I hate learning poetry in school. I hate it very, very much. It is not the poems; no, it could never be the poems...It's the way they are taught. Never once have I thought the way my current teacher does, and her words irk me, when I know they probably shouldn't.
I think the thing that bothers me the most is when we analyze poetry. We will talk about the meaning of poetry and what the author is talking about, but I don't think my teacher (or whoever came up with the lesson plans) understands that poetry isn't just about what the author means. You see, the poet will write with something in their heart, perhaps a burden or a thought or a feeling or a memory, but that is not how it comes out. When you read poetry, you are reading those burdens and thoughts and so on through shattered glass. The original thought is not what matters. It will make a difference, but it's not the main point.
In fact, there is not main point.
It's made of several different points. It's not what the author sees, it's not what others see, and it's not what you see. A poem is what all of you see. We can all read a poem and take away different meanings, and no matter how different those meanings are, it's what the poem is when combined.
There is not a certain feeling that will always go with poetry. Some are meant to be sad, and some are meant to be happy, but in real life, when are things just happy or sad? You see, feelings are complex. They are interwoven. :There is not definite feeling that will go with poem. You may get an overall impression, but that does not set a mood.
These are the reasons why people hate poetry. If they could only see it how I could...from the eyes of somebody passionately in love with language... Do you think they'd change their opinions then? If you want to know why children are drawing the final line at poetry, this is why. It's being taught. Poetry can't be taught. It can be something that you grow in the minds of students, it can be something you work on as students, and it can be something that is read and written in school, but it cannot be taught, because there are no laws or rules to poetry. Haiku and Sonnet styled poetry will have steps to follow, but what about Free Verse? The rules change over time. There is no law to beauty.
In school, they are teaching us that there is a law to follow in poetry. That's not true. Because of this misguided concept, I honestly want to slam my head on the desk and go to the nurse for mental illness so that I wouldn't listen to what people believe poetry is. Because it's not. Poetry won't even be what I described it as. It's something different to everyone. It's something that you write when you don't realize it, and it's something that matters.
Algebra and Laws of Physics? Those may be important in some way, but what would be without a poetry? Probably a war drenched world with pollution and children starving in the streets.
Perhaps you know where I'm going with this.
Sunday, December 30, 2012
the prayer of revelation
a prince rode
on a white horse.
his bow was pointed down
and the crowd fell silent.
another man came
riding a red horse
and where he walked across
there sprung many wars.
the black horse’s rider
was quieter still
and with him
he measured the world.
but worse was the pale horse
and it’s rider.
and followed him was the three
and Hell not far behind.
the riders stopped not for
food or water or strength
but only stopped once to say
“tis the eve of end of days.”
the earth then shook
and the sun turned black
and the moon to blood.
the stars went out one by one
and they fell to earth
to fight their wars
and each one killed a thousand.
the mountains crumbled
the islands sunk
those left hid in the ruins
of mountains and they prayed:
“fall on us, hide us from
the wrath of the lamb
for the day of His wrath has come
and who shall stand?”
twelve thousand at a time
and the mark
and the trees bend under the storm
and the earth was fighting to stand.
relief of half an hour
but the trumpets sang
and fire rain
and the seas turned to blood.
and a pit opened in the ground
and smoke drifted in the world
and tis the end has come!
behold and woe whoever still is on earth.
in those days, men will desire death
and they will not find it.
they will attempt death
and it will flee from them.
and many shall fall
as few will rise
and the warriors kill
with no regret.
and a year and a month
a day and a hour and
even so it has not passed
and it goes.
until finally, it is gone
and the sun and the stars
are gone and no life exists,
and it is peaceful.
hallelujah, Lord,
do come on the earth
and come, Jesus,
do come to us.
