Hardship to Honours

2026-04-17T14:38:40Z

The wits of a grief stricken mortal

Who haunts in the eve of the night

Summoned from the shadows of darkness

Summoned by death of the light.

You whisper your sacred mantra

And stutter your silent prayers

Sit down and wait for your answer

The silence shows nobody cares.

So you smother your head in the pillow

And cocoon your body with sheets

You force to dream about meadows

So the meadow your nightmare will greet.

No escape from your harrowing failures

Until you finally learn how to hone

To turn these hardships to honours

And make these failures your own.

©Simon London 2012- Hardship to Honours

Closing The Moleskine

2026-04-17T14:22:37Z

I cease the cursive as I lay down the pen

With a quaking hand and draining ink

I stroke the page as I sense the end

At the summit of the tale, I reach the brink.

Closing the moleskine from outsiders eyes

Place it in the vault with the sparkling gold

My hidden truths weaved with your intrusive lies

My story is written but it should never be told.

A rap at the door, not one or two but three

Friend or foe you're all the bloody same to me

The fire sparks with dancing shadows along the wall

As you wait a world away across the hall.

You burst into my study with bold deliverance

Only to find my scent blowing in the breeze

Curtains flapping with the author's allegiance

The pen laughs, what was written you'll never read.