POETRY BY ROBIN WHITEHEAD

Robin Whitehead is an old-fashioned man from an old-fashioned family of eccentrics. He has written poems and stories as far back as he can remember lifting a pen and drew his inspiration from his late father, who also scribbled down everything that came into his head. He dedicates his work to his family, who remain a constant source of encouragement and creativity, despite being all quite mad.
REBOOT
Walking dusty streets filled with ghosts
I tried to remember what I liked the most
Forgotten names on shop doors
Worn out steps and cracked floor tiles
All the while this eerie silence
The world has gone
But not through violence as many thought
They just forgot how to live
Spent their lives in wireless video
Lands far away in someone else's imagination
No immigration or rule of law
A world outside their tormented existence
And as the distance took their souls
Governments rose and fell like leaves in autumn
No more control
No soldiers or police
Just clammy fingers on touch-screens
Soon they forgot how to feed
Forgotten their jobs
Forgot how to breed
Animal instinct replaced with a fob
All hail our digital god
Nobody knew the end when it came
How many had died or if any remained
Now I walk these streets with a backpack in hand
Looking for answers in this analogue land
ACCUSED
Within the realms of impending doom
The vultures gather for a feast
The freak lies vulnerable
Watching them circle
Waiting for the inevitable
Words peck flesh from bone
Surrounded by tainted mirrors
Only the cracks bleed truth
Starved of youth he struggles
Breath taken
Mind shaken
He doubts all
Even himself
Oh, to gather dust upon a shelf
Watching the world through a window
No need for stealth
He regretted this life so many times
But not under a floodlight
Drowning in lies
He is dust
Swept under the carpet
Awkward glances and distant whispers
Once equal
Now debated
A slow death from a subtle snake
BREAKING POINT
Within those eyes I see a struggle
Huddling up to your pillow every night
Fear
Doubt
Confusion
Conclusions twist and warp with every thought
Processed deep inside a truly troubled mind
Reality becomes the gravity you unwillingly defy
Would it not be easier to die?
One of many intangible scenarios
Only because you know
You would buckle at the inevitable end
This I know
If we do not bend with life
We are destined to break
Teach yourself to bend
It is never too late
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