Voices Of The ClockI look up and the clock chimes twelve,
And I witness silent whistles working the night,
Under the flaming furies of crimson candlelight.
Into a grave of loneliness with despair I do delve,
To find happiness beyond my own shrouded sight.
I look up and the clock chimes eleven,
And I hear quiet sprockets slaving the morning,
Under the twitching tears of yellow yawning.
Down in a hell of woe I so long to give in,
But I seek joy before I start my misery mourning.
I look up and the clock chimes ten,
And I see vague gears governing the day,
Under the burning blades of cyan clay.
Yet here in this pit of hunger I'm about to begin,
On a blissful path that led me on it's wondrous way.
Tick tock cries the cogs and gears of the clock,
Managing it's tireless triumph of time,
Over those realities of ravenous rhyme.
Eroding away the most rhythmic of rock,
As I run upon satin sands of lovelorn luck.
I look up and the clock chimes nine,
In a world without worry or fear of feeling fine,
Perceiving it's a
Annihilation Of A SoulIt's a terror to behold,
The annihilation of a simple soul.
How could you be so cold?
All your finite fury is foul,
Poisoning the wisdom of the world.
It's a horror to witness,
The obliteration of a lovely life.
How could you think so less?
All your sacrosanct sin is strife,
Embellishing the mood into a mess.
It's a sorrow to react,
The devastation of a mortal mind.
How could you break this pact?
All your unceremonious umbrage is unkind,
Corrupting the atmosphere of an act.
Never SurrenderIt's all unjust. It's all unfair,
Why does anyone give a care?
Whether life is cruel or kind,
I reserve the right to laugh than die,
But I'll never surrender to these tears I cry.
It's all untrue. It's all unbearable,
Why are these thoughts in me so horrible?
Whether death is clairvoyant or blind,
I deserve the dignity to question my time,
But I'll never surrender to these words I rhyme.
HopeWhat would you do,
When it's all over?
Would you stand up,
Straight as mountains old,
And shrug your shoulders?
It might be;
Your final end.
But would it be worse,
If you had waited?
How could you have known,
This was it?
Would you have just stood,
Back like rivers bold,
And watched it's demise?
Like pariah zealots above,
Gazing down from,
Black flower skies?
Why should you,
Have thought to reconsider?
Would you have just given up,
And let minute things,
Slip by and slide away?
Was it to be your own idiocy?
Or breath of ignorance,
Destroying the fragile dark,
From the mighty light;
This very day?
What was it that made you,
Stay here to breathe?
Was it that inky niggle in,
The chaos of your mind,
And that instinct within,
To just carry on and cope?
Most would declare that,
You are an angel,
But some say without
Courage: there is only hope.
Death Of LegendIgnite hell's biting bullets that scorch and sting,
Against heaven's armies that stand and sing.
When the might of garish gods befalls us all,
Where nations crumble and meek mortals fall,
Then celestial suicide will be our fate's call.
Skies will turn to smoke and seas will burn to steam,
Demons will howl. Angels will die. Men will dream.
To believe in an eternal peace beyond war's breath,
No more to suffer through eyes that despair death,
Never to crumble hearts into pits of blackened dust.
Blind hell's hope that bring waves of ruin and rust,
Against heaven's anguish that bring terror and trust.
When the sight of humble humanity suffers defeat,
Where societies tremble and lost leaders meet,
Then universal disaster will be our's generation's treat.
Spirits will turn to shade and souls will burn to sleet,
Demons will growl. Angels will cry. Men will scream.
To believe in an internal lease beyond war's sight,
No more to fear opposing voices that murder might,
Never to extinguish minds in
The Poet's QuillRiver's ink flows deeply from his writer's quill,
He wields it's worth with signs of sublime skill,
And those magic words materialise under his will.
Where once was a vacant void of white clear light,
Now comes a sorrowful song aching for his sight.
Man's blood drips softly from his writer's pen,
He holds it's honour with odes of ovation often,
And those complex symbols collude in his den.
Where once was a musing mind of black air dark,
Now comes a powerful poem burning for his mark.
Tear's oil runs boldly from his writer's grace,
He bears it's beauty with paeans of perfect pace,
And those platinum verses protrude below his face.
Where once was a glorious gaze of silver blind pearl,
Now comes a tormentful tune longing for his girl.
Caffeine AddictI adore that addictive aromatic aroma,
Which wakes my senses in a senseless morning,
When my eyes are bound in an eternity of sleeping.
I drink it like the intoxicating ambrosia of angels,
And then I spend the rest of time in a caffeine coma.
I enjoy that enriching essential essence,
Which calms my anger in an anarchic day,
When my mind is lost in a mania of delay.
I thirst for it's poisonous nectar like some necrophiliac,
And then I dream the rest of time in a caffeine conscience.
