Its beginning is a fuse,
Its end a nerve burnt out;
Creativeness is only you,
Before other hands dig in;
A pattern like religion,
The lonely mind of man.
Reflection Upon FearI've searched for the arbitrary,
Found places abandoned to a plague,
Under restoration yet unrestored:
Awl-marks tagged for eternity,
Fresh rage scored the plaster,
Hastily-painted mural of Christ
Marred upon the stone façade,
The scaffolding’s chain of pipes
And planks were
Dark with soot, vacated.
Some things in us that we can't see
Are narrow, dead ends from pillar
To post, soundlessly guiding where
We shouldn't be led.
He who grabs and demands an open hand
From which to stand again
May stand, higher even,
On other men.
Dust particles poised to curse us,
We cannot cure the condition of "versus".
Children play kick-the-can
With a dented censer;
I watch them battle with each kick, a
Fresh perfume of cinders.
The Carrion My fingers itch to intertwine
With votive texts; the withered spine
Of ills and mornings lost
To fingerprints, embossed.
Remembering the aimless days,
I cannot sleep, a clawing craze
Comes atom-small but grows
And stirs my firm repose.
But roguish ran the vein of plot,
What complicated parts and naught
A show of lissome prose,
I turn inward and close.
God with honor, hang your head,
Wild silk you've spun instead
Of Truth's thread; your traces,
Features in our faces.
What partly-colored pain is this,
Acrylic and acidic kiss -
Your stories are no home,
No crueler end can come.
My fingers now are filthy teeth,
Old artworks drawing blood beneath
The words I can't pronounce;
Hunger is but an ounce.
Heaven's a tempest carrying
The carrion meat - the craving
For purpose, in service;
The search for worth, bi
Iceboundmore infinite than
space are memories made
blind in moonlight
trembles beneath the touch of
dawn's first breath
camouflage of ice,
the waves' sigh
of snow cradles dawn,
the ice solidifies
one hesitant step
leads a man's wanderlust thoughts
to something lost
harsh sunlight echoes
upon the waters shore. her
breath lingers no more.
In Wait (A Tale Of Untaken Bait)Bass stop snapping up the squid,
Ditto for the halibut;
Yellowtail pop up, the line never taut.
She'd Take The Devil At His WordAt first glance, her world rolls on
Unbroken, timid eyes;
At first thought, she can't be tender,
Would quickly dart and strip away
Ecstasy's face; a compelling fire
Of flesh in offering
To the night's knife-sharp perspiration.
How beautiful that form expressed,
Pulled by splinters beneath a skin of ropes
And smeared like a thick liquor;
Her possession, becoming possessed,
A devil's depth in adjuration
That I may gash her to pieces and receive nothing;
Her being hollow -
I swallow -
Her being a song, I sing.
Digital WitnessAlready now it stings, hollow nibbles between being swallowed whole,
I die tonight, my life destined to be shared and liked,
Already now it seems the billowy ocean of clicks have found me.
I died without trying, to see him at the pane I sit,
To meet him whom unsubscribed, my life a lofty prize
Plowed through and trod down, powerless against the scroll.
Already now the force of blows, mixed with the incense-steam,
Seem to me less as weapons, more melancholy comments
Attentively neglected; I trust nothing, and expect less.
I am hostage to a powerful host,
Honored to be an awful ghost
Living still in others' eyes,
Through old memories and new replies.
Expectation Of An AvalancheOur emptiness, our spades and saws,
Old tools become debris,
The shattered bricks, a flayed applause
Shaking the snowy sea.
Tomorrow and the muted crawl,
The air's shock caught up, surging fall,
Beyond, until the motion stalls.
The bloodless gallop of the void
Between a dreamer's bones,
And at the foot lay there, destroyed,
Dissolving little ones -
So was it then, an elegy?
To soften their geometry,
So was it, then?
So was it then
When ice was all that I could see?
Alignment of translucent dunes,
Glass roofs but gravestones be;
Giving shelter to shedding moons
All polished perfectly.
An avalanche, as one would say,
No anchored noise thrown in the way,
To seize the feet with frozen clay.
Yet convalescence strips away
That jewel-box whose stems may slake
The eyes' long-thirsty lust of gray -
Our emptiness outwears and breaks.
No arabesque to dress the heart
Nor quickly sway its idle aches;
To whisk off vertigo, to part,
Our emptiness o
And Chains Will Not Release MeA certain pride and certain awe I see,
At times, your ardor all but has you gripped,
Yet not with love for your own child, or me,
But only for his newest manuscript.
Your verses are a gift from God himself,
Yet you dwell on those sentences amiss,
'Tis your novels that should be on the shelf,
But you treat each word as a crude, lewd kiss.
I'm writing this in hopes that you may know,
Finally understand what you ignore,
My veiled voice has long been pleading "Go..",
But 'tis I who must choose to stay no more.
