Do not believe the things I say or think,
for they are unoriginal.
There is no such concept as 'one of the greats’;
Every generation has more than one Shakespeare or Einstein.
I sit between the light and the shadow.
The weeds spread and reach out of the earth,
like a rebellion against the blades of grass,
but who would rebel against grass?
A daisy has an appearance of innocence,
but it’s roots grow deep underneath.
There is no magic in this world,
yet at times we feel as though we have a purpose...or not;
it matters very little.
In the same way that we consume,
we must create.
In the same way that we take,
we must give.
In the same way that we we cause others pain,
we must comfort those around us.
In the same way we think twice,
we don’t think at all.
In the same way that you and I look up at the stars and wonder why they are there,
we must go back to society
The King is dead,
And a queen holds an odd flower,
Now the game will begin
Within the next hour;
Some spades are played
To dig a grave,
The hearts decide to pretend
To act silly but smart,
All clubs follow behind
While looking quite smug,
And all the diamonds
Sound their sirens.
it's all just a game
What sad sorrow one can bring
As paper is spoiled by the ink
From a pen whose forgotten name is
Loosely engraved on.
What deep despair one may have
As their blood pours gently down the sink.
When a blade goes across the skin to slash,
Only then, does one truly start to think.
It takes a genius
To write a good poem.
A good poem
Requires a dead poet.
A good poem
Comes from the heart.
A good poem indeed.
A new month, a bunch of weeks.
Increasing numbers of pointless, sad streaks.
As demons creep back into disguise,
The frequency of old, dusty board games slowly rise.
Fortunately, no fear nor fright came last night,
So now we await the near spark of light
To ignite such a bright and fiery sight.
I wish you all well these coming winter nights.