In your wrinkles lies the wisdom that I continuously seek
too eager to wait for my own, into my future I attempt to peek
but it is through rose-tinted glasses, shattered by visions of war
that I understand my world filled paradoxically with blood, love, and gore.
Letting the words pour forth, I forget what I am trying to say
all I can remember is the hope that I hold for some better days,
not just for me and mine but this entire global community
that stumbles over politic and collapses in economic unity.
When will the giant be humbled upon desolate shores?
Surely it won't take the deaths of too many more...
Soldiers of fortune?
No, Soldiers of Deceit -- victims of their leaders own bigoted conceit.
Bloated and forsaken are the children of opportunity,
praying for sustainability, locked in obscurity.
I know no truth which has never been known before...
but God, bless all the ageless that wear their wrinkles as a crown of thorns.
Jul 5, 2010
Jul 5, 2010 at 8:16 AM UTC
Spiders sprinkling down a crooked spine
Can you hear the whine of a brain stem dying
One hundred and eighty days of pain
have metamorphosed this corpse into something deranged
mangled and tangled in webs of perception
razor-sharp enough to cut straight through the gut's deception
and when the vile heart succeeds in silencing the eyeballs
emptying the sockets of life-long pitfalls
maybe the spine-spiders will finally commence to release
the good soul that remains trapped inside this tree.
Grow tree, grow, for you are all I have ever known,
If it weren't for your protective shade, who knows where I'd have been blown.
You may be covered in cobwebs and leaves long decayed,
but I'll keep my promise to save you someday.
You may not grow to be the big oak of which you dream,
perhaps you will end up as kindling in the fiery gleam
of a thousand spiders cremating in my hearth
as I look on, a corpse consumed by an angry spark.
Lovingly your ashes will be placed
beside the oldest river, the one you once graced.
There will be no more spidery-spinal veins
to screech and rattle and bring about the worst pain.
Changelessness is not a virtue, a concept you most despised,
in the spidery spinal tree's search for life of a better kind.
Jul 5, 2010
Jul 5, 2010 at 8:14 AM UTC
I would feel guilty for missing you
wishing you well
but the years have climbed upon my back
and there are startling new facts
Some things you just can't fix
even if you try forever
we must keep walking the other way
careful not to slip into yesterday
Ordinarily I would try to talk to you
to try to find a reason why
you would pop in my head
just before the sanctity of bed
but this time I know how to walk away
take the time to say
I miss and love you
But we're through
Made too many mistakes labeled 'You.'
Ordinarily I would have nightmares
centered around vexed memories
Shed a tear mid-make believe
But this time I see
Our roads aren't converging
I see
Our time is submerging
I see
Another trying to make themselves feel better.
Ordinarily you would reproduce it to the letter
But we're through
and I'm better far away from you
I just don't seem to understand
why you must be so underhandedly cruel
I am glad it's not for me to figure out
I wish all the luck free from doubt
in finding your answers
But don't come down on me
I'm not responsible for your drinking
or popping pills behind our backs
It takes one to be sober
and another one to pick up the slack
Jul 5, 2010
Jul 5, 2010 at 8:13 AM UTC
you stand in the street waiting for your confidence
It's all in your mind, the dankness and the fight
wish you'd have stayed silent and in the right
it broke you apart and you suddenly became a sore sight
All men to their battle stations
we've got ourselves a little situation
despite our most elaborate walls constructed to keep it out
Doubt has found a loop hole and stole what it's all about
I tried to drink the pride of an innocent that died
that night you gave up your independence
And now you're aggravated by anything that shines
Well I can carry you till the end of this gravel road
leading to our humble abode
But you've got to invent a new way to travel
something that your footsteps won't unravel
solid ground seems impossible until your pace is slowed
and sometimes I wish it didn't ever show
We drank the pride of the innocence that prematurely died
with hopes of losing our crooked stride
but with incredible gravity our atmosphere was denied
Jul 5, 2010
Jul 5, 2010 at 8:11 AM UTC
I hung you like a lantern in my dark cave
worshipped at your feet but made you my slave
sterilized my heart inside an old autoclave
and tattooed my soul so I would become brave
tried to teach the teacher about genuine apology
attempted to outrun the runner with finicky philosphy
glued the pieces together to make a seamless epiphany
and ended up laughing at myself amidst the general cacophony
I created this mess when I was not at my best
and instead of looking to you now I see right through you
nightmares of yoy dying have turned to desires that leave me crying
I pray that the Rapture may come to steal you away or take me from
the past at last is gone.
I walked the rockiest path that I could find
in an effort to toughen my soles and strengthen my mind
I kept my eyes peeled in case I found a sign
that with eyes wide open I had not been rendered blind
When I reached a plateau I thought of resting
but when you stay long enough you start to think of nesting
watching the birds overhead reminded me of cresting
no rest for the weary testers during testing
Jul 4, 2010
Jul 4, 2010 at 10:18 AM UTC
you were my everything
my mind my heart my life spring
i tried i tried to protect you from
the truth the hurt the smoking gun
then i grew up and saw your finger
pulling the trigger
bringing death that lingers
real mothers don't do that
you can never go back
and I'm sorry for you.
the smoke the lies the hazel eyes
held me down with your disguise
you held my everything
my mind my heart my life spring
like a contaminated water supply
broke my back by and by
hauling your burden piled to the sky
telling me to go ahead and cry
real mothers don't do that
love you with a razorblade blood black
and I'm sorry.
take your thorns petals frayed
I'm not yours to throw away
I hope you feel the way i do
I hope you give yourself up too
and it's never felt so good
bird flies like it thought it could
real mothers don't do that
false remorse after the fact
you must be sorry...
I would if I were you.
Jul 4, 2010
Jul 4, 2010 at 9:57 AM UTC