Oliver Piotrowski - Poetry Hub #1

I have been writing poetry on and off, for my whole life. I have recently started writing again, after several years of not writing a single thing.

I thought I would create my first poetry hub, and include 4 of my personal favourites from my back collection.

My first poem, The Listener tells the story of my when I was at college.

I am not certain exactly when or why I wrote The Beast, but I suspect that it is influenced in part by the old Dungeons & Dragons cartoon.

Where's Home tells of the feelings I felt during the first few weeks away at University.

I am also not sure when or why I wrote War Games, but it's still one of my favourites.

I hope you enjoy them

In Every
Group of friends you’ll find.
A Listener,
With an open mind.

Who’s always there to lend an ear,
To help with your problems,
Your worries,
Your Fears.

But who helps the listener
When his World turns bad?
The burden of listener
Driving him Mad

With no-one to love him,
For that breaks the oath.
Listener, or lover.
He cannot be both.

A shoulder to cry on
Is hard work to be.
Listen to listener
Let him be free

He walks with his friends
Through the chasms of death.
Encompassed by flame from the Dragons breath.
With fear in their voices this bold group of ten.
Slowly but surely went into its den.

With swiftness and silence
They went on their way.
With saber and spear to where the beast lay.
But then in the echoes a foolish man spoke.
And with hatred and fury the monster awoke.

It lashed out its tail
With power and rage.
It severed the heads from the warrior and page.
Then with profound braveness a boy of small size.
Threw saber and spear between the fiends eyes.

Then an evil silence
As the beast fell.
They had been to the brink
And survived death in Hell.

And now the boy wondered
Where now they would roam.
In search of the portal
That leads them back home.

As I sit here,
Alone.
Gazing into the distance
Reflecting,
On what the future will bring.

Missing,
Those friends whom I grew up with.
Just waiting,
For news of, Anything.

Is the life that I once had,
A memory of the past?
Or is the life that I now live
The same one, only masked?

If home is where the heart is
My soul has, flown away
Or is home where you lay your head,
And wish the fears away.

Along the dusty pathways.
The thunder in the skies
The rain is falling downwards
And you know you're gone die.

The enemies are infinite
The allies are few
Shrapnel, bullets, bits of wood
Hurtling at you.

Smells of death
And sounds of doom
Fear, and hunger
And feelings of gloom.

You hear a shout behind you
You turn around to see
Your mother at the window
And you all go in for tea.