"settng" poems
Muttering at the end of the hall
When the scythe lays reflecting a white moon
"Goodnight Irene," whispers a prayer
No one that lives present has a say here
Each second that passes
Means a step toward the gate
Though fate touches some
There are many left behind
Licking the cerberuses dried tongue
Morning, night
Both hold the same grudge
A delirium of pressing proportions
That will turn any master work
Into a child's glittery firework
Hear the wind pass through
Dead children's waving hair
All I see are the burning grey trees
And a place that once was alive
But now is filled with every kind of disease
Hold the the throat of the man that has taken
Your love your treasure your dream under dreams
All these sheets of cloth cannot protect you
The bed is burning beneath you
And as the church bells ring for their final time
God is not there to show you some kind of sign
Though the mind seems insane
The mind is also sane
Each drop of water to waver the balance
That falls from a sky full of grace
Shows sweet reseliance of the minds of us
Sweet brown whiskey water
That tastes of the settng sun
Each drip of the drop does not bother
You act as if a long lost brother
Feb 23, 2012
Feb 23, 2012 at 3:59 AM UTC
As my eyes lay upon the settng Autumn sun,
The West wind still lingers in the air,
Blowing the leaves of the poplar tree through my hair.
I close my eyes as the last light of day shines on my face.
Golden are the rays as they vanish beneath the earth.
Then all that is left behind is Darkness,
That devourers all that it touches.
The blackness cloaks all that is coming;
Coming for me.
But when the ravens fly overhead looking for me,
And the serpents scour the grounds,
I will have been long gone.
For my eyes have never again seen that pure golden light.
Closed to the Earth they are and, that they will stay.
Two roads await me now,
Wether I choose the left or right is unknown.
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 6:11 PM UTC