Why does it have to get dark?
The sun must sleep just like us
The sun will rise and shine
Some days the sun may not be so bright
But the sun will always be around, somewhere



When I laid there,

I realised that I’m on my own.

The clock won’t stop ticking,

These eyes are my own.

This world I see is mine,

Not much use without the company.

These problems I feel inside,

Are choices that sit infront of me.

I chose to feel this,

Now I’ll leave it be.

The only thing that’s in my way is everything to do with me.

I remember Grandma

Grandma puts the kettle on,

She calms me with her words,

Grandma sings it in a song,

One you may find absurd.

Grandma puts the kettle on,

She taps her wrinkled feet,

Grandma butters bread so thick,

With sliced beetroot that is too sweet.

Grandma puts the kettle on,

She tells me stories of her past,

Grandma talks all day long,

But I hope these stories last.

Now I put the kettle on,

And butter my own bread,

Now I think of Grandma’s song,

That lives inside my head.