Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Hare       must     of     drank     it.
Taste Like **** In Vinegar
One March hair
      Two MARCH hair
         Three MARCH HAIR
Plucked  plumped plopped
Hot and taut in a steaming food *** last time that march hare empties
If the world were flat I would argue
there would be more suicides,
Jumping from the edge of the earth.
The act would somehow be more redeemable
Than say, swimming into a concrete walkway.
City crews wouldn’t have to wash the mess
and children wouldn’t  see the naked truth.
The news could do an expose
On this trendy new trend
In the inward homicidal debauchery.
I imagine the lower three miles would be much like purgatory
The pale-blue breath holders
With their glass frozen eyes
All floating in the under earth
Not sliced and bleeding,
Or comatose from pills,
Or lessening the brain via bullet,
Or gas like Plath,
Not even rope burn from a hangman’s noose.
No if the world were flat, they would be floating.
Some stitched with government satellites
Payment in the mail for their families.
Why yes there are other benefits too
Like executions,
Orbital burial and visits,
even gps tracking.
But I am no sales man
You should talk to
Samuel Birley Rowbotham
He holds a parallax
Between history and accounting.
Death seems all too natural.
like a thief of time,
he lurks in the shadows
preying on the soul;
and then later laying us hand by hand
into the darkness we will never emerge from.
Covered over and then forgotten
the constant hunger for fresh air
ceases, as the pine gives the remaining whisper a stale kiss.
Stiffened and fading in our last slumber
in which death has taken the meaning from sleep,
our thoughts go no further than the last kiss we meet.
Maybe one day daises will grow at our head.
© Nathaniel Justice 2010
Have I fell out of uncommon valor
To which these stars will no longer shine?
Or hearts nor long for?
The sanctity of my mind protrudes on to its masters heart and soul.
It suffers sickness which thou might sense as a weakness
Which infects and festers in the body.
How can thou see I as me when I see only pain and fear?
Thou must stab this dagger through my heart so perchance
I might meet a lasting slumber,
For I have loved and lost, fought and died.
I shall not be remembered
For it is men with strong hearts and souls that are remembered
I, weak from breathing, will fade as the sun into the horizon
There shall be no memory of my legacy
No memorial to my small feats.
My sprit will die in a young woman’s heart.
© Nathaniel Justice 2010
I am a person
Full of blood and a growing heart
Full of breath and a shaken sprit
I bruise and heart break still finds me
I cry and laugh
I'm a trip down memory lane
Or that new path you never thought to take.
I make mistakes
I'm just skin and bones
I am awkward
I am me
No need to explain my self
Just sleeping
I like to live my life that way
Its simplicity in a complicated world.
I am a person
This is what I am
© Nathaniel Justice 2010
Lying under trees, we breath.
As the wind dances in the leaves,
The blue sky pokes through the forest green.
Birds sing.
We enter sleep under the brown-gray bark
And we dream.
You dream of life,
And I of death.
We are connected.
As this tree's roots are to the very soil it's rooted in,
You're rooted in my heart.

I still lie here on top of the emerald grass,
And you have become one with this tree,
the roots embracing you in an everlasting slumber.
When the fall comes and the leaves fade to their reds and oranges
And finally plunge to the emerald sea below, I will be covered with you.
As winter stalks its way past fall, the first blankets lay atop,
And I lie there still covered in the remnants of you.
The roots of my heart shiver
And I leave to find warmth with the evergreen.

As spring enters, the weather surpasses,
Leaves return to your barren form.
I however shall not return for the thought
That I may not become part of the soil you remain rooted to,
Fear that we will not remain acquainted in the next life.
but I still live and breath.
And the conquest of this life will be over soon enough
And Then I might return to this spot----
Lying under trees.
© Nathaniel Justice 2010
The glass beneath my feet,
I walk along this path
Narrow and treacherous
The blades almost glass
I walk barefoot non-the-less.
Seeking sand between my toes
And sun on my back.

This grass could be worse
Slicing my hills atop the jagged rocks
Bleeding until my heart stops.

I need to find my rest
As the moon climbs high in the sky
And the sun plummets to the abyss
Must I seek out a cave or forest canopy?
Beyond the borders of my four foot path
I cannot see
A curtain of darkness shrouds both sides

There once was a world outside this path
I know there must be another direction than the path I walk.
One of beauty and tenderness
But I have seen neither beauty nor tenderness
And my mussels have began to ach
And honestly, I fear the rest for I might not wake

I once came upon this flower
The stem stood tall and the bloom grew red and blue.
Beauty grew from this path
And I picked this flower
Because I must have this beauty with me,
In the instant, the roots left the ground
The flower wilted to a dull black and crumbled in my hand

A world that must remain beyond the darkness
Beyond my path
Has been picked and wilted
And left blindness among people

I now stagger along this four-foot wide path
Missing most the autumn leaves
That never falls to my path.
The glistening snow
Which has never been underfoot,
The summer springs
That I have not swam to cool my body.

The seclusion however
Doesn’t bring a thorn to my heart
My fellow’s destruction
Is greater than my destruction of beauty
More tortures than the sight of this path
They are the ones who have picked the world from my sight
Therefore, which situation is better?
Ones who see the horrors
Or the one who believes it doesn't exist?
© Nathaniel Justice 2010
Next page