I love that potently positive poison,
Which lights my mood in a mournful night,
When my soul is dead in a suffering of might.
I desire that drink as black as demon's blood,
And then I waste the rest of time in a caffeine cuisine.
Black-HeartOh look at her with ivory eyes,
Striking the velvet veil of starless skies.
Is she a draconian demon ready to bring ruin,
Upon those that ripped her life apart,
With every pulsating beat of her black-heart?
Oh look at her with crimson claws,
Maiming the satin skin of monstrous maws.
Is she a bedlam beast desiring to grant devastation,
Upon those who mocked her for a start,
With all the wild begging of her black-heart?
Oh look at her with ebony breath,
Purging the flaxen flesh of devilish death.
Is she a cruel creature who wields her earthly wrath
Upon all who took to hurt with such art,
With the aching echoes of her black-heart?
The Lost GenerationIs this existence of time worth my life?
To struggle through each day's heartache,
With all this stress and strife?
Nobody can answer this fundamental question,
How can we save the lost generation?
Is there meaning of conscious left for me?
To hurtle through every night's sickness,
Without any faith to be free?
Nobody will deny this radical emotion,
Where can we find the lost generation?
Is that suffocation of will ready to die?
To tussle through early morning's hunger,
Without the courage to cry?
Nobody shall crave this political flirtation,
Why can't we rescue the lost generation?
InspirationSo many nights of dreaming,
Of wishing for magic and song,
And when I awaken,
My dreams continue,
Leaving me longing
For a world of my own making.
Characters beg for a chance to shine,
And a chance for love.
How can I deny them?
They live a life so different from mine,
They are a part of me.
I wonder who is more real?
Fake WonderlandA place where you want to breathe,
But you cannot get enough air.
A place that you want to leave,
But you can’t, you are in despair.
Freedom is something I wanted long ago.
They used to tie me up with a rope.
I am packing and now I am ready to go,
To rebuild, to change it all there is no hope.
In lies we have to swim every day,
To love we are not allowed anymore.
Anything you want you are not able to say,
They throw you in a room and lock the door.
A fake wonderland that no one can escape,
If your body is gone, your soul will stay.
The truth they can no longer shape,
They want to throw it to the sea away!
You freed me from this chain,
Now my soul can for a while rest.
I want to love you, but I am insane:
To alter this realm I try my best!
Letter To a StrangerYou do not recognize my name
Nor am I in knowledge of yours
Though we have never met before
I feel the need to speak with you
To tell you stories of my life
And you provide me with the same
But before we start a friendship
I wish to ask you a few things
Thus, your undivided focus
Is what I need from you right now
Can you pay fervant attention
To every word that passes my lips?
In years past, I have met people
Who love surface phenomena
And fail to dive deeper than that
Refuse to connect ideas
Will you hear the depths of my verse
And perceive me for who I am?
And many of these same people
Have done nothing to assist me
With any hardship I have faced
Have not been there to support me
Do you keep an eye out for friends
To have their backs in trying times?
When there arrives a dire moment
That requires a frank dialogue
And an unfettered honesty
Without any hesitation
Would you call out my behaviour
When it is less than savory?
All these things I ask in my search
For a deep, genuine friends
Unconscious Epiphany.Unconscious Epiphany.
I thrive and depend on your compliments
And it is only then as a direct consequence,
Am I truly able to write with confidence.
Even though your words are only temporary.
I deem your contribution as utterly necessary,
In order to refresh my wavering, selective memory.
My own validation depends on your approval.
Whether it is congratulatory or discouragingly brutal.
Your input is the one thing that is most crucial.
Can I call myself a writer if I don't believe in myself?
When I constantly seek approval from everyone else?
How can I then expect to make any sort of wealth?
Of a craft and skill I still think anyone is able to produce.
Is there any point in me putting my apparent talent to use?
When I limit and submit myself into a negative recluse.
I was told I must have self belief in order to achieve,
The dream that I am so desperately trying to receive.
The body can only accomplish what the mind believes.
I know I must rid myself from any form of self doubt.
The Poet and the SpiderWith script as thin as spider's legs,
she scrawls her web
of metaphors and lies.
Mapped across the backs of her hands,
with ink veins she weaves
a silver spun tale of
thin, spidery lashes and
that leave a bad taste behind.
She fears the tickle on her skin,
the itching sting as it bites.
She fear the sticky, dew encapsuled
web as it strangles and swallows her.
When asked of her fascination with the creature,
though she fears it so,
the poet has none left to say but
that it is a metaphor,
you tremble at that which sits on your palm
(The fearsome, eight legged monster)
but you do not flinch as it bites.
Two Sides to Every StoryCan't believe you're not here. | Can't you see I'm still here?
