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Steel gazes graze the fine lines of iron.

“Tin man, whom does your heart beat for?”

A man asks - voice roaming, ringing bells and bashing gongs.



For a moment all is still.

The shrill clanging of metal stops, the heavy puffs of air suspend.

The tin man looks at him and smiles.

“For myself good sir.”



The answer given adequate time, silence and negative space - the man responds.

“Yourself? Sanity and livelihood or selfishness and arrogance?”

The tin man stood quiet once again.



He had laboured for those who did not labour for him,

Given oil, rust and dirt for those who only lived to use and to hurt.

Why would he beat to give when those who would get spoke only to take?



“I once beat for others. I once donned flesh and matter, but it left me as a shell of myself - a diminished core and deafening chest.”

“I encountered a being of whimsical strength, who woke me up and took my shell to then place a pearl within me.”

“I now beat for myself as gratitude to him who lifted me up when all I could do was lay down.”



The man grabbed him round the neck, nails marking and whispered.

“Dear child, you’ve gotten it the wrong way round.”

“Your pearl was given to be taken away, to return you into the shell of the past."



And the tin man took those words, looked away and continued,

Walking off with the girl and her dog.

Away from the wizard, entrapping himself.
disappointment Apr 2018
Let the father reminisce about the,
shepherd who failed to lead the sheep,
Lucifer falling asleep,
The souls he fails to reap,
Fall on blades of hellfire,
for the nether monsters to hold
And keep.

The figure is not a wolf,
Not a leopard,
But an innocent child.
Shrouded in the darkness of the wild.
His crimes,
Deeply filed in between,
His nails.
His responsibility to protect,
He fails.

A preacher,
Solely depended on,
A leader,
Solely repressing on,
The lies of a book.
Ones that cannot be overlooked,
Much like a rook,
On a chessboard.
cAn'T yOu tEll I lOvE gOd?
disappointment Mar 2018
Awe
I am the sheep that leads the shepherd,
not that the shepherd would ever lead me.
For you see,
good things don't come in threes,
they come in ones.
One bee.
A forest with one tree
One snake that made Eve flee.

I am the thunder that frightens the child,
scaring even those who are wild.
For you see,
butterflies don't fly,
they soar,
wings causing waves,
so strong,
it disrupts even the planet's core.

I am the pen that writes the tales,
a myth,
a legend,
attempts to amaze never fail.
For you see,
It is the writer that feels,
and the reader that touches.
My stories,
live,
not messed by airbrushes.
disappointment Mar 2018
I woke up like this.
Face caked in sadness,
eyes swollen of pity and anger.

I woke up like this.
Heart slowly starting up,
veins warming up.

I woke up like this.
Arms bent out of shape,
legs spread out for -

I woke up like this.
Head spinning,
body sinning.

Did I sin?
Or did you?
For a friend
disappointment Mar 2018
If I ask you,

will you say yes?

Or will shallow feelings,

take over and mess?

Witness my heart,

beat off the chart.

For I fell for you,

the first day I saw you.
disappointment Mar 2018
His hair,
striking down,
Zeus's thunderbolts in the sky.

Her hair,
Flowing round,
waves of the sea, clouds of the sky.

His skin,
dark as can be,
akin to coal,
darkness warps as far as I can see

Her skin,
pale pastel,
image reflects on a white seashell.
void of colour.

His job,
paying much,
respect and such.

Her job,
paying little,
a gap that men find acquittal.

His eyes,
grey like the storm,
pupils dilated as he felt her warmth

Her eyes,
blue like ice,
blocks of reflection,
of her cold heart,
of her body made of ice.

Is equality just sameness,
is that what you want to be?
Just like the next one,
prove your uniformity.


Or be different.
disappointment Feb 2018
Lines,


red ink flow down his arms.
Depress the pain,
for the death of his brother,
had not simply cursed Cain.
Smiled when they call him deranged
An affidavit of sadness to rage.

Lines,


cut so deep, structured so fine.
It's a pain of a pure sort of nature,
A pure kind.
It's this way, or he goes away.
For good this time.

Lines,


pastel skin so sharp,
the colour red colours and warps.
Church bells toll for a funeral.
For one must accept the pain
to return and become sane.

Or they deny the lines.
Let it be for just one more moment.
Just own it.
The anger, the rage, the pain, the sorrow.
Soon, there won't be any feelings left to borrow.
For a friend.
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