| Poetry |
| Here you will find poetry from people in the perth area. If you would like any of your own poetry posted, just e-mail it with your name or anonomously to [email protected] and I will be glad to post it. |
| The sands of time are flowing through this houre glass, but so many just pass upon the lessons that they've learnt in the past. This life is like a cycle, I must overstand the wheel or else I might as well be dead, no new perceptions to reveal. Since the begining of time they've been concealed, so how can I stay real and spread a message that the she people can feel. Cuz it's the truths they try to murder and the truths I need to heal, as I appeal to the masses, from the up to lower classes, on how we're living wrong and how to get some better glasses. You see, the time is passing, I turn to god when I'm asking for help, since it's the era of stealth and devils bleed deception green, while others focus on their cheese, I'll have sailed the seven seas, focus on my degrees and earn a PhD, hell I know it can't be easy, but it's what I perceive about my future. I'll die old and know as a prophet knowledge searcher. To those, who care, this life's not fair, so why are we driving it impaired? I'm talking to my peers about the lost years they can't get back. All they think about is partying and how to get the money stacks. Just relax, and try to find your own facts about the past and present, straight study your lessons and never stop asking fquestions.. It's all a test to be the best amidst this quest for cash and power, keep it fresh and it could never turn sour. My enemies I'll devour, because they can't see straight, all their intentions based upon fear and hate. So in order to be greatjust gotta follow my fate, or else for me the sands of time will be 2 minutes too late. By James Ashton |
| Listen to your heart, For help along the way, Unbiased in its motives, It has so much to say, The only part of you, That knows just what you want, So rarely do we follow, The motives of our heart, Pure light untainted, The voice is soft but there, Forgive its past mistakes, And listen now with care |
| Release By Shayna Fox Lee When you happened upon me; I was bitter black cherry My hope was purple lustrife, Dried marshland I had been prized possession Tiny oracle, good little housewife An investment for so long. I had been drunk in the rain Nearsighted fugitive, Robound soaring, concubine Tiny demon, foolish girl; I was a living innuendo, Packaged and begging to go for too long. When you happened upon me I was statue of iron. Expert welding, hollow. I was clay, crumbling in the harsh daylight. I was hiding in the pigeon hole. Standing where the shawdows fall, Laughing while the fire died; And then you happened upon me. I am a sunflower in your open hand. There are bells around my himp, and ankles; Tangled in my hair like rubies. I am a whisper, a promise; the deep bear of a drum. I am heat rising, a vision on the stairs, an electric blue orchid. I am devotion signing softly, expressive in the garden. I'm all eyes, telling secrets. Tender hands in gentle exploration. I am seductress under the stars, priestrss of the sun god. I am stepping into the ocean; into the sky, into passion. I am a lover in the evening, I am a little bronze goddess, an artist at the pallette; Lazy philosopher, easy composer. A maiden in a meadow and a vixen in the closet. A gypsy, a phoenix, a sphinx; the emerald in your pocket. I am alive. |