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Showing posts from October, 2018

Grave Thy Companion

Fiery shadow claw deep the surface of life  Life wrought destructive taste – embraced by a boy destined to slay the man They all preached oh how he could be – he could be - he could be; fuck them allThey see not thy reflection gazing back predatory eyes gleaming
Slavering for the throat – ambiguous strain for life we yield

Hushed thoughts that scream Relief is isolated
Gallop good companion – if thy reach me -  penny these tortured eyes
I have but to accompany thy self To the gates of hell we stride forth
I march in line trembling detour
He screams; I abide the order It is just that; disastrous order
Hollowed prints of those before me, embrace the gravel with a silence all could hear
The gates call – I lend my ear The movement is breached – we find our eternal sleep
Thy grave is my companion – the silence none could hear I’ve lent this demon all future years
~ Submitted Anonymous

Poem Evokes the Glory of the Moment

Isn’t it pretty to think so?

Grandpa thinks with his hands folded behind his head Isn’t it pretty to think so? Yes, it truly is – pipe packed with tobacco as smoke rings cloud his head The wrinkles were earned. He does not wish them away or wish them to be They’re simply enclosed within the urn of eternity Yet, isn’t it pretty to think so? Just for awhile and a while will come The body plays it role too die - his soul will rise through the tobacco-scorched sky Before this dawn of truth, thine eyes have pondered much – he sits in awe and wonder of the life to come by his grandchild’s touch. Isn’t it pretty to think so? The porch creeks a beautiful melody as he rocks in his flawless chair – “isn’t it pretty? This music to my ears, what pleasure my calloused torn hands brought to the here, introduced to the now. This farm is my field of harvest. My spirit rich in reward to what it has sown. Isn’t this….” The porch chatters, interrupting his pure thoughts, more music to his ears, the trample of h…