someone to say, “it’s all just a joke”,
But nothing… I remain in hell.
A poem by Kenneth Conway
Lip Balm
Picture this, a boy with the world at his feet,
Yet his dignity stripped, torn and broken, so obsolete.
Lost in an escapist dream of a world with baddies and goodies,
The one good flame burning in his life, extinguished by kisses.
Every day brings the fear of sanity slipping away,
Well, what more can one say?
A poem by Kenneth Conway
The Harbour
He waits for all the rush and talk that surrounds him,
But does anyone care about how he feels?
His head is filled with emotion and pain and rage,
The morning small talk is filled with brag and bitch,
No one cares, he’s in an invisible darkness with no way out.
Fog and cloud and sea scratch and scour at my rocky skin,
He comes and smokes and I listen to pain, he leaves.
If I could walk and talk and itch and bitch,
I’d have something to say. But I can’t.
I’m stagnant yet useful.
I see generations of lovers and walkers and criers…
But nothing like this.
The world has hurt this innocent soul,
Making him do crazy things, which his mind cannot take.
If I could comfort and talk and breathe I’d have something to say,
But I can’t. I’m a good listener though…
A poem by Kenneth Conway
