She sketches the outline

Them darkens the pencils

Adding traces of fine shade



Time passes and her skill shows

As the picture begins to form

To stand out for the viewer to see



Each drawing is with loving care

They are like children to her

Nutured and made with love



Fairies dance with radiant colour

You can almost feel their smiles

The art glows as if it is alive



There is magic on that paper

That comes alive when you look

The perfection of a true artist

Standing back silently watching you deal the deck of cards , sadly my heart aches because you think that I am not aware of what game your playing! What you don't realize is through your immaturity controlling your self centered selfish mind; is I created the game. In the end instead of looking like a winner you have already lost , look into your own heart and tell me what you feel and see? Do you see that karma coming back at you with the exact same game you played but you are the one left holding the jokers, while I folded and even if it broke my heart I knew when to walk away from foolish childish games. The tears I shed were for you because your heart and soul are too blind and selfish always wanting to use others to serve a purpose for your personal gain. With this one day I hope you realize that hearts and others are not your marionettes and will tire of you and your game. Life is to precious to be used in your games. I folded ; game over!
© cherry rose 2015

He always was a shy boy
Always found life to enjoy
They picked on him one day
They took his enjoyment away

They would put bugs in his hair
He thought his teachers didn't care
They called him every bad name
Said that being strange was to blame

Hurt him and caused him pain
Pushed him over in the rain
They even spat in his face
Told him he was a disgrace

Johnny please don't cry
I know you just want to die
Johnny I don't know why
It's easy when you try

I wish the bullies would just go away
Leave Johnny alone for only one day
There are too many boys and girls in tears
Too many bullied face suicide these years

Poor Johnny couldn't take any more
Found him hanging from off the floor
Poor Johnny is one of the dead
We should **** bullying instead


copyright Chris Smith 12th November 2009

Cold hands
Shaking lips
Burning eyes
Stinging cheeks
I'm haunted by
Your memory
And I have lost
My sanity
And in everything
I think I see
You

A bunch of hooligan
screaming out loud
that,
they've been never been wrong
since their born
A bunch of hooligan
and
i was there
we all were once
we still are
somewhere in our mind
searching a place to get out.

Can you hear the voice calling this night?
Is this all a trick within my mind?
Because somewhere in the darkened shadows
I can hear something calling out my name
And I hide under the covers, let it go away

But curiosity takes me to the window, to look out
To look out on a dark night of hidden fear
I open my window and on the chilled wind I hear it
Like a voice from a secret grave still calling my name
"Leave me be, who are you to haunt me in the dark"?

But I fear my cry goes unheard as the voice calls again
I dress myself, dorn my boots, to solve this mystery
For I alone only seem to hear the voice calling to me
Calling to the shivers that are running down my spine
I go down the stairs and I hesitate before opening the door

I step out and an icy mist seems to surround the air
Chilled to my bones, I follow the voice that comes again
It takes me to the edge of an abandoned church, long forgotten
And somewhere between the overgrown graves it is there
Beckoning me to enter this place that belongs to the dead

I wonder hopelessly to myself, why did not anyone see me?
Surely someone would have stopped me this cold night
Especially from entering this deserted place of ghosts
But once again the voice comes calling like a spectre
And I find myself being drawn towards one forgotten grave

And the horror strikes at me at long last
As I read the name and see only my own, I am dead
It was no voice calling out, it was my own voice in my head
For I did not believe I had gone from the land of the living
And once again I know I must sleep, sleep forever more




copyright Chris Smith December 8th 2009