63. A sleepy ambush. (December ’14)

Another example of that slippery character inspiration not knowing when it’s time to go to bed. Just about to put my head down this particular night when a face and then a name pops up from the past. Then I have the first two lines pop up. I had to sit up in bed, well propped up on an elbow, until I had most of it.

The inspiration leapt through from the end of a former life, where the other hinted at here, through no fault of hers, led to me leaving London in ’95. Though I’d never liked the place so in some ways it felt like escaping to come home. Well it was definitely coming home. And an escape, though not a lucky one.

63. A sleepy ambush. (December ’14)

Sometimes you’ve got to hate the online,
For it can bring your past to life,
Where before you might’ve dreamed wistfully,
Now you can torture yourself with images,
Of an old love and their happiness,
And wallow in full blown agony,

Ah, it’s not like the old days,

I tortured my “self” the other night,
When I remembered your name,
Then I found your face,
And I whispered your name,
Seeing you again,

My dear sweet memory,
My sweet loving delusion,
My illusion of someone,
Who might’ve,
Who could’ve,
Were I capable of being there,
Of staying there,
With you,
But staying I couldn’t do,

Instead I kept you locked up inside of me,
With me and the bitterness,
A bitterness called what should’ve been,
A bitterness that was happily fast asleep,
In the same way that I should’ve been,
Until they both ambushed me,
That pair known as,
Memory and technology,

Ah, it was never like this in the old days,
Ah, the old days were never that good anyway.

(c) Jim Laing 2014.


Ah, the old days it was never like that anyway,

About Jim Laing

The Buddha said there were four kinds of people. Those who run from dark to dark, those who run from light to dark, those who run from dark to light and those who run from light to light. From a life going from dark to dark to having a few years running from dark to light, with scuffed hands and knees from sometimes falling, I may be getting the hang of it now. How it began is not now how it is, I need a quiet space, After the noise of the day, So I take sanctuary in the creativity, And my soul feeds, On sometimes dark, Sometimes light fantasy, And I dare like many to work, But stay up off my knees, To dream, perchance to suffer, But always still to dream. Here are things mostly lyrical and poetic, with nonsense sometimes, reviews and personal musings. The coffees hot and always black. The words not necessarily so.
This entry was posted in Lyrics & poems and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

1 Response to 63. A sleepy ambush. (December ’14)

  1. Jim Laing says:

    Reblogged this on It Started In The Kitchen and commented:

    With broadband out of action this blogs been neglected. So in the interests of keeping it ticking over, something previously posted in lieu of something new.


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