To be, or not, to be...
That is plagiarism.
Although, the rested see..
It's the only "ism"
Will I do?
Or, will I do not?
Will I place soulfully, the life before me?
Or, will I defy my end with bitter, confusion.
I doubt them both.
Within my heart,
I chase a rope.
About a time,
When rhyme and cope.
Are one, the same,
Rewrite my hope.
Can one remain,
While others greave?
Burn the bridge,
And meld the seam.
Your idle dream,
Don't mind the pain,
Rewrite and leave.
And so man had been where few were
And I, a tiny stump of nature once heard
Shall say little as the boy and girl of today say
Hey not a thought means more in a horse hay
And so it were fools scarce and beams a plenty
Not a tidal of hope for those who've a plenty.
when i become weary
when the storm and the tide
takes me underneath
i return to the surface
with a fresh breath of air
my only escape
has always been my memories
my memories of a lush life
of the snow falling on mountains
sliding down hills with my brother
driving along all the coasts
the gulf of mexico
the beautiful hues of green
dancing across the car window
the sparkling dotted stars
across my the trunk of my father's car
the sandy, cobblestone steps
of all the mexican pyramids
the delicately leathered and gentle
caresses from my grandparents' hands
passing down from generation to generation
their stories and strength
the small moments
give me strength
i will be whole
The brain is splayed open for the hands to create,
But their crippling limits can never grant what was asked.
So the brain beats upon the hands night and day,
And the hands beat the brain to put it to rest.
The brain screams in agony of opportunities lost,
Of all the wishes that will never be seen.
The body has grown weary of failed attempts,
And weeps at the impending death of dreams.
One wants to die and the other to live,
But these wishes are corrosive when they touch.
One seeks to drown while the other, to fly,
One states, "Let's live!" while the other, knowingly, "Time to die."
And the more they confront each other,
The more each is driven insane,
Until reality is no longer known,
Rather, only driving pain.
So nights are cut too short and complacent days far too long.
Until one day they see they are victims,
Of the cruel, sadistic and abusive beating,
The heart will forever give them.