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May 2010 · 1.7k
Knight in Shining Armor
A mournful air beyond the fog,
Death can meet among the poisonous rubes,
Beyond the trees and past the deformed log.

The Knight in Shining Armor comes to save the day.
Bearing healing potions from afar in pewter tubes,
But he is much too late; the Fool has already faded away.

His tears are many, for the loss of a brother,
They are heavy and murky against the dreamscape.
Now for his revenge, he seeks a strange other.

On his new, and strangely enlightened quest,
He feels transparent ghouls kissing his nape
Little does he know it is the sign of a Witches test.

Maneuvering among the empty placed grave,
He keeps his hopes on a looming tower.
He approaches his becoming of an honest knave.

He must be quick and tighten his saddle,
Because a pursuing evil is a deadly power,
And this Knight in Armor must be ready for battle.

The danger of our Knight is not known to man.
To survive, the he must unlearn his past.
This evil he faces is formulating a plan.

The towers close in as he passes their gates.
A spicy chill, creeps up the Knights spine,
And he finally grasps the terror of what awaits.

Inside his mind, he questions going back.
But dismisses the though as a man on wine.
He secretly knows this creature is on his track.

As he pushes himself onward,
He reminisces on his brother, and his life.
The only defining thought for him is froward.

He takes his final turn around the final corridor,
Quick on his feet and ready with his knife.
At first sight, he though his vision must have been poor.

A woman whose beauty surpassed any he had ever seen,
Stood with her naked eyes set firmly on him.
This was the witch who had killed all he had been.

Unable to take the life of any woman,
The soldier took a last and final look
And plunged the knife into his abdomen.

The beautiful witch had won yet another soul,
She knew why it was his life she took.
Never mind the Fool, the Knight had been her goal.
May 2010 · 828
Unimaginable Afterlife
I’m flying in the light
I swallow my pain and fear,
As I hear angels and devils fight
I can shed only a single tear.
Entrancing ghosts circle the air,
The feeling of terror is waning,
The virginal silence starts to tear,
The one tear I shed, is staining.
Words in the air, the quiet is going.
Colorful vapors hover over the path.
Sticky life, hangs on to the crying spirits.
Once more, I feel Gods wrath,
And hear his cherubs haunting lyrics.
Oh Jesus! God’s queen is sweet.
Strangely, it’s peaceful behind the light.
I must now bow down and kiss her feet.
I can only help myself in heavens plight.
Red bugs ooze from crystalline water.
I stomp on them with my shoes.
She gazes, knowing no one can stop her.
For me, this is surely not good news.
An angel’s child I am to bear.
Awaken! The birthing is hard.
This one child I cannot love, I swear.
From now on, I cannot fault my guard.
Deaths life is unafraid,
But I know that his love for me is hesitant.
This life of death I have made,
But my lover’s fury is notoriously unpleasant.
My chance to flee across the river Styx,
It finally arrives, just on time.
A bribe to the rower is my quick fix.
I tell my beautiful evil child everything is fine.
But then I can throw her off the boat,
And tell her that her next life will be better.
I know it’s over when her curls cease to float.
My last words to her, were that of my last only love,
To tell her that if God had a better plan,
He had better start working hard up above.
I have relinquished his holey wingspan.
But now with who can I seek my final shelter.
For a price of passion I can take a final board.
This mans love is enough to make life swelter.
But I know I can end it all again, with this rope and cord.
May 2010 · 663
Ways of Making Love
Touch her here,
Touch her there,
She wants to be touched everywhere.

Slow and passionate,
Or fast with your heart in it.
Either way, you must stick with it.

You could be on top like a dove,
Or she could be the one above.
All these are ways of making love.
May 2010 · 1.6k
Pencil And Pen
The white parchment has nothing on it
No poetry to add,
Nor the story of a bleeding comet.

This writer’s block, it used to be bad.
Things go from bad to worse.
The paper beneath my hand feels sad.

Should I start with the rolling of a Hirsch,
Or should I resort to a sonnet?
Either way my pen is about to burst.

I can picture the lady, wearing her summer bonnet.
Brushing away another shadow’s kiss.
The pain of her life, painted clearly on it.

Only one more thing, will this picture miss.
It’s the pleasure of the pain,
While cupids taking a ****.

There is a difference, now and then.
Then you could taste the rain.
Now its just me, my pencil, and my pen.
May 2010 · 782
Sundown Showdown
Level with me Doll.
How is this going to go down?
When are the shots going to call?
Don’t ail me with that beautiful frown.

I might be walking to my grave
With these wounds and a bottle of ***.
Lovely one, you must be brave
But know, if I lose, you must run.

I think he said it started at ten.
This situation is already bad.
I think I will wait till nine after then.
Death is only a phase, don’t be sad.

Some might call me a coward
Others might dub me a hero
But we must always march on forward.
We burned it to the ground, just like Nero.

Pack your bags at once.
Be ready on the fly to flee.
If I am a fool, I will be a dead dunce.
If I survive, know that I will be back for thee.

Know this my darling Katherine
That this deadly roadside cult,
Even when the end didn’t begin,
This was never your fault.
May 2010 · 527
Hope in the Field
Sitting’ in this green field,
And feeling the wind in my hair.
I watch the breeze sway the trees
And I watch the traffic go by.
I can hear every detail sailing
Through the clear late spring air.
The bird calls to its lover,
And the trains rumble silently by.
And I think to myself…
Wondering what kind of person
I know I could share this exact moment with.
And he felt, heard, and saw everything I did
Just with different vision.
The only thing that is the same
Is the love filling the air
Around us.
May 2010 · 623
Reading In 4th Hour
I looked forward to your class,
It made me happy when I walked through the door.
But it was like walking on shredded glass,
And I always came back for more.

