Sing to me, as I'm drifting off the sleep
Faded charts beside my feet
I don't want to die alone
Close your eyes, as my body is being lit
Buried in an iron casket
Flying too high for the embers to glow
I'm too scared to land
Please hold me by the hand
I think I am drifting away
Please hold my tight
Where I am there is no light
To comfort me as I begin to dream
And if you can't hear breathing
Don't worry about a pulse that isn't there
Don't hold on however much you care
Just don't stop singing
We can always sleep
Another day
Sing with me, I've drifted off to sleep
Name tag tied to my feet
I do not want to die alone
Sing with me
I've drifted off to sleep
And I do not want to die alone
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 8:35 PM UTC
In silence I speak, behind words I disguise
The frail beating heart of one doomed to demise
By neither wind nor rain nor fire nor ice
For who needs such flourish
When a broken soul will suffice
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 10:37 PM UTC
Come to me my wingless bird
And kiss the raindrops softly
Sing so sweet your guileless song
Which rouses me and kills me
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 10:37 PM UTC
Upon this peak I rest my limbs
Upon this earth I walk
Beneath the snow and earthen tomb
I burn within this brimstone rock
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 10:36 PM UTC
Write a poem
Simple enough
Words on paper
Grammar incomplete
Diction obsolete
How hard could it be
To be a poet
After all, it’s line after line
A few words at a time
Throw in a twist
A rhyme or a list
Of
Single
Words
See, I did it too
How hard could it be
To be a poet
And what’s that nonsense
Deep metaphors
And soul windows death doors
Throw in a few phrases
Laugh at the mazes
Of meaning and subterfuge
A Monet in The Louvre
Who can tell if you’re right or wrong
Because it’s poetry and poetry’s song
Written out in words that have barely got a beat
Kinda like Thanksgiving with only bone without the meat
How hard could it be
To be a poet
But it is hard
Because it’s not about
Rhyme or reason
There is not formula
For the words on the page
For the way the ink smudges
Or the words tend to run
The tears that paint your face
The paintbrush that paints that vase
Poetry is not so easy
It’s the mind at it’s home speaking a language of it’s own
It’s when tongue is too slow
To encumbered
To lazy
To hide the nuance in it’s niche
To hide the complexity in it’s written form
***** rhyme
**** meter
Because it’s not about the count of the syllable
The references to parable
It’s about the heart behind the head
Pushing word out of word
From the ink on the page
To the hearts of another age
So how hard is it to be a poet?
It’s easy
Write freely.
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 10:34 PM UTC
As Night I slipped in through the cool glass window
Gently planting kisses on your forehead
Your eyelids slowly falling
And your mind succumbing
To pleasured dreams of distant places
The docile drops of rain falling upon your window sill
Pitter-patter pitter-patter
The stray moonlight casting sterling glimmers on a chair once stolen
Too small for sitting
But just right for standing
Yet the sun had risen
Flooding the sky with aureate wonder
Rough and unrelenting
Ousting the drops of quiet rest
Rousing you from your tender dreams
I let myself out through the lacquered door
Keeping to the shadows which had blanketed us so closely
And as slowly my domain gave way to the radiant day
I watched as Day slipped in through the cool glass window
Gently planting kisses on your cheek
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 10:32 PM UTC
Welcome to hell, ladies and gents
We’ve got plenty of room for you
Just take a cell, we’ve got plenty in hell
A full sized bed and a five star view
Don’t worry about the cost
‘cuz we’ve abolished the rent
Just sit back, relax
We’ve got an eternity to spend
I know it’s a bit dark, you see
We’ve blown out all the lights
Sparking up the chair you’re in
To our previous guest’s delights
See these granite bricks of red
They’ve got brimstone in seams
They’re cool to touch and six feet thick
To hold in all the screams
You don’t seem to be a fan
I can’t say you’re the first
You’ll get used to it, well, soon enough
This gift, this little, secret curse
You see, you never died at all, my friend
You’re still in that white-pressed bed
All wrapped up those sheets too tight to breathe
From toe to bloodied head
Welcome to life, ladies and gent
You’re still with us at last
So take a chair and sit it down right there
We’ve got time don’t you despair
We’re gonna have a blast.
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 10:30 PM UTC
Broken doll
My broken doll
I’m not allowed another
Frayed edge faded hue
Sewing needles to mend its shoes
No matter the thread
No matter the token
My precious doll
Is always broken
Dec 26, 2013
Dec 26, 2013 at 3:20 PM UTC