Lost and Damned

“Don’t ask why
Don’t be sad
Sometimes we all must alter paths we planned
Only try
I want to save you from the lost and damned

Don’t ask why
Don’t be sad
Sometimes we all must alter paths we planned
Leave me behind
Don’t look back
Cause deep within you know I’m lost and damned”

-Kamelot, Lost and Damned

Live Life

So I’m not busy at work right now and I feel like writing some poetry.

As I sit here,
Early day,
I start to ponder,
Thoughts to weigh.

About how much time,
I have wasted,
Wasting life,
Forgetting faces.

It makes me think,
Of younger days,
And all the memories,
I couldn’t save.

Which then in turn,
Leads me to mind,
The friends of now,
And have yet to find.

My friends right now,
What few I hold,
Are more important,
Than all the gold.

Because of this I must admit,
The memories I left caving,
Were not the ones,
That were worth saving.

The memories I have now,
Are the ones I want to hold,
And cherish them always,
Until I grow old.

But the problem is,
They’re unaware,
How important they are,
And how much I care.

So my advice,
To the younger age,
As you grow,
Turn the page.

Leave the bad,
In the past,
The good will stay,
They’re here to last.

And don’t be sad,
When life isn’t great,
It’s trying to fool you,
You’re taking the bait.

Because the enigma of life,
Is full of trials and tests,
All with the goal,
Of you to best.

You can’t give up,
And never give in,
Else turn from a have,
Into a has been.


The Beating Heart

This is a somewhat long one. Wrote it in the public gardens a few days ago.

Some I’m sure would say,
I lack the fire in my eyes,
The zeal to change my life,
The courage to touch the skies.

Some would say that I,
May have a heart of stone,
That all I’ll ever know,
Is the pain of being alone.

And that, that same heart,
Pumps ice blood through my veins,
That I lack the feeling,
To ever make it change.

To all of those people,
I am forced to tell,
The reasons for my follies,
The purpose of my shell.

I may not show the fire,
But it is always deep inside,
Waiting for the person,
With whom it can confide.

My hardened heart of stone,
Is softer than most know,
It gifts me more control,
Over the emotions that I show.

Blood like ice is simple,
It helps me hide my shame,
For unlike blood, ice water,
Can ceaselessly mask pain.

But it doesn’t really matter,
When I tell them what I’ve found,
With my feet firmly planted,
And my head up in the clouds.

For twenty-one years I’ve lived,
And through that time I’ve learned,
To listen to your instinct,
For what ones heart may yearn.


So this is one of the two poems I wrote today on my lunch sitting in the public gardens.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –


By: Alex Hicks

See me here,






Not waiting.








Always Watching.

In a way I guess I am waiting,

Waiting for what will never come,

Late for what has already happened.

So instead I am here,





A Guru

By: Alex Hicks

I saw a program online
That analyzed the day I was born
It looked slightly amusing
And what I saw left me a little confused.

It told me I was “A Guru”
And as the name implies,
It said I like to see the world,
Through someone elses eyes.

I was sceptical at first,
When it said “always calm”
But it made me think of how I act,
When sometimes life goes wrong.

When it said I was creative,
I assumed it was all a farce,
But I thought about the career I chose,
then it called me smart.

“This!” I said, “Is a total lie”
And here it gets profound,
It said I would have trouble,
Staying firmly on the ground.

I read it and laughed
As I realized the truth,
And with a smile and a chuckle,
I said: “But the clouds are so much fun!”

My Pen

By: A.H.

I wrote this poem in the middle of the night. I was laying in bed thinking like I often do and this poem started to read itself to me. Least to say I immediately picked up my notebook and started to type.

My Pen

By: A.H.

If asked when young which I thought better,
The inked tip of my pen
or honed blade of my sword
Without thinking twice I’d have replied:

“My sword can cut all who stand in my way
but my pen can express my feelings.
If I had to choose which one to take,
Sword in hand, I’d leave them bleeding.”

But as I look at that younger self,
And the meaning of the phrase,
I wish I had been there to help,
To show him the better way.

The sword is strong in its own way,
But the pen holds all the aces,
For while a sword can cut your foes,
The pen will take you places.

If I had met my younger self,
I’d have set him true,
That writing, knowledge, and emotion,
Are things a sword can never do.

And if he still took the sword,
I’d slip the pen in his back pocket,
As he would grow up into I,
and I would want it sooner.