"travle" poems
Inner working of my insanity you know well.
green fairy cube of sugar over ice water
its tender journey few need to undersand.
So you travle a abstract road and bury your soul
underneath the ice.
Cold in hell beauthy in darkness veils of sanity but
velvet embers of a strange haunting scene.
It is the curse and i the moth to it's flame.
death of tommorows cast visions of a oceans sound.
I am but a leaf cast over dark waters never struggle just drift.
In history I travle speaking in tones surreal to my ear.
if so shall i slip will insanity be but a moment fractured in dream.
Screams in a far off space so distant from mine.
No pain exists here for im gone in form.
A painting in a stars t moon cast scenes erased by light.
Where i go none should follow for the price is
only for the distant in thought to pay.
Emptyness cascades in the past so for now here i yern only to
stay.
Green in light wormwoods fire sweet in bliss.
No path is ever set.
Tragedy in play i cast no regrets apon my stage.
A ear in respect a razor in hand.
I slice into a faint glimmer no pain shall I understand
nights cloak the dawn days cast stories unwritten.
In genius we find insanitys child.
Broken glass cuts clear my moments are chipped
as of stone.
Time knows me not for i am but speck in a waters fall.
Nightmares and my destined fate.
Kissed of vemon.
She in madness hold's open the path to
my visions gate.
Between death and dream insanity and a razors gleam.
From the darkest space does my page bleed to write.
Will you **** my thought only glorify the loss of mind.
In the drinks madness my genius I shall never yern to find.
Jan 23, 2011
Jan 23, 2011 at 6:24 AM UTC
Red ribbons around the streetlights.
The lights from the commadore theather
are a reflection of the past.
Coblestone streets the historic district across the water
buildings are lit haunting shadows over the water.
Once a year closed streets seem to travle back in time.
Roasted penuts street corner preformers.
Familys togather homeless on benches not all is beautiful and bright.
Sweet city so cold and gritty.
Christmas lights like neon signs call to my jaded soul.
Horse and carrige ride down by the water.
New lovers getting lost in the moment an season.
I sit apon the steps of the old church share a bottle with
My new best friend smells of the city echo back to another time.
Lights and sounds reflect a holiday on highstreet.
Hands held togther when in another life it seems you
were mine.
Cold are the streets carols fill this night.
If only more than once a year.
We could embrase this spirt.
Then trap it for one peaceful day.
The traffic apon Highstreet is is slowing
The festival crowd is fading.
The bottle of christmas cheer is almost gone
so along with the I must be going.
Oct 19, 2009
Oct 19, 2009 at 10:45 AM UTC
Kaffen er varm og duften er velkendt når den rammer mine sanser. Åbner op for den velkendte smag, som jeg snart smager. Når kaffen er varm, møder jeg måske lidt flere minder end hvis den var kold. For når den er kold, så er vi gået, og samtalen og tankestrømmen er som regel forbi.
Når kaffen er varm går samtalen mellem dig og mig, eller dig og hende eller ham på velsmurte skinner og solen skinner måske i øjeblikket, og glæden stråler ud af dine vintertrætte øjne, og jeg ser det. Vi smiler. Vi er glade. Måske endda lykkelige, lige der i øjeblikket. Enten med selvskab af dig, ellers sidder jeg alene med den varme kop mellem mine skrøbelige hænder, som er trætte efter dagens forhindringer, som jeg har måtte stå imod. Måske tænker jeg for meget.
Jeg svæver mellem mælkeskum og varme bønner, væk fra det der gemmer sig bag ruden, som dugger til af varmen fra min nu varme krop mod vinduskammen. Jeg lader dem strømme, tankerne, lader dem svæve som om de flygtede fra det kolde vejr mod varmere lande. Dagens, ugens eller månedens ophobninger af forvirrede, glade, vrede og småligegyldige tanker.
Det er små øjeblikke som denne hvor jeg ser at de travle øjeblikke er der for mange af. Fordi om lidt er kaffen kold, og snart kalder hverdagen igen. Tiden går, kaffen er kold, og snart er der kun kaffemærker af den tidligere varme kaffe tilbage.
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 2:28 PM UTC
Mange møder lige to timer senere
Sender trætte signaler ud i den travle by,
som ingen kan følge med i.
I byen, hvor alt alligevel starter automatisk op til en ny uge.
Uden hjælp fra de mange, der møder lige to timer senere.
Senere, udskudt, fortrængt, ligegyldigt.
Lige om lidt.
