| Raindrops for Raini |
[Sep. 16th, 2009|10:42 pm] |
| [ | Current Location |
| | Katy, Texas | ] |
| [ | mood |
| |  sad | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Anthem for the Underdog - 12 Stones | ] |
Raindrops falling
Pitter Patter
Sounding their stacattoed beats
Angels crying
Teardrops falling
Down on darkened city streets
One lone figure
Marches onwards
Seeking only entrance home
Doubts all screaming
In his head
Say he'll always be alone
open mouth
and working throat
but not a sound to hear
Broken heart
and stolen voice
a product of the fear
Tiny candle
stand alone
in a house 'cross the city
standing strong
and shining bright
for love and hope and pity
warmth offered
if ever sought
defining heart and home
hoping always
keeping faith
you don't have to be alone |
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| In Passendale Fields |
[Dec. 15th, 2007|12:58 pm] |
Where mud Flows.
Between the walk-boards
Row on row?
Passendaele. The very name is enough to strike fear in the hearts of those who have seen it. Little less than fifteen years ago, this area of Belgian land was under the North Sea. The Belgians installed a drainage system to provide housing space for the already over-crowded nation. In 1916, shelling destroyed the drainage popes, leaving the area a muddy, swampy mess. Germans, needing to proceed through the Belgian lands to reach France, had to trek through several miles of the watery wasteland. After Canadian contribution to victory at Vimy Ridge, (April 9th 1917) Canadian General Arthur Currie was given plans to fight back the Germans from Passendaele. General Currie had been knighted and promoted to command all of the Canadian corps he had fought so hard to keep together. British General Haig put the summons through to General Currie to aid in formulating a plan for the re-capture of Passendaele.
General Haig had never seen Passendaele in it’s current state and had no idea of the conditions soldiers would be forced to fight under. General Currie had never before been to Passendaele, therefore all he had to work from were the maps of the British army and the word of General Haig.
Upon the arrival of Canadian troops to the Passendaele battlefield, they were faced with miles of mud. The treks into the field were long, tiring, and seemingly useless. Many a trained and hardened soldier wept from sheer frustration at the very thought of another day of fighting to advance through the mire.
After a time, a Canadian private soldier came through with the idea that boards placed over the swampy area would distribute the weight over a wider area and help to keep people and pack animals and equipment afloat in this terrible water-like consistency. However, the boards were terribly narrow and unstable, and many a time, soldiers, pack animals, and equipment alike slipped or were thrown off what little safety there was on the boards and were lost forever in the much that remains their graveyard. In the end of the battle, it wasn’t the battle itself that had cost the most in lives, but that precious currency was spent in getting to the battlefield.
The troops fought long, hard, and bravely at Passendaele, struggling along equally as hard to overcome the swamp land as to capture the battlefield itself.
Eventually, the troops took Passendaele ridge, but the death toll from the battle was in the high sixteen thousands, and the dead in the wasteland innumerable. The victory was bitter for all concerned - The British officials, the Canadian officials, and the troops - and was ultimately useless. Seven kilometres of mud was won from the Germans, and the offensive soon lost the land back to German forces. An empty victory was all that rewarded the Canadian soldiers.
Through all of Canada’s sacrifice in the battles of Passendaele in October 1917, the British knew very little of the hardships of the Canadian soldiers. Upon arrival at the battlefield for the first time, a British official is quoted as exclaiming “Good God! Did we really send soldiers to fight in that?” Showing that Britain has very weak skills in the area of strategy and preparation. |
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| Goodbye |
[Dec. 15th, 2007|12:50 pm] |
I still can't believe those words. I heard them the first time on the telephone, and I asked my mother what they meant.
Au Revoir. Goodbye.
I didn't really think that they would be such a big problem. Then came kindergarten. His name was David, and he was the best friend I ever had. At the time, I made him promise not to go on the monkey bars without me, and even the days when I was sick, he never once touched them without me there. Then he moved away. I heard that terrible word.
Goodbye.
Eventually, I moved into sixth grade. Junior high. I had a whole new set of people to hang around with. Bigger school, bigger classes, bigger..... basketball team. Her name was Rebecca. I thought she was so cool, and she said I was so sweet. She hated Kung Fu movies, popsicles, and her dad's red Topaz, and loved the Beatles and Elvis. She wanted to become an actress and live the life of Marilyn Monroe. I tried to tell her that it wasn't my fault that Jason liked me more than her, but she didn't really listen. I heard those words again, but she said it differently.
