You are just a prop in this play of life. You will decay.
Your mind will rot as your thoughts turn to smoke and ash so grey.
Your teeth will grind your words to dust and forever trap them in a cave.
Your couplets and rhymes will all bleed from time, forever lost in but one somber day.
That which you wish to project yet only protect will come from another and seem but a jest.
And though hope smiles and interjects, you'll always feel that others write it best.
Feb 7, 2013
Feb 7, 2013 at 12:27 AM UTC
A thought repeated over and over in your mind. Like the old rope the manic uses time and again every other day to tie a noose with, it becomes tattered and frayed. When finally you decide to put said noose to use, it breaks and your ideals are shattered.
Feb 7, 2013
Feb 7, 2013 at 12:17 AM UTC
Beliefs are based on Faith, of which I have very little; except that for which I have in Man. The Human Spirit. If there is no Spirit then there can be no Faith. So, Faith lies within the Human Spirit without which there would be no beliefs; without which there would be no Man.
Feb 7, 2013
Feb 7, 2013 at 12:14 AM UTC
Looking up at the stars, they become obscured as the fog that is my breath floats to join the endless sky. A shadow as long as love itself, cast from a giant, tossed from the porch. The dark creature stares with pit fall eyes. With his ambiguity he says "You can reach this length and more. As love will wash over you, you shall grow. With the sky, with the stars, with the universe. with love you shall grow.
Feb 6, 2013
Feb 6, 2013 at 10:05 PM UTC
A wuthering dew drop in her eye,
Cast from a dark dawn that long since has died.
Hopelessness lost and a hope now regained,
This future of ours now has a new name.
Feb 6, 2013
Feb 6, 2013 at 9:46 PM UTC
Of all the people that pass me by
Though they are living none are alive.
And the lights that fuel this people's hopes
Have faded from their hearts and souls.
Cascading down the slippery slopes
of mountainous buildings this fading hope
Is leaving them all a noose, a rope
Disguised as something to help them cope.
Made of nylon, silk or cotton
With patterns to help us rise up from the bottom
To the very highest of all top floors
Where they confuse the ceiling with the sky and their confusion with more.
Trapped in cubicles they confuse dark with light
trapped in buildings they begin to fade from sight.
No family, no friends, only co-workers there.
Shared breaths and shared spaces. confusing ambition with care.
Feb 6, 2013
Feb 6, 2013 at 8:22 PM UTC
Mediocre metaphors pervade my writing. Making it all the more obvious how scared I am. Too scared even to reach deep within for something original. Too scared to push the limits of existence through literature. Perhaps this is it. Perhaps this rudimentary psychoanalysis is just an example of all that I have within. Others. And the love I have for them that forces me to take them inside and make parts of them exude from within me. Is it their love for me or, mine for them that keeps me alive?
Feb 6, 2013
Feb 6, 2013 at 10:44 AM UTC
I long for the uninterrupted silence of my dead-end street. The muted falling of the snow condensing the silence into an overwhelming blanket, covering my shivers. That comforting silence that only comes from being alone. Caressing and exciting my senses to heights unreachable in the company of others. but perhaps I am only romanticizing the experience so as to sooth an almost unfounded and unjustified reason to flee from the chaos that is this city. Perhaps it is not merely the silence I wish to attain and madness I wish to denounce but rather, a hunger for the safety of childhood I long to satiate having already quenched a thirst to be free and supersede reflections of adulthood.
Feb 4, 2013
Feb 4, 2013 at 12:19 AM UTC
I lie awake in somber dark.
A sigh escapes this restless heart.
A thought of love from the past
Brings a putrid smell that death holds fast.
I imagine what this love is like,
As ash entombed and out of sight.
I hurt to think of how I lied
To this this love when alive.
And strain to breath for I do not believe
His love I do justice by being me.
Feb 4, 2013
Feb 4, 2013 at 12:13 AM UTC
If ever there was a sweeter face,
Twould put these words to disgrace.
And the life they lead through pen and page,
Through mind, body and soul;
Would fall from heaven all alone cast from heaven's grace.
And though there be sweet dreams all round
And many a different sweet scrawling sound;
This pen scrawls of a Jewel.
A quite unique beautiful lover,
One for whom I'd gladly suffer until love for me shes found.
Feb 4, 2013
Feb 4, 2013 at 12:06 AM UTC