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Anthony Moore Jun 2010
The truth pulled over my eyes
Spewing from your mouth
She told me nothing but lies
And I did nothing but believe them
I lay on my back
Her head on my chest
Looking up at the ceiling
I thought my heart ache was your doing
But I never saw reality
All I saw were her lying truths
Lying in my bed
While she kisses my forehead
I lay motionless and dead
My love starving with no water, no bread
I need to fill this empty hole
The hole that you stole
The part of me you took away
When you turned your back the dredful day
You walked to him and I heard you say
I love you to him and not to me
And just like me
He is blind, he does not see
The same thing I failed to realize
Until it was too late
Just like me he took your bait
Walking straight into heart break
He doesn't heed my warning
Because his heart you're warming
Like a snow covered horizen
Being touched by soft rays of morning
Lying in my bed
While she kisses my forehead
And says she loves me
I heisitate to answer, I'm thinking
Half of you and half of nothing
And my blank stare tells her everything
Anthony J. Alexander 2005
it rains  

where scattered white mists

applaud the silhouette

of a sharp and pointed moon

whose coagulant light

dispatches an infinite

population of ghosts

to haunt upon the mind

with tangential interests

are reluctant incarnations

of an intolerable vocabulary

with incoherent signs

these ragged images

free float before the eyes

create a straight line

upon a lime green colored wall

whose ghostly contour of shape

has no reason to be there

then it rains in horizontal free fall

from the ceiling to the floor

where these apparitions collide

in an empty sky of stars

creates a mysterious circumstance

that dictates mischievous epigraphs

where the leaves are black

it is whispered to young men

who reluctantly plant trees

whose shade they know

they will never sit in

it rains in this place

an angry and heavy rain

that sculpts the bones

and blinds the eyes

and the young men lie down

like rusted knives

in an antique drawer

without recognizing

this dredful portent of war

— The End —