(no subject)
Since I've not posted anythiing else, here's some poetry that I've been writing.
Crush the Stars
Does that color suit you, darling,
or do you rue the hue that day?
You broke beneath me easily
and formed to be this way.
(Like a distant light at night,
I'll count the stars among you,
so forget it all just as I do.)
Does it matter at all, doll,
or is it simply tragic?
You've written it out in full
but left out all the magic.
(I'd like to take away your flight,
and leave you stranded, too,
so I keep looking through.)
Can you taste the cream again,
or is it blasphemous to know it?
You've cut your line beneath your feet,
but I'm man enough to tow it.
(The dying dawn's a boring sight,
so take me in the few,
and let me heal every bit of you.)
Colored Pale
A pastel blossom
in a violet cape.
Paint me a picture, baby;
be my escape.
Become a slanderous utterance,
wrapped up in stealth, pitch blue,
and hold me like you hold yourself
'cause all I want is you.
Azure skylines
breaching gold.
Stay that way, honey,
because I'm sold.
Slice across the vocal winds,
bereft of all your flaws,
and leave her with a picture
of a serpent's unhinged jaws.
Pitch-black moods
when white snow falls;
that could've been
without those calls.
Honey skin
with red, sweet galls;
sit quiet, lovely,
with all your dolls.
The Empire's a Hoax
Just cry all you like
because we've all got to fight these things,
and die on a strike
'cause you fought all you could.
And when you're ready to go,
I'll be waiting inside -
doors hinged and locked
to sweep it aside.
When everything shows,
and the tear's falling fast...
hold on.
The plains are a fire
where you played your days away,
but the empire's dire,
and it's a lie to be free.
And when you're ready to go,
I'll be holding your hand;
I'll be waiting in silence
in a far away land.
When everything shows,
and life is a joke...
let go.
Because it's harder to fall
when you keep holding fast,
and I know it's a shame
that those times are the past.
But holding on won't do...
You've got let go and push through.
And the river is dammed,
but you remember the flow.
The empire thinks you're damned,
but you know
When you're ready to go,
there'll be so much ahead;
your spirit can fly-
lose control of your head.
And it's sad to believe,
that this all should end,
but letting go is all that you can do;
it's all I can do for you.
And God isn't blind
like they make him to be.
They place you all, lined,
and I want you to see
that they are so wrong,
and they aren't that strong;
they want you to know-
to take all their show.
So, hold on.
Let go.
She Was First a Woman
In the search for mother's cookies,
I found many things:
things beyond the flowing dresses,
beyond the diamond rings.
These things I'd never thought of
to be of mother's stock
were there amongst the things she loved;
I'd formed a crudish mock.
For I had always made her mother,
as every mother was,
and now, I knew that she was different
and well beyond those laws.
Because mother was a mother,
I'd always thought her thus,
but she was first a woman
who gave her life to us.
Matador in the Camera's Eye
The matador is waiting,
and the cameraman has shot himself again,
and a glimpse in through the window
could tell you that she won't let you in.
So, breathe high-
breathe low;
consider it a blessing
that the tiger let you know.
Breathe hot-
breathe cold;
silently accept it, son-
just do as you've been told.
And sin is down upon you
even though you never wanted it there. (Like she cares.)
The choice is in your voice-
to speak or keep that soft, static stare. (So stare.)
So, breathe fast-
breathe slow;
consider it a blessing
that the tiger let you know.
Breathe tight-
breathe sold;
forgive it just like always, son,
and do just as you're told.
The siren was a wake-up call;
you ignored it like she knew you would do.
Calculate it one more time,
and tell yourself you'll know when it's through.
The matador is always there
red cape extended out to his side;
the matador is frightened,
but the cameras won't allow him to hide.
Love's Principles
A simple plan to spend all time
forms utter cynicism.
If I asked, she'd speak my rhyme
and keep my rigid rhythm.
From what they've said, I've derived
one cannot be in love
without having prematurely strived
to prepare for later's dove.
She drinks her drinks without guilt
and thinks of them so well;
in me, they make her petal's wilt,
so much I cannot tell.
I've changed her, every word she's said;
she formed me when we met.
I'll search for another love, instead,
and I'll only find regret.
The Torch and the Flame
Scattered around a forest of wisps,
the mangled limbs forage like wolves
for truths that they've hidden
behind the false image of an oak.
They scream their hopes in lisps,
with utterly needless resolves,
wait out the times they've ridden,
and allow the standing spark that broke.
And it breaks into a roaring flame
that deafens their remaining senses
and engulfs them in ire
for those who try to quench it;
thusly, burns the forest's frame
for these unforgivable offenses -
so much they paid to that fire,
they forget the torch their mother lit.
