Author: Richard van Rensburg

Ambitious Writer | Masters Psychology Student | Passionate Literary Lover

his One

he cares from the shadows –
unknown to his Love.
watching and supporting;
protecting and planning.
sunken into the darkness:
outside looking In.
never a day without thoughts
filled with love and compassion
for the One.
unknown to his Love…
he sometimes allows himself
the guilty pleasure
of thinking about being discovered
and being
loved
by his One.
but,
unknown to his Love,
he feels the torment and pain
of being unknown in a knowable world.

his only comfort is knowing, though,
that his One is living happier than before.
and this is his only mission:
to love a Love although unknown.

Pain

Red-cloaked and black-shoed:
It strolls nimbly into life…
Not a care but to cause…
Emotionless and cruel;
Hard and cold.
Streaks of blood seep
Slowly out of deep wounds
And crimson tears carve a neat path
Downward lonely cheeks.
It envelopes the insides,
Wrapping itself tightly around
The organ that beats against the force and
Gives life while being given death.
Untouchable, undiagnosable.
Cruel. Cunning.
Sharp-shooting. Deep-wounding.
Full of itself.

So what?

So what if I trip and
fall face first into failure?
So what if they laugh as I struggle?
So what if I make mistakes
and do stupid things?
So what if I live on the edge?
So what if you judge me?
So what if I damage myself?
So what if I don’t have your support?
So what if you all leave my side?
So what if I lose it all?
So what if I end up with no one?
So what if I’m the failure everyone least expected?
So what if I fall
from the throne I’ve placed my reputation on?
So what if I let go?
So what if I go wild like they said?
So what if I stuff it all up?

So what?

BE

We judge him for he is not one of us!
We mock him for his mind –
He’s actually rare to find.
A raw passion of a child
Trapped in adult form.
Why do we mock him for being him?
Yet preach peace and equality?
What happened to our reflective mirrors?
Did they burn in our hypocrite flames?
Maybe he’s free;
Maybe we’re the ones who cannot see.
Just, just let him
BE.

Broken Boy

He comes home from school
on the weekends –
to the home he doesn’t really belong in.
He dumps his bag of used clothes on the floor,
throws his case gently into a corner,
removes his dulled shoes,
collapses on the bed
and cries silently into the pillow.

He is woken by screaming:
his mother –
telling him to work harder
and blabbering off a list of weekend duties.

His eyes are red.
His heart is bruised.
His life is not his until he leaves this hell.

Dancing till Death

I have the moves
The purple groves
I feel the beat sink into my fibres
It takes right to the core
I don’t dance to live
I live to dance and dance till death
My body just goes to the flow
Whether fast or slow
I can feel the eyes surmise
I smile and sweat because I dance tonight
I need no drugs, no liquid inspiration, injection
To feel the music’s sweet infection
I tilt towards the floor, drop down
Jump to catch the beat and bounce
Ready to pounce
When they encircle I’m taken away
hallucogenic satisfaction sprints in my pulse
And my eyes close because my body knows
Tonight I’m a winner and I’ve won this fight.