HellBent
Inside, crushed like a bug
In a tin can, life welling up
Between scarred empty fingers
Glance down at the half-empty cup
And catch breath, taut with a twang
Slice through perceptions
To dip conscious thought
Inside, crushed like a bug
In a tin can, tears flowing down
Into lifeless white palms
Carressed by the winds
Sorrows in mortal form
She is sweet and I am empty
But for this tin of voice
White dust flies pale
And time shuffles through
The billowing curtains
Night sky sighing
I am in pain, but she it at peace.
Thursday, February 17, 2005
Fatherhood
I am carrying the torch you Handed me Not handed. Placed Carefully This is sacred space. Was the carrying so heavy for you as well? Were yo...
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It must have been love That sort of thing Can't be mistaken For a lesser set of feelings It has a special hat And makes you welcome at p...
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She shares the blame For Adam's fall So secure, attractive Brilliant in a certain view The essence of Enlightenment I see her raise her ...
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I’m tired I’m tired of my heart giving out Whenever it gives in That things being the same Never makes a difference Of looking forwards to s...
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