You're mysterious in the way that makes me want to open you up like a book and read your pages from start to finish but I can't because you are so high up on the shelf that I cannot reach you.
You sit up on the shelf collecting dust trying to protect yourself from the people who will rip out your pages or bend your cover.
Oh, how I wish I could climb up the shelf and take you down and have you tell me your story.
Maybe one day I'll finally be able to climb and reach out to you, but for now, you're just the book I have yet to read and you're on my list.
Late at night, the mysterious owl comes out to play,
never to be seen during the day.
While he wanders around at night,
he will never see the beauty of the light
and how the sun shines so bright.
So he decides to sleep tonight
and when he wakes up tomorrow morning,
he will see what heaven looks like.
This could have been a poem about hope; pigeon
Hoping that she would text first, or catch me looking at her
This could have been a poem about passion; fire
Holding her waist, as my lips touched hers
this could have been a poem about love; heart
Taking a longer route to school just because you wanted see her earlier every morning
This could have been a poem about finding reasons, to hold on during tough times
but it is not
there is no reason to hold on
because the love is gone.
Oh mysterious person
I do not know you
But you came wanting help
I do not know you
But I will try my hardest to get you through
This is a confession, of how depression, lead me to self-destruction
I have done things I am not proud of
Now the reason seems senseless but the whispers in my head gets louder
Urges to try it, one-more-time
And I am taking about real shit - stuff that gets you real quick
My intoxication has made me bold, but not foolish
It has induced me to talk about my past mistakes, but not repeat them
Has it made me a better or a changed person? I do not know
It has, however, made me realize the insignificance of things I thought as the most crucial
I might even quit.
The street was dark and so too were my eyes
I walked down the cobble under darkened skies
I walked down the stone, ankle breakers sets
Gamblers in the alleys watching on, making bets
The buildings stand guard on the night for their lords
keeping them safe, open their mouths; in filth pours
Light poles, with dim candles, give hope for safe journey
Dark alley ways steal eyes, make nervous muscles in our sides
Window light, guardian ports, fly catchers, laundry holes
Shines on the street, waiting for me, with it meet
Footsteps creep around edges avoiding sight
But it’s easy to see, all this going on in the night
Out of law exchangers making changes in pocket stuff
50 for the things, that make pigs squeal, illegal deal
Children's eyes are shut, in bed, not here with us
Tucked in warm and tight, not here with the people of the night
Street sweepers weep, we drink, bottles broken at our feet
Bar tab one too many, stumble, mumble, home on the street
Pickpockets delight, puts up no fight, pockets empty when drunk
Bourgeoisie snobs make prison demands! Lock them away tight!
The street, is dirty, I know, I do
But this is o.k, with wary watch
In the absence of the light
Come the People of the night