It was once nice to have a voice. To be able to articulate thoughts and feelings in an expressive and honest way. One thing we lose as we get older is that voice, that ability to think that everything we say has meaning. It is with that nostalgic wonder that I present the poems of a 19-21 year old version of myself.

My dream at that point was to become a writer, to create amazing masterpieces that would make people think or fantasy worlds that people could escape to with rich characters and epic themes that would make J. R. R. Tolkien’s worlds pale in comparison. It was a conceit, and arrogance that I had at the time and one that became replaced with a more “adult” way of thinking… whatever that truly means.

Some of the poems held within these pages are direct snapshots of events that happened in my life where as others are ideas of experiences, role-play exercises as to what it would be like to be in that situation. Others are just stories of imaginary creatures or anthropomorphised objects. When I decided to dust these off and send them out into the world I considered re-writing them and adapting them to be more of a representation of my mature writing…. But then I stopped. If I did this it wouldn’t be very honest of the work. In changing anything except some of the obvious spelling mistakes would make the pieces no longer the work of a late teen version of myself, but rather an edited version of his work.

At the time I remember feeling untouchable, unstoppable and so very confident about my work. The power of hindsight is both a blessing and a curse. While reading back over these pieces of work I often sat with my hand on the side of my face with a collection of “whaaaat…” sounds and the odd “Jeez” thrown in for good measure accompanied with a clamour of sighs, tsks, and chuckles. However, I found myself being entertained and enjoying the sometimes misguided and often arrogant version of myself. His words are a reminder of where I once existed and of every step I took forward to get to where I am now.

The original title for this volume of work at the time was Time Obsidian… it’s the last poem in the book and I am at a loss as to why I had chosen that to be the case. It was probably through some desire to be “edgy” or another similar “artistic” reason. I feel that in honour of that thought process it must stay the same, so here it is… Time Obsidian. A collection of poems from a 19-21 year old version of a middle aged man. Enjoy, and don’t forget who you once were.