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Dark of NightDressed up in her Sunday best
The little girl leads in her guest
Shielded by the dark of night
She grasps the knife with fingers tight
Hidden in her heart so pure
A wicked force without a cure
She watches as her parents sleep
If they knew they could only weep
It doesn't take long, simply a flash
Her vigour increases with every slash
Not a sound had passed their lips
Before they board death’s eternal ships
Her body stained with crimson red
She leaves behind the ruined bed
One last stop before her end
Not a moment more has she to spend
The beloved child of only four
He’ll never see a summer more
The girl lurks in without a sound
Looks right into his eyes so round
Around his neck she’s placed the noose
Checks to see it isn't loose
He then begins to speak her name
Believing that it’s just a game
She hangs the rope above her head
Waits until the boy is dead
Finally, her strength is lost
She knows just what her deed has cost
With the bodies she creates a pyre
MoonlightThe moonlight drips silver onto her white and crimson body. Her still soft skin brushes my own rough arm, as I hold her lifeless form. The blood pools and stains the purity of her platinum locks, while her midnight dress soaks in even more as though it could restore her to former light and life. The only thing worse than the sorrow that wracked my entire being, was the knowledge that none of this was real.
It all started with the shadow. That mockery of an absence, a nothingness so intense I could feel its presence even when it was not in sight, even as I slept it watched me from the corner of the room. I believed it to be just my imagination, a paranoid spectacle that resulted from my overworked mind. You see, I recently went through a tragedy so deep, not one could feel my pain. The girl of my dreams, my reason for life and all that has ever been good, left me one night.
My entire life died under the starlit sky.
She fell with grace to her knees, so like an angel, with the knife stil
Winter KissMany solemn years ago
In midst of frost and powdered snow
Down curving path he walks his lonesome
In this chaste and still December
Deep within the shaded grove
Each singing bird a treasure trove
Behind a tree of elder years
Like faerie dust, a dainty whisper
Moves like summer, sings like rain
Maiden fair of midnight mane
Spinning 'round in blissful union
Upon his lips a winter kiss
Evergreen needles brush porcelain skin
Losing himself in her delicious sin
The shrieking wind then takes her leave
His lionheart skips beat to empty
Gentle crunch of fallen leaf
Hangs his head to hide his grief
Seasoned mind and homeward bound
In this chaste and still December
Sarah Smiles"When I was younger, I had a friend. She called herself Sarah, and we were as close as any two girls could be. We were never apart, bonded together as tightly as the ribbons that held up our hair. One of our favourite things to do was to dress up and make-over our Barbie dolls. There's something soothing about brushing that long, blonde hair with a plastic brush no longer than your fingernail. We usually used markers as make-up, but occasionally some of my mother's lipstick and nail polish made it's way into our tiny hands, much to her annoyance. My Barbie always ended with over rosy cheeks and pink highlights. Sarah, however, liked to paint hers a little differently. Nearly all the hair would be cut off, what was left of it would be coloured black. The lipstick always smeared and the eyes, those eyes would always be shadowed and dark, as though this poor doll had never known sleep. I still remember when we finished, Sarah would say to me, "You see, her eyes hold so much pain, so much
Golden MorningAnd in this darkness, never fleeting, always with me
You bear a flame, drawing nearer
To spirit away these lonely tears
Love so dear and tender, gentle warmth
Scare away the fighting demons
Before the dawn, dark and vile
Stay, my love, always near me
Cross all borders, fences shattered
Don't leave, walk into the evanescence
Of the sighing, swirling mist of morning
Oh, gentle love, formed of sun's golden light
Take us far above the sorrows of this sad night
Inkless PenTonight, fly home
On the wind, through clouds
Fashioned into my past
Dark, it storms
Rain mixed with tears
Which flow from merciless eyes
Past flies a dove
Failing wings, battered dreams
Spiraling down, I carry on
Held high by eternal stars
Yet when I arrive
To where joy and comfort lives (lived?)
I find you gone
Missing like the last piece to a puzzle
And I realize
Love is an inkless pen
Hopeless as the words of a dying man
I leave for the last time
On rolling waves that breathe in time
With my own unbeating heart
Life on a Television ScreenLife on a television screen
Eyes watch every quivering move
Thousands of eyes, flies on the wall
Dissected under the limelight
Ants under a magnifying glass
Held by the hand of a tainted child
Sun kissed skin, mermaid hair
Praise seeps through every pore, false modesty
Falling in and out of lust
With every evening past, drinking to hide from what's been done
City lights, darkless nights
Until the mo(u)rning, sun so bright
Crying from this tired heart
This tragic life begins once more
My Thoughts Are A StormThe scars you bear I wish I could
Die for, only the best do I want
For you, to be happy, the fault is
Mine own which tore us apart
Some days I was screaming inside
Yet I found complete happiness
With you, when you told me my
Apology was not accepted, it was
Like hearing news of an intimate
Suicide, your hate filled mind
Killed me inside, my thoughts
Are a storm, raging memories
Of every fight, every flaw fighting
For attention, yet the savage longing
To fall once more into you comforting
Arms, but who would I be if I
Allowed myself to go back?
