| futility in my head a thousand voices in my heart a thousand heads in my ears a thousand beats to the beats to the beats to the beats to the beats we march ahead. through the tunnels in the darkness shadowed by regret and hatred we travel foot by step by crawl crawling through the tiny spaces allowing in no light at all lumbering our way through nook and cranny through the thimbles, thorns and catches we never look back behind us back to where the devils chase us back to where trepidation looms looming after and before up ahead we see a crack a splinter, a sharp, a rough of light beaming at us up to meet us on we plunge, dark becoming lightness after us the trep cowers, growing weaker and still weak as we ourselves become stronger and still strong a few more feet. now just inches, only a few steps more until the light our face embraces until our hearts the light devours, bringing to us but desolate traces of the former hidden dark our breath quickens, our beats race, race to the sun before us now hurry hurry salvation awaits us, hurry hurry before it gets swallowed into this dark like us and many travelers before reaching with child-like hands, with eager, needing, pleading hands, just to cup a bit of warmth into our cold and hardened palms, rough and callused palms reach for the light, quick and grab it, let it go and forever be encased in Hell, don't let go, keep it tight but the strain upon our fingers muscle hanging on in vain, don't let go, no not again, free the soul, but keep the light, don't let go, enprison the light to free yourself, isn't that the way it goes? prying finger off by finger, keep the strength, don't let go holding on by only four now, slowly, slowly, agonizingly slow, and yet so quick we can't respond the fourth is separated no don't let go. three are left now, not too long now not too strong now, you've just about let go down the spiral staircase made of granite tumbling into Satan's crevice, to burn only two left, we've already given up. one to go now; what's done is done now the future is past now, no going back the apocalypse is upon us now. how's it feel to be once again lost in an eternity of dark, knowing that sliver of light, hope, and heaven were once your's grasped between you sweaty fingers, but once again nevermore. |
| Hell Red as the river of life that makes its way out and through your body; That encomposes the spinning earth as it swallows the sun; That mingles with autumn's yellows and oranges, holding cocktails at a pristine party. Dark as the air around a wintry tree that scratched upon your window as a boy; As the shadow of a shadow that prances beneathe your feet at noon as it laughs; As an abandoned attic, strewn with webs of a spider's fantasy covering the milky floor. Cries of pain and misery, woe and agony whispering, screaming from all corners; Cries of anguished and tormented souls that attempt to reach you through crevices; Cries, empty voids containing lack of hope, embrace your heart, summon humanity. Red as the glint of success in an assassin's eye; Dark as the abyss of a room left untouched for centuries; Cries that demand pity, grief, and sorrow which dwell in this place - This place called Hell. |
| whyhasallthesnowmelted The clock on the wall (why'stheclockonthewall) Doesn't seem to speak anymore (whydon'tyouevercall?) It's always silent anymore (stopthesounds!please) Screaming in my head (whydon'tyougoforawalk) I can't seem to stop the screaming (apieceoflettucehasescapedfromthecountyjail) Why have my ears gone deaf? The clock doesn't talk (tictoctictoc...tic...toc...) The birds have ceased to sing (shutUPthoselousyringamadingsoutsidemywindowjustmakethem STOP) My mind has gone fuzzy (crunchysourbittersaltysmoothcoldcriminalinjustice) Sweet. Sweet sounds of the morning sparrows (outsidemywindowtheywon'tshutUPmakethemmakethemtellthemto STOP) My heart beats stutter and stop, My breathing becomes erratic, My mind begins to slow (whyhasallthesnowmeltedwhathappenedtotimwherehavemyfriendsgone STOP) And then speed, design, smoothness returns (whatamidoinghere?iwantmymommy) I love my crazy friends. (weloveyoutoo) |
