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Answer
Tears wonder why,
nonexistant pain still yearns to exist in this being.
Many wonder why it would not speak
one believes words are not real.
Shrouds of fog begin to cover everything
if all knew what their mind was
shocks and waves will ruin everything.
Hate-enraged what more can I say
none can be forgiven
tear them apart from side to side
they feel nothing
pain is not real anymore
no more torture
can anything be yearned for?
Forsake it now
nothing more here
it’s the end.
Embracing the Cold Field (August 4,2008)
The siren’s begin to carry across the field
mines explode as every man marches across.
The mud-ridden men bellow their cries
red paint breaks and they fall to embrace
and remember their great memories.
Melodious revenge bestows itself upon far away land
souls reach their terminus
until time repeats it’s second-hand.
Stones with Dying Red Flowers (August 6th,2008)
All across the world from nation
minutes paused to look back again.
The last warriors began their plea
to do nothing but have a unanmimous victory.
She steps upon the empty meadow looking at every stone
watching the spirits weep.
Transparent figures run their course
sword by gun, gun by canon,
they drop to the floor
muddy waters ask for more.
Final gun hits her like static
lightning war made its ending.
Story
What is purpose
if purpose can’t be.
She doesn’t understand if existance is to deceit
or if existance is to just.
Every fallen part leaving her eyes
questions linger
what more can be done for one to see.
Not every page repeats
take a look at each sanctioned memory
she wanted something more as you did.
She does not know which part of the story to go
and you chose not to be her bookmark and guide her to the right story.
She is merely left to believe that she is meant to serve as a word
a word with no action.
Back on the shelf she goes
returned and left to dust until another takes time to give her another chance to be read.
The Innocents that Flew: Medication I
Tremors become my abundant reality
hallucinations is everything she sees.
The rocket fumes outline my fear,
not existing in the place that most want to hear.
No one wants to hear,
me,you, and the people we know want to see.
Pulling away with each injection,
sedated and gone,
what more can this become?
Hypoxia overconsumes him,
he falls,
she trips,
this becomes fatal.
The Last Amorist
Driven ecstasy,
fire goes cold,
the amorist is no longer to be.
All it took was the defrauder to weep with another.
The one who did nothing but fill the wall with scriptures,
to the embellished muse,
goodbye.
The last amorist fades into the bleak of night on the bridge.
Descending pages go into the river,
deceptionous ink flows and the amorist breaks.
Nothing more can be,
what love,what purpose is there to be,
if all is constantly torn because each soul is afraid of obligate ecstasy.
