BrokenI lay down my heart,
I begin to pray,
My heartstring lay.
The reds now grey,
On this unholy day,
Your hands are stained,
My heart is framed.
Encased in glass,
Lost all that lasts
Where dead men groan.
A deep dark home,
Of skin and bone,
A deep dark hole,
For a broken soul.
Mend the heart,
If you dare try,
But tear it apart,
Then be prepared to die.
In the end,
It doesn't matter.
Tell MeTell me
if you miss me,
can feel my absence
like a piece of yourself
has fallen away,
like a chunk of your being
and only I can replace it.
if your eyes wander
to the empty spaces
that I once filled
with a sense,
with an ache of longing,
to be near me once more,
and once more,
and once more again.
if your nights are haunted
by the phantoms
of my touch,
of my eyes and my voice,
of my kiss
and of the beauty
of you and I.
Do you ever yearn for me
that you can feel it in every limb,
deep inside your stomach,
do the screams
of your livid, red heart
for hours on end
and leave you begging
for the next moment we come together?
if you believe in fate,
the probability of a soulmate,
of a natural design
that makes your everything
so beautifully with mine.
if your hunger rivals mine,
if your dreams
are identical to my own,
if your urges
the way that mine are all
THE DRIFTERThe darkest blue had caught his eye,
limitless across the sky;
still he walked the quiet streets,
blackened shadows kissed his feet.
A drifter had he been, till now,
for peace his mind would not allow;
tears began to flow from he,
this man who faces destiny.
No wind to cool his burning face,
his sleeping heart began to race;
'City Limits’ read the sign,
walking on, he crossed the line.
The dead were scattered all around,
and from the city came no sound;
that ball of fire in the sky,
all but he had seemed to die.
His family he had hoped to find,
reverence crept into his mind;
finally now his search would end,
standing still as was the wind.
The house was quiet, still as night,
he used a lantern as his light;
his eyes now seeing what he dread,
for there he found his family dead.
T’was here the drifter met his fate,
with no more need to contemplate;
the pistol fired, the drifter fell,
to only see another hell.
Now the sky was red with blood,
THE MIRROR LIES (AN ACROSTIC)Trying hard to be beautiful
Hoping to somehow fit in
Make-up, curling irons, and clothes
It turns us into something else
Roses painted to be washed clean
Remnants of what we wish to be
Ordinary is never good enough
Resplendence never comes for free!
Look in the mirror, what do you see
Inner beauty is never there
Eyes are not made to look upon it
So goes the mirror, so goes the soul…
I knew it was LoveThe first time we met,
I knew that it was love.
Even though you are far away,
there was a connection between You and I.
For the first time in awhile,
I knew this was more then lust.
You showed me the love I needed,
and taught me how to trust someone.
You never broken my heart,
you were always sincere to me.
For the first time in a long while,
I knew there was happiness for once.
You are the love of my life,
I knew my dream finally came true.
The moment you became mine,
was the best day of my Life
A EULOGYMy love from whence the moon and stars did shine,
Who’s lips were blushed as red as any wine;
Your last of breath came at the stroke of nine…
Such beauty that beguiled the hearts of men,
O God if I could talk with her again;
Or smell the perfume from her silken skin…
Dear lord there is no bringing back my smile,
For at the stroke of nine she was defiled;
Come let us weep the tears of mercy mild…
Where do I go from here, I do not know,
The embers of my heart no longer glow;
And winds that used to sing, no longer blow…
That stroke of nine I cannot seem to shake,
A nightmare whence I know I’ll never wake;
Even in death, your love I won’t forsake…
I trust in you, my lord, to set me free,
She was my life, as you can plainly see;
My love that was the better part of me…
Dear God, will you not offer me a sign?
I hope in death to join my valentine,
And may it end upon the stroke of nine...
THE WOMAN IN THE WINDOWMy god let me not think on her now!
Not after these past twenty years.
Torment and torture from so long ago,
my mind could not bear it again...
I was just eleven then, just a young boy,
and every morning at 4 am
I walked the sidewalks throwing newspapers;
in the dark of early morning...
One house had a beautiful bay window,
decorated with lace curtains;
at its center I saw a rocking chair,
sitting it it was a woman...
I could see she was old by her grey hair.
She waved at me, and I would wave back,
smiling I would continue on my way;
and so this went on for many weeks...
There was one morning when she did not wave,
but motioned for me to come closer.
Hesitant I drew nearer to the window,
I was frozen by what I saw...
Her skin was the color of ashen grey,
with eyes devoid of any life.
I could see her struggling to move her lips,
she pressed her hand against the window...
Her mouth opened to reveal rotted teeth;
my eyes firmly fixed upon hers.
Slowly my arm raised up and our hands met,
What a terrible thingSometimes life is painful,
not for a discernible reason.
Not for a route to something better
or a perversive remedy
for a wound long forgotten.
Sometimes we drown in it,
in the not yet,
the not quite,
the not at all.
Sometimes even our eyelashes
are too heavy,
and keeping our eyes open enough
to see the truth is asking too much,
and other times?
Other times the truth is
the bacteria binding in your blood
beneath your skin
- it's inside -
and it knows how to feed off of you.
it wriggles until at last -
it lets its forceful pair of hands
slip tenderly under your ribcage
to compress -
down on your lungs
until they are flat
and stick to themselves,
and leave you gasping;
oh, oh the truth.
What a terrible thing!
Murdered HeartAs you feel the steel on skin,
As you feel the blood within,
As you fall into the dark,
As you hear the demons hark.
Body rotting to the bone,
Slowly rotting to the soul,
Lay there in blood stained grass,
Surrounded by the broken glass.
Reflection gleaming from all around,
Wife on-looking with a frown,
You hear her cry,
You hear her scream,
Then your mind begins to drown.
So let your breath slowly go,
Feel the heavy ungodly throes,
As you're pulled by the undertow,
As you succumb to the flow.
Scratch and claw,
Push and scream,
It means nothing,
At a murder scene.
Lay and die,
Drift and dream,
Hear the cries,
Dead at the seams.