Amen.
on a white horse.
his bow was pointed down
and the crowd fell silent.
another man came
riding a red horse
and where he walked across
there sprung many wars.
the black horse’s rider
was quieter still
and with him
he measured the world.
but worse was the pale horse
and it’s rider.
and followed him was the three
and Hell not far behind.
the riders stopped not for
food or water or strength
but only stopped once to say
“tis the eve of end of days.”
the earth then shook
and the sun turned black
and the moon to blood.
the stars went out one by one
and they fell to earth
to fight their wars
and each one killed a thousand.
the mountains crumbled
the islands sunk
those left hid in the ruins
of mountains and they prayed:
“fall on us, hide us from
the wrath of the lamb
for the day of His wrath has come
and who shall stand?”
twelve thousand at a time
and the mark
and the trees bend under the storm
and the earth was fighting to stand.
relief of half an hour
but the trumpets sang
and fire rain
and the seas turned to blood.
and a pit opened in the ground
and smoke drifted in the world
and tis the end has come!
behold and woe whoever still is on earth.
in those days, men will desire death
and they will not find it.
they will attempt death
and it will flee from them.
and many shall fall
as few will rise
and the warriors kill
with no regret.
and a year and a month
a day and a hour and
even so it has not passed
and it goes.
until finally, it is gone
and the sun and the stars
are gone and no life exists,
and it is peaceful.
hallelujah, Lord,
do come on the earth
and come, Jesus,
do come to us.
Amen.
rejoice (and behold)
It’s not something you can just argue over,
like the sun
and the moon
and the stars
and death
and God.
No, it’s much more than that,
something that is as dark as the sky
when hope has decided to flee.
Life, whispered into the fallen.
Breath, pushed into the warriors.
And when their eyes open in the light
of the night
they look up to you and they
don’t know
if they should thank you or
kill you.
It doesn’t matter either way.
The humans turn to ice
on and on,
and forever
they freeze.
Their souls, where do they go?
Their hope, where does it go?
The sands of many nations
crushed lightly under your feet
while the waves of many worlds
lap at everything
and your eyes change colors
as fast as the everflowing
wind
and you raise one hand
into the air, with no expression,
(expressions are feelings,
feelings are death.)
and it watches you
and it is war.
It drags them down
with a vengeance,
something no one can understand.
It pounds at the earth,
growling and killing
millions without regret
and it rises from the dark,
and no one can beat it.
Another rises in the sea,
with a mouth of many teeth,
slithering forevermore,
with the eyes of a great serpent.
And it laughs,
(levithan, they sing, behold!)
cold and metallic, like a blade,
and the blade cuts into your faith.
The rise is as greatly known
as the next person in waiting.
It is seen, it is heard,
but not approached.
They are sure to die soon.
They fight for life,
But life fights from them.
The beast and the serpent
(behemoth, they sing, behold!)
attack without withdrawal.
They wouldn’t have been so lucky
to have such a blessing.
There is not much longer,
It is coming.
Few realize it, they acknowledge,
living their life without redemption,
tourniquets made from bouquets,
and the world lives in the night.
There is nothing left.
The last sounds are of fire
and death
and of the sea
and breath
and there is something of life
in those last moments,
that when the first seven come
all the mortals scream
and shield their eyes
from the warriors.
The seven attack the beast and serpent
and they fall
and the seven
call out
to the survivors, but they do not answer.
When the next come, it is simply
to kill the fallen
of grace,
of truth,
of humanity.
They do not fight, but they accept,
because it was Known.
The last survivors are full of feelings. They
are scared,
and hopeful,
and dead.
The beast is dead,
rejoice!
The serpent is dead,
rejoice!
The earth has fallen,
rejoice!
Rejoice!
For now the warriors
can rest and sands
of many nations
have tumbled into the fall
of forever
and the waves
have stilled
against your feet.
It is good,
is it not?
It is dark, again,
but no one is left to wait for light,
so the darkness continues
to sit
and still
and lay.
It is time.
The beast wails
from its eternal
night
and day
does not
come again.
Rejoice,
for the world has stopped
and rejoice,
for it will not start.
But then it does,
but the serpent
does not find
his entrance into the new,
and the beast cannot
enter into.
Glory, they call.
Glory, glory!
Unto you, glory by our King,
Glory, glory!
Rejoice, they call,
and the New do so,
with smiles,
and night does not come
as it had before
and the fallen no longer
open their eyes
to thank and kill
and it matters
greatly.
It looks
and It finds good.
