I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.

Write, for instance: "The night is full of stars,
and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance."

The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

On nights like this, I held her in my arms.
I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her.
How could I not have loved her large, still eyes?

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
To think I don't have her. To feel that I've lost her.

To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.

What does it matter that my love couldn't keep her.
The night is full of stars and she is not with me.

That's all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.
My soul is lost without her.

As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.
My heart searches for her and she is not with me.

The same night that whitens the same trees.
We, we who were, we are the same no longer.

I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her.
My voice searched the wind to touch her ear.

Someone else's. She will be someone else's. As she once
belonged to my kisses.
Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her.
Love is so short and oblivion so long.

Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,
my soul is lost without her.

Although this may be the last pain she causes me,
and this may be the last poem I write for her.

why do men die for other men ?
what compels them to give up their lives for the lives of their fellow men ?

is it love ? is it duty ? or is it just plain madness ? is it that bond of blood ? or a promise to be better ? or is it simply what being a human is ?


the same men capable of destroying a million lives in pursuit of their own ideology ? the same men who for the purpose of their own greed and need can ignore the very definitions of civility and liberty and justice.


can we still call them men ?


what is happening at this hour in this nation, a nation which is thousands of years old and in making; isn't different from what has happened in the past and unfortunately that is going to happen in the unsuspecting future.

people are turning to an ideology that not only imprisons the free bird in the sky, but also retaliates if it so chooses to lay on a different branch.

diversity isn't celebrated anymore, but rather is frowned upon by the masses, who believe that past holds no relevance over the future.

acceptance, and the very creed upon which the great men who came before us, and made us who we are today - their legacy and wisdom is being demolished, like cards in the winds; and just like the structures of the ancient, for they no longer are painted with the colours we are familiar with today.


sheep and wolves alike, are being chased by the blood hounds, cornering every whisper with words of the system, a system that has been diseased from the inside, infecting the very veins of this great nation that has stood the test of age and it's many a poisons for millennia and more.


bit by bit the great walls of knowledge and of the enlightened spirits are being razed down by a mere fool in different costumes, performing in a circus build upon the ashes of the innocent and the innocence of the communities that now long for blood.


the very nature of this great and grave divide, is unnatural, passed down by the same set of hands that once pulled the chains and carried with them - forcefully, a plight of millions, suppressed and then set aside fanatically, all in the name of a devotional creed.

lizards in boxes pretending to be voices of the free and humane, casting their spells on the fragile and a blind audience, numb by all the back and forth between the gods, and as always, only the peasant suffers.


how many more homes must vanish before we realise there's no magic in the disappearing of colours, and the despairing remains of the one's gone, painted across the streets in black and white, begging for somebody to give them their proper funeral.

it is men who take life, animals don't **** for their sins, they never have, for they don't know what it's like to be tamed by fire.

they'd rather burn, than become more like us.

maybe that tells it all, and maybe that is why, the devil may have horns and hoofs, but it never haunts and hunts the wild.


we are what we love, but we become who we hate, always - in the end, until something worse comes around to make things better.

meet me there
where the world ends

i need some air
for there's no friend

nobody to share my woe,
and i always count to ten
before i take my life.



sincerely you had me
and you have me,

surely you must have an idea
what led you to me
to the place where i hide


and i'm dying in circles
in this circus
circled by the circus
going deeper

take me to your home
i want to see how you cry
behind the closed doors
where the real you lives

not the one
you keep for the people


i'm so poor and dry
i can't even give you me

nor have i any dreams to trade
and i'm going to waste alone
i don't even need your hate
to remind me of the reaper

blinding me of you,
chasing me through
this heaven


and oh look how
i've killed myself again
you didn't even see me
count to ten,


eleven.

the calm won't quell the storms
deep inside where darkness spreads

and the arms won't tell the time
to the old man dying inside my head

love thy neighbor yells the stone
two wrongs won't make a night

love thy neighbor and make a home
love thy neighbor and **** his wife

love thy color and take her home
where you can spend her right


and the calm won't quell the storms
painted on the walls hanging tight

and the arms won't tell the time
levitating in melancholy from a hight

mustangs and rodeos and clowns
****** and unicorns and knights

dead bodies wearing golden crowns
mystic fetuses and the lonely scribe

love thy evil and paint the town
hold your breath and hold her tight

for in the void one hears no sound
before the voice turns off the lights


perceptual obselesence and planned reasoning, conceptual presence and a relaxed evening with a spectacular sight






metal against cold skin
but the thought is breeding
caught in box and lost
with channels repeating

angels falling from the sky
and the devil is eating my brain

love thy evil and love thy dye
for the heart is beating for the pain



love thy evil.

alone and cold
on a warm summer day
bleeding my ever breeding thoughts

caught in a storm
a thousand miles away from home

breaking down
every brick and stone

for there are no windows
here in this room
where the gloom blooms
another melancholic day

far away from reality
in midst of a whisper

dying every so slowly
as the cells in my brain wither

waiting for a winter
to bring me back to
the room temperature

so i can shed my skin
and paint myself with ink
on these empty pages of a story
that i'll never write

night after night
just turning the pages

bright lights and confused
pretending to die with every breath

with monsters in my head
and poison mixed in my soul

reading words
of those other poets
that'll never know of my name

such a shame
for together we could've
completed each other

without ever saying a word.

across the mountains and high seas
i want to travel as far as the moon can see
and still a little more to numb my thirst
as far above the sun as below the dusk

until the night howls and winter combusts
all around the spring singing of hurt
until the autumn grows loud enough to rust
until the day burns and stars submerge

wandering down the ways uphill a bliss
where mermaids drown and the gods sit
somewhere far where the flowers hiss
and all the pieces are where they fit

there where the clowns cry and live
from nowhere to across all the towns

carrying not an ounce of pain or a crown
in temples of Angkor with nothing to give

at the end of a rainbow and rain profound
the hollow windows and barren grounds
from rotten whispers and forgotten blitz
where demons prowl and angels ****

very depth of hell and under the ground
i'll travel as deep as a melancholic sound
under my skin crawling all the way down
the thunder and my sins all in a 'round

where the lights are dim and bound
with my plastic grin and elastic faith

down the road where none can be found
i'll wait there and sin with all my hate

so come for me before i go to waste
so come for me before it gets too late

so come for me before i close the gates
so come for me and come with a blade

so come for me before i fade,
so come for me before i name my price
so come for me before i wake,
so come for me before i take my life.

get me a plastic girl,
and i'll sing to her my plastic words
i'll giver her the plastic world

and we'll live in a plastic house
with a plastic cat and a plastic mouse
a plastic heart for a plastic mouth

plastic inside, and plastic out
an elastic skin for a fancy crowd

a plastic window and a plastic couch
where i'll sit alone with my plastic doubts

watching the plastic rain cold and loud
drinking away the plastic south

filling myself with that plastic asteroid
i hear a plastic voice and black plastic joy

i have a plastic sorrow and my plastic toys
there's no tomorrow just this plastic void

can you see the smile and my plastic poise
painted classic pink on my plastic floyd

plastic me in this plastic noise,
a plastic droid.

©writeweird