"deadzones" poems
Back to try our luck at the American dream
With three suitcases full of fading memories
Stories you don't care to hear
With people once near and dear
Now they've disappeared.
I left a Sydney summer romance
For a transcontinental breakup
In the dead of winter
I'd convinced myself I'd get back what I'd lost
In the lime-light
No where feels like home
But the open road
I'll go at it alone
Through deadzones
Through timezones
I say I'm finally home in Philly
But I say **** I don't mean
They said that's not where you're from
I say I'll start where I am
But I won't end up here.
So I flew out to a West Coast Christmas
To smoke some **** in the sun
But global ruined wrecked my fun
No where feels like home
But the open road
I'll go at it alone
Through deadzones
Through timezones
Now it's always sunny in Philadelphia
And raining in L.A.
The world has took a 180
What else can I say
I can't help thinking that I've done it all wrong
Traveled the world and back
Seen everything there is to see
And I have nothing to show for it
Besides the stolen sand in my suitcase
And faded summer dreams
No where feels like home
But the open road
I'll go at it alone
Through deadzones
Through timezones
May 24, 2017
May 24, 2017 at 5:04 PM UTC
I cannot speak of my emotions,
my mouth freezes, tears do not fall
My insanity pours out from my pen,
it slips down my fingers and splatters the keyboard
with blood
I cry
I wonder why
I cannot SPEAK the truth of my heart,
all I can do is weild my pen;
write.
These words can fly into the sky
fluttering iridescent wings,
high on the love and despair
of teenage affairs
They fly through the eyes
of fellow young minds
Light up the deadzones inside
with my voice
I write because I cannot speak,
I write to share my mind
with the ones I love
and with the world
take my words
and fly.
Jun 21, 2016
Jun 21, 2016 at 9:53 AM UTC
steam slides stealthy
through demarcated
deadzones
egress in earnest
evades erstwhile
ozone
firmament freedom
fulsome and flatulent
pedantic ponderings
perused by the petulant
Baroque to the Gothic
baleful buttress
hopefully honing
the hooks of
injustice
l sleep in the city
and dream looking
down
men muse in their
countries, and covet
a crown
SøułSurvivør
(C) 7/2/2017
Jul 2, 2017
Jul 2, 2017 at 6:38 AM UTC