And this time
the sun
and the moon
and the stars
do not argue
over matters
and the wallflowers
that grow in wilderness
cross their fingers
and it is good
and the everflowing
wind
stops
and
stills
as did
the sea
and sands
and war
has before.
like the sun
and the moon
and the stars
and death
and God.
No, it’s much more than that,
something that is as dark as the sky
when hope has decided to flee.
Life, whispered into the fallen.
Breath, pushed into the warriors.
And when their eyes open in the light
of the night
they look up to you and they
don’t know
if they should thank you or
kill you.
It doesn’t matter either way.
The humans turn to ice
on and on,
and forever
they freeze.
Their souls, where do they go?
Their hope, where does it go?
The sands of many nations
crushed lightly under your feet
while the waves of many worlds
lap at everything
and your eyes change colors
as fast as the everflowing
wind
and you raise one hand
into the air, with no expression,
(expressions are feelings,
feelings are death.)
and it watches you
and it is war.
It drags them down
with a vengeance,
something no one can understand.
It pounds at the earth,
growling and killing
millions without regret
and it rises from the dark,
and no one can beat it.
Another rises in the sea,
with a mouth of many teeth,
slithering forevermore,
with the eyes of a great serpent.
And it laughs,
(levithan, they sing, behold!)
cold and metallic, like a blade,
and the blade cuts into your faith.
The rise is as greatly known
as the next person in waiting.
It is seen, it is heard,
but not approached.
They are sure to die soon.
They fight for life,
But life fights from them.
The beast and the serpent
(behemoth, they sing, behold!)
attack without withdrawal.
They wouldn’t have been so lucky
to have such a blessing.
There is not much longer,
It is coming.
Few realize it, they acknowledge,
living their life without redemption,
tourniquets made from bouquets,
and the world lives in the night.
There is nothing left.
The last sounds are of fire
and death
and of the sea
and breath
and there is something of life
in those last moments,
that when the first seven come
all the mortals scream
and shield their eyes
from the warriors.
The seven attack the beast and serpent
and they fall
and the seven
call out
to the survivors, but they do not answer.
When the next come, it is simply
to kill the fallen
of grace,
of truth,
of humanity.
They do not fight, but they accept,
because it was Known.
The last survivors are full of feelings. They
are scared,
and hopeful,
and dead.
The beast is dead,
rejoice!
The serpent is dead,
rejoice!
The earth has fallen,
rejoice!
Rejoice!
For now the warriors
can rest and sands
of many nations
have tumbled into the fall
of forever
and the waves
have stilled
against your feet.
It is good,
is it not?
It is dark, again,
but no one is left to wait for light,
so the darkness continues
to sit
and still
and lay.
It is time.
The beast wails
from its eternal
night
and day
does not
come again.
Rejoice,
for the world has stopped
and rejoice,
for it will not start.
But then it does,
but the serpent
does not find
his entrance into the new,
and the beast cannot
enter into.
Glory, they call.
Glory, glory!
Unto you, glory by our King,
Glory, glory!
Rejoice, they call,
and the New do so,
with smiles,
and night does not come
as it had before
and the fallen no longer
open their eyes
to thank and kill
and it matters
greatly.
It looks
and It finds good.
And this time
the sun
and the moon
and the stars
do not argue
over matters
and the wallflowers
that grow in wilderness
cross their fingers
and it is good
and the everflowing
wind
stops
and
stills
as did
the sea
and sands
and war
has before.
New Year
a promise to myself
for myself
for my family
and friends
and enemies.
a promise to strangers
who didn't know who I was
but still
cared for
who I'd
be.
a promise to God
for Him
for them
and everyone else
who made a resolution
like mine.
for myself
for my family
and friends
and enemies.
a promise to strangers
who didn't know who I was
but still
cared for
who I'd
be.
a promise to God
for Him
for them
and everyone else
who made a resolution
like mine.
