Platonic Poetry
These are a few poems I've written that don't deal with love, bitterness, etc. etc. etc. These are arranged by approximate chronological order. You will notice I have ALOT more bitter and other poems ;)
I walked alone, in the night.
So far from love and things of light.
And I thought of things to be.
I thought of darkness, eternal, true.
I thought of life from another's view.
I thought of death, dust, and decay.
Then I went and got ready for another day :)
Today I saw a sleeping cat.
She looked content, curled up, at ease,
curled up upon the welcome mat;
She wasn't bothered by the fleas.
She purred and purred, content she slept.
Dreaming that a meal would show.
(Her dinner dates she always kept,
althought to baths she's mighty slow ;)
A sumbeam danced across her chest
she didn't move, she might be dead!
Oh my cat, to heaven you're blest.
But wait--a leaf lands on her head.
She shakes it off, I no longer fret.
I guess my cat a'int quite dead yet!
Note: This particular poem was written as an extra-credit assignment, so forgive the horrifically uninspired-ness of it :-P
Who is it??? (AKA "let me go puke in a bucket now" ;)
Poem has been removed due to the fact that I have now stopped smoking crack.
A soft petal droops
in the deepening twilight.
The chirp of cicadas
welcomes in the night.
The streetlights shine,
and fireflies as well.
The night is lit like day,
though the dark curtain fell.
I wish to escape
this unnatural glare
of artificial light,
the forest of flares.
Into the woods?
Too dense and too deep.
Although the night calls me,
my bed calls to sleep.
The Demise of a no-longer Pocahontas
They have gone ahead, leaving me to pick my uneasy way.
Slip on the rock, smooth as silk but not as soft,
Water rushing by has swept my feet,
further downstream from the rest of me.
Cold water, making its quicksilver way around my skin.
I hear its rushing in my ears as I feel unyielding rock hit my skull.
Stunned, I slip out of my consciousness.
I don't know the feel of Oblivion.
I would see my life flow out with the cool water,
if I were awake.
See its disappearance, like my feet, downstream.
leaving only a thin blurry line to follow, no more.
Feel my lungs slowly filling with water,
working still for their own demise.
Feel the cool water close over my head, over my half-open eyes,
My hair swirling in little dancing whirlpools of water.
Pocahontas would not be lying here, her life going downstream.
But I am not she, not anymore.
If I were awake, I might wonder, with the last of my dying mind,
if they would miss me, but I am not awake, so I don't care.
