Here’s a little ditty from January 1979, well, finished in January 1979 I’ve helpfully typed at the top of the page. I was in lust with a girl called Carol as I recall, I’d met Carol in 1977 and she’d had an effect on me, but I didn’t have the balls to even try to take it to the next level, whatever that is or was. I just wrote mournful poetry about the whole thing.
If I could write a poem,
I’d like to make it true.
If I could sing a love song,
I’d sing it about you.
But my words are only fantasy,
And I know that they don’t rhyme.
I’ve tried to sing my songs before,
But I sing them out of time.
Living in the open,
My life just feels run through.
My feelings always blunted,
On dreams that won’t come true.
It’s meaningless to write these words,
I know you’ll never see.
Their only worth is an escape,
From the way that you haunt me.
And you don’t even know,
That you are who you are.
I’ll never walk beside you,
Only see you from afar.
Oh to be young and foolish again?
The image below is a doodle on the back of one of my pages of poetry, I think it dates itself quite nicely as somewhere in the 1970s…