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The Poet Is A MurdererThe eyes of suspicion dive into my soul,As though they were given highest permission,To enter into my memories,And harvest my soul.They swim to every corner of my mind,Searching crazily for the truth,Needing to know my thoughts,And every idea.The eyes of accusation dive to the depths of my being,As though they were given so high a priority,To enter into my memories,And harvest my guilt.They build up an endearing case against me,Pining insanely for my conviction,Craving my lifetime spent in prison,No hope of parole.The eyes of the judge stare down at me,As though they knew my very core,To understand every motivation,And guilty deed.They bore a hole into my brain,Relinquishing my innocence,Replacing it with guilt,Defendant found guilty.The eyes of the jury fight terror behind eyelids,As though I could kill them with a look,To give them back the bad hand they dealt,Convicted murderer.They take me to my prison cell,Locking me up for life,Fearing my violent ten
Black LimousineComfort in a deadened breastThe silent cries couldn't be heard down the corridor; they couldn't be heard in the separate rooms of her house, and nor could they be heard by the sleeping ears of her family.Mother heard them though; she heard those silent cries calling strongly for a mother's touch; her embrace. She could see those hands through walls of concrete reaching out to her, drawing in her heart, and only her heart; for her body could not follow it.The young infant cried silent tears; craving comfort in the arms of his mother; the mother that lay heavy and cold in a white bed down the hall; the mother with a now free heart; a soul that could always watch over her young son.'Be calm my child' She would whisper to his ear; her soul singing his mind to sleep. 'Be still and know; I am here.'The mother watched on always, as the days went by, and as her son grew older. Days passed, weeks, months. She remained the only shadow to hear his silent cries; those piercing shrieks that fe
Passive Sin - Cold SnowdriftI swear; I love you!Even though my passive sin,May say otherwise.Please understand me!Listen to what I tell you,For it's all I have.The snowdrift masks my,Aged regret and dishonour;The cold of the night.Remember those nights?Cold nights by the firelight;High up in the clouds.Remember those sins?Passive sins we committed?Masked by the snowdrift?I remember them,The beauty of their taboo,Forbidden to us.Held back by old ties,Pushed forward by temptation,Ending in heaven.Those; our passive sins,Let bloom by the candlelight,Of the morning sun.Lost to cold snowdrifts,Replaced in our memories,By ties endearing.Though we can't exist,I will love you forever;As my Passive Sin.
Are You Scared?Do you ever get scared when you meet someone who is so much like you, that you can both understand, and finish their sentences in your head?Do you ever get scared, that when you talk to this person, they're the only other person in the world who speaks the same speed as you, who use the same words as you, who stretches the same letters as you?Do you ever get scared when you meet someone who you get along with like no other person you have ever met, when they have the same facial expressions as you, when they talk like you do?Do you ever get scared when you meet someone who thinks EXACTLY like you? Someone who you can look at, and without words, know EXACTLY what they are thinking? Someone who is so alike you in every way, that you feel as though you're looking on someone IDENTICAL to you?Do you ever get scared, that when you find out they like the same things as you, do the same things as you, know the same stuff as you, you almost faint?Do you ever get scared, that when you look
Of Ornamental ValueKnocked from the table by a stray hand,Falls freely in its descent,To roll slowly across the linoleum floor.Jumping narrowly over the door frame,Tripping awkwardly down the steps,To land with a thud on the concrete path.Bumping down the age-old trail,Winding with the wind,To leap over a mound and onto a rock.Bouncing off the timely stool,Leaping over the bed of stones,To imbed itself in the soil of the Juniper's garden.Remaining still through days and nights,Forgotten as time passed by,To rust through wind and rain.Playing home to a family of insects,Sheltering them against the skies,To be abandoned when summer comes.Overlooked as years go by,Unfound by playing kids,To yearn longingly for a home.Kicked around by winter's snow,Buried deep into the soil,To be lost forever to the world.Used by thousands of sheltering bugs,Given up as they go their way,To no longer hold a purpose.Then one day
A small girl of only three years old,Stumbles across its path,S