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 Sep 2015 Michael Shmichael
Terra
In deep night I howl at the moon. Lonely I reach for understanding,
but it's always too fast, and too loud and too soon.
It might be too much, what I'm demanding.

Drowned cities beyond grass and trees are of no importance when strings are cut.
Stranger upon stranger becomes lover upon lover,
all with square eyes and hungry heart.

We feed like beasts on what feeling we can find when living in the truth of others.
And we wash of blood like common dirt yet we fear all dirt from our mother.

Faceless enemies all around,
with painted smiles and powers.
Oh how we corrupt ourselves chasing the taste of true flesh,
Chasing  bones between towers.

Not ever to feed on newborn thoughts,
our own world frightens us.
But howl at the moon, if just for one night, and feel, natures child,  what is right!

Filth and dirt and moon and trees, *** and love and ******!
You look for it all in screens of lies and you eat up each word without care.

Like all common men, you eat **** like it's steak,
for our nameless enemy created false dreams.

And the nameless is us, yet powerless still,
alone I stand strong, together you stand still.

To ask for more is common man's sin,
but to seek in new spaces is treason to your kin.

Alienated souls are dumped and lost,
questions fade by each year.
And what life do you live, puppets at will,
seeking bigger lies to cover your fears.
 Sep 2015 Michael Shmichael
Terra
Lights moves slowly at night. Brutal flashes of distance belongs to the daylight and the busy commoner.
In darkness all becomes soft and silent.
Wrapped in invicibility.
As the bus takes me trough space like catapillars on leaves, I catch myself wondering.
Whispering about who you are.
We look at ourselves trough magnifying glasses as if the essence of the world were to do the same.
A tool for us only, and the curiousity lingers...
we want to touch the imperfections we're not familiar with.
Blind we reach out for details that never hits the surface, and what insanity to think of diving into the cold!
Yet we never felt the temperature.
Expectations will overpower lust for most.
I travel alone in the dark, holding my own hand.
Impulses flow trough my body like the silent shock of bombs in the distance.
My mind is at cold war.
I want to touch and feel the bumpy road leaning towards my fear, and to taste the sweat of my dreams.
A toung caresses my mind so smoothly, as I yearn to figure out how words could ever touch me in such ways.
Am I warm, stranger?
You don't need eyes.
In melancholy and excitement I bade in hills of emotion, and for once, my mortal enemy, my weakness, I welcome you.
I smell your intentions carefully as I learn to know your presence.
Your hair is grey with the wisdom of shared pain, and your skin is soft like a newborn ready to live another life.
I don't need eyes either.
Only heart.
To fight nature is my nature, for on this earth I am a moon, and how was I ever to learn the ways of the one admiring my mystique?
As I would admire them.
No grass to softly hold me tonight, only cold windows.
But strangely I have also found comfort in the passing by.
 Sep 2015 Michael Shmichael
Terra
In the flowing lights of a musical romance, there lives a queen.

And she dances so violent.
She sings so silent.

She is everything, anything, heart filled with happiness, soul filled with sadness.
Mind filled with madness.

She is flawed perfection, the crack in logic we crave.
The innocent child we all wish to save.

She is waves, she is fire, she's not me.
But I'm here, I'm alive and I'm her.

Her creator, her pain and her love.
I am everything, anything, nothing at all.

Running wild, standing tall. What is real, what is truth, what is lie, who am I?

Is it me or the world who is wrong, who does wrong, who acts wrong, am I wrong?

In the blank spaces, there dances a queen, and in the ink that are lines, here rests I.

For this book is me.
And captured between infinate pages I fly free.
For a Syrian boy.

Slipping away from desperate arms
Within salty, dark waters.
Familiar voices fade with distance and    
Drown, as stars become
Blurs lulling you to sleep with their

Good night twinkle-twinkles.  
Hands too small for any gun or
Grenade open up like little flowers
To a night no night-light ever could
Illuminate.

~

Where was God when you whimpered
In fear?
Swam an angel of light in the darkness
Down there in  
The deep, with her comforting hand on
Your motionless shoulder?

Little Dream Brother.
Dreaming nightmares all meant
For another.
Asleep in the sand, with the ocean
Washing over.
The last two lines are from Jeff Buckley's song 'Dream Brother', on his legendary album 'Grace'.
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