Your words have chains and meaning thick as lead,
And chains will not release me once they're said.
Some Broken PeopleSome broken people can hurt you without thought
But believe me when I say it’s not their fault
With an open wound as delicious as yours
It would be a shame not to rub in the salt
So why do you insist on shaking that girl
Do you like playing the martyr on your knees?
Acting like you’re a paragon of purity
Well today that purity feels ripe for disease
Some broken people cry not knowing what for
Have sympathy as they weren’t born with black hearts
Like you and I they have grey matter in their brain
But their thoughts are a great distance from dark
So why do you insist on hitting that girl
When she stopped feeling many blue moons ago?
A waste of energy, like her wasted breath
When she told you that her safe word was ‘no’
Some broken people lash out without warning
At those close to them that they hold most dear
Trying to fight away those armed with feelings
Yet at the same time wishing that they were near
So why do you insist on leaving that girl?
The Beauty of the Blank PageSome people will see the blank page
As comparable to the most dreadful curse
But I see it as potential
To write in my own words the perfect verse
And though this is yet to happen
The promise will always remain right there
Like a newborn leaving the womb
As they take their first breath of fresh air
Some people will see the blank page
As a reason or excuse to give in
But every great literary work
Needed a scribbled first word to begin
Seeds of a thought that blossom
Thoughts that bloom in to an idea
The page slowly becomes your friend
As the reason you’re writing becomes clear
Some people will see the blank page
As their familiar adversary
As difficult to run away from
As the hardest to forget memory
But like those unwanted memories
It eventually will have to be faced
Don’t hide away from the hollow
And with words the blank page will be replaced
I WishI wish I wish I wish I had a thousand years to live
for if I had this wish I wished I'd have much more to give
I wish I wish I wish this world would learn to live in peace
for if I had this wish I wished all mindless wars would cease
I wish I wish I wish all children had a ma and pa
for if I had this wish I wished sweet love would be the law
I wish I wish I wish that I could fly a ship to Mars
for if I had this wish I wished I'd travel to the stars
I wish I wish I wish all people loved their brother true
for if I had this wish I wished no one would e'er feel blue
I wish... I wish...
well, maybe someday
Who says you can't play on broken strings?Allow me to play
on the strings
of your broken heart
to prove to you
that the melody
of your soul
TnM - Reincarnation of Love PROLOGOHace tiempo atrás hubo dos hermanastros los cuales eran unos grandes inventores, su imaginación era fascinante con ella podían lograr lo que deseaban, con unas herramientas lograban cualquier cosa, crecieron en una aldea pequeña conocida actualmente como Danville o Área Limítrofe, en aquel tiempo la aldea no tenía nombre, ambos crecieron junto a un bosque místico, virgen en todo sentido; algunos decían que en el bosque existía seres mágicos, claro que quienes les decían eso eran los locos de la aldea.
Phineas y Ferb eran los inventores del pueblo, ninguno de los dos era mal recibido en la aldea ambos hacían que cada día fuera extraordinario, su sueño era que su aldea tuviera los últimos avances claro sin quitar la diversión, en sus inventos diarios siempre eran ayudados por un joven furioso y de mal carácter (Buford), un joven amante de la ciencia y de la escuela (Baljeet), y una señorita de
Euthanasia of a RoseIf there were beauty in mortality,
It would discern of perennial sanquinity.
The wild rose bygone wickedly bloomed,
Once snipped, is presently doomed
To a sepulcher of cloying placidity,
In an elegant jar of decaying potpourri.
ClairvoyantI am not ashamed of my demons
And neither of my flaws
I have got my simple reasons
The ones on which I can gnaw
I'm not haunted by perfection
That is not what I seek
I prefer real affection
I favour being a freak
I am me not your vision
I can live how I want
I don't need your permission
You are no clairvoyant
Breathe AgainHath they quaver
By any other sway but West
For its fallen brother
I would have taken
Far from mistaken
The beads of sweat from rest
Crackle bones lost milk of mother
Departed as the bending sigh
The one that bred its daughter lie
So seed can bloom with mindful bride
Shed off the blissful slumber
Would golden blaze
Be unlike the brass war-chains
In low remains
Whilst weight shift in its wake
Tell moving breath
Out come its wealth
And not the founding of its pains
Slip from sightless
Gloss a cover of unknowing
No wisp of remorse or remiss
But metal shifts
And opened rifts
Divide an ocean outgrowing
Emblazoned even if in dark
I shall hark
Precious dull that beckons breathe
Even if restrained
Will not let waned
How earthen dreams have left their mark
If I could see
Old ones with minds of gilded time
Would it shine
And make pearls out of shapeless sea
Take their age
Befit a sage
To wrap this darkened world with light