-
Posts
-
Thanks love, I wrote it about 5 years ago, she still carries it with her to this day. 8)
things will never
be the same.
yet this truth alone
does little to remove the stain
upon my soulthe soul, what fleeting mortal
fancy that would dare
to differ us from beasts.
an inconvenient truth for
which you don’t careeach breath we take
marking away
what little time we have left
until our final daythough such a fact would never
stop our relentless pursuits,
I pray the reward is worth the endeavour
and sacrifice‘sacrifice’ what an interesting term
yielding something held precious
in the hope of a better return.
Then for what did we sacrifice our
humanity for?Im baffled and somewhat merry.. do they not use punctuation nowadays ? a serious enquiry. I refuse to read Poetry without it !! as it runs into one big mess.. like a massive wet fart ,that has no reason. Without the glottal stop or at least a full stop. tis but a blob of words that are pish upon thy ee’n :)
and depressing and self pityeous too.. !
pah !
and then i die. the stained razor blade upon the vein
the vein of deep red and knowing no one loves me
so cos no one loves me i shal kill myself.i shall overdose in self pity
i shall kill myself with false glee, with regret .regret of the night before the red, that upon whom i laughed, i rip roared the selfish giggle.
i near pished my breeks as i laughed , more astute and never becommingand the razor, reflective gleamed bright. in a remeberance of what COULD have been. what SHOULD have been.. and the scars shine bright upon the arms of the slayed person. The love NOT for me,, the shroud and the gourd of death.
and the I TOLD ya so,, as you stopped me from dying ! how dare you. !
now let me die.let me lay down and sleep forever. like a somnabulist !
a mogadon self pitying whinger. a tuinal headed per se fvcker.
let me die.p.s wake me up before ya go-go !
my lovely horse.. to cheer ye all up ffs..
well sure needed cheering up lol xxx
‘Gourd of death’
behold the dreaded fruit
of forbidden seed.
reverred by those
of darkest creed.Now I do need
to punctuate,
lest I incur the wrath
of a reader irate.I may seem self-pitying,
that much might be true.
But really what does
that matter to you.I could write
of man’s hopes for tomorrow.
It is only as a matter of preference
that I focus on sorrow.for it seems that I
have thourough devotion,
to the expression of
man’s darker emotion.If you don’t like it
may I suggest this;
write something better
and don’t take the p1ss.moments in time that turn into hours
will never be taken, they will remain ours
the stuff that this life turns into warm memories,
whether its silence , or chat , or warm cups of teas
sat together with those moments ,before the parting of the ways,
are yours, and mine,
for now and always. xxFor Esmeralda..
Ballade Of A Talked-Off Ear
Dorothy ParkerDaily I listen to wonder and woe,
Nightly I hearken to knave or to ace,
Telling me stories of lava and snow,
Delicate fables of ribbon and lace,
Tales of the quarry, the kill, the chase,
Longer than heaven and duller than hell—
Never you blame me, who cry my case:
“Poets alone should kiss and tell!”Dumbly I hear what I never should know,
Gently I counsel of pride and of grace;
Into minutiae gayly they go,
Telling the name and the time and the place.
Cede them your silence and grant them space—
Who tenders an inch shall be raped of an ell!
Sympathy’s ever the boaster’s brace;
Poets alone should kiss and tell.Why am I tithed what I never did owe?
Choked with vicarious saffron and mace?
Weary my lids, and my fingers are slow—
Gentlemen, damn you, you’ve halted my pace.
Only the lads of the cursed race,
Only the knights of the desolate spell,
May point me the lines the blood-drops trace—
Poets alone should kiss and tell.L’ENVOI
Prince or commoner, tenor or bass,
Painter or plumber or never-do-well,
Do me a favor and shut your face
Poets alone should kiss and tell.Ta very gladsome Rubester!
Get involved in this discussion! Log in or register now to have your say!