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GraphiteIt can make me cry,
Make me fly,
Once it even made me die.
It brings me peace,
It brings me strife,
It can bring me back to life.
It can bring me terror,
Bring me rage,
And lock me in a cage.
But in the end,
All it is,
Is some graphite on a page.
The Musician and the WordsmithA cobbled street;
A fountain that trickled water day in and out;
Birds that danced around orange cats;
Children laughing, screaming, as they danced around each other.
She, a musician.
She had a cello in one hand;
A flute in the other.
She wrote songs about laughter and dancing,
Each instrument complimenting the other perfectly.
He, a wordsmith.
He sat in a study day in and out,
Writing novels and poetry until his skin paled from the indoor light.
His hands were stained with the ink of tales and ballads written,
of adventurers more exciting than he.
Brisk fall leaves crunching on the cobbled streets;
Apples swinging from sunlit branches.
'Twas a scene that entranced both creative minds.
Songs flowed from the little house by the fountain;
Poetry recited from the shop inside the town;
The flowing words and notes collided halfway,
And they fit together so perfectly, no one would have known they were separate.
A lonely man.
He heard the de
My, My, MyMy, my, my,
I'm feeling poetic today.
I wonder why it is,
That I've walked into the fray.
I need to write this in a notebook,
Before my vision starts to stray,
From the goal I've set in life,
As I have so much left to say.
My, my, my,
I'm feeling inspired today.
As the difference between making art and playing music,
All starts to slip away.
As my philosophies take ahold,
And the notes all start to play.
The staffs all in my mind
Are simply starting to decay.
My, my, my,
How my brain hurts today.
In Which there was an Absence of SocksThis,
Everywhere around you.
Scattered on the floor.
So much for me to do,
Before walking out the door.
When I stay here,
And finish my stuff,
I will sit down and wonder soon enough:
What's the difference between a friendless sock,
And a sockless friend?
No, no, don't think about it.
My toes have gone numb -
J-just grin a-and bear it.
S-sk-skin frozen through...
S-sk-skin frozen through...
The ice h-has reached my blood!
Snap! there goes my finger.
A Swirling RushThere is a rush of wind
The is a falling swirl of colors
All mixed up together
as one lonesome pallette
A twang of a note
Played quietly but in tune
There is life all around me
And here I am...
ClicheYou don't know my pain...
Oh great. How cliché.
Teenage drama. Procrastination.
It all gets in my way.
Suicide and cyanide.
I just have to run and hide.
Trapped in places with no sun.
"Too tired to fight and yet too scared to run."
I throw out my keys.
Hide my locks.
Shiver and die by the ticking clock.
My notebook is burning.
My games thrown away.
No where to turn, no way to stay.
Sweet blueberries gone,
Fire lights the way.
No where to turn.
Yet still no way to stay.
~Life's a bi*ch.~
I've had my say.
"'You want to go home and rethink your life~'"
'I want to go home and rethink my life~'"
"It goes without saying,"
I say to a tree.
As if the tree listens.
Who cares about me?
First comes you, then comes me.
Then comes that other guy to make a mess of things.
But, wait there's a problem.
He was there first.
No, wait that's not right.
He and I were here first.
You've gone astray!
No, that's not right either.
But, who am I to get in Ever after's way
AutumnChill clinging to you skin,
And refusing to go away.
Fog blanketing the earth,
And saying, "I'm here to stay."
Leaves crunching and breaking,
In the ground beneath your feet.
Wind blowers and brisk fall winds,
Pealing them off the streets.
When the rain starts up,
After a long summer drought.
When fog escapes our mouths,
As I start to shout.
The laughter of children,
With the promise of a scare.
This way and that way,
To be seen everywhere.
The season of colors and fright.
Staying home, warmed by candlelight.
The place where I cannot stay.
It's here to take me away.
ScatteredIt's a s c a t t e r e d world out there
Isn't there a place where we can escape
Where we can get up and fly away ??
It's a scattered life out there
The words are so ~jbmeuld~ j u m b l e d
You can find nothing left to say.
You can lock yourself in a --------------------------------------- corner|
Where you can hear your black blood ~SCREAM~
Because is it reality which has scattered?
Or is the s c a t t e r e d place the dream?
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