Tuesday, December 25, 2012
my name
something strange and something turned
something that is badly burned.
would you like a broken heart
or maybe one that's torn apart?
something new and something lost
something that has found my cost.
would you believe the simple truth
or have me play pretend with you?
so many questions I have heard
but yet I know there are more,
including a truth, it cannot lie:
first you live, soon you die.
something that is badly burned.
would you like a broken heart
or maybe one that's torn apart?
something new and something lost
something that has found my cost.
would you believe the simple truth
or have me play pretend with you?
so many questions I have heard
but yet I know there are more,
including a truth, it cannot lie:
first you live, soon you die.
Thursday, December 20, 2012
A Serpent, a Shadow, a Savior
Jesus Christ one told me
the secret of love --
somethin', he said, that
would help me grow up.
But I told Jesus
that I already knew
what love was,
'cause someone told me
in my sleep.
An' Jesus looked at me
with porcelain blue eyes,
said, "Child,
that's only what you
know of hate."
the secret of love --
somethin', he said, that
would help me grow up.
But I told Jesus
that I already knew
what love was,
'cause someone told me
in my sleep.
An' Jesus looked at me
with porcelain blue eyes,
said, "Child,
that's only what you
know of hate."
cliche
out of context
(out of mind)
simple things,
falling fine.
no rules to say,
to rules to bend,
(little things)
until the end.
sounds cliched,
like many things,
and it's true
when you think of
(me)
read over my shoulder,
read between the lines,
(home is where the heart is)
perhaps it's better if you don't.
my poems hides secrets,
my poetry hides tells.
Question is if you see them
(or if you don't).
(or if you don't).
I almost wish you did
(but really, I don't)
know the truth,
hidden in myself.
Watch this,
(or don't)
it's fine,
only wishing you could.
The constant hum of
inspiration
(steady as the beating heart)
wobbles, counteracts
no life, no hope.
set fire to your words,
go ahead, make them burn.
and maybe I will realize
a rose by any other name
may smell just as sweet.
cliches, falling down,
(london bridge to follow)
and they litter my words
like backhanded compliments.
i don't like to argue,
unless, in fact, I'm right.
But the one rule to follow:
(ask me no questions,)
I'll tell you no lies.
it seems my life is one big cliche,
an attempt at taking one for the team.
one big extended metaphor,
full of simple things.
I think though, to sum it up,
I'd have to pick just one.
(better the Devil you know
than the Devil you don't)
(better the Devil you know
than the Devil you don't)
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
Connecticut
something is wrong,
there are too many things,
too many equations,
too many losses make
another skeleton in the closet
something is wrong,
obviously so,
so many names, faces,
and living remember that
the devil you know is better than the devil you don't
railroad, no, school, yes,
simple allusions
to a biblical rest,
but something entirely else is wrong,
actions speak louder than words
Daniel, (7)
Oliva, (6)
Josephine, (7)
Ana, (6)
Dylan, (6)
Madeleine, (6)
Catherine, (6)
Chase, (7)
Jesse, (6)
James, (6)
Grace, (7)
Emilie, (6)
Jack, (6)
Noah, (6)
Caroline, (6)
Jessica, (6)
Avielle, (6)
Benjamin, (6)
Allison, (6)
Rachel, (29)
Dawn, (47)
Anne, (52)
Lauren, (30)
Mary, (56)
and Victoria. (27)
there are too many things,
too many equations,
too many losses make
another skeleton in the closet
something is wrong,
obviously so,
so many names, faces,
and living remember that
the devil you know is better than the devil you don't
railroad, no, school, yes,
simple allusions
to a biblical rest,
but something entirely else is wrong,
actions speak louder than words
Daniel, (7)
Oliva, (6)
Josephine, (7)
Ana, (6)
Dylan, (6)
Madeleine, (6)
Catherine, (6)
Chase, (7)
Jesse, (6)
James, (6)
Grace, (7)
Emilie, (6)
Jack, (6)
Noah, (6)
Caroline, (6)
Jessica, (6)
Avielle, (6)
Benjamin, (6)
Allison, (6)
Rachel, (29)
Dawn, (47)
Anne, (52)
Lauren, (30)
Mary, (56)
and Victoria. (27)
Monday, December 17, 2012
to my friends (or the end of the world and you still won't listen to a thing i'm saying, and if you're reading this right now, well, i hope you get it)
by myself, i am myself,
if only you could wait
to see the world another day,
to see it fall and fade.
