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  Feb 2015 Oliver Grey
Edward Coles
Once I held you in my arms,
I loved you in my sleep,
above the traffic
and the circumstance,
above the slaughter of the sheep.

You made me sing at my guitar,
a grown man falling to defeat.
Now I cannot find The Answer
in the company I keep.

The game is rigged, we know it is,
in a hustler's *******,
the bank cartels
and corn-fed chicken
descend upon the weak.

I held you in my arms
on a precipice brave and steep,
above the breadlines
and the cannibals,
above the slaughter of the sheep.

You have me writing poetry
about landscapes left unseen,
you kissed the addict on the mouth
and now he's looking to get clean.

But the day is long, you know it is,
forgive me for sounding bleak,
a sucker for
those sad, sad songs,
and that chemical retreat.

I am not working on perfection
in a lifetime stretched and brief,
but I am working on a promise
that for once,
I intend to keep.

See, I've got a knack for giving up,
for feigning inner peace,
I've had my fill of oil spills
and the slaughter of the sheep.

You've felt it too, that burdened love,
the dead-end of familiar streets,
you lay down with him,
habitual ease;
lilac skin now a slab of meat.

The dignitaries come,
the friends you have to meet,
a compromise of ancient ties,
amongst the ******
and the thief.

Words are falling fast for you,
though I lack the skill to piece
all the fragments you paint for me
in this temple of disease.

The race is run, you know it is,
a pace we couldn't keep,
our lungs are full
of cigarettes,
our tongues of old deceit.

The Lie is out amongst the crowds,
but I have no time for war and peace;
I am slipping into
my lover's robe,
into your twisted sheets.

Once I held you in my arms,
I loved you in my sleep,
this wolf's disguise,
those bells that chime
at the slaughter of the sheep.
A spoken word piece. I think it works better when you read as you listen:

https://soundcloud.com/edwardcoles/the-slaughter-of-the-sheep
Oliver Grey Jan 2015
She paints a pretty picture
But the story has a twist
Her paintbrush was her razor
And her canvas was her wrist

She paints a pretty picture
In a color that's blood red
And using her sharp paintbrush
She ends up finally dead

Her pretty pictures fading
Quite slowly up her arm
Blood no longer flows through her
She can no longer do her harm

Yes, she painted a pretty picture
But the story has a twist
You see, her mind was just her razor
And her heart was just her wrist

- Unknown
I did not write this poem, and I cannot give credit since I do not know who the author is, but THIS IS NOT MY POEM.
  Jan 2015 Oliver Grey
louis rams
Love is just a word            

Love is just a word until you give it meaning
For this is what I’m feeling, this is what I’m seeing.
This word love is so misconstrued, so abused, so misused
It can be used as a tool to chisel a work of art
Or as a weapon to destroy another’s heart.
It is used as a word of affection to a person
Place or thing, and a look of joy that it brings.
It is used as a phrase “I love you “or as a statement
‘I LOVE YOU ‘or as an emotion – my darling I LOVE YOU.
Yes! Love is just a word, but it is the most powerful
Word that can ever be used.
‘LOVE ME ‘as a person and for the way I am and
Not for what you want me to be, or perceive me to be.
True love is like the flame of the eternal torch which
Never goes out, but just burns on and brightens
Up everything around it and love can be rekindled
Like the flame on a candle.
LOVE is the second greatest gift on earth
And birth being the first.
      LOVE
© L . RAMS 010115
Oliver Grey Dec 2014
I'm alone so much
Although I never realize it
Until I have no one else to turn to

Being alone is quiet fun
I don't mind the quiet or peace
The thoughtful thinking it invokes
Finding something new inside myself

Even though I'm alone quite a bit
I don't ever feel lonely
There are times I wish I had someone to talk to
Someone to cuddle with
But then I remember that I'm not good enough

Being alone isn't bad
It's when I get lonely
That the demons start to play
Emotions are like waves. Always changing but always there.
  Nov 2014 Oliver Grey
Alan W Jankowski
The snow falls gently on a winter's night,
But inside by the fire I hold you tight,
As the burning flames start to dance,
My thoughts of you turn to romance,
In the light of the evening fire's glow,
How much I love you, you'll never know.

Though it's cold outside, it's warm in here,
And the one I love I'm holding near,
Snow may fall but I don't mind the weather,
As long as you and I can be together,
The night is young and we've nowhere to go,
How much I love you, you'll never know.

We don't care about the winter storm,
Nestled with you, it's cozy and warm,
The storm may rage and the snow come down,
But as long as I've you to wrap my arms around,
The snow can fall and the four winds blow,
How much I love you, you'll never know.

Later on we'll retire to our room,
Hoping to relieve our winter gloom,
Replacing the cold with our own little fire,
Of being with you I can never tire,
But as much as I set your passions aglow,
How much I love you, you'll never know.

03-02-10.
Looked out the window at the snow and wrote this...yeah, that simple...
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