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 Nov 2012 Taylor Napier
Samuel
Your hand reaches down
like a thousand raindrops to
outline my tired skin
 Nov 2012 Taylor Napier
Tom Orr
Hello.

                 Hello.

Lillies please,
just a handful,
keep the change.

He asked if they were for a loved one

No sir, for Benny, sir. He questioned the King.

With that I turned and left.
As I broke into the outside air,
my eyes turned to the sky.

It was no use holding back the tears.

He slept beneath the tree as his friends and family congregated

To abandon oneself to principles is really to die - and to die for an impossible love which is the contrary of love.
Eulogy taken from a quotation by Albert Camus
 Nov 2012 Taylor Napier
Tom Orr
Terrifying façade,
long and tall, overpowering
but frail.
Ready to crumble and fall.

Snide wire intertwined,
exit wounds in the concrete flesh.
Each thorn stood to attention,
unwelcoming guards of the now unwanted.

Block after block
of relentless alleyways,
like a labyrinth of colossal gravestones.
The sky opens.

Water rattles bullet-like,
upon the once majestic city walls.
The cathedral moans its last hymn
as the steeple betrays itself.

The descent prevails.
So you want to be rich?
                              You'd like to rule?
                                                     Nothing is better, nothing more cool.
It's really quite simple
                              1...
                                       2...
                                               3...
Just ignore your heart
                                     AND
                                                Release your greed
March as though
                            YOU
                                      own the place
Talk as though
                            YOU
                                       know it all
When someone sobs
                                  OR
                                         someone shirks
Tear them.
                .
                .  down

Or go berserk!

You know I'm right
You know it's true
                                
Who needs
                  family...
                                 friends...
                                                 love...
Being a ****
                    WILL
                                put you above
Girl after girl
                       WILL
                                  chase after you
Simply pretend
                          YOU
                                    know what to do
Want something done?
get THEM to do
                                      The world was made
                                       to be rearranged
Money. Wealth.
                           FAME.
                                         and Power.
Will satisfy
                         YOUR
                                       every hour
Oh...
      You'd rather be warm?
                                  You'd rather care?
Good luck my friend.
                              The world is unfair.
When I first sold myself there were
black cottons, brass buttons, iron crosses, steel machines
All the marks of war
All that searing heat
With all that pretty malice
Spilling Paris in the street
‘Twenty marks’ I called
‘Twenty marks’
That was 1943
And Piaf was doing well

Nurse, do you know what it is like:
To have a man inside of you
that you could never love?

There was, once upon a time, a pretty little ****
black cottons, brass buttons, iron crosses, steel machines
Lying on my floor
And Maman was starving, and my sister, too
Dignity wasn’t half the tax it seemed before
He gave me a baby, and a disease,
That was 1944:
Piaf was quite successful, then

Doctor, can you fathom:
Having sores all over you?
Yes, down there, and
all up and down your thighs, your body burns.
Can you feel that?

Then, the Germans left, and the Allies came, all
black cottons, brass buttons, iron crosses, steel machines
All of that decor
Fleeing, running out
On the French horizon
Retreat
The Allies were the same
‘Three dollars’ I called
‘Three dollars’
That was 1945:
Piaf was languishing
Paris had died

Jacques, my dear:
Those were our times
smoky cabarets, sculptured croons, fine wines
your rifle on your back could wind my morning with worry
and with my scourges, you took me all the same
but what I remember is:
black cottons, brass buttons, iron crosses, steel machines
then:

nothing

“Monsieur Boursin - she has passed.”

He sobs,
it sounds like
war.
Just ask me. Also, if anybody knows any more appropriate French surnames (read:one that isn't a variety of cheese), please, I invite your reaction.
 Sep 2011 Taylor Napier
Samuel
To pray with earthen lips
Bow with wooden knees
Speak with singed tongues
                           Strength is the image
                           Strength is the intent
                           Strength
                                          was the lie
but no longer

Today is a new beginning with
Which steel will begins to fill in the
Air behind the painted walls

And genuine laughter rings in the aftermath of
A world gone so wrong it turns right

— The End —