Angst
Again, I wake and see the sun.
It
Crush the Stars
Does that color suit you, darling,
or do you rue the hue that day?
You broke beneath me easily
and formed to be this way.
(Like a distant light at night,
I'll count the stars among you,
so forget it all just as I do.)
Does it matter at all, doll,
or is it simply tragic?
You've written it out in full
but left out all the magic.
(I'd like to take away your flight,
and leave you stranded, too,
so I keep looking through.)
Can you taste the cream again,
or is it blasphemous to know it?
You've cut your line beneath your feet,
but I'm man enough to tow it.
(The dying dawn's a boring sight,
so take me in the few,
and let me heal every bit of you.)
Colored Pale
A pastel blossom
in a violet cape.
Paint me a picture, baby;
be my escape.
Become a slanderous utterance,
wrapped up in stealth, pitch blue,
and hold me like you hold yourself
'cause all I want is you.
Azure skylines
breaching gold.
Stay that way, honey,
because I'm sold.
Slice across the vocal winds,
bereft of all your flaws,
and leave her with a picture
of a serpent's unhinged jaws.
Pitch-black moods
when white snow falls;
that could've been
without those calls.
Honey skin
with red, sweet galls;
sit quiet, lovely,
with all your dolls.
The Empire's a Hoax
Just cry all you like
because we've all got to fight these things,
and die on a strike
'cause you fought all you could.
And when you're ready to go,
I'll be waiting inside -
doors hinged and locked
to sweep it aside.
When everything shows,
and the tear's falling fast...
hold on.
The plains are a fire
where you played your days away,
but the empire's dire,
and it's a lie to be free.
And when you're ready to go,
I'll be holding your hand;
I'll be waiting in silence
in a far away land.
When everything shows,
and life is a joke...
let go.
Because it's harder to fall
when you keep holding fast,
and I know it's a shame
that those times are the past.
But holding on won't do...
You've got let go and push through.
And the river is dammed,
but you remember the flow.
The empire thinks you're damned,
but you know
When you're ready to go,
there'll be so much ahead;
your spirit can fly-
lose control of your head.
And it's sad to believe,
that this all should end,
but letting go is all that you can do;
it's all I can do for you.
And God isn't blind
like they make him to be.
They place you all, lined,
and I want you to see
that they are so wrong,
and they aren't that strong;
they want you to know-
to take all their show.
So, hold on.
Let go.
She Was First a Woman
In the search for mother's cookies,
I found many things:
things beyond the flowing dresses,
beyond the diamond rings.
These things I'd never thought of
to be of mother's stock
were there amongst the things she loved;
I'd formed a crudish mock.
For I had always made her mother,
as every mother was,
and now, I knew that she was different
and well beyond those laws.
Because mother was a mother,
I'd always thought her thus,
but she was first a woman
who gave her life to us.
Matador in the Camera's Eye
The matador is waiting,
and the cameraman has shot himself again,
and a glimpse in through the window
could tell you that she won't let you in.
So, breathe high-
breathe low;
consider it a blessing
that the tiger let you know.
Breathe hot-
breathe cold;
silently accept it, son-
just do as you've been told.
And sin is down upon you
even though you never wanted it there. (Like she cares.)
The choice is in your voice-
to speak or keep that soft, static stare. (So stare.)
So, breathe fast-
breathe slow;
consider it a blessing
that the tiger let you know.
Breathe tight-
breathe sold;
forgive it just like always, son,
and do just as you're told.
The siren was a wake-up call;
you ignored it like she knew you would do.
Calculate it one more time,
and tell yourself you'll know when it's through.
The matador is always there
red cape extended out to his side;
the matador is frightened,
but the cameras won't allow him to hide.
Love's Principles
A simple plan to spend all time
forms utter cynicism.
If I asked, she'd speak my rhyme
and keep my rigid rhythm.
From what they've said, I've derived
one cannot be in love
without having prematurely strived
to prepare for later's dove.
She drinks her drinks without guilt
and thinks of them so well;
in me, they make her petal's wilt,
so much I cannot tell.
I've changed her, every word she's said;
she formed me when we met.
I'll search for another love, instead,
and I'll only find regret.
The Torch and the Flame
Scattered around a forest of wisps,
the mangled limbs forage like wolves
for truths that they've hidden
behind the false image of an oak.
They scream their hopes in lisps,
with utterly needless resolves,
wait out the times they've ridden,
and allow the standing spark that broke.
And it breaks into a roaring flame
that deafens their remaining senses
and engulfs them in ire
for those who try to quench it;
thusly, burns the forest's frame
for these unforgivable offenses -
so much they paid to that fire,
they forget the torch their mother lit.
Angst
Again, I wake and see the sun.
It