Feb 2014
Have you ever talked with a skull atop a stone
In the middle of the night as the wind begins to moan?
You will find it sometimes lies to get you to believe
And that it sometimes cries so as to deceive
But you find you're always there as the moon comes back each night
Even though your very soul begins to swell with fright
Tonight, the skull, it sings a song, and begs you to join in
You begin to sing and find it tells the death of men
When the song is over, you notice you're alone
You have just become another skull atop a stone
In the middle of the night as the wind begins to moan?
You will find it sometimes lies to get you to believe
And that it sometimes cries so as to deceive
But you find you're always there as the moon comes back each night
Even though your very soul begins to swell with fright
Tonight, the skull, it sings a song, and begs you to join in
You begin to sing and find it tells the death of men
When the song is over, you notice you're alone
You have just become another skull atop a stone
The very first poem I ever wrote, at the age of sixteen. It is about how if we give more mind to the death of great minds than the lives they lived, we are missing out on what life can truly be, even through the lowest times and hardest struggles. It was an assignment for English class, and a decision between an essay or a poem. This is what started me writing.
