She lives for tomorrow, folding; Sight static, fight fantastic. Not matters you, me, or belief, Our forevers spent grieving, but of a might, life traveled. Snapping, chatting of pictures, Scared of the aperture, focus, Not the fools and hocus pocus. Yang sits riverside singing, What a life quaint, dyed. Painting faint inner lies, Things remissed never vied, Another sister left behind, Another brother lost to time, Benefactor earth, Loss to files, binaries, Tyrannies, buying, surprises. Redacted is worth, Prose, everything vibrant. Observers know of likeness, Sequel to the Mona Lisa, Pious only to feeling.
Lyric, I write divine, Chorus determinism. Mind fine but life grand, Guitar a work of vine, For too few seconds, Then bent to sand. Humorous religion, Reception mad alive, Forewards and artistry, A life pious. Mine. Flounder only eaten, Soul aptly designed. Father, I write of lions, But only of your will, Type defined, candid.
As I looked into my mirror one day, I could see, that a sad little girl was looking at me. I said to this child where is your smile? Through tears she replied, "Can we talk for a while? Your mommy is dead. They took your daddy away. I don't know how you face your mirror everyday?" Besides the lump in my throat, I also felt, a tear trickled down as my heart begin to melt. Sweet Child you see, it is hard to explain, how people can hurt you and cause you such pain. but if you believe that God sent us Jesus his son, you can face everyday and you won't have to run. So smile little girl there is a whole new world of love and happiness and a brand new start, the moment you ask Jesus to come into your heart. Looking deeper yet, into my mirror I could see, that this sad little girl looked exactly like me.
Birds flying apart, They desire not; To be of is, Someone begotten; New to art, Liar at port, of port, drinking port, Thinking unimportant.
Gatekeeper, Chaste to a fleeing care, Fleeting in your fairness, Future harnessed, idle, All of what she gave me, Rusted.
Always crows flying, living Ottawa, Silence as loud as a passing truck. Liar of the present, fool future, Suture and praying for none at all. Always comedies written, hands numb, Painter finishes his castles, backward, Words tired yet landing with oomph; Posture lacking, Skull bashed in, Tomorrow's recluse and marked man, As the crowd begins, he rescinds.
A poem written in jest, Forgive my candidness. Live life a person kinder, Man damned and woman candor, Sky full of condors, vultures, Even politicians disgusted. Red lines and yellow subjects, Life full of candid sculptures, Culture vulgar, Butler colored, Abreast cigarette smokers, Who vote for nothingness. A king of the foreward, And cowards who sit home.
She lays, sunbathing, Awake in the sunset, Placed as an epithet, Following but shadow, Celebrity malleable. Sequence engaged, tomorrow; Letter sent too late, Bed slept in layman, Words dear borrowed, But a fool too vague. Sheets in disarray, One saves time folding, Sleeping on top. One who faces the cold, Has no reason for folio, Numbering hardships for foals, Galloping into the distance, Their grandeur taught.
Letters written of nonsense, Inner conflicts, profits, Constantine of outfits, Proud of their holes. Opposite, of continents, Sinkholes, swallowing, Mere weathering problems, All they do is disclose. Imagine a world insolvent, Overpopulated and cold, Where fistfuls of dollars, Are better off. Plastic like the ocean, Poetic hopeful, Scotland. Politically motivated, Heart emplaced. However honest, lies of fate, One defends an idea flagrant, Upon a hill of nothing sacred, Fairness being the continent. Unless one wishes a life content, In a country of many ferrets.
He dreams of winter, tireless, listless, Forming fists, linger, Five fingers for taking, Making and mocking, Flying at the equinox; Checks to greet, A future cost. Apart from his words, He talks opposite, Of walks in the park, And poor pessimism. Perhaps one day, Forgotten is passion, Castles of young love, Tall as his bastion. He tells you of virtues, Rarely living attache, Stacking stones, Flashing cards flourished, Floor patterned, Checkerboard, Poorly planned, Colored randomly.
Why, are my expectations so high? Despite my, I rhymes flexible, Lexicon admissible, less factual, Threat level maximum. Stratagem aspirant, Still I mitigate strata apparent, Deference veteran, get educated, Swine.
Calculated lies of mitigation, Circumventing a sky, of no direction, Stars without conviction, shy to glow. Mine to hold, like guy insecure, They lie themselves, of times of old. Of Starlight swung across the shores, However permanent their sky azure. Like fire burns, administered thrones, A King burns, as his kingdom below. Too hot to be stolen, too hot to hold, Yet hands like cold, death incarnate. Lies foretold of fellowship honest, History written of crying sole.
Goodbye old friend, you've served me well; you did your job throughout this hell. Exhausted - now you're lying here; within your eyes I see the fear. My pal is calling...let him go, he'll never learn, he'll never know how dire it is to lose a friend, but I'll stay with you to the end. And if the Hun should come before you've breathed your last in this damn war, then, so be it, I'll die with you, for loyal friends must see it through until the end, when we'll be seen as one - once more on England's green and pleasant land for which we fought, to plough God's fields as we were taught. I hear the bullets whizzing by, the screaming men, the battle cry. You lift your head to shield my heart, and bullets tear your neck apart. I hold you tight with bloodied hand, I try to rise, I try to stand. I feel the shrapnel from the shell-- Goodbye old friend, you served me well.