You pushed my limits
When it came to my own form of art
You made me look into my heart, deep withing it.
As a whole I wanted this moment to be more than a part.

Sometimes all we did was read.
Being at my best was quite a feat
For you, I tried so hard to succeed
I only had everyone in the pod to beat.

Ogling something more than the books.
Persuasion was out of the question and moot.
But how can I help it when my teacher had such good looks.
With a perfect personality to boot.
May 2010 · 1.4k
Teachers
A God bless you, to all my teachers.
I know it was hard,
But you definitely managed to reach her.

In  Gupton's Math,
You managed to make me laugh
When the rest of them wouldn't dare cross your path.

In  Lotvedt's Social Studies
It was hard staying awake
But I think I managed to make us buddies.

In Phibbs' Science
I learned a little about my body,
and you taught us a little self reliance.

In Vinger's Writing,
you had a great sense of humor
and managed to teach me the art of citing.

In McLeod's Reading,
The place I loved and learned the most
I learned to put my trust in the love of succeeding.
May 2010 · 673
Grain of Salt
The saying goes a little like this,
Take everything with a grain of salt.
The meaning is hard to miss.
But what they don't know, is that it wasn't my fault.

To accept but maintain
A degree of skepticism about its truth.
The line is a long misunderstood train.
But when over-used, the meaning is moot.
May 2010 · 814
Scar Tissue Trash
So many scars.
They litter my arms like phosphorescent trash.
They are the evidence of my blades sorrow and my extreme lack of balance and grace.
But the white unmarred flesh around them, shine with a beautiful glow.
The blue pulsing veins that sliver and slice through my limb beat to the rhythm of my heart.
They remind me of the unimaginably gorgeous and amazing life I have been gifted with.
Then I focus back on the scars and realize that I have wasted so much of it.
No More.
My blade goes down the bag.
And my friends and family are now my artificial grace and poise.
This is all I need in my rehab.
It is all I can to to start picking up the memories of the Scar Tissue Trash.
May 2010 · 2.0k
Perfect Man
He is smart
He knows how to articulate his thoughts
He knows who I am as a person
He knows Shakespeare
He quotes Shakespeare
He is someone I can share an awkward silence with comfortably
He is preferably Scottish
He is proud
He perseveres
He has principles
He is knowledgeable
He is open-minded
He is a risk-taker
He is optimistic
He is an inquirer
He is preferably a gemini, libra, aquarius or leo
He likes to read a lot
He is reflective
He is handsome (to my standards)
He has dark brown, wild, wavy hair
He has insightful eyes
He has dark brown eyes
He is insightful
He is caring
He is faithful
He sings
He dances
He plays almost every musical instrument under the sun
He is confident
He is self-assured
He is outspoken
He is bold
He is not afraid t0 show emotion
He wears his heart on his sleeve
He laughs everyday
He has a crooked, sweet smile
He has dreams
He has aspirations in life
He has goals
He has his life planned in a general outline
He is safe
He is prepared
He is spontaneous
He calls me beautiful instead of ****
He doesn't snore
He brings out my more intimate side
He is not my *****
He can play rough with me and not hurt me
He knows that I am not fragile
He knows that the only part of me that I cared if he broke it would be my heart
He is honest
He doesn't hide anything from me
He respects my privacy
He is not possessive, jealous, or overbearing
He lets my have my space when I need it
He respects me as a woman
He respects me as a lover
He respects me as a Human Being
He can clearly define love and what it means to him, and I agree
He doesn't base the strength of our relationship on ***
He does not push me into doing things I do not want to do
He has and recognizes that he has past lives
He is an old soul
He is one and at peace with his surroundings
He is spiritual
He is good
He is a healer
He believes in Magic
He believes in hope
He believes in justice
He stands his ground in a fight
He knows when to say NO
He comes with emotional baggage we can solve together
He depends on me as much as I depend on him
He can kick any ones *** in a fight
He is willing to admit his mistakes
He is not afraid to apologize to me for anything
He is willing to change for the better
We connect on a deep level
He has and recognizes that he has psychic powers
He is smart when under the influence
He uses his God-given brain
He uses common sense
He is perfect for me.
May 2010 · 696
Giant Night Light
The moon is like a giant night light.
A phosphorescent, glowing medallion shining bright.
A silent, silver reminder of out fright.
A burning planetary accessory, eternally in the night.
May 2010 · 545
Want
I want to be remembered by a complete stranger, because I did something randomly and significantly that he or she witnessed or was a part of.

I want to be the person whose shoulder people know they can cry on.

I want to be somebody who made a difference in some other persons life.

I want to be the person who laughs everyday.

I want to be a blessing.

I want to be a leader.

I want to be remembered.

I want to be defined as a good, unusual, and unique person.

I want to be remembered for starting a movement that affects a lot of people in a positive way.

I want be recognized for my intelligence, among other things in relation to that.

I want to be the person that people come to for answers.

I want to be the person that someone can truly rely on.

I want to be 5'9".

I want to be irreplaceable.

There are many things that people 'want'. Money, jobs, a home, lovers, life, possessions, miracles. In this case I would say that only 50% at most would get what they wanted. But when you want something that requires a little thought or material effort on you're part...well that's when things that you want to happen start happening. Only you can change you. Only you can make a difference in that department. Respect it. It is one of the few things in life that you have absolute and awe inspiring power over.
Mar 2010 · 591
Look Away
When people look at me.
I realize they might scream.
People don’t like me.
Because I’m not like them.
Just because I’m different.
Just because I’m not a wannabe.
I’m just a gonnabe.
I have a future
And they don’t.
But why do they laugh at me so.
I know I'm not gorgeous.
Or popular or skinny either.
I don’t have those classic features.
Just don’t laugh at me.

— The End —