God’s Bad Day
One fine, sunny and glorious day,
God smiled upon the world he had made.
“See them toil and celebrate their work.”
“Though the pain clouds the joys,” said an angel with a smirk.
To which God replied, too quietly to be heard,
“Perfect and golden being of mine,
How came you to be so terribly unkind?
God heard, with one ear, voices of heavenly choirs
That sang divinely with celestial desire,
While with the other listened to the lyres below.
That music screamed of passionate life;
God murmured to himself, “This is good; this is right.”
But frowning, he knew his role was now small.
These creatures most like him had built a wall:
They moved productively without his aid.
When finally his confused and wounded fans
Asked, “My lord, what ever is the matter?”
God sighed, closed his eyes and then replied,
“It’s just been one of those days, that’s all.”
And quietly, so as not to be heard,
“You’ll never know and you’ve never understood.”
Make-Up
I do so very much apologize for blackening your eyes,
But I could not help myself,
Could not control my fist—eh you get the gist?
And regarding that little “good-bye note” you left for me,
Well, all I have to say is that I hated you anyway.
The anger you provoke in me at times…
It’s enough to make me scream!
So I’m curious why you’re still constantly in my dreams.
I dislike the messes you leave behind,
The way you ignore the “Be kind, Please Rewind.”
The movies you watch are intellectually challenged anyhow.
You snort when you laugh.
You snore when you sleep. Your gaffes are rather embarrassing.
You drool like a puppy.
And your breath is like hot onion paste.
You washed my white skirt with red towels.
You mowed my American Beauties—you jerk!
You hate my cat, who loves everyone loveable.
Which is why I can’t figure out how, when I try to forget you,
I can’t.
In the note you left, you called me a bainsidhe,
Una bruja and likened me to Lilitu.
I’m sorry I let your fish die—but I swear my cat didn’t eat them!
So you now have pink underwear—who’s going to see ‘em?
I broke the binding of your book,
But you peeked in my diary to take a quick look.
You always told me I kick when I sleep.
Well, snoring and drooling are beneath me.
And you always say I drive like a bat out of hell.
I have a fuzz-buster.
And the movies I watch make your head hurt.
So, why am I at your door?
And why are you letting me in?
The Wanderer
I have cried with God,
I have laughed with the Devil.
I’ve heard demons comment on the beauty of angel’s wings.
I have sung with the sirens;
I have given birth and taken life away.
I have burned in Hell, and I’ve danced with angels.
I’ve seen priests go to Satan,
And I’ve seen children die to save one man.
Yet having seen all these things,
Still, somehow, there is one thing I’ll not see.
And it’s what I long most to see.
The Warrior
you’d think i was cold-hearted;
that i could walk through roses—
crush them and not feel the
thorns.
perhaps i am, at that.
what do i feel as i slaughter the
fruit of a multitude of trees, and
poison the earth from which they
grow?
nothing.
it is after the melee…
i look at the carnage,
the sheer waste—that is when i feel.
is that not the way of things?
one recognizes one’s folly, only after the deed is done.
but i’ve burned too many bridges to go back.
and that fruit shall never drop its seeds,
for it is dead, and the
earth is dead-for i have killed all.
i must wonder when i, too, died?
The Warlock
Go ahead! Bow down to your gods,
Your idols and your heroes. Pray to
Your saints, that they may save
Your soul! For all the good it will do you…
What is the point? I shall live forever—forever in myself.
I shall watch planets collide and see men die,
Yet still I will be here,
You’ve no cause to worry about that!
I shall be here,
To command the heavens;
To destroy the earth;
To…
What point is there to that?
A flower loses its beauty when one can create one’s own forest.
Why should and immortal need this power?
Go one—enjoy your weaknesses.
Rejoices in your death.
For you’ve more in a flower in this—power.
Life in the Flame
I’m burning.
I’m freezing.
I’m empty and full of hurt.
I don’t seem to care.
If I think about it,
I wish I could either freeze to death or burn—burn until there was nothing left.
It’s easier to deal with a demon
Than it is to deal with a soul-less being.
I’ve forgotten how it feels to feel something.
Anything.
Even pain.
I know there is an absence within me.
I know I need to fill it, desperately.
It’s a life or death situation.
I cannot feel it, though.
What relief it would be to feel something.
Anything.
Even pain.
That’s what it would be like—living in the flame.
The Stone Spirit
Ah…the parties and the balls (the colors, the lights)…
Yes, I remember them—but soon,
I shall forget them all.
The memory is already fading,
And all I’m left with
Are these stones, (cold and unfeeling)
Shading my view.
Few realize I’m here.
If and when they do, the run—ah! Such fun. (the only fun)
I’ve the power (power?!) to drive some away;
But none to make anyone stay.
My stone is impressive, but like me,
It is crumbling. (my fingers number 6)
There is a well before me,
But it isn’t a place I’m s’pose to be.
It’s a feeling I can’t shake,
Perpetuated by the scores who come to pick at my sores.
I want to go home, but I don’t know where home is.
Right now, it’s my stone—my crumbling self.
That’s home.
To God
When I beg forgiveness, do I mean it?
When I pray, am I sincere?
Is your book only of scholarly interest to me?
When I look to the Heavens, what do I see?
Am I in hell, or is this purgatory?
Why am I terrified, but indifferent?
Do you like me? Have I turned out ok?
Why are your laws so hard to defend?
Why do animals not have souls?
Am I an animal?
Is the sun a star?
Why is there a winter?
Why do women go thru hell every month?
Why are men so crass?
Are women inferior to men?
Who wrote the Bible?
Do you exist?
Solitaire
Sitting by the fire,
Thoughtfully reading a book:
An expulsion of laughter at a particularly comical line.
Turn to you, seeking to share this bit of a joke.
You laugh, what else can you do?
Delighted to have this moment,
This same thought, sighing once it has passed
And we return to our own worlds.
Standing behind you,
Sipping a glass of sherry.
Looking at you;
Loving you;
Not knowing you.
So far away, yet here all the same.
You’re reading your book:
It must be good, for you laugh suddenly.
You read the line aloud.
The barriers break momentarily.
Perception dawns.
Understanding sparks between us, however brief.
Sighing now, as the moment fades and
We return to our own worlds.
Memoirs of Captain Hook
Tick-tock, tick-tock
Sings the clock upon the wall;
And down below, ‘neath
The dark and dreary depths
Lurks the one, the one who patiently awaits my fall.
Tick-tock, tick-tock
Taunt the chimes within my head.
I shall not rest before that beast is dead.
Look: high above, soaring in the sky;
I must confess the mere sight of him
Makes my bones go cold,
My mouth run dry—
He who caused my waters to drain;
He who cast this eternal stain upon me.
My lust for vengeance will soon be satisfied,
As the dawn breaks and
That creature is carried on the morning tide.
It will not be mine whose hide he takes,
But that of Pan—
Who plays my game and sets dangerous stakes.
Until the morrow…
The Edge
standing on the edge
looking at the world below
waiting for that little spurt of courage
wondering what it would be like to step off the edge
the freedom
the joy
losing myself in the lack of constraint
the sorrow
the regret
the eternal scar upon my consciousness
standing on the edge
contemplating a leap beyond my faith
seeing libra in the sky
staring into the night
its boundless wonder
i could feel like that
one step
one step is all it takes
On Succumbing to the Oldest Trend
Not another love poem!
Sappy, rhyming piece of shit…