beyond yesterdays nowwe've set the controls...threads have been sliceda journey within...turned round on its headno longer confined ...to shells by the seasails now unfurled...between the blackness of stars
Moment of stillnessslipping aside...tattered an worn...day makes wayfor stars
social hedgeinvisible walls are the highest ones
scratchYou hid the scar very well.
pretty thornsYou spoke of love…then left.
never thereyou turned corners from my sight
breaking the futurein time, nothing could be denied
breakfastmorning meal...we ate in silence.
-echo-brilliant light, the death of stars, long since dead,dragging darkness behind themmerely illusions, no substance to kissI have no form …less than hollowNo stillness within meNo answers to giveNo songs made of laughterNo treasures unclaimedWhat faith now remains?Look to other facesMy time never wasA whisper, a vapor
how to survive highschool: a guide. i.walk in, take offyour wings. these lockers are toosmall to hold anythingof value, so shove those dreams of yoursin your pockets andget your ass to class.ii.when they tell you that you'renot good enough,listen– it's not the first timeyou've heard it butit's the first time you'veagreed.iii.drown in numbers– slit your wristswith a graphingcalculator, choke on the pages of yourAP statistic textbookthat doesn't explain shit (just likethe teacher).iiii.try not to cry whenyou are judged for your GPA more thanyour character. afterall, it only getsbetterfrom here, right? somedayyou'll get out– but that's just what youtell yourselfto make these walls feelless suffocating.iiiii.and then it's over; you put on anoverpriced cap and gown andwalk your assacross a stage with all the kidsyou despise. all the girlsthat teased youand the boy who used to pull yourh
AngieAlways a red dress,never a black...Angie took my handto board the boatto Italy (a boat,a shipwhich did not exist)"You have neverlooked so beautiful.Papa's favorite dress..."But Alice (her name for me)was dressed in whitethat night (starched uniform,no long red gown)as we packed(well, she packed)and she satand I came backafter doing my workto : "Alice, sit by me,it's time for the funeral."I sat for a minute(all that was allowed)and somehow,I saw that funeralover and overeach night for 2 years...the red dressand her family's tears...We sat by the boat(which did not exist)for two yearswith Angie's fearsuntil I had no timefor my Angieand her timecame to an end.
StarbucksGrid linesGrid squaresGrid carsWho cares?Sipping your fad of the weekReading what will be abandonedby the stroke of one tweetYour now sophisticated fochewill be considered the largest fauxpeby the time I am done writing thisTaking yourself so seriouslythe society your set yourself inIt is saddening to thinkthat this is the way I might beSo continue to dwellin your grid worldEnjoying your coffee flavoured fadwhile I sit herewriting in speculationof the life I might have
The Rainbow Yurt PoemEventually the Elder Lords of SkoogDecided to work togetherTo create a bold new worldOn the Skoog Astral PlaneThey decided that they neededTo create a special placeFor the heated debatesThat doubtless would ensueEventually they came up with the Rainbow YurtThat now floats amongst the cloudsAnd meanders across the Skoog skiesMost unusual to say the least!Its exterior of many coloursRepresents the many facets of their dreamNeeded to bring together all manner ofSpecies & cultures in peace and harmony
Suicide BirthFate sets the day you’re born,The beloved gods mourn,Since they know it will be rough,And hope you don’t get torn.Forced to grow up, and be toughJust a ghetto boy-Broken inside,No father, struggling motherWonder where the love resides.Doesn’t know where his householdSo he sticks to the streets,Where it all unfolds,Looking for quick bucks,And fast friends.But it’s cold in these streets,Fair weather friendsAre the only ones he could meet.He was thirsty and low on coke,But kept them around,They made sure he kept sporting,And they love to smoke.He hated his 9 to 5,But was tired of him and momBeing church mice.Stayed geeked up,So his momCould go to church nice,Now he stays with money,It should feel good right?This a game of dice,Born to fail,Fate,Heaven sent,Or was born from hell?Hearing those daily shotsHe could never tell.
Ode to the artistColours danceJust out of reachOf her grasping fingers,Her lips tipped upAnd her violet eyesGlistening with wonder.And today,So many years later,When her eyes have settledAnd their colour dimmed,When the curls in new hairHave fallen flat,Even nowThose colours danceJust out of her reach.She slashes at canvasWith wide brushesAnd dripping paints,Trying to captureThose perfect blends,Those perfect tones,That perfect feeling.Her works are masterpieces,Acclaimed by all who see,But not a single oneIs complete,Merely abandonedBy the mother who cannot cherishImperfection.And so she starts againWith new brushesAnd brighter paints.And she screamsInto her brushstrokes,And criesInto the glaze,And laughsWith the easel,Because that is whatArtIs.Not a blending of colours,Not the recreation of a scene,Not the likeness of a figure.Art isPain and joyMixed together on the same palette.Art is the reminiscence on a placeAnd the worship of a face.Art is lifeBl
-Mouse thoughts-That's a funny place for cheese