Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Feb 2014 euphony
k
picnics
 Feb 2014 euphony
k
I saw our tree in the park today
Remember the one
We carved our initials into?
It must have followed me here
Taken a train or a bus
Its branches bending, cracking, snapping
Trying to squeeze into its seat,
Travelled all the way from our park
With those lilac bushes and
Saturday morning picnics.
It must have known
That I would
Miss you.
 Feb 2014 euphony
L
You think of me as a walking libido,
as a person who only wishes to be touched...
A person without a heart.

How could you think that?

The audacity sickens me.

Do you not understand that I have a heart?
That I have the ability
to feel
to cherish
to love?

No, it isn't always on my sleeve...
I know that --
It's constantly shielded by my mind and the logic I so desperately cling to.

But you know me, don't you?

You should.

**By no means am I "heartless".
for whoever said it
 Feb 2014 euphony
Ghazal
It kills-
Knowing I'm the pain
flickering inside
your eyes.
 Feb 2014 euphony
a m a n d a
the sun matters.
i'm just saying.
it matters.

it matters that things
be alive
  and green
it just does.

eddie pepitone matters.
playing songs on repeat for hours on end matters.
rangpur matters.
  ice cream friggen matters.
i'm just saying. it does.

having a brother that gets it
matters.
laughing so hard i cry
     matters...it really does.
even the trumpeter on my balcony
thinks so.
 Feb 2014 euphony
Papa Ghost
Angelic demons
Loaded with hives
Of violence and blood
A rash of tribes
Infected
Dissected
Inflected with sin
Built to lose
Broken to win
God is with us
In the end
To the darkness
We descend
This job is not ours
We did it for hours
Brick by brick
We built a wall
And then the third took a fall

We were on the rack
Never going back
On the rack
Never going back
Exit hell
Don't pass go
Paid in blood
Real slow

We saw red
Thousands dead
Needed a sacrifice
Something to gain
So they wouldn't be in pain
We fought in vain
Nothing but vanity
Murderous sanity
Forgive me father
For diminishing this sanctity
That you helped create
They pricked our lips
I poisoned the state
This fear means they won
Every victory
They gain unamerican sone

They are on the rack
We are back
On the rack
We are back
Back to hell
Where the blood swells
With good intentions
And no dissension

Security not guaranteed
If we are freed
We have no hope no will
Just buckets of pain and swill
Don't fight for the right
Fight for the pain
Fight for the fallen and the slain
Send them in pieces to their maker
Until you to are a husk
A baker
Of suffering and pain
Of bodies lain
Down in the name of hate
Our appetites will not sate
We will not satisfy
Until that desert is spread
Over the whole globe
We will only testify
Of the strobe
Of ashes and ashes
Dust to dust
These beliefs we once held
Sharpened with rust

Burn it down
Burn it down
Burn it down
Burn it down
Burn it down
Burn it down
Burn it down
Burn it down
What do you get when you mix Supernatural, heavy mithril and punk political attitudes?
There is no such thing as true silence
At least not on this earth
For the earth itself has sound
It hums
Constantly
But it is often covered

By the sounds of people and of grass or pavement under feet
Of water or cars rushing by
Of the wind whispering through leaves of trees

But in the lonely places of the world
Where for miles and miles there is nothing but dirt
and nothing -or almost nothing-grows
Where, if you stand on a hill and listen closely
You can hear the muffled voices of those a mile away

In those places you can hear the earth
Deep and low and full
A sound silenced by the culmination of other sounds
Which are themselves mistaken for silence
A sound that when heard, though quiet enough to be drowned out by whispering  trees, fills the void with sound
The sound of Earth singing
I DREAMED that one had died in a strange place
Near no accustomed hand,
And they had nailed the boards above her face,
The peasants of that land,
Wondering to lay her in that solitude,
And raised above her mound
A cross they had made out of two bits of wood,
And planted cypress round;
And left her to the indifferent stars above
Until I carved these words:
She was more beautiful than thy first love,
But now lies under boards.
Next page