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SilenceI met her in a dim-lit room. Beside myself,
I was enraptured by her simplicity, and
conquered thoughts left astray long ago by
her grace. She was lovely, draped in a ricochet
of blood pounding through my veins. She held an
eerie familiarity in her thin, bony arms and
grinned a night sky of stars. I watched with awe as
she sat close beside me, so our knees just barely kissed.
Yet we were distant. Both of us: lost, in longing to be
found and worshiped like the gods that molded us in spite.
She held modesty between two elegant fingers
that dusted the surface of my very being. It was, at long
last, kind. I listened eagerly to the melody laced in her
voice, and swayed to the beat. So soft, so merciful.
Yet she fumbled a B flat. Bustling cities and harsh cries
stirred like parasites in the pit of her belly, leaving
gratitude beneath vice. Yet my lady held that night sky
between two pale, white lips. She curved them, humbly, returning
to a forgotten melody. And I, unbeknownst to myself, struc
GratitudeYou asked me how I was today, so I
looked up at the bright blue bars above
me, where the departed - oceans away -
took refuge in frozen time. I answered,
You asked me about the weather as
the clouds wept liquid bullets, who
familiarized themselves with marching soldiers,
and crashed to Earth, forgotten. I answered,
You asked me what was new as lives began and flew
from wombs; as cities burned and good men died;
as rebels saved and saviors lied;
as mothers wept upon the end; as bullets soared
through the sky. I answered,
CircumstanceHe was, through circumstance, a hero.
He knew the corpses of a thousand men,
some as brothers, some as strangers. Each
a new name he bothered not to familiarize himself
with, or a family he dared not meet. He conquered
the unknown, and the unwanted with a modest
handful of bullets; he ranked himself among gods
by his superior's orders, and a loaded AK-47
he received the day he enlisted. I learned
to hail him as a hero through circumstance.
She was, through circumstance, a murderer.
She never knew his corpse,
only the memory of a New York night and
cold, cruel brick walls. She knew a voice
that demanded, hands that took, and a pain
that tore through her in ways she could hardly
fathom. She never knew a name. Only a stranger
who bothered not familiarize himself with her,
and a corpse she dared not think of. She was
conquered by the unknown by a modest threat to
her life; she ranked herself among the damned
by her incapability to prevent it, and the empty
apartment that echoed the pitter-
Broken RecordInsanity is doing something with a lack of reason
A deranged state of mind; everything's an illusion
Doing it over again, expecting a different end
Almost like a broken record that you're trying to mend
You set the needle back, hoping for a tune
But only vast, empty silence fills the room
They say the broken record would never be fixed
But still the insanity continues, leaving you transfixed
A different result you expect, from setting the needle back again
But never did it hit you that the attempt was vain
Endless trying, never succeeding
Perhaps it was just the insanity speaking...
CancerI remember the time that you touched the stars
Stark white, skin-tight; they hit you too hard
With a splintered cry, falling from sulfurous Mars
And the Fates ran screaming back into the dark
I remember the sound
The thrum and the pound
I remember the morning you woke in blood
When the lies in your eyes were unbearably rough
And the marks of the hypocrite far from enough
'Til you wept as Moses e'er fires and flood
I remember your song
You thought you were strong
I remember much further than Man ever dreams
You forced out your flesh, and I wept at the screams
The soul and the sorrow to memory clings
A light in the night, like Insanity, beams
I'll remember your cry
'Til the day I, too, die
The fence in my yardThere’s a fence in my yard
My father taught me to build
With a gate in the front
And a back strong-willed
Where the inside and outside
Love and hate of the world collides
Just like my face
It has two sides
One of welcome and safe inclusion
One of absolute defiant seclusion
Both built to last paid with sweat
Nails driven with pounding regret
But isolation has left this yard alone
The laughter of my children echo no more
Because as they all matured
They walked out the door
StoriesWhen you walk by
and see someone,
do you ever wonder
about the story behind that person?
What put them on the road
to where they are now in life?
How did they gain their fame and glory
or why are they filled with pain and strife?
That homeless man
lying there in the street
may have at one point
served in our naval fleet.
When he came home,
his wife had divorced him
and that is the very thing
that completely destroyed him.
Then there's that secretary
who's flirty boss is her pet peeve,
and you may wonder
why she doesn't just leave.
Her family is poor.
They need the money.
So she is stuck with that job
and her boss's promiscuity.
Of course there's that boy
who sat in the corner
and the girl who spoke to him
despite what they told her.
Many years later,
they are happily married
and have two kids
named Robert and Sherry.
Every person you see
has a story to tell
about how they reached heaven
or how they're damned to hell.
So the next time someone
talks about their life,
I've Set Foot on a SatelliteI've set foot on a satellite,
With smooth washed walls of white and gray.
Everything seems a 100 foot tall,
And a 100 feet away.
I'm walking among the giants,
And I find myself asking, "Who are they?"
For when I'm in their presence,
They don't speak what I expected them to say.
I'm sleeping among the stars,
But not yet close enough to touch the sun.
I lay restless in black velvet,
Why don't I feel like I've won?
I've set foot on a satellite,
With windows that picture the black.
Everything seems so out of place,
Is it too late to turn back?
HonestyShe walks beside a reaper late at night,
Her pleas hung as a noose around his bones:
They paced the willow seemingly alone
But the moon grew brighter in her spite.
The reaper breathes a sooner, heavy sigh
And listened, hallowed, by the woman's shriek
That ricocheted like bullets; their mystique
Dependent on a pleading mother's cry.
Beneath the willow, now, lay two departed
Beside a reaper who'd just barely started
To tear the world from its triumphant lie:
The lie of living honest in the womb
Of gods they knew in faith, but shunned in doom;
And men they killed but never questioned why.
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