Clad in a pale blanketWe wolves know how to move it:p
The city reeks of smugness
Pride in its success
A curdled coffee river
Stains the urban mess
Fangs of steel and glass
Greedily scar the sky
Drinking in the falsehood
Bleeding sincerity dry
A showy show of having
Masking the stunted soul
Of a country overreaching
Blind to it’s amusing folly
Delusions are dangerous
For those who have no eyes
Pretending to be more
A fortress built on lies
We watch the world
Watching us watching them
Still we do not see
We are our biggest illusion
Clad in a pale blanket
Sewn from cloudy tears
Bonebleached without
The city is a shroud
Under the fingers of light
Groping into the night
Gay blue sky weeping
Silver sheen dampened
Muffled in white air
Staring blind but aware
Of the ghosts of day
As the fiery Son roars
Split blearily asunder
Steelglass obelisks
Throw their claws
Into the gaping
To touch the beyond
Beyond their touch
Scattered Stars
Absent dreams
Crossing scars
Bridging screams
Brought into
Taken from
Be untrue
Weather scorn
Wait here
Stay alone
See clear
Path shown
Lie abed
Fly ahorse
Darkness fled
Change course
Onward run
Never cease
Setting Sun
Find peace
A morning alone
Like none I’ve known
Calls out my name
and I come
Like the world outside
I have nothing to hide
But the truth
remains gone
To look into your soul
is to swallow you whole
and something
to think on
If the hurt in your head
means that the dream is dead
then you know
you’re alive
But in the scheme of things
What joy hate brings
is the food
of absence
If they speak when you spoke
and you break when they broke
then you
are not worth my time
Why do poems rhyme?
Is this some sort of must?
What if you’ve not the time
Inspiration you can’t trust
Staring at a blank page
Nothing comes to mind
Scared to take the stage
Afraid of what to find
I have tried not rhyming
Sprayed words across
Cursed with lack of timing
And ended up with dross
Something about me
Dislikes deep the mess
Hates what I see
Thinks of it the less
Yet it is the same
As what others write
But I dislike the game
Such poetry is shite
The rhyme does not dictate
The stanza does not wail
Convention does not state
The image does not fail
And yet I feel unquiet
What is this unease?
I just have to try it
And do my best to please
(Source: lord-of-the-low-frequency, via dreamdarkly-deactivated20120414)
What do you write?
When you have nothing
When you feel nothing
When you think nothing
When your mind is dead
Do you take to looking?
inside and outside
your head
When you look
But cannot see
When you speak
But cannot be
Caged in freedom
wanting more
In a white room
an invisible door
mocks you
You are
the
key
Be
F
R
E
E
I am
am not
am both
am
a
-
Wasting time
that isn’t yours
to waste
is like killing time
that you
never had the
motive to kill
Shoot the breeze
and watch it fall
bleeding purest cloud
hold your breath
in your crumpled fingers
loneliness is a place
you have to get
lost to find
falling upwards
into dreams
which may come
or may not
it depends
something’s happening
nothing can’t
time trickles
and dances
as it will
join in or watch
go on
now
Words
across
a
page
do
not
a
poem
make
This
is
not
a
poem
it
is
…