Corpse BrideGirl so sweet, only seventeen
A prettier sight you'd never seen
Long raven hair, soft pale skin
A heart every man wanted to win
Clear blue eyes, deep as the sea
As gentle a soul as there could ever be
Then one quiet winter's day
She ventured to where she used to play
A forest so thick, not bothered by light
But not too far in she was given a fright
For before her stood a man so strong
His piercing eyes watched her far too long
She turned, a sparrow in flight, too late
He held her fast, told her to wait
He meant no harm, he looked so sweet
And so they agreed from then on they'd meet
Every day they were together in secret
She felt happy to bursting every time they met
A few weeks later, he loved her he said
So with this, alas, they agreed to wed
She wore her mother's antique wedding dress
They were to meet late at night, under moonlight's caress
Poor thing, she waited what seemed like forever
But her love would soon complete his wicked endeavour
She sees only a shadow before it all goes
the truth about growing up
1. It's easier when you don't think.
1. It starts early,
on a cloudy day when you recall
the 'childhood memories' of
two summers ago,
that's when you start your backslide into
2. On the bright side
you won't notice this until you're
good and ripe in age,
so maybe it doesn't matter
3. That tightness in your chest?
The feeling that you're not ready
to take on the rest of your life; it
4. It stews in the pit of your stomach
makes you doubt,
but there will be days when you look back
on the mountains you climbed -
the raging rivers you crossed -
and you'll have a sneaking suspicion you were
more prepared than you thought.
5. There's nothing like your own bed.
6. Laundry will never smell right
without mom's sweat and tears.
But you still have to separate lights from darks,
keep the zippers pulled tight
and the buttons unhooked.
7. There is comfort in your parents' presence.
8. Things change
the future gnaws and rips
Stranger's funeralUnder the clouds
Under the rain
Staring at the coffin
At a stranger's funeral
We're all alone
Feeling the storm
But not the pain
For he's but a stranger
And the graves around us
Are just there
Keeping us company
During this empty moment
LullabyHush, my baby,
Be still, don't cry.
Lay with me
A little while.
Close your eyes,
Slow your breath.
Hear your heart
Inside your chest?
Your heart is strong,
It guides you well.
Be sure to listen
To what it tells.
I hear him now,
Outside the room.
It won't be long,
He'll find us soon.
Now close your eyes,
Slow your breath,
And rest your head
Upon my chest.
CarolineYou loved the fire
of rogues -
imperfect men who shot up
the endings of the day
and drank down
too much beauty.
And like one of them,
you bellied with rebellion,
felt his tense seed
toil where women
and craved his notoriety.
Poor girl -
his verses won the day
and the call of words
was too fickle a lover
for any constant star.
Don't blame yourself -
are more attractive
and all poets are
things to tell you before i leave for collegeto mrs hatcher:
i promise that one day i will write that poem you asked me for
(the only thing you ever asked me for)
and i will finally tell you that you deserve
so much more.
to mr. walker:
i promise that i will not pity you.
i promise that i will not envy you.
i promise that you will always be part of my forget-me-nots and marigolds.
i promise to always be grateful.
i promise to be careful.
i promise to be crazy.
i promise that i will remember what it feels like to be needed
and what it feels like to let someone who needs you down.
i promise that i will never resent you for asking for help
and that i will always be there when you do.
i promise that even sixty years from now,
i will not be surprised to find a letter from you in my mailbox.
i promise to always remember what it felt like to be young and crazy with you,
how scared and lonely we were.
i will remember that we both survived it,
and that we'll survive this, too.
To the Boy Who Likes PoetryHe was a maze of metaphors
but she didn't mind
getting lost in him
raising a warrior never was an easy jobi.
when i was a child i would
sit on the porch in the rocking chair and watch
the sky fall and the ground flood -
safe on my wooden throne, i'd call out
amid the thunder that
it would never pull me to the sky, away from
the home i'd always known; when the storm
would cease i'd stand triumphant
over fallen soldiers, lying
like stained glass and shimmering, rippling --
when i was older
i stood in kitchen and watched you
bake, fingers drumming to the beat of a
war-drum you never could hear -
and you'd tell me stories of sleeping beauties
while i read about the knights
who risked their lives, got angry at the girl --
you taught me how to be
a lioness when you realized this girl would
never be a queen. i was made to rule, but not in
robes, made to claw my way
out instead of sit and watch the fight -
my throat ached to sing
a shout of victory, my skin itched to dance
in a triumphant haze as charcoal painted
the night alive --
and now when thunder shakes
the ground i count its be
i made the universe in a teapoti made the universe in a teapot.
galaxies frothed into the mug,
stars bubbling up through the sepia beauty.
nothing was left outside, everything at the bronze brim,
the sun's edge in ceramics.
i drank the quickcopper gracefully.
my mind was a biscuit,
the milk as time,
lacing throughout the boiling hot space in that second
of pouring creation.
(alpha and omega at once as steam.)
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