I wish I had a thousand eyes
to watch you under burning skies
fear and despair over what's next
before I drag you to my nest
Like a drugShe writes to stop the cravings.
An itch she can't find to scratch-
It's a tugging on her heartstrings.
The voices inside her head
She has been quiet for too long!
The slithering snakes in her abdomen
demand her thoughts be written.
Crawling up along her ribcage,
They coil around her lungs.
Angry fangs slash at her insides
until their venom leaks
from out her veins
and through her pen.
it's not just the leaveslast autumn i spent an entire afternoon
on my back in the grass waiting for a falling
leaf to drift downwards into my open palm.
i was convinced that there was something
special about being the first to hold on to
something that had never touched the ground.
i pulled my eyes shut and tried to make a wish
but when i opened them it was spring again and
i had forgotten how to believe in something that
was heading towards the ground anyway.
questions to a fool.he sits in his house of ignorance,
the solutions darting between (want) and [need].
unhappiness his only friend, she
spites his affections, flits between
men who won't stick around past the night.
why do you hold on?
well, why do you?
you know you'll never
hold her, peel back the layers
as a man, as she a woman.
ugly little black sheep, you
never really fit into the mold, did you?
maybe she made you feel special
maybe you were even equals
but that amounts to nothing
so, my question for you,
dear sir, still stands.
(she's not that special)
will you continue to stand in the dark,
or will you inch towards the light?
soft skin against wrinkled skin-
It was late. At this period of spring the sun started to take its time to go down, as lazy as the poor souls its first warm rays lashed.
Despite the chandelier on the table, his old eyes couldn't read any longer; Thomas carefully placed a paper between the pages and put down the book on his lap where a blanket already rested. It had become a habit -almost a routine- for years to end the day on the terrace behind the house, just a few steps from the open door, a pipe occasionally between his lips.
Two hands marked by the years took his glasses from his aquiline nose, 3 or 4 grey hairs caught in the metallic arms.
Head against the back of the chair, he closed his eyes, nothing to listen but the wind of May on the grass and the subtle but regular beating of his heart.
The sky was clear tonight ; tomorrow will be fresh.
"I like what you did with the house…"
"Of course there are some colors on some curtains that I wouldn't have chosen but… as a whole, I really like it."
The monsters take overDo you know how many nights I prayed,
For these nightmares to go away
Every time I screamed,
For every time I dreamed
The monsters awoke and I knew I was doomed,
The monsters arose and demons too
To stab me in the back
The monsters have taken,
Every thing I have forsaken
I have dreamed of a better place,
And then I see it, the monsters' face
Your god never helped me,
Why can't you see?
It tears me apart,
They have no soul, no heart
Your god was never there,
As I feel the tear
The tear, the shatter of my heart,
God and me, we are so far apart
The monsters have come again,
Are they even sin?
I have prayed so many nights,
For this to finally to be all right.
cause and effect.maybe not so much the correlation between what
actions one takes, what words one says,
but the outcome.
teenagers always say, they always do, that
"I can handle it, I can
escape this, I can overcome and
be invincible, because I am me, and we are young."
they won't be the ones to
perish, they'll live on
through eternity, they can
chase the beasts of life and still live another day.
but when the blood is splattered on the
windshield, the body limp in a bag too big,
with a little girl in a cell too small and
a dream too shattered to ever recoveris it our fault?
or are we simply human, not seeing
past the bends and twists of time,
thriving only at that specific moment?
i saw my friend in a body bag today.
i saw her weep, scream to the world that all she wanted
was another chance.
life is only what we make of it. i
can tell you all what is wrong, to my standards,
what is right, what is foolish.
but what happens is all up to you.
you are the cause, i am simply an effect.
I am a PoetA quiet voice among the rest,
trying not to be a pest.
Afraid of what my voice wants to say aloud.
My mind is hidden in a dark shroud.
I see a maze in everyone's mind.
They're all searching for a goal they can not find.
I am a poet, a voice unheard,
traveling through life, word by word.
Things You Hear Near A WriterThings You Hear Sitting Next to a Writer
An Onomatopoeia Poem
Click click Clickclickclickclick.
Deadly AdmirationHe stands there,
Merely relaxed as
His long fingers
Gently grip the brittle
Stem of the glass.
His eyes sparkles
Whilst in the company
Of good friends.
Humour, he charms them
With no such effort.
A man of confidence,
So sure of his status
Is what attracts me.
Little does he know
He shall meet his end
By my crafty hand.
MasksWhen a smile is a frown
And a frown is a smile,
The eyes we must crown
For relinquishing wile,
When a laugh is a tear
And a tear holds no pain,
Will fear fear to fear
And fearfully abstain?
When the act is the truth
We've lied to believe,
And the fable in sooth
Is but a peerless weave,
When each mortal mistake
Is a tale and a song
And the scriptures are fake
Or perhaps they're wrong,
When the mind is the eye
That sees the outside
But shame, it's too shy
Of the tongue which has lied,
When the answers are easy
To the questions unknown,
Do you not feel queasy
Of how little we've grown?
When acceptance is feigning
For it keeps us alive
Like sunshine to greenlife
On deceit we thrive,
When certainty is in doubt
And fiction is a fact,
The truth may come out
But is it ever intact?
When can mere candor
Hold its frail fort,
When all this slander
Plays such a good sport,
When can we speak without a plan
And in our authenticity bask,
When the mask becomes the man?
Or when the man becom