The ground
Is covered in fresh blood
As it flows from the head
Of the foreseer

The shooters
Wanted silence in his lips
That now quiver while still
Losing its strength

No remorse
Is given to the lose
As arrogance covers the mess
Left by the blind

Days pass
Truth is revealed
The foreseer was right
But acknowledged by none

The shooters
Weep without end
Feeling pain times 10
Of what they have dealt

The Messenger
Forgotten in time
But reviewed by some
Yet still ignored by the blind

All of this
Because of lack of judgement
All of this
When they shot the Messenger

Blood-thirsty


Beware, for I am the sinister taker of lives.
The evil among the fearless; the blood-thirsty surprise.
The bringer of death, go await me in your beds;
Your day of reckoning has come, but don’t lose your head.


For I only bring my deadly vampire kiss
And you’re a cynic anyway; in me you don’t believe.
You couldn’t conceive a notion, so unbelievable,
But the stories are true and I shall have your blood.


For I too have, my own carnal pleasures,
The sadistic psychopath, with a need to devour.
I shall sink my fangs, deep into your throat,
Or bathe in your blood; this is your final hour.


You were the headstrong, extreme tourist;
You never believed, in any of the stories.
A local legend born on fact;
Now this blood tax, I shall extract.


I am the foreseer of doom, saturated in blood.
The creeping hand in a forest full of fog.
So don’t wander off the beaten path and get lost in the dark,
Or I shall have to break your Mother’s heart.


Pale as snow and empty inside,
The blood has been drained, as was the life.
The spirit fought a losing battle.
You are merely food to me; you Humans are simply cattle.


Walking talking food, wrapped in flesh;
Never aware, you are taking your final breath.
I have risen up, to the next rung on the food chain,
For I am now the bringer of death and pain.


Gone from this world, to return a predator;
Free from Death’s scythe, forever and ever.
But now I must empty, the bodies around me,
Their blood is now mine and I must feed.
But now I have a new kind of lust;
A need to ****…
And a need to drink your blood.


(C)2013 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.

It was the summer before the real world started and,
The deal was we would get to go, if we
cleaned it up...

to travel through time
a nonexistent feature of life

never before has desire arisen
going back to *that moment

confusion of what was
what never will be

actions long ago
memories fade to grey

the beginning to the end
blinded to the foreseer

never in a million years
did i think i'd wish for it

*but i do.

For Hard Cold Cash

This small medium at large
kibitzer did appear
more brash (albeit) poetically,
and insinuate with soft pedal blare
perhaps at the expense of dare
ring to losing followers, this crash
test dummies star performer
did not mean to ensnare,

perhaps hypnotically tugged
heartstrings with his flair
analogous to birds eye glare
ruffling tail feathers of
a frosty buoy **** gull (hare
reed) loon seething with hormonal
secretion and the brink to engineer
foolproof mating elaborate fanfare,

when bytes of my obviously clear
expression to succor minted heir
to a fortune (courtesy
anonymous philanthropist), now leer
re: asper point blank plea
for wads of moolah, but mere
lee issuing agitation where
substantial outlay to repair

(passenger side rear)
brake assembly, the automotive
technician espied situation where,
abrasion and erosion clear
as day, which critical assessment
warranted me to declare
an immediate affirmative
decision, which near
broke ma stainless steel piggy bank

to tune of six hundred bucks - hair
reed, an understatement, almost near
lee six months to the day, a prior reap
pair cost similar dollar figure,
which even at present
found yours truly still in despair,
then only to experience,
sans "FAKE" foreseer

(as ordained by Oracle
of Delphi) despite prayer
for me to vouchsafe share
ring at least one daily
compliment to the missus - neh veer

being privy (during our
twenty second plus year)
of whetted bull
lust stick missile exchanges, there
came shortfall of forced favorable blare
ring of said utterenced, thus superstition
an ugly head didst rear.

Need not to awaken the sleeping beauty;
****** tears have sparked calamity already.

A rainbow shall not be awaited;
Storms are nowhere near the clock.
What good is it for a clown to weep
If the city lights have tamed the aftershock?

Would the whispers of a heart
Still be worthy of an ear
If they became the echoes
Of the past of a foreseer?

The sand knows the way home,
And the moon knows that so did I.
But tossing the hourglass again
Is the mistake I pledged to never try.

The mirror does not long for fairy tales,
But anything more than a home.