Sayonara.
I moved on, and in High School, I found my niche. They were my mentors, my teachers, and I loved them Dearly. Lisa and Jennie, Rhonda, Alexis and Margaret. I never wanted to hang around anyone else. But, eventually, it turned out that since they were older than I, they graduated, going each to different schools. This time, it was affectionate, but it was almost the same
Jane.
High school ended, and so came College. I decided to become a writer, and took a Literature program. Sam was a great guy. He knew all the books I liked. He sang all the songs I loved, he played the guitar and spoke three different languages when he wasn't playing soccer. We spend untold hours together. Then I started to see him less and less often as the mid-terms grew closer. I started to leave messages on his machine. I started to pass him by in the halls, surrounded by people, when I was late for class. Then I found it. The picture of them together. Dated three weeks beforehand. And there was no way it was pleutonic. It stopped right then and there.
He said Hasta Luego.
Eventually, I married. I met a woman named Elise. We fell in love, and we found we were the perfect fit. Anything I didn't like, she loved, and vice versa. We decided that since we obviously could not get pregnant, I would be the child-bearer, and artificial insemination would be the best way to go. So we did. But unfortunately, that wasn't all there was to it. I miscarried. The only think I could think to say when I found out was:
Auf Wiedersehen.
This time, we decided that she would carry the child, and it worked out okay. My firstborn's name was Bryan. He was a charming little boy. He would sit and watch his mother at home, cooking or painting. I loved to watch him run around the house, flying planes, or trying to catch the robbers. The time eventually came to enroll him in elementary school.
We found it difficult, but Elise and I found we could only let go and allow our little boy to begin a life without parents watching every step of the way. So we let go and said arrivederci.
Sarah was the second born to us. She was a beautiful girl, and we hated the time that came when she moved out. We had prepared for it for years before the fact, but she sat us down when she was twenty, and told us that she had found the man she was going to marry, and that they were getting an appartment in the city. With all the blessings we could muster, we helped her pack, and we moved her things downtown, and helped her move in. Elise got paint all over her clothes, and we ordered Kentucky Fried Chicken, and Sarah passed out because of the fumes, but it was a good day. At the end, each of us hugged her and said:
Ciao.
Over the years, I have had children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren. And now I' old and grey. Elise and I have gotten to the point now where we are fully satisfied with our lives, with everything that we've been through and the ways in which we've handled it. So now, it's our turn. I am fully confident that our children will be able to handle whatever comes their way. I know they will be as much a blessing to others as Elise has been to me.
So now, it's my turn to say something.
I know that it's a powerful word, but it should be used only for it's real meaning:
Goodbye. |
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| Campfire Tales |
[Dec. 15th, 2007|12:45 pm] |
Matt was nineteen, and was the oldest of all of us. He was a tall boy, who would never hit two hundred fifty pounds. We were all old enough to get our drivers licence, but not all of us did. Rick, the youngest, could have gotten his almost a year ago, but never ended up doing it. Call it laziness. So it was that Matt was elected, both by the group ourselves, and by our parents, to drive up to the game reserve that weekend. We got to the campsite, and settled into two plots nearest the lake. Once settled in, of course, it was the girl’s duty to cook supper. Following was a round of gossip and teasing, and plans made for later that summer. After dinner, a pall fell over the group as we all digested and the mirth of the last joke died out over the hot coals of the fire.
“Hey, why did you guys choose this place, anyway?” Jess spoke up. The story of the long and involved battle between myself and the guys was nearing legendary status by the time we’d all decided. I lost of course, but none of the girls ever knew why the guys wanted this place so much. Jess turned to Matt, who was the least likely to ever give any straight answer. He just shrugged his shoulders at her, then grinned at Aldan. Jess’s boyfriend returned the grin and lowered his eyes towards the fire.
“You see, Jess, it’s all about the experience.” He said, and winked conspiratorially at Rick. I turned to my own boyfriend, who in turn looked at Stacey’s boyfriend, Scott. The girls looked at each other, and almost as if on cue, we all giggled. Fine. If they wanted to play mind games, we could do the same. Let them think on our laughing at them, see what they get from that.