i sit and watch with closed eyes
i stand and hear nothing
but the world as it turns
and slowly ceases.
strange to think you are my friends,
strange to think much.
to be cornered and to be judged,
pure of heart no longer.
my words can't express my feelings
quite as well as i could
if i were only to stand and speak
before the world stops.
if only you could wait
to see the world another day,
to see it fall and fade.
i sit and watch with closed eyes
i stand and hear nothing
but the world as it turns
and slowly ceases.
strange to think you are my friends,
strange to think much.
to be cornered and to be judged,
pure of heart no longer.
my words can't express my feelings
quite as well as i could
if i were only to stand and speak
before the world stops.
Sunday, December 16, 2012
Friday, December 14, 2012
untitled
One day, I'll open my eyes, and it'll still be night.
Close them again, wish it away,
don't be fooled, I'll say, it ain't right.
Close them again, wish it away,
don't be fooled, I'll say, it ain't right.
what writing is
if people would realize what writing is
I think they'd be surprised
because people think "essay, facts, right,"
when they should think "living, hate, wrong."
or maybe even "dying, love, world."
it doesn't have to be a million words,
it can be only twelve.
it doesn't have to be good,
bad is fine, too.
anything at all, that's what writing is.
a poem, a story, a song --
whatever comes to mind.
nothing, no rules apply
cause it's you and what you see
to have sense doesn't make sense
because it's beautiful, good, ugly, bad --
a dream when you're awake.
I think they'd be surprised
because people think "essay, facts, right,"
when they should think "living, hate, wrong."
or maybe even "dying, love, world."
it doesn't have to be a million words,
it can be only twelve.
it doesn't have to be good,
bad is fine, too.
anything at all, that's what writing is.
a poem, a story, a song --
whatever comes to mind.
nothing, no rules apply
cause it's you and what you see
to have sense doesn't make sense
because it's beautiful, good, ugly, bad --
a dream when you're awake.
40
pause,
rewind,
consider
the possibilities,
the after,
'what if?'s
and decide,
surely! one more
day
wouldn't hurt.
rewind,
consider
the possibilities,
the after,
'what if?'s
and decide,
surely! one more
day
wouldn't hurt.
tumble
I stop
then turn
around
lose it --
my grip --
slipping,
out of
control,
and as
I fall,
I don't
even
know if
I will
ever
hit the
ground.
then turn
around
lose it --
my grip --
slipping,
out of
control,
and as
I fall,
I don't
even
know if
I will
ever
hit the
ground.
untitled
I choke,
fly through glass,
shattered love,
nothing left,
I choke,
soar through life
and find my love,
comfort in death,
my words,
disjointed,
broken,
hiding hope
my poems
are like sweet,
simple nothings,
and when I rise,
I crash,
at last.
fly through glass,
shattered love,
nothing left,
I choke,
soar through life
and find my love,
comfort in death,
my words,
disjointed,
broken,
hiding hope
my poems
are like sweet,
simple nothings,
and when I rise,
I crash,
at last.
Thursday, December 13, 2012
my heart
several people,
girls, boys,
children, adults,
young, old,
happy, sad,
couples, singles,
lovers, betrayers,
but all fans,
all know,
and only
one song,
one calling,
one band,
one night,
one voice,
one heart.
NOTE: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=etPeRLedQOE (Paramore - My Heart [Live]) The ending of this song many give you a little clarification, starting at 4:06
girls, boys,
children, adults,
young, old,
happy, sad,
couples, singles,
lovers, betrayers,
but all fans,
all know,
and only
one song,
one calling,
one band,
one night,
one voice,
one heart.
NOTE: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=etPeRLedQOE (Paramore - My Heart [Live]) The ending of this song many give you a little clarification, starting at 4:06
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
on the third day (original work)
on the third day
The world shifted ever so slightly, a shade of wrong coloring the strange surroundings. Buildings layered the odd area, people nowhere to be found. There was blood in the streets. His blood, of course.
