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Andrew Orr Sep 2011
It is night
And storms continually roar
In the land of dreams
Like long lost melodies
Like the butterfly that clings,
A little gift from Mourning Land
Blank misgivings of a creature
Moving about in worlds not realized.

It is night
And Time is flowing
All things are moving to a day
Of gloom
Clad in robes of sorrow

A rapid ghastly river of Woe
Moving through the pallid door
Discordant melodies mixed
With ethereal dances
Time is ever flowing
And the illness called "Living"
is conquered at last.
A poem written when I was depressed.
Andrew Orr Sep 2011
Lying in the green grass
Basking in the yellow sun
Surrounded by blue water.

With a gasp I wake up
Remembering the dream
Colorless tears streaming
Down my face.

Suddenly I hear a jarring buzz
I put on my white pants
My white shirt
My white shoes
Walk down the hall
With bright white lights.

I sit down at the
Eating plain yogurt
Swiss cheese
And milk.

I finish eating
And I walk over to
The Rec Room
Playing in the

Day after day
I endure this pain.
Night after night
I'm in ecstasy.
But it's taking its toll.
My step becomes heavy
I wander around aimlessly

I've had enough.
In a frenzy I start
Clawing my face
Digging into

I take one finger
And with maddening precision
Twist and tear
Into my eye
Until it falls
Hanging down my face
By the optical nerves.

I grab the nerves
Rip them out of my head
And with a soft
My eye falls to the floor.
A poem written when I was depressed.
Andrew Orr Sep 2011
Here, amidst the gray
Tombstones jutting like so
Many teeth from the ground,
One can discover
Mysteries: of silence, of sadness, of
The favorite haunt of
Night's children; a landscape of
The unknown, a city of many potentials
Waiting to be discovered.
Naked trees scattered here and there,
Their crooked grasping branches
Stirring in the cold gale.

As the burning mass of light
Shining like shards of glass
Falls lower and lower in the sky
And the world grows dim,
The souls of yesterday come
Out of their diurnal slumber.
Souls who wail like banshees
Lamenting their lost lives;
Souls who whisk about
Playfully, clearly enjoying the afterlife;
And souls that, upon meeting a mortal
Mournfully whisper
"Do you know who killed me?"
"Where's my mommy?"
But none can answer.

These souls are the true
Memento Mori, for they are
Not-so-living reminders that
We too shall enter their world
Some distant day.
Andrew Orr Sep 2011
Outside in the shadow
Of a Doubt, cast
By the Full Moon,
I sit in the arms of
Solitude, basking in
The silence.
Looking up at the
Star-lit sky, I blow a
Kiss to infinity.
Peacefully watching dark
Shapes go by: Night's denizens.
A flap of wings, a gleam
Of fangs; feeling connected
To these creatures, outside
In the shadow.
Andrew Orr Sep 2011
Bitter and sweet
When winter evenings fall
Slowly darkening it veils the soul
You can feel it like a
Shadow growing in your mind.
Under the pitiless scourge
Over the weltering body's decay
The wild waves sweep in twilight.

Three roses, pale as moonlight
Lover, ******, Widow
Rise from under the earth.
What is lovely never dies
But passes into illusion.

The foolish are so blind
So drunk and so mad.
Fresh tears sliding down
The face of oblivion
Shining like crystals
Within my deepest depths
Torn into twice thrice
Plus one, scattered like ashes.
Does Thou Love Too?
A poem written when I was depressed.
Andrew Orr Sep 2011
Mysterious, cold and
Ruthless, hard and
Racing through your veins
Slowing you down
Your heart is throbbing.

You can scream
But only ragged gasps
And frothy foam will come out.
You are thrown to the ground
Eyes rolling back
Fingers clenched.

Weaker and weaker
Your life is ebbing away
Blank eyes
Still body
Slack mouth
Suicide by cyanide.
A poem written when I was depressed.
Andrew Orr Sep 2011
I am the newborn bobcat
sleeping in my den
I am the call of the raven
piercing the noontide air
I am the wind
blowing through the trees
I am the seedling
nestled in the ground.

I was the rain
falling at the dawn of time
I was a mighty and proud elephant
Crossing the mountains in search of battle
I was a dinosaur
colossal tyrant king
I was the coursing waters
of the once-great flood.

I will be the storms
that will split the sky
I will be the insidious plagues
that will haunt tomorrow
I will be the fire
that will devour lives
And I will be the end of the world
Coming closer and closer.
This poem was inspired by the Druids. To make a long story short, the druids were ancient Celtic priests, and since I'm part Irish and Scottish, I like to think that I'm also part Celtic. The theme is reincarnation.
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