Soon after we stopped laughing, each of the girls took a turn looking at Stacey. Stacey calmed herself and looked at Aldan. “What experience? What are you talking about?”
I could tell Aldan was getting into his story-telling mood. He leaned back, draping his arms half behind the log he shared with Jess, then looked up into the sky, which was quickly becoming a dark shade of blue, with little white sequins. “Haven’t you ever heard of the Knight of the Forest?” He asked. Shaking heads, hesitantly on the estrogen side, and a little more vigorously on the testosterone side, drove him on.
“Long ago, there was this Knight. He lived right around here, up near what’s Hartlepool today. There was a great Lord who lived there, and the Lord was evil. He enjoyed torture, and trying to gain land and expand his wealth in any way he could. The Knight knew this was wrong, but with nowhere else to go, and no noble birth to lean on, he was forced to carry on serving this Lord.
Well, during his stay at the evil castle, he would often ride into the surrounding towns during the day. In one such town, he would watch the women go to the well, take up the water, and talk about the week’s events. And every day, he would approach this lovely young woman and offer to carry her water back to their little farm for her. Each day she accepted, and each day they talked a little more. He was enthralled by her beauty, and she by his chivalry. The Knight learned that she lived alone, working for a family that were friends of her fathers, before her family died. The stories are unclear as to weather they married or not, but soon, the knight was forced to reveal his mystery woman to the evil Lord. The Lord fell in love with her beauty almost immediately.
“Of course, that was the end for their relationship. The Lord took her into his house, and the knight was forced to watch her suffer from a distance. Eventually, she got out of the manor, and started running across that moor over there. He was on his way up to the manor, and stopped short when he saw her running. He chased her on foot, but she thought his horse was actually the horse of the Lord, and did not stop running. She got to the forest, where she was sure that the horse could not follow, but the knight, whom she still thought was the Lord, got off the horse and followed her inside. He was about to catch up to her when he called out her name. Wrong thing to do. She whirled around to face him, but her ankle got caught in the tree roots behind her, and she fell into a pond. Now that wouldn’t be so bad, but she got her hair caught on the tangled growth on the bottom of the pond and could not float to the top.
They say he just lost his mind. He would find travellers in the early days after her death, and he would tell them the story and ask for their help. But each group of travellers refused. They tried to convince him that she was dead, there was no point digging her up now. But they say that eventually, he, too, died in the forest, still looking for people to help bring her up from the bottom of the pond. They say that on nights when it’s especially stormy, they rise from their resting places, and reenact the entire episode for the benefit of any who may watch. It is also said that on the nights when there are no storms, he walks the forest, agonizing over his lost love, and looking for someone to help him. He still calls for her on the whipping wind...
“So they say anyway.” He cut off with a grin, but his face fell when no one else shared his humour in the serious story. |
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| Real Love |
[Dec. 15th, 2007|12:44 pm] |
With no other option, she grabbed the back of her lover’s head, pulling him closer over her shoulder. His body wracked with sobs as she screamed, and He knew. Pete pushed in a little closer with the knife, digging the bullet casing from her thigh, and ignored the other two completely. What had to be done, had to be done. He dropped the iron, fell to his knees, and pulled the bloody mess she had become, into his lap, and held her as he burst into tears, himself. She collapsed into his arms, held him, and when she felt Marcus’ arms around her, turned to pull him in, too. A few minutes of sobbing, and she turned roughly from them, pushed them away, and got up. For their own good, she thought. She pulled Marcus into the chair, and pulled him backwards. Not this time. This time, it would be her turn to cause the pain. She grabbed Marcus’ arm, pulled it over the aluminum table, and pressed the iron into it. Almost immediately, his body convulsed. Peter only just grabbed him in time to stop him leaping from the chair. She dropped the iron on the table, and fell into Marcus’ lap, before he’d even stopped screaming, and fell on his neck, kissing him. They both took a moment to breathe, and then looked mournfully at Peter. His turn. He was moved, slowly, into the chair. A bandage was removed from his side, and the iron pressed into his ribs. The smell of burning hair and flesh flooded the apartment, now. Nothing to be done. Everything looked gray. Again, all three embraced. The final moments. The pain that had needed to be caused was ebbing away, each heartbeat drawing the heat down, to circle somewhere near the soul. With the strongest love, they were there to cause pain, if that’s what was needed to heal.
