Don't Judge This Book By It's Cover: Looking for the perfect word
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About this ebook
Don't Judge This Book By It's Cover - Looking for the perfect word is the third book of poetry written by Anthony James Day, and the second released posthumously.
Continuing the themes from Anthony's other works, topics covered include love, hate, belief and death.
Anthony James Day
Anthony James Day is a freelance poet born in Brisbane in 1971. Anthony featured in a documentary titled "The Vagabond Poet", showcasing the poetry scene of Brisbane in the 1990's. Later Anthony gained notoriety for dancing in the mall outside Sanity Music in the Hobart mall (Tasmania), affectionately known as the Hobart Dancing Man.Anthony wrote six volumes of poetry during his lifetime, which was sadly cut short due to suicide in 2003.His poetry and legacy continue to be shared through the efforts of his friends and family.
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Don't Judge This Book By It's Cover - Anthony James Day
DON'T JUDGE THIS BOOK BY IT'S COVER.
DON'T JUDGE THIS BOOK BY IT'S COVER.
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Michelle.
Michelle from the first time I saw you.
My defences had fell,
like a coin in the wishing well.
I wish to have a chance to prove...
How the earth beneath me does seem to move.
Every time I look into your eyes.
I can't ever tell you any lies.
I wish upon the morning star.
That today really is a day, new.
And that I can some how, show to you,
That I'm who I say I am.
And I will do, all I say I will do.
You've got me falling like a storm struck tree.
This is the first time, anything like this,
Has happened to me.
I will never forget, the first time I saw you, Michelle.
dead..end..city
Dead end city.
nothing new, nowhere to go.
You say, No more for me to do.
There's nothing left here for you.
You are too superstitious to retrace your every step.
That's the only way out of here, as yet.
Miles of road but only one way out.
It's like one of those horror stories, you always read about.
Like a paradise island, in the middle of life's vast sea.
Like an oasis in the desert.
But nothing is the way it first looks. Nothing is a 100% free.
From a distance the city lights, look so appealing,
like a whole new galaxy.
Waiting to be explored.
But you soon learn, that there is nothing new,
under these handmade stars and moon.
You quickly lose interest and become easily bored.
The buildings reach for the sky,
like your distant past dreams.
But now you're living reality's nightmares.
Becoming painfully conscious of others.
And their inquiring looks and disapproving stares.
The imprisonment of yourself within superstition and fear.
Knowing that this encagement of a capital,
has it's grasp upon your heart and soul.
Becoming a shell of a person.
The real life, the real you, had left and gone, long ago.
You don't fit in within these subcultures, fashions or a fad.
In more ways than one, you've been had.
Promised riches and happiness you are poorer and sadder,
than when you began.
You lost the race which wasn't yours to participate in.
There's a million ways of losing but no way to win.
Fitting in with the majority of the crowd,
your face is a ice cold numb blank.
No recognisable enemy and no true friend.
You now see for yourself that this,
city that leads to everything
is really a dead end.
THE HARDEST RETURN OF ALL.
I'm flying back home, I'm afraid I return alone.
I left to go to war with four friends of mine.
We all joined the Cause, all at the same time.
We knew each other from the time, we were very young.
Wayne said that we should join up, just for fun.
He was the first to meet his maker, via his own gun.
After a week of fierce fighting with the enemy,
only one way out did Wayne see.
He knew that we were hired killers.
With our leaders pretending,
that this slaughter would bring peace.
With the realisation of reality,
Wayne's insanity did increase.
To the point that he loaded his gun and shot himself dead.
In full view of his best mates.
Michael, Richard, Peter and myself were the only ones,
who knew the truth about Wayne's death.
All the other soldier thought, he died from enemy gun fire.
As far I am concerned he died a brave death.
His death was for principles much higher,
than just nationalistic pride.
Pete, Mic, Ric and I where shot down over Germany.
Richard died in the crash.
He always said that like a bird,
was how he wanted to have his last ride.
Peter, Michael and I where captured in the Black Forest.
Pete was killed two days later by the SS, cause they though he was a Hebrew.
Mic and I escaped the concentration camp.
We were lost in the mountains with no idea where to go.
Then one night Michael was froze to death in the snow.
How I got back is not important.
My four friends aren't and that's all that I can think of.
How I wish I died, instead of them.
If only I could bring them back, again.
Death seems so far away, when you are so young.
But if you live amongst the dead and the dying.
You will never take it for granted.
For we are like trees.
One day planted,
the next day we grow.
The next we are food for the forest.
But why are we chop down, just as we reach our best?
How will I ever look into my friends' parents faces?
What gives me the right be alive, when they're no longer here,
While I'm still here doing things and going places?
PASSION.
As I travelled down this road of life. I came to the painful realisation of the fact, that I'm carrying more of a load than I need. Burdened down by everyone's woes and fears. Washed out by everyone's bitter tears. Caught in the trap of giving a few seconds to strangers until they become years. I don't regret