It is fall again,
that time of year
when the veil
between realms thins,
and the dead rise from
the depths of their graves,
to roam our world,
and torment the living.
It's the time of year,
when children fear,
the monster in the closet,
and the boogeyman
under the bed.
It's the time of year,
when werewolves howl
at the full moon,
deep within the dark woods.
Fall is here,
and with it comes the time
for the dearly departed
to resurrect,
and share the world
with the living.

.
A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It's the tears that trickle with radiance through words.
     It's a treasure trove that hides but longs to
     be found.
          It's a book shelved high that wants to
          be read.
               It's the freest of all birds caged but
               unbound...

A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It doesn't beat to the capable strokes of the artist.
     It doesn't pump in the most vibrant of
     colours.
          It doesn't wield a paintbrush to
          translate its thoughts.
               But it can see through the eyes of
               painters...

A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It doesn't conform to the conventional parameters of lyrics.
     It doesn't bind itself to the requirements
     of musical harmony.
          It doesn't follow the conventions of
          genres.
               But it sings its voice loud without
               restrictions of melody...

A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It's an open secret, that whispers in metaphoric codes.
     It's an exploding universe, that merges
     back into galaxies.
          It's a sought after painting, that boasts
          of unfathomable beauty.
               It's an everlasting song, that echoes
               within the poet that embodies...

There beneath the blood stained clouds,
Red eyes are fast burnt out,
Searching somewhere below the ashes,
For the life that was longed to live,

Every day He wakes,
Staring at the back of Her face,
Every day He wishes,
There was nothing in the way,

Somewhere beneath the first layer,
Close to the weight He bares,
Is home to a love once owned,
Still showing signs of life,

Every day He wakes,
Filled with the empty pain,
Every day He hides it,
Knowing no other way,

Until the day he He lies and rests,
Here in The Bone Yard's hold,
Beneath the ashes of my love,
He will learn the other way.

~LC~

I wish
There was no gravity
So people wouldn't get hurt
When there's no one there to catch them

When they fall

©IGMS