One last thing. Just something small. That’s all it had to be now. Just to push her over the edge. But knowing him, he’d say something extravagant, and lose her attentions. All it needed was a simple… very simple… I love you. |
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| Winter Dance |
[Dec. 15th, 2007|12:41 pm] |
The rains painted the downs and the darkness flew everywhere. It was a bitter cold to all who stood as witness, huddled in their cloaks, hoods pulled down against the winds. The last of the summer warmth had long fled the earth under their feet; indeed, snow had graced these hills just this morning, before retreating in the face of the sun.
But the women did not care. Their cloaks lay discarded in a pile on the side of the hill, and they danced wildly, calling in their chant with high voices. The circle traced by their bare feet was trodden into the grasses, and would not grow again until winter had faded. Four of them pranced and twirled, naked, around the circle, their hair hiding their faces but in flashes. Those flashes revealed women who were given over completely, enamored of the power that drove them.
Only one woman among them did not dance. Instead, her feet trod a very deliberate and measured step from one corner of the devil’s playpen to the next, tracing a star within the circle. Over and over this shape was traveled, until the pattern was equally pressed into the grass, showing a very specific determination.
The voice of the head zephyrmancer, clear as crystal above the chants, spoke her wish to the whipping wind.
“Show us your deeds, Matron of the Skies!” her plea sounded again, ethereal and haunting, rising and falling with the cadence of the voices that surrounded her.
Suddenly, all five stopped, crouching on the ground, the fifth in the very center. An unearthly blue glow graced the path the other Windancers had traced only seconds before, and the center of the circle became a holy golden gleam, reflected in the wild eyes of the worshippers. In that gleam, on the hillside, sat the old wizard, the king and queen, and a young woman, dressed in outlandish armor. The ears of the horses on the green below them twitched up for a moment, then laid farther back, in the fresh gust of wind, heartily blowing from the west.
In the center of the circle, almost indistinguishable, the woman began to speak, her voice mingling with the moaning and whispering of the wind all around her.
“The child comes, who will turn the earth to cinders. She will bring tears in the drought, and make the mountains tremble. Look for her as the monsters break free, and find her wrapped in swaddling on her wedding day.” The wind died now, and the woman’s voice came clear. “The child will bear gifts to the paupers, and will be granted riches from the gods, and will lead this land through the dark of daylight. Look for the Child who Comes.” The wind began blowing, simply the winds of a storm, now, and the glow faded from the hillside. The women and the wizard all looked to the young king.
Barely perceptible in the din from the autumn storm, the king nodded, and turned his back on the hillside, strode toward the castle. |
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| Stricken |
[Dec. 15th, 2007|12:40 pm] |
Have you any idea
What you’ve done to my self-esteem?
Broke me down, made me cry
Made me want to run and scream?
I know you know you’ve hurt me
So why do you pretend?
Why can’t we let this go
Or work it through and move on? |
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| Sweet Revenge |
[Dec. 15th, 2007|12:40 pm] |
Waiting for the day
When those teeth turn on me
Revenge beautiful and sweet
For every hidden
Thought and deed
Hidden away from prying eyes
Questioning soul
And no surprise
Keep him away from all those lies
Lest he see the tie that binds
Finding truth
Where once was doubt
Wishing whispers becoming shouts
Seeing to what this is all about
What everyone else has seen throughout.
Find it in you
To take revenge
To take the plunge
To tear away
To run this way
Let’s run
Our final sweet revenge.
This release
Never so beautiful to me
This cherished
Never so forbidden from me.
This safety
I never knew I could employ
This love
I never knew I could enjoy. |
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| Sweet revenge |
[Dec. 15th, 2007|12:38 pm] |
Waiting for the day
When those teeth turn on me
Revenge beautiful and sweet
For every hidden
Thought and deed
Hidden away from prying eyes
Questioning soul
And no surprise
Keep him away from all those lies
Lest he see the tie that binds
Finding truth
Where once was doubt
Wishing whispers becoming shouts
Seeing to what this is all about
What everyone else has seen throughout.
Find it in you
To take revenge
To take the plunge
To tear away
To run this way
Let’s run
Our final sweet revenge.
This release
Never so beautiful to me
This cherished
Never so forbidden from me.
