Stuff.
So I found all of my Poems from English class while getting rid of old files on my computer, so I thought I would post them.
"The Mailbox"
The Black Life was Brilliant,
High in the Vast Palace.
But we ventured, uncontent
With the Rumors We Were Given
We Searched for That Sweet Hour
Oh, the Passing of a Weak Soul
Yet, stored only in deliusion
Anxious of great uncertainties
The Distant Lure of Red Oil is Imminent
Thus We must Act
With Faith in the binding Change
To Provide an End to This Circulation
The Hum of a Tune that is Passed
From Opening Jaws of Enchantment
With this Begins the resurection of this palace.
"February Apples"
I am ruined by this wretched fruit,
yet addicted to it's lure.
It tempts,
instilling false hopes of sweet bliss.
I take a bite
Only to realize
My prized fruit has turned sour,
yet I wish to devour every bite.
The juice on my lips,
I am left guilty, shamed.
When I am hungered agian,
I pine for this sour apple,
while the sweetest lay discarded.
"Here"
Here at the side of the finishing dive
Guarded in desperate assent,
See where the vanilla moon sails
Take without second thought of your ill possessions
This tradition
Take in while you are free of this dead verse
Supplement these thoughts with one
Guard in one without assurance
The perfumed song of only torment
With this verse, the anthem, Beauty ends
"It is now"
It can be quite intimidating
Trying so hard to connect to something that isn’t there
I can’t say what I want
I don’t know how
I wouldn’t want to admit those thoughts in writing
That was not from my head
I am doing my own stuff here
I think I will cultivate that somehow
A chill is passing through me right now
I am possessed
It is now
"Nothing"
Does there have to be a reason?
It is not November, it seems like much longer.
I had a dream; my mind invented so many things in my sleep.
Searing red lipstick, and a black sweater,
Rain like silk devours me;
Tears of a god who has lost his child
Tomorrow is her lucky day.
I woke up confused, screaming. For hours I waited, frail, for someone.
Nothing
"The Mailbox"
The Black Life was Brilliant,
High in the Vast Palace.
But we ventured, uncontent
With the Rumors We Were Given
We Searched for That Sweet Hour
Oh, the Passing of a Weak Soul
Yet, stored only in deliusion
Anxious of great uncertainties
The Distant Lure of Red Oil is Imminent
Thus We must Act
With Faith in the binding Change
To Provide an End to This Circulation
The Hum of a Tune that is Passed
From Opening Jaws of Enchantment
With this Begins the resurection of this palace.
"February Apples"
I am ruined by this wretched fruit,
yet addicted to it's lure.
It tempts,
instilling false hopes of sweet bliss.
I take a bite
Only to realize
My prized fruit has turned sour,
yet I wish to devour every bite.
The juice on my lips,
I am left guilty, shamed.
When I am hungered agian,
I pine for this sour apple,
while the sweetest lay discarded.
"Here"
Here at the side of the finishing dive
Guarded in desperate assent,
See where the vanilla moon sails
Take without second thought of your ill possessions
This tradition
Take in while you are free of this dead verse
Supplement these thoughts with one
Guard in one without assurance
The perfumed song of only torment
With this verse, the anthem, Beauty ends
"It is now"
It can be quite intimidating
Trying so hard to connect to something that isn’t there
I can’t say what I want
I don’t know how
I wouldn’t want to admit those thoughts in writing
That was not from my head
I am doing my own stuff here
I think I will cultivate that somehow
A chill is passing through me right now
I am possessed
It is now
"Nothing"
Does there have to be a reason?
It is not November, it seems like much longer.
I had a dream; my mind invented so many things in my sleep.
Searing red lipstick, and a black sweater,
Rain like silk devours me;
Tears of a god who has lost his child
Tomorrow is her lucky day.
I woke up confused, screaming. For hours I waited, frail, for someone.
Nothing