Queen in crystalline
A king in black,
Taking a mansion
Or sleeping in shack's,
Loot doesn't matter
In their humbled abode,
Dressed to impress
Eachother ****, with none clothes,
The world doesn't exist to them
O glorious light,
They maketh love to the moon
And the sun awaketh their sight's,
They flyeth to Neverland
Up aloft the blue orb,
A child of a boy
An adolescent girl,
Shaker's and tambourine's
Piano for sound,
They waltz in the bare
With their feet in the cloud's,
Their amour' bounces
The cosmic wave,
Unbound to the celestial
Freakish romantic's in a cave,
Isolated from the new age stress
She layeth her head on his stomach, her hand on his chest,
All the best, though tis a dream all to me
Laying here alone; none ancient queen....



©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry

I want to skip,
Skip class,
Skip school,
Skip life...

Skip around like the inner child in me,
Screams out asking for,
Daily,
Nightly,

When ever things are bad,
Just,
Skipping around my issues,
Like people skipped around me,

I think about skipping out,
If all the bad things,

But what if I miss,
Something good,
Because I was too busy,
Skipping.

The voices in your head have tormented you so,
Your mind, now a prison to your blackened soul,
The screaming and shrieking that echoes inside,
Your hollowed, rusty heart, and emptied mind.

Memories, to you, are but a distant fantasy,
A life before the war in you raged the thousand seas,
Of a life before the voices hiding in your head,
Stole everything away, every name, every friend.

You look around the room of familiar strangers,
Faces you know, but simply can't remember,
Your heart clenches as you look at each one,
Calling you Daddy, Grand-Papa and Son.

You no longer see with your mind and eyes,
But rather with your heart and soul,
For your head and mind is your enemy,
Lost to the wailing voices in your brain.

Wiling away someone else's
restless hours as they serve you
your elegant cafe au lait
you're flicking through newspapers
or maybe waiting for a friend
or a lover
or maybe contemplating
your next masterpiece
scribbling or drawing
on a folded napkin
or in a notebook
& watching someone
get out slowly out of a taxi
as someone rides by on a bike
& the first umbrella goes up
& it starts to rain
& the music is jazz
or blues & you're
dreaming of something
just people watching
& the hours pass
by almost invisibly
as if afraid to disturb