This safety
I never knew I could employ
This love
I never knew I could enjoy. |
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| The Actor |
[Dec. 15th, 2007|12:37 pm] |
He’s an excellent actor
He knows all his lines
If a girl don’t believe him,
He’ll leave her behind
He tells every girl
He’ll give her his all
At the tilt of his head
Every girl seems to fall
A long gentle hug
Her face he will seek
He’ll ignore her, walk past her
The following week.
“Don’t be devoted,”
“He’s a floater” they say
But somewhere’s a girl
Who just can’t stay away
How long till he hurts her?
Till the truth comes to light?
How long till we find
It’s opening night? |
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| The Demon |
[Dec. 15th, 2007|12:36 pm] |
They called it the demon
I called it a friend
A mistake such as this
I’ll never make again
Forever encouraged
I gave her my all
For naught did I ask
Nothing did I recall
Nothing does she know
Of the way that I live
All did she take
Of all I could give.
If ever I had
To her did it go
For my generosity
I’ve nothing to show
Except a lesson
I state as well learned
They called it the demon
my friend that is her. |
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| The knight's Bride |
[Dec. 15th, 2007|12:35 pm] |
The whipping wind
The shouts of sin
the cold steel rain
Pelting again.
The weather on the winter moor
Reflects a dark dim soul
The wailing and the drenching
If only for the cold.
A lonely soul wanders
Out in chest-high grass
A sheet-white dress a pitiful cover
Her feet flying fast.
Dark hair swirling
About a frightened face
The tripping and the stumbling
Not once slows her pace.
The light spills from open windows
Soft candles and harsh fires
She wonders, do they see her?
As she stumbles through the mires.
Lightning streaks across the blackness
A crash sounds in the night.
The sound of hooves follows fast,
Lending to her fright.
Blindly now she hobbles,
Across the windblown plain
Destined to be a terror
A night filled with pain.
But now she’s been deceived,
Our princess of the Moor.
She’s running from the man,
She yearns to see once more.
“Hold fast, dear woman.”
He cries over the windy din.
But his love now enters the forest
And he is forced to follow her in.
Bright light from the skies
Cannot find it’s way, here.
Blocked by towering moss giants
And feeding to her fear.
A wild scramble through the brush
Tears at her lovely gown.
Fast her pursuer follows.
He’s right behind her now.
“My love, wait for me!”
As he calls out her name.
She whirls now to face him,
Dark curls her last frame.
For now her ankle’s caught.
And she cannot pull it out.
She falls into a forest pond
The trees swallow her shout.
Her black tresses to her waist
Now catch on the branches.
Swirling, stuck beneath the surface,
Blackness fast approaches.
“My lady!” cries his harsh lament.
“My love, yea, My bride.
Why did I not keep you close,
Till you became my wife?”
These times of love that’s lost
Many travellers fear the call.
Of one man’s terrible heartbreak,
And a love lost in the fall.
To this day beneath the water
Her face she will always hide.
As the lonely knight walks the forest
Looking for his bride. |
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| Waiting |
[Dec. 15th, 2007|12:34 pm] |
Cold, so very cold
Dark and Forboding
In the shados and in the silence
I sit alone
I wait
Wait for what?
Even I don’t know...
Perhaps if I knew...
Perhaps...
Perhaps if I was not so afraid...
I might shine a light
A guide to help lead me
But no...
I sit...
I wait...
I wonder...
If this is all worth it
Yet what choice do I have? Too lost to wander freely...
To cowardly to try...
Too alone to go on
Too confused to understand...
So I sit alone...
I wait...
I wonder...
I shall never be free. |
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| Would that I could |
[Dec. 15th, 2007|12:33 pm] |
Fly me away
Beneath ebony wings
Spirit me from the mundane
Rescue me, Dark Angel
Tuck me behind a star
Hide me in oblivion
Keep me safe here,
Protector of the night.
Alert, watchful eye
Watch me spin out of control
Catch me, hold me, keep me here,
In safety from myself.
Surprise in widened eyes
A revelation or rejuvenation
A simple turn of phrase
Reflect, refract, reject.
Beautiful woman
Come dance with me
Sultry voice
And steps so fleet
Come and embrace your child
Enfold your arms around me.
I will forever live in that comfort
For all else is denied me.
