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I sometimes feel an urge to write poetry, I don't know the rule of poetry I just write stuff that rhymes and it works for me. I try not to be too morbid, but well, death happens.
remnants.
when hope melts from the face and the frame
I am what remains
when from out of the eyes the souls drains
I am what remains
when love is so far removed the eye strains
I am what remains
when the heart longs to feel so that the lips pray for pain
I am what remains
when the mind twists around til it unravels itsself sane
I am what remains.
when the bandage around the flesh is heavy wet with crimson stains
I am what remains.
when the last of life crawls away from spider legged veins.
I am just another name I will not remain.
....well aren't I a morbid little bitch tonight? Maybe I should try to write a happy one;
Little Hawk-My power animal.:O)
His feathers short and tipped back, for me he takes a little bow,
then cocks his head down subjectly, beneath his beak: a smile,
he comes to me in vision out of sequence out of step,
he shows me what is yet to come what I have not seen just yet,
His eyes blaze as yellow as the dandylion weed,
I see them appear in shadow when I am in need.
He sails above the tops of trees yet always holds his tongue,
He knows more than many birds though he is so young.
his gold eyes now zero in very acute and wise,
he analyzes every one and cuts them down to size.
Yet he is youthful still and still learning how to know,
just what to perch upon and just what to let go,
he can reach the highest peak, he can land the lowest low.
he is me and I am him just so you will know.
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Posted by lovecrasher on 2008-05-28 22:04:24 | Rating: | Views: 56
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