If God was Real,
Why would he make me feel,
That no matter how much I kneel,
Nothing ever feels real.
If God was Real,
Why would he try to conceal,
His love in a golden seal,
And makes life feel like a spinning wheel.
If God was Real,
Why does he feel like an Achilles heel,
Making it hard
To live in this ordeal.
So why God,
If you are real,
Make humanity under one's heel.
May 7, 2016
May 7, 2016 at 7:05 AM UTC
In fairytales and fantasies,
My parents would always say,
That a Magician so talented,
Would someday find his way.
And what way should he seek?
In fields of dust and harrowed meek,
And in his path he should depart,
Into my beating heart.
But he is a Magician after all,
A bewitcher, a deceiver, a devil at the ball.
Who tricked and hoaxed me,
By the time of nightfall.
So curse you Magician,
And the lies you have said,
After all your trickery,
Was that you never cared.
J.F.B
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 6:50 PM UTC
Nothing is more dangerous,
Than a woman scorn,
Equipped with a bow and arrow,
Shooting at a man naked as the day he was born.
So be afraid little men,
Or you won't see the light again.
Treat a woman as your equal,
And your life will be peaceful.
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 1:08 PM UTC
At Fuller's emporium of whiskers and wine,
As matches are struck on the no smoking sign.
Mr Terry Fuller, of reddened face refined,
Regiments and orders his elbows aligned;
With stories of rumour, football, *******
Thieves, my boy and across Texas by trucking.
He loudly regales to the spirits of faces,
"Me and my boy have been to some places, we've seen some girls, he gave em' rub,
As I was too busy running the pub."
Howling as they're told, sighing in ease,
Mr Daniels accusing "who's round is it please?"
When shadowed in doorway, tip-toes, a pale boy.
Stringy, svelte and painfully coy.
Debate is lulled, as men catch scent.
"Don't come in here boy, or your money'll be spent."
Roaring,rumbling, the boy unsettled in mirth.
"He can't buy any beer, he's only just had his birth."
Half-pint of breath, the boy stammers to say.
"I just was curious, i mean, I ask, if I may-"
A bellowing fanfare, "Speak up or go away!"
"I just wanted to know what you do with your day?"
Mr Fuller, heaving his pink smirking bulk, anchored by his drink.
"We work, we go home and we pub till we sink."
Troughs raised in toast, raining down on bald heads.
As the boy puzzling thinks what the bulbous man said.
"Then tomorrow" yelped the youth.
"What do you do after that?"
"More of the same, till God's on the mat!."
Throned by grey faces, blanketed in smoke,
As the toothless, eggs titter at the nonsensical joke.
Raising a tiny limb, "So this happens everyday?"
Mr Fuller rubbed his hands, "I wouldn't have it another way."
The alphas puffing , guffawing, dribbling beer down chins. And for blood-vesseled faces another story begins.
As the silhouetted boy under a veil of tears, whispers "I'm so sorry" and leaves.
In Fuller's emporium a silence ensued,
The sound sat between them and quietly chewed.
Every brow furrowed, as the beer didn't flow.
A quiet conclusion.
"The youth of today what do they know!"
JWS
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 12:58 PM UTC
#*Feasting table under a shading tree
Swaddling robe that warmly cleans
Mirror beautifying while it reflects
Sword that pierces yet never rejects
Light penetrating the blackest hole
Water filling and healing the soul*#
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 7:08 AM UTC
A row of cords on a glistening guitar layed side by side, new and untouched. A new world they seemed to share as they dwelled together in content.
When lean fingers struck them, they played a beautiful melody that nothing could compare to the harmonies that they sung.
They heard the voices sing as they played and they danced along the roaring flames of light tunes. They shared together seas of memories as the clock ticked by until...until it went aray.
Amongst the wires of iron one was there no longer, space taking it's place.
No more did the cords play melodies, harmonies or artistary. They stayed quite, droplets of sorrow slid down the oak base of their home.
But one day...one day the space was no longer empty, but instead another untainted wire stood firm.
However even though the missing cord was replaced, nothing could fill the empty spaces in their hearts.
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 3:00 PM UTC
Her Masterpiece Is Her Story
Her paintbrush is a razor,
Her canvas, her wrists,
"I deserve the pain."
She shrugs and insists.
One day the brush will push down,
And it will cut so deep,
That this girl will fall
into an eternal sleep.
She doesn't remember how she started
What brought her interest to this,
How do you discover,
that cutting is your form of bliss?
No one would have guessed that she does it.
No one would have considered this one.
This girl is forever fighting a battle,
that she thinks the demons have won.
Her artwork is all over her,
Her beauty is on her thighs,
and if you look in her old trash,
you'll find her letters of goodbye.
Her masterpiece is quite disturbing,
Her masterpiece is a little gory,
Her artwork is her escape.
Let me tell you her story.
She compares herself to every person,
She is compared to each girl.
She thinks she's hideous,
And there's this boy that is her world.
She was bullied and picked on,
She was teased from head to toe,
Hard to believe that her best friend,
was her one and only foe.
Then later she disliked every little thing,
Her body, face and even her mind,
Soon she saw she was a failure,
and it was just in due time...
That this girl couldn't take it anymore
She'd decided she was done living this,
So one day she went home
and decided to end it.
Everyday for multiple days,
This girl would try to drown,
Hard to believe this girl at school,
never ever wore a frown.
Sometimes she'd just fall asleep crying,
Praying that she'd be enough,
Because she didn't want to leave her family.
She knew about their sweet love.
This girl found hope in small things eventually,
She soon would see this beautiful light,
and find a REAL best friend,
that helped her put up a fight.
Her masterpiece soon was leaving,
Her artwork was almost faded,
and it gave her a sick feeling,
the feeling of being jaded.
She found a boy that actually loved her,
And showed her love exists,
And this boy too had a masterpiece,
placed close to his wrists.
He related to her and she related to him.
She kissed his artwork and said he's not alone,
When she cut herself it hurt him,
Her masterpiece now wasn't just her own.
Her masterpiece effected others,
Her artwork wasn't just for herself,
She now had people,
who saw her cries for help.
And then her family found out,
So then they saw the art too,
to them they were just scars,
To her they were the truth.
She's trying to be okay now,
She thinks she might survive,
Even though they didn't think
to take away the knives.
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 2:47 PM UTC