I thought you were my fear. | Being silent is my fear.
Now I just want you back. | I'll always have your back.
I have to keep this on track. | I will keep it on track.
I'm sorry that I hurt you. | I'm sorry that I hurt you.
I'm not sure what to do. | I wonder what you'll do.
A slight buzz is what I feel. | My thoughts you barely feel.
I wonder if you're real. | I promise that I'm real.
I'll never forget the pain. | I'm sorry for all the pain.
You drove me so insane. | You're not really insane.
What if it happens again? | It will never happen again.
How can I call you my friend? | You are my closest friend.
I just want to be happy. | I want you to be happy.
Can I still be me? | Can you accept me?
It swallows you whole,
Exceeds your control.
Apprehends your soul,
Until it has taken its toll.
It’s an overwhelming feeling.
That is made to be appealing
And you can’t help revealing,
The doubts you are concealing.
It’s an undefined dimple
And a well known jingle.
But only when you are single
Does it all seem so simple.
It is one of life’s many gifts,
That empowers and uplifts
And can lead you adrift.
Should you miss your shift.
It is impossible to describe it.
It is impossible to fight it.
Because once it is ignited
And once you have tried it.
It will take your independence.
You will become used to its presence.
You will become addicted to its essence
And include it at the end of your every sentence.
It exists even in the hearts of its haters.
It is a taste even they will savour
And although its duration wavers.
There will never be a feeling that is greater.
Everything I have said and more.
I am merely repeating what you already know.
They split the path before me
Daring me to venture either way
Neither wrong Neither right
But the choice changes life
Do you jump off the cliff's edge,
Faith as your guidance, only to
Break across the jagged rocks?
Or do you take the HIGH road,
Ignoring the cliff's call, only to
Regret not exploring those uncharted waters?
It's just another game of
We hope to God that Lady Luck's
On our side,
Though we still wish to feel
The bullet's s t i n g
Lefts and R
Nightmare, Nightmare!Nightmare, nightmare!
Lost and unaware.
Drowning in my despair.
Look me in the eyes;
tell me this is fair!
Shelter from these dark skies
is impossible to find.
If no one understands,
how can anyone care?
Tears fall as I stare
at my life,
a wasteland so bare.
someone hold me steady!
Help me escape this fate
before it's over;
before it's too late!
Sickness of the mind,
cruel and unkind.
no respite will I find...
Can't you hear the voices singing
of the death knell?
*Journey*Space ship like moonbeam
No illusion, travelled fast
Time had no meaning.
Stick and Stones, LoveSticks and stones,
May break my bones.
But words can do much more.
I find them scribbled on notes strewn about,
And I hear your voice when I read them to myself.
They come in soft whispers,
Or thunderous shouts of anger.
They can inspire a masterpiece
Fueled by joy or pain.
They're sung sweetly in sunshine
Or bitterly in rain.
They can serve to begin or end
Something wonderful or terrible.
They are how I know you.
The bridges between our minds.
They are the art of the commoner.
You're lips, a brush, you're words, the strokes
The air is your canvas.
You paint your perception with your voice,
Giving me a portrait of what my eyes could never see.
Will you show me who you are or who you want to be?
With your words, you
Can tell the truth or fool me.
You create or destroy.
With your words,
You love or hate,
You give or you take.
Your words are your choice.
There is life and death.
In the power of your voice.
Three in Five MinutesDream one was a bright white flash
and sounds of things breaking
I opened my eyes and saw it all.
Now I think that it was me.
Dream two was my child yelling
"Where are you? Where are you?"
I opened my ears and heard it all.
Now I think that it was me.
Dream three was a sudden knocking
on the door in deepest dark.
I opened the door and saw nothing.
Now I think that it was me.
TickI search your cells with tiny fingers,
split hairs in a ravenous fashion.
Distinctive as a freckle or a mole,
I move with you—I drink of you.
When the time is right, pluck me away,
set me aflame, or drown me in alcohol.
An Ode to The PhantomThere is a boat on a lake,
Burning candles on a cold black mirror.
And this journey I will take,
To find the man that I’ve been looking for.
I’ll find him I swear,
Chase him into the blackest night,
I’ll find his lonely lair.
And dry the tears from behind his mask.
What will lurk behind?
Some haunted face or tender spirit.
I shall say words truly kind,
And try to put his broken soul together.
Across the keys his fingers dance,
Enchanting beauty and bewitching senses.
I am lost within a trance,
And I know I’ll be forever his.
Away from judgement and from light,
We will spend the years together.
And I’ll live in this blackest night,
And stay with him forever more.
from your mirror.. with loveStand at me
Glare at me
Your hair at me.
your eyes like
daggers and spears.
I'm not cruel