It doesn’t matter what language you speak because all screams sound the same
It doesn’t matter what your skin color is because all blood runs muddy red
It doesn’t matter if you are afraid because everyone has the same fear
It doesn’t matter what god you worship because even the gods run in the end
It doesn’t matter how big your eyes are because they still cry the same tears
It doesn’t matter if your ears can hear because it’s always rumors and lies
It doesn’t matter what clothes you wear because we are all stripped of humanity
It doesn’t matter if you are smart of stupid because we are all suffering from insanity
It doesn’t matter if you **** now because we all die the same way
1 death is a tragedy
1,000 deaths is a statistic

Funny how friends are
When you need them most
Some disappear
Some haunt you like a ghost
Some stick around to spread cheer
While others forget who you are

They say you know your friends
In times of tradegy
Sometimes I really wonder
If that's as true can be

Because I noticed something
About my friends this year
I've needed every single one
Whether strange or dear
I've needed every single one
Each at different times
To help me with sadness, death and fear

I needed to be on my own
I needed to be haunted too
I needed to be cheered
I needed to be forgotten, who?

My friends, they know me
Sometimes all too well
They always know to make me better
When my life goes to hell
They always know to help me out
And can make, as always, my heart swell

I hope I return the favor
At least a time or two
And that you, my friend
Can find me when you are blue


© Deanna Repose July 30, 2009

Close by her side he paused to stand, as he took the class ring off her hand.                
All who were watching dared not to speak, as a lonely tear rolled down his cheek.
Family and friends broke out in tears, as he whispered "I Love You" into her ear.
All thru his mind the memories ran, the moments they shared walking hand and hand.
Now her hands were so terribly cold, he never again will have her to hold.
Looking back at that horrible ordeal, she wasn't as sober as she thought she'd feel.
They all said goodnight, and she went on her way, now such a tradegy they all pray.
As soon as the wind started to blow, they lowered her casket into the snow.
Too many people carry the pain, of a lost loved one who had nothing to gain.
Friends don't let friends drink and drive!  **Leann Lackey

Sorrow has always captured my attention,
Tradegy framed in a single face,
A tear, all memories refracted from a single point.
Depression is always elegance in action,
Movement of one stage of a persons true grey,
To the next lightest color.
Color, not shade.
For we can all learn to interpret the grey.
But when that persons face brightens?
Their light is a stark display,
Deep indigo dances with flaming scarlet,
True cobalt blue swims alongside sky blue, yellow dawns a new era of verdant green.
All because of one small tear-shaped prism of refraction.
All shades of joy, frenzies of different shades dancing in one picture.
Shades, because all we knew was grey.
But joy... subsides. We all know this true, fortunately.
Without this, we would never see the beauty of grey.
That which is true rock bottom, Untainted by the scarlet of anger, the yellow of joy.
No, the pure single eloquence of sorrow.

I called them our divorce beds
Every night after we cuddled and couldn't
longer stand the claustophobic cover of our sheets
we found ourselves in seperate beds

divorce beds.

You slept on sheets covered in pink owls.
I slept on teal sheets covered in stars.
We were a twin bedroom dream.

Taking full advantage of a single dorm room
Our nights consisted of heavy whispers
Trains that fled our lungs and vocal chords
in search of the next station

Before sleep hit our barren chests
We'd lay awake and listen to our breaths
Sometimes mine turned into snores.
You hated that

Snores reminded you of your father
Something about expanded vocal chords
creating a symphony at night
scared you

Your father never married
Mine found safetey in a women
in a polka dotted dress
Who could transform his symphony of snores
Into an orchestra of love

Your father was bound by his only son
His nights spent in distress
Echoed a chorus of tears

Until he met Melinda
He called her beautiful
Words that hadn't left his lips since his son emerged into the world
A women full of desires and hopes
too large to fit underneath fitted sheets

You told me about her.
The way your father described the outline of her lips
parallel to the lines of stars that filled the sky
Her freckles constellations of undiscovered stars
Some nights our divorce beds
Felt too close for comfort, and
you would disspear in the morning
Claiming there was monsters in the walls
and that my snores were your fathers

You loved your father
A man who kept his word
Even when his life wedged tradegy into his veins
and his heart wanted to collapse into the inside of his chest
Your love for that man
could never be compared to anything

My father
Foud his life strewn apart into carefully
strung pieces of literature.
Words lulling women into the secrept compartments of his home
With authors no one had even heard of
Except himself.

The only advice my father only said was
“Two wrongs don't make a right”
But it is so hard
When you are throwing rocks at my glass house of confidence
I would shout

Shattered by your slurrs
Skipped rocks don't even miss
the walls that were carefully sculpted
into beautiful stained glass

My father was an artist
I told you about how his conductor
was a women with lips blood red
and kisses so sweet they could make his canvas bleed

You laughed
The differences between our fathers
Two men who believed in two different things
Two men who were in a constant search
for something other than the normal routine

As you laughed underneath your **** pink owl sheets
You told me to hurry up and fall asleep
You felt better listening to my breathing pattern lullabyes

Sometimes when those lullabyes turn heavy
and my chest rattles beneath my teal starred sheets

Please don't leave.
Don't flee.
There is too much hope living under our
divorce beds.

6 chapters into the story of myself
I realised the happy ending had been and gone
And it would have been safer to stop reading
Before the tradegy set in,
You can't see it yet, but it sits like smoke
Upon the ink, and sometimes you can hear it
In a page turning, a soft shrieking
That could be mistaken for wind, if you weren't listening
But I was listening, and so steeled myself
For the building sorrow of the book

10 chapters in, all writing stops
Halfway through a word
And the agony hits like a car crash
Played on repeat in my head
And the tradegy rolls like waves in storm
And the shrieking becomes deafening
And the book closes
And in a whispered breath of a broken reader
You can hear the small sigh of relief

Trauma, tradegy, beauty, or despair
Hidden within our world
That we color so frequently
With words
Something changed us
Within our youth or wisdom
That we needed to explain
With words
But not words that flow
In full thought
Just words that are
Full thought
Skipping prepositions, nouns, sometimes verbs
You get the idea
At least that's my idea
Of the Poet's Common Thread

© October 12, 2009 Deanna Repose
Reposted from www.blog.deannarepose.com

Minds drawing blanks
To this semi loaded weapon
As broken ear gets spoken upon
By wasteful youth, spewing out mouthfuls
Speech impediments, Speech impairments
Drink to slur your words upon empty promises
Rhythms get tapped out, Rhymes get sung out
Blurred out visions, eye twitches
A sight looking out onto the decaying world
That closes in around the primitive creature
Stir crazed, Trapped and enveloped within its own self mutilation
Its embodiment shivers, shattering dreams
As it looks for the warmth of a blanketed soul
To be swept away like yesterday's recycled tradegy
Ripped torn apart otherwise dumped at its wayside
Tortured by its own demise
The jagged knife slices deep into its wrist
To only impeach a livelihood
Within its own words and steps
Wondering where to go on forth
From this plateau of mystifications
Truth be told, truth be had
Jack the pearl of the living psyche

Love is thoughtfulness,
Love is pain,
Love is giving your all to someone,
Love is falling in love with a stranger,
Love emotional
Love is hard,
Love is a deep tradegy to those who can't love,
Love is trusting someone and being honest,
Love is dying for someone you love,
Love is a unknown tradegy for us while don't love,
Love is sacrifice and giving your all and getting nothing in return,
Love is many things but unsure...