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  • Writer's picturePoetryzine

Rhys Campbell: “Through the Threads of Reality” and other poems

Poetryzine magazine presents the selected poems by the Welsh poet Rhys Campbell



Calling time


She’s not afraid of the dark,

only the darkness that descends when the sun sets,

it brings back the memories

of the lonely nights

that followed painful days

when everything felt like the end of the world.


She has lived through enough personal apocalypses

to know that death doesn’t come so easily,

it strikes mercilessly

evading those who beg for it to come.


The innocence of youth

was taken from her

when trauma sculpted her place in the world.

Her sugar-coated view

was soured by the bitter breath of her drunk father;

the kisses he’d plant

once in a blue moon were as stale as his odour

that always choked her

as she held back the tears

that her mum would never see anyway

her blind eye conveniently fell on the abuse

that would eventually become history

but it was always the same story,

just with different faces.


No one gets to walk through life unscarred

but some people have enough crosses to bear,

it would break the backs of most,

yet, they still hold their heads high,

they hide the emptiness,

and learn to live under cloak and dagger

to avoid those pitying stares.


In reality, you’ll never know who is close to breaking

you’ll never know when things are cutting too close to the bone.

For her, there was never any hiding from the lacerations

that seemed to seek out marrow;

even in a crowded room

her mind was a clamouring riot,

synapses firing in all directions

but none of it seemed to be friendly fire.

The warfare exhausted her,

her cheek never seemed far from the pillow

as the weeks passed and she withered.


The happy pills still left her scratching for serotonin

as she went about her days

that never left her fulfilled,

she’d dread the red letters being pushed through the door

she’d dread her kids reaching for sweets in the supermarket.


Her kids had to learn a thing or two about sacrifice

yet their bonds grew stronger

as the wounds on her wrist got deeper

until they told her

that she had to think bigger

than just scratching at the surface of her skin with metal

to feel something within her control.


One day, the light switched on behind her eyes

as she realised, depression isn’t a nemesis

it is a companion,

a memento of past pain

reminding you of how strong you are

to put one foot in front of the other

when you never wanted to pick yourself up off the floor.


Her scars became reminders

that she deserved pleasure

more than pain,

looking at her past showed her

that it didn’t have to repeat.


She could resent her past

but that would mean resenting the strength that she has become

she could carry the pity,

knowing that if she didn’t help herself, no one would,

but in the end,

it doesn’t matter what you’ve been through,

you’re walking into your future,

not backwards into your past;

there is a reason why tomorrow isn’t called yesterday.


You don’t need your abuser’s compassion and permission

to be happy, you’ll never get it from them,

you need to give it to yourself.

Time will only heal,

if you let it.




Breathe


This poem is dedicated to me.

It is my path to a brighter perspective.

Meander down it with me,

feel each step release you from what you were

as you start to see another way to be.


Welcome to the new earth.

Everyone eats for free,

No one asks you for conformity

only authenticity without uniform.


This road will teach you

that trying to be normal is trying to fit into a mould of perfection

no one has ever been able to achieve.

Fallen icons are just as infallible as the rest of us.

Just look at Bowie and his drug dependency

how is he any different from the residents of LA’s tent city?

He was a star, shining in the spotlight;

in the dark, he wrestled with psychosis.

What hope does the rest of us have in this world of obscurity and

expectation?


Our values are invalid

societal demands are unwarranted.

Stop denying your true nature

set fire to the facades

find no apology in your expression.

Find the humour in seriousness

laugh through the smoke

as constructs crumble around you

and those who don’t share your vision scream

through fear of losing the system

after they’ve invested in it for so long.


It takes courage

to stay true to the world;

this complex phenomenon

loosely defined by time and space.

Grace will get you there,

canter at your own pace.


You can’t change the nature of humanity single-handedly;

you’ll need to accept the monkey-see-monkey-do mentality,

in this fish eat fish town.

Savages walk amongst us;

you don’t need to fall in line with them

or allow them to consume your time.

Look for the positivity amidst the chaos in society that influences us to

be worthless.

The truth is that we are worthy.

We’re all learning lessons,

moving as meditative regressions,

we're the result of endless timelines ventures.


Find your centre. Find your place. Find your worth.

Don’t look to pre-existing values

and the insecurities that bleed through the cracks of our society

look to your soul to tell you what you need.

Most of the time, you’ll find that you simply need to breathe.




Through the Threads of Reality


I am grateful for the day, mostly.

But sometimes,

A discontented haze glazes appreciation for life,

For the clockwork hum of functioning anatomy,

or the birds singing chorally

and allowing us to enjoy their melodies.


Some days, it's easy to forget.

It's easy to drown out the sound,

let something else consume us instead,

leave blinkers on red

before apathetically resigning to our pillow

and whispering to it our melancholy.

Some carry their past as a dead weight,

making it harder for them to cross the finish line

for the races, we start and finish every day.

I harness mine as protection,

a key to the future

where all that matters is the present.

Every day is a journey,

so I pack my bags ready for what happens next.

I make my travel guide

by formulating the ways

I can purge my mind

of the burdens which relentlessly scratch away at the base of my skull.

I still hear the echoes of idyllic idioms which are never grounded in

reality.

"Time will tell…"

"Time is the greatest healer…"

Imagine, if we were taught what freedom tastes like.

Imagine, the sticky-sweet nectar of mental liberation

being dripped onto your tongue,

allowing you to savour how it feels to be free

from insecurity,

anxiety,

and panic attacks which rip the ground from beneath our feet,

draw sensation from our lips,

makes our rhythmic pulses feel like lacerating stings.

My afflictions aren't my enemies.

I wear them with no hostility, knowing I can take them off

with wishful thinking,

and relinquishing the sinking feelings

which pull me down when I entertain the idea

I need to be punished for being human.

There were days when I was afraid of the sun

and the rays which illuminate everything I didn't want to see,

there were days when the only safe place was the space in my dreams

where I could run free and explore new realities under my orchestration.


Now, I embrace any effervescence the sky throws my way,

I pull it towards me and live fully

with my open eyes and open mind opening up new possibilities,

every day is a new premiere

and everyone has an invitation to the theatre.

The ticket is my smile,

the price is peace.

I seek to spread addiction to being inspired,

instead of what will make you numb and wired.

My work started with me,

but it will end by showing the world we're all one.

If you take my view,

you'll see what I see

and it's so beautiful to see the delicacy of our temporary existence,

and our impermanent nature laced with humility and compassion.

My work is for unity, one destiny. All in harmony.

Peace has been there all along

hiding in the shadow of materialism and conformity.

Social constructions attempted to mould us,

but let's shatter them to dust

with the pride in our uniqueness,

and understanding of the purity in individual presence.

Let your dreams carry you,

be whatever awakens you.




*Rhys Campbell is a Welsh poet. He typically conveys his poetry within the verbalised art form that is spoken word. You can find his work under the name RIS, usually complemented with ambient instrumentals to further ensure the impact of the narratives illustrated. He is also in the process of completing his first poetry book, so keep your eyes peeled.


Instagram: @rhysc.ampbell






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