| A Tree-Hugger's Epitome She walks like you; she talks like us; she works like them; she is only she. He pretends to be one of a kind but we all know the truth; he is no different. Some are; some aren't: there's really no way to tell. Unless you take the time to find out. Its very unlikely for one of our kind to exit the circle and then re-enter. We are demanding; we demand too much, but isn't that our way of life? What, after all, would you expect, from humans? What, after all, is there to want from a heartless, spineless, cruel breed of mammal? They rule the trees, using them as transportation. We use the earth's natural sources until they are unusable. They run the sea, as well as the air. They live, breathe in both mediums. We, on the other hand, pollute both. Are we suicidal? Is that our big design? Are we commiting a mass murder? Is that our place in the scheme of things? To end this world so a new one could be put in its place?? If so, I'll end it the fast and easy way. The End. |
| The Sun Does Shine As sun light begins to fade As the stars begin to shine As soon as I find you You will, you will, be mine As the sky becomes a hole A hole filled with tears The tears become you They fit so well, indeed, my dear But in the night, as darkness looms The crescent of the harvest moon Smiles in a subtle way But smiles, smiles not in day The creatures of the night awake Crawl from under dirt that caked They venture to the Unknown They venture where the wind has blown But the dirt the farmers had sown Wakes unto a new day After the stars do fade And when the sun does shine |
| Quiet Contemplations Quiet contemplations down by the old oak trees Thoughts of Halloween, bobbing for apples, As the auburn leaves ride the slight breeze And acorns are buried deep within the depths of the earth, Storage for the winter to come. Thoughts of the dying August, sleeping in its lair, Waiting for the next eleven to pass, for it to arise again, So it may again bring forth the colored trees, And the colored leaves, only to die again. Thoughts of the ruffling winds, stirring the leaves Hanging from limp branches, falling from dying trees Blowing the soft and fine hairs of the almost-grown, Just-facing-the-world offspring, going off to start families of their own. Thoughts of Christmas, soon to come, Raising the hearts and souls of the mournful, the jaded Holding sweet promises of toys and candies, and love Overflowing stockings and tumbling onto hard-wood floors. Quiet contemplations down by the old oak trees, Thoughts of what has passed, from birth to life, First entering the world anew, then leaving it, old and ready for decay. Passing through the stages gradually, first to second to third, Then finally to the last, where they breed their own, to start the cycle again. |
| Poetries |
| Blind Spot sorry about that didn�t mean to rub on you the wrong way all i wanted was to have a good time, but that�s all i was to you more time you had to spend doing something you�d rather not with someone you�d rather not be with, but i insisted, blind-sighted as i am, i didn�t see it didn�t see that you hated me didn�t see that you couldn�t take my nagging and lame jokes and all around personality didn�t see any of this coming. i apologize for all those times i called you friend, for all those times i depended on you, and asked you for advice. and i hope you�ll forgive me for leaning on you shoulder to cry � didn�t know it bothered you that much didn�t know you couldn�t stand to hear my voice; see my face; touch my skin. didn�t know any of this was coming. funny how you can go through life and not see all the people that hate you and loathe you and laugh behind your back but you helped me overcome that and thanks to you, ill see all of this coming next time. |
| Inside inside, as though of night, is black and hollow and decay death departs, but once, and then to return without delay corrupt and putrid in its innocense its wonder never ceases, and yet, to see such convelescence is a miracle beyond sad thesis. a wandering eye may come upon a horrid thing as this and with a viewing so fetid, to oblivion with but a kiss. but wrapped in a warmly coat kept from thus seeing eyes none such shall look upon in order for goodbyes. so one sees no precaution nor pays this any heed but in the darkness of the night the blackness shall leap. |
The wonderous world of everything green yellow orange and red sees naught but positive and golden feelings of the haunted dead. but haunted they are, though seemly light cheery and gay but in their minds, there dwells what man could dare not say. but to The wonderous world of everything green and bright and lovely nothing is rotten nor decayed; none things exist � as such death and poverty. |
lurking above the surface ground, wishing to be beneath the rotten and decaying lives are sadly, badly unsheathed. they cry for �SOLITUDE!�, for �REST!� for things to them not given for anything, to be alone, hell they�d take heaven. but living among the living is not how they exalt to be alone, to be alone is not their only fault. |
| To Be Alone |