Patron of the Dark
Come and speak with me.
Lend me your silken wisdom
But nothing is for free.
Trap me in your world
With strings to pull me in
Lovely night providing shadow
To cover up my sin
Set your eyes within his face
Let her voice reflect the void
Give him the grace you hold so dear
And make me a toy
Rise from graves in twilight torn
Stretch frozen limbs to fading sun
From pale embrace we are reborn
Crypts open one by one.
Tonight we gather on the hill
Ignore the lightning as it slakes
Falling sheets of wind tossed rain
For which form sorrow takes
Prowl the dark and empty streets
Search out our next meal
Revel in the passions
These blood-bags seem to feel
And the lion’s share
The dues we pay to him
Bring sacrament of sacrifice
Part and piece and life and limb
Excitement,
Eons aged earthen rumblings
Sacred sabbat rents the air
Punctuated with glowing lightning
Wild creatures dace fervently
Frenzy and lose control
A name rests on their lips
Silent homage paid
Blood is on their minds
The fanged weapons raised
Scream, throaty growl of ecstacy
Flashing eyes
Challenge if you will
Leave your life at the foot of the hill
Come dance with us. |
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| I love you |
[Dec. 15th, 2007|12:31 pm] |
You left a hole in my heart
Now I don’t know where you are
I’ve walked all this way
Just so I can say
I love you
And ask do you love me too
Where do we go now?
Can we make it somehow?
Can we spread our wings and fly?
Or are we only to sit here and cry?
If only we could find out way again.
Or are we to remain just friends?
Why am I in between the two?
What are they going to do?
Why do I care?
Cause you’re my friend and I love you! |
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| Someday |
[Dec. 15th, 2007|12:29 pm] |
2/25/00
Long ago, far away
Thoughts were simple from day to day
I was 13 and as such
I could hold all I knew in my hand, not much.
Now a summer and a winter have passed
I no longer feel alone.
I feel I’ve now found my place in the world
A place to call my own.
I’ve now come from a smaller world
Of toys and games forever
The satisfying whims of a little girl
thinking to grow up never!
As I pass on through this open door,
I take my place among you
I think of the world I’ve left behind
The one I can’t go back to
Jumpsuits and pigtails
Dress-up and fairytales
Unicorns and dragon tails
Sandboxes and racing snails
Never to work always to play
It was a happy time
Never worried except to be
at the park with friends of mine.
Now grades have overcome my play
tv my days in the sun
The mall the time that I’ve spent thinking
of the child that I was once.
Do I dare go forward
I want to go back
I want not need work
for the things that I lack
I could stay a little girl forever
Always in the way
Knowing eventually I’ll have to move on
somewhere, sometime, someplace, someday. |
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| Running |
[Dec. 15th, 2007|12:29 pm] |
Where am I headed?
I have no goal in mind
I have no place
I really want to end up
Your arms
How they reach up to me
Wanting
Needing
A warm embrace
To soothe their ache
But is my love enough?
To be yours forever
To satisfy all needs
To calm all desires
To give everything
That you may need.
Am I good enough?
Or am I to keep
Running? |
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| Random Nameless Poem |
[Dec. 15th, 2007|12:28 pm] |
Your eyes are so cold,
Like steel tonight.
I can’t stand your embrace,
Hard as fresh Ice.
Please don’t judge me.
Based on preconceived
Notions of perfection.
Have patience with me.
Be careful with me.
Hard edges may
Scrape me too roughly.
Please don’t be cold.
Because even
The strongest love
Can falter in the winter winds.
When I fall,
You don’t have to pick me up.
But please wait for me to stand again |
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| Questions |
[Dec. 15th, 2007|12:26 pm] |
Some used to call me hero, some used to call me hope, some used to call me friend.
How quickly those names turn to villain, to fiend, to traitor!
But what do they know of me that can’t see me?
Who am I that lives beneath the surface, behind the mask?
So what do I do? Which words do I say? Which actions do I use?
I could tell them..
Tell them what? They don’t know me? But do they know that?
Then what would they do? Try to reach my dreams? Try to find what I really see?
What to I really see? Even I don’t know! How are they supposed to find out?
What would they do once they know? Try to tell everyone else?
It wouldn’t matter. In the morning, I get up and put on the mask again...
And forget about the questions. |
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| Ryan’s Poