Welcome to Gaia! ::

Hope ya like! 3nodding



First one:

I lay awake at night
looking toward the brooding dawn
with all the enthusiasm one has toward death.
Those sodden stretches of dishwater-colored light
seem to me painfull, twisting, thorny fingers
tearing at my flesh sliently from the inside.
The morose light of a pale-grey dawn
leaves in its wake a silence.
Too thick to break,
but too thin to notice.
It shows the world for what it really is.
A pale, bleak, forgotten remnant
of a memory.


Second one:

Deep, behind a veil of dusty, web-covered memories
are scattered the remains of a future I never had the chance
to see.
A picture in the corner
shows a mirror image of a lily
whose petals long ago left their creamy visage behind
and instead, now, we see
A burnt umber cast.

Daylight fades away, laying itself to rest
deep in the bowels of consciousness, a feral animal stirs
awakened by the attic creek, the owl's questioning moan,
and the soft whisper of nights carnal promises.

Who answers? Who dares challenge the promises of night's sweet embrace?
The wind, ever changing, bringing with it spicy scents
of things, long forgotten
awakened now in a de-ja-vu
reality is split, for just a moment
and the image in the gazing pool is rippled

Shatter all previous assumptions
cast away all proir debate

This, my dears, is the end
of something
just be quiet,
and keep your ears to the walls of the attic,
lest you go insane
from your own dusty, cobweb covered memories.

And third one: (Titled Hero Warship)

Scorched wings
Scattered underfoot
Trodden upon
Blood-soaked ground
Battleground

Death is a new sensation
A paradigm congregation
A contradiction of what we want to see
A need to feel the atrocity

Given life, we all give fully
Of our choked and writhing hate
An anger, deep under, boiled asunder
Deep in the bowels of our fate

A trace of memory, history?
A love of perfection
Imperfection is a malady
Deformed and conquered
We live on
Feeding on the droppings of anorexic angels
Living off their celebrity

Light, at the end of the tunnel
A funnel, a trundle torn apart

I need a heart
Care to be the donor?
A gruesome, blood-drenched honor
To serve thee, my Lords and Ladies
Fallen royals of old
Swathed in gold
Slathered in your diseased finery

Thank you! The second one is my favorite too. I don't even remember writing it. The words look new to me every time I read them. It gets like that. I kinda get lost when I write and don't even know what I've written by the time I'm done.