Lidt er ligegyldigt. Småt er ikke stort og lave forventninger er det samme som ingen. Der er brug for det bedste.
Bedre skal det være.
Men mange møder lige to timer senere, når det er en grå mandag og alt uden for dynen er koldt og ligegyldigt.
May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 6:54 AM UTC
As in the tears light does escape in the darkest fear.
Pleading in silence yerning for the departure of my soon
lost mind.
Why we we must travle a road only to see it's end.
The path unsure requires a steady broken soul.
My emptyness know great depth.
A game of life a promise of death.
Behind laughter pain does exist.
Another night escapes me one of many regrets.
The wind a companion the road a void of nights
gentle embrace.
Ive searched for a reason tangled in the traps of
agony's plessure cast dellusion.
A snow globe heart awaits its fatal dance
with the floor.
In the arms of passion we feel the wrath of
times bitter truth.
I am the clowns washed clean face.
Ive serched for a depth.
To find a poets soul ive found not a trace.
I struggle to resist.
She drops the glass as it breaks apon a slab floor.
No longer the clown do I see.
One pull and tommorows painting will be erased.
From a spark of pure creation and a fatal destruction.
Into a night a end of my choosing.
Maybe we knew the past was soon to be are end.
Heart's like all things bleeding easily betray.
For only clocks and urns apon the mantle were ment to stay.
In choosing this path it sets a page blank.
Allowing many to read that which was never seen.
In darkness the mystery leaves little light.
So as we toast to a suicide.
The trigger is pulled.
A ****** up sesibility is matched
only by a cryptic verse.
As in chains we exist trapped in soul
lost within the mind.
Sunsets in red oceans of passions failure
no longer free to the laugther trapped within
my head.
The soon to be forgotten fade.
As in the depths we chase demons of are own creation
shallow in thought.
Washed in tommorows legend and dried
by reallty's ever changing truth.
Jul 21, 2010
Jul 21, 2010 at 7:10 PM UTC
Deception breaths in snakes whom slither as they thrive .
My razor of my thoughts cuts deep yet there is no malice in truth.
Simply the words that bare existance for others to reject .
A slap to the face is harsh no matter your gender i hold no mercy as i ask for none in return.
Respect given to all but i am no stone unwhich to be stepped upon.
The path you care not to travle is best left alone for it will find you just the same .
No battle is foolish just the cause inwhich it stands.
The jaws can **** as easily as embrace tread softly when dealing with these.
It lays silent never dead.
So easily awoken the rage of a demon .thrives in the chaos it all exists within.
Be careful of strangers often disguised as friends.
We only know are true sides within the depths of darkness.
Climbing from the pit many will try to claw there way past to suit there egos lust.
Never allow the weak to poison your hearts well.
In the depths is were we find the stranger that is are own reflection.
Never play with that which you do not understand.
Allow the monsters there isolation.
And all will be as you can never truly understand.
We can never unsee the hells we unlock.
And so be the stars .
Jan 25, 2017
Jan 25, 2017 at 3:35 PM UTC
måske ser vi ikke hvordan
vi falder fra hinanden
når vi ikke holder blikket længere end to sekunder
selvom vi deler fortorvet med fremmede ansigter
det er midt i det travle tog
når drengen smiler med unge læber og
ingen mundvige gengælder hans glædeblik
det hele sker i et øjeblik
når vi alle for længst er gået forbi
ingen lukker dig ind i deres tankeunivers
for "hvad nu hvis"
ingen ved hvem de er
for alt hvad vi ved er
at vi er brikker i et spil, hvor
tillid er et fremmedord og
livstørstige sygdomme er mere almindelige
end ordet undskyld
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 2:33 PM UTC
There used to be man who could stand up to anything,
To the pain and violence of people both loved ones and hated,
He used to be able to be the sheild for his family and friends,
But now stands an empty shell,
Lost never foun and never to be a man to stand up,
I am that empty shell there's nothing left inside,
Nothing to fill me up,
Nothing to give me hope,
I've lost myself once again,
I'm disconnected from life and everyone in it,
Like the wind I float along no purpose but to pass through the lives of everyone I meet,
Never to be rembeted,
Never to be held dear,
Never to be loved,
I am but a small shell of nothingness,
So there once was a man who could
Stand up to everything,
I was that man but now,
I am nothing,
Empty,
Ad floating away,
Lost on the wind,
Floating through lives,
No one wants a shell.
So I will go away travle the winds Mabey they will carry me to place far away.
For I once was but am no more.
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 7:09 PM UTC