Lights came from small lamps at the edges of doorways, and the man thought he could see a few fires in the distance. The fire was what gave him hope — (that’s offensive. what about me?) — and that’s what he was running to. The constant echo of his feet on the ground below couldn’t drown out the peals of laughter behind him. (run, run, run, run, run, run, run, run — ) Run, run, run, run, run, run, run, run. The chanting grew louder.
There was another round of laughter behind him, — (can’t run forever, the beast will get you soon!) — but he paid it no heed. Cool sweat dripped on his face, his arms swinging wildly behind him. He was stumbling, his heavy feet in the way.
He hadn’t ran much as a child, — (didn’t i tell you that?) — but no one really did, did they? (run, run, run, run, run...)
He hadn’t ran much as a child, — (didn’t i tell you that?) — but no one really did, did they? (run, run, run, run, run...)
A low, strangled sound escaped his throat, making it’s way through his heart, beating on and on. (and on and on and on and on — )
It reaches out for his arm — faster, faster! — and he cried out, blindly shaking it away. (should’ve learned the lesson. ain’t no running from us.) And he ran even faster — (not fast enough) never fast enough —
It reaches out for his arm — faster, faster! — and he cried out, blindly shaking it away. (should’ve learned the lesson. ain’t no running from us.) And he ran even faster — (not fast enough) never fast enough —
Stumbling, again, not enough for it to catch him, but that won’t be the same soon. He sucked in a large gulp of air, but he needs more. (not for long.)
It growled. Another sound was released into the night, this time more high in pitch. No more lights flicked on. He kept running and running and running and running. There was no stopping, no slowing, just going. He couldn’t keep running for long. Why? Why this?
There was a gash in his arm from where it’s talens (no, no, no, they’re claws) had slashed through his shirt. Blood seeped through the tattered shirt, but that didn’t matter. No, it couldn’t matter. Not now. (never, don’t you know?)
He thinks about giving up and laying down to accept his punishment. (that would be nice. wouldn’t have to chase you anymore. but then again, where’s the fun in that?) That solution was looking better every minute. (heh, heh. did you realize you stopped thinking in past tense? not that it matters.)
Run, run, run, run, run, run, run, run, run, run —
He stopped. The beast approaches him from behind, taking it’s time, because it even knows he’s not going to run anymore. (what’d’ya know?)
He takes a breath, thinks of his father, and breathes. In and out. In and out. In and out.
It pauses behind him. (you know it has to be this way?)
I know.
(we’re going to rip you apart again.)
I know.
(well, then. are you ready?) There’s hot air at the back of his neck. There’s a subtle pause in the conversation. The owner of the beast smiles, the beast copying the grotesque movement.
No.
(you just hate saying yes, don’t you?) There’s no answer. (have it your way.)
There’s no point in running anymore. He looks up, to where the sky was beginning to fade. Of course. He hadn’t even made it that far. (like it? i know, it stinks to never make it out, huh?)
The sky fades of reveal blackness, and the cars fade away, too. The beast and master smile. (all you have to do is stop fighting, you know. don’t you want it to end?)
There’s no point in running anymore. He looks up, to where the sky was beginning to fade. Of course. He hadn’t even made it that far. (like it? i know, it stinks to never make it out, huh?)
The sky fades of reveal blackness, and the cars fade away, too. The beast and master smile. (all you have to do is stop fighting, you know. don’t you want it to end?)
And become like you?
(heh. something like that, yes.)
He doesn’t stop to truly consider the offer, but takes his time. Stalling. One breath later, he says his answer.
No.
The beast and owner growl as one. The beast takes a step forward. Don’t give up... Run, run, run, run...You must do this.
(trying to encourage yourself?) They snort at the man’s thoughts, but tense when the man moves. He turns back to look at the beast, and the master smiles. (your tenses still need some work. how is the dear human supposed to record this if you keep switching?)
This part doesn’t need recording, not all of it, at least. He runs, giving no warning. And runs and runs and runs and runs and runs and runs and runs...There’s a beat to this. Little did they know, the beat was his way of measuring time. Only three days, and I’m already on my second.
