Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Knock knock!
Who's there?
Me!
Me who?

That's right!
What's right?
Meehoo!
That's what I want to know!

What's what you want to know?
Me, WHO?
Yes, exactly!
Exactly what?
Yes, I have an Exactlywatt on a chain!

Exactly what on a chain?
Yes!
Yes what?
No, Exactlywatt!

That's what I want to know!
I told you - Exactlywatt!
Exactly WHAT?
Yes!
Yes what?

Yes, it's with me!
What's with you?
Exactlywatt - that's what's with me.
Me who?
Yes!

GO AWAY!

Knock knock...
don't feel sorry for me.
I am a competent,
satisfied human being.

be sorry for the others
who
fidget
complain

who
constantly
rearrange their
lives
like
furniture.

juggling mates
and
attitudes

their
confusion is
constant

and it will
touch
whoever they
deal with.

beware of them:
one of their
key words is
"love."

and beware those who
only take
instructions from their
God

for they have
failed completely to live their own
lives.

don't feel sorry for me
because I am alone

for even
at the most terrible
moments
humor
is my
companion.

I am a dog walking
backwards

I am a broken
banjo

I am a telephone wire
strung up in
Toledo, Ohio

I am a man
eating a meal
this night
in the month of
September.

put your sympathy
aside.
they say
water held up
Christ:
to come
through
you better be
nearly as
lucky.
little dark girl with
kind eyes
when it comes time to
use the knife
I won't flinch and
i won't blame
you,
as I drive along the shore alone
as the palms wave,
the ugly heavy palms,
as the living does not arrive
as the dead do not leave,
i won't blame you,
instead
i will remember the kisses
our lips raw with love
and how you gave me
everything you had
and how I
offered you what was left of
me,
and I will remember your small room
the feel of you
the light in the window
your records
your books
our morning coffee
our noons our nights
our bodies spilled together
sleeping
the tiny flowing currents
immediate and forever
your leg my leg
your arm my arm
your smile and the warmth
of you
who made me laugh
again.
little dark girl with kind eyes
you have no
knife. the knife is
mine and i won't use it
yet.
They dont make it
the beautiful die in flame-
sucide pills,rat poison,rope what-
ever...
they rip their arms off,
throw themselves out of windows,
they pull their eyes out of the sockets,
reject love
reject hate
reject,reject.

they do'nt make it
the beautiful can't endure,
they are butterflies
they are doves
they are sparrows,
they dont make it.

onetall shot of flame
while the old men play checkers in the park
one flame,one good flame
while the old men play checkers in the park
in the sun.

the beautiful are found in the edge of a room
crumpled into spiders and needles and silence
and we can never understand why they
left,they were so
beautiful.

they dont make it,
the beautiful die young
and leave the ugly to their ugly lives.

lovley and brilliant: life and suidcide and death
as the old men play checkers in the sun
in the park.
Its a little dark here
This illusion I created for myself.
This place I thought was perfect
Has turned into my nightmare.
My fears are bigger
And are haunting me as I cry.
I see a cathedral at the end of the road
With the three moons rising behind.
I walk down the lane
In shuffling steps of fright.
There's the creak of the gates
As I open and enter in to the night.
My life on halt
I'd like this to end
I no longer know myself.
The sky is clouded
There's lightening in the distance,
The only light, from the three heavenly bodies
Looming in the sky
I feel the eyes of a beast
Watching me as I enter.
I pull the door open
Oblivious to what lies inside
Feel the sweat down my back
And the lump in my throat .

A bright light bursts from inside
Blinding my eyes.
I catch myself from falling
From the mere impact.
There's an altar at the centre
I make my way through .
There lies my body
Lying like a living sacrifice.
I know not the meaning
Nor the reason
For the tears in my eyes.
All I know is my illusion was this light
The darkness outside trying to invade,
My only hope of being all I am.
I am not the darkness outside
Nor am I ruled by my fears.
My light prevails through all dark times
And keeps the faith in myself intact.
Here, where the light shines,
This is my Utopia.
Faith and hope, at the end of the day, keeps us going.
For you, my love
I went to a bird market
And I bought a bird
For you
My love
I went to a flower market
And I bought a flower
For you
My love
I went to a junk market
And I bought a chain
A heavey chain
For you
My love
And I went to a slave market
And I searched for you
But I couldn't find you anywhere
My love
And I just want to feel your breath
On my neck
And your *******
On my chest
And I just want to feel your lips
On my cheek
Telling me I’ll be okay
When I’m feeling awfully weak
And I just want to see your eyes
Meeting mine
Soft orbs of blue
Too mature for your time
And I just want to hear your voice
Whispering softly in my ear
Be here with me
Be near
I can’t handle this distance
Not only of miles, but of mind
I never could catch you
But god how long I tried.
 Oct 2012 Everett V Minshall
Cory
her strive for attention
deprives her actual intention
and she thrives off tension
but she feels alive with this pretension
and what I've failed to mention
its her contrive for perfection…of love
There is a pillow, there on the bed.
The pillow where she used to lay her head.
The pillow we slept, dreamed  and played upon.
The pillow her breakfast in bed was placed on.
That same pillow she held tight.
The one she threw after the fight.
The one I  held after she was gone.
The one I talked to wondering what went wrong.
There is a pillow , there on my bed.
The final witness of the wrong words said.
Paul Roberts. The Journey
Next page