Cornfields Of My Mind by Brian Hutchinson
 

Abrading thoughts: ‘Go for it. Do it. Just do it.’
Did it.
Demons are ugly
but I’m uglier.


They crawl up my sheets, scratching, scraping
trying to kill me
but they can’t
I make them live

.
Night terrors
arms outstretched
grasping clouds
blanketing sunshine.


Shadow-boxing arguments
some I never had.
Alone, in a house full of people.
Astray, in a place I know well.


Those lost, stupourous summers
of a nothing, nowhere dreamer.
I love my ghosts.
The lost creases of a laugh;
laughed out-loud-moments
I never shared.


I let slip and watched
the passing friendships go by.
Sown childhood dreams
adventures choked, by their roots.

I try and get up
peer through cumulus
sliding down windows in slow-motion.
Touching.
I smell damp hay
cornfields of my mind.

Searching
my frost-laden fogs
balancing
on lichen-painted twigs
in blue-belled woods.

Pastures
ploughed in turmoil.
Harvesting.
A wasted genius.

The hardest things to do,
are
the things I never did.
The hardest things to say,
are
the things I never said.

I need to dream
once more.
 

Touch the sky with my pride.
Come back in.
I should wake up.
I will.