05-07-2007, 06:33 PM
well Starlit said she kind of wanted to see it posted so here it is again....
It is dark I suppose, but I fear much of my poetry is. I hate to call them poems as I feel so inadequate about them....hopefully its not just banter to some of you.....maybe it could even resonate? Hope it makes sense....
there is usually some passing reference to Ours in my writing....I do that on purpose....give homage somehow...
Endless Hours
Caught under the iced ceiling of a frozen lake
hands of despair seek to drown
seek purity in futilities crown.
the promise remains unfullfilled.
there is no repair.
no shelter from the snarls or howls of rabid dogs..
feed on fresh flesh
the singe of blood stains your claws....
professing devotion they come to you.
hollow souls surface
clowns of the circus
making everyone laugh
knowing their tears painted daily.
captivating words marred with blight
like icy wastelands
how meaningless they are in their emptiness.
trudge in hopes of newer morrows, a numb promiscuity,
we go onwards fully aware,
they know not the meaning of loyalty.
they do not know honesty.
only what they churn to win praise...
wars of man rage.
the fantasy of what we are
the world is ours today.
gift of mankind to itself.
this deceit, stand proud of what you have have accomplished
isolated man, woman, child.
build the walls of a shroud
and take from us bestowed
these endless hours.
It is dark I suppose, but I fear much of my poetry is. I hate to call them poems as I feel so inadequate about them....hopefully its not just banter to some of you.....maybe it could even resonate? Hope it makes sense....
there is usually some passing reference to Ours in my writing....I do that on purpose....give homage somehow...
Endless Hours
Caught under the iced ceiling of a frozen lake
hands of despair seek to drown
seek purity in futilities crown.
the promise remains unfullfilled.
there is no repair.
no shelter from the snarls or howls of rabid dogs..
feed on fresh flesh
the singe of blood stains your claws....
professing devotion they come to you.
hollow souls surface
clowns of the circus
making everyone laugh
knowing their tears painted daily.
captivating words marred with blight
like icy wastelands
how meaningless they are in their emptiness.
trudge in hopes of newer morrows, a numb promiscuity,
we go onwards fully aware,
they know not the meaning of loyalty.
they do not know honesty.
only what they churn to win praise...
wars of man rage.
the fantasy of what we are
the world is ours today.
gift of mankind to itself.
this deceit, stand proud of what you have have accomplished
isolated man, woman, child.
build the walls of a shroud
and take from us bestowed
these endless hours.