It cried out in distress and yowled for others to help it capture him. (stop running! just give up.) He kept running past the others and whatever else was at the edge of his vision, and made his way to the center. Gates guarded the seemingly devoid space. There was nothing there, except a chill that couldn’t be felt anywhere else. A presence comes to the man.
“Fool. You are here, and you believe yourself to be greater than me?”
He doesn’t answer the being, only walks calmly through the Gates. The being wrestles for his power, to stop him, to kill him forever, but it is hardly a fair fight. The man walks forward, closing his eyes and the chill goes away, and the prior warmth slips away.
When he opens his eyes, it is dark, and it is the third day. He rises.
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
scattered love
my life,
neatly excuted,
polished to perfection,
because I can't accept
the simple truth.
I can't believe
that one would be
cursed
because of love,
but yet, I believe in God.
neatly excuted,
polished to perfection,
because I can't accept
the simple truth.
I can't believe
that one would be
cursed
because of love,
but yet, I believe in God.
Sunday, December 9, 2012
Single Breath (or how love really came to be)
what simple words can be released
in a single breath pushed out.
there's no warning, only an afterward
that bristles inside your beating heart
and as if sings, you do, too,
only without words can I hear you.
left unsaid in the climax of hate,
but something speaks in the epilogue.
there's no words, except these three,
and still it doesn't describe you and me.
I fall down, you by my side,
and we crash together in the waxing tide.
in a single breath pushed out.
there's no warning, only an afterward
that bristles inside your beating heart
and as if sings, you do, too,
only without words can I hear you.
left unsaid in the climax of hate,
but something speaks in the epilogue.
there's no words, except these three,
and still it doesn't describe you and me.
I fall down, you by my side,
and we crash together in the waxing tide.
Saturday, December 8, 2012
beating (on and on)
can you hear it
it beats
the beating
never stops
never slows
it is
just is
and on and on
it goes and goes
there is no rhythm
changes and never stays
somehow remind me of us
our fate
the fall
and death
of our father...
the war is coming
the horse is coming
to the ever on and on beating
of a nameless drum
here it is, the beating heart
to the drum
that the angels carry
and they never put down
it beats
and starts
but never stops
and here it is, the beating of
the heart, the drum,
the garrison falls apart
to the sound of a nameless drum
that has no rhythm
it never stops to think
and how it keeps going
and never stops to stay
and here it goes again
on and on
goes and goes
on and on
without a calling, a purpose,
so different to that of which
the angels sing with mercy
and grace
and war
and peace
and death
and nothing at all
the demons are hiding in
the ever beating drum
even I can see that
on and on
here it comes
on and on.
it beats
the beating
never stops
never slows
it is
just is
and on and on
it goes and goes
there is no rhythm
changes and never stays
somehow remind me of us
our fate
the fall
and death
of our father...
the war is coming
the horse is coming
to the ever on and on beating
of a nameless drum
here it is, the beating heart
to the drum
that the angels carry
and they never put down
it beats
and starts
but never stops
and here it is, the beating of
the heart, the drum,
the garrison falls apart
to the sound of a nameless drum
that has no rhythm
it never stops to think
and how it keeps going
and never stops to stay
and here it goes again
on and on
goes and goes
on and on
without a calling, a purpose,
so different to that of which
the angels sing with mercy
and grace
and war
and peace
and death
and nothing at all
the demons are hiding in
the ever beating drum
even I can see that
on and on
here it comes
on and on.
Thursday, December 6, 2012
Untitled
spoken
without
love, I
fall down
into
my words
and yet
as loud
as I
can scream
you seem
to turn,
never
hearing,
never
listen
to the
echos
of my
thoughts, and
thoughts that
cannot
be done
and will
not die
without
love, I
fall down
into
my words
and yet
as loud
as I
can scream
you seem
to turn,
never
hearing,
never
listen
to the
echos
of my
thoughts, and
thoughts that
cannot
be done
and will
not die
guarded
words
that
I
must
speak
will
stay
lost
in
my
thoughts,
a
sin
that
fights
my
breath
won't
pass
my
lips
that
I
must
speak
will
stay
lost
in
my
thoughts,
a
sin
that
fights
my
breath
won't
pass
my
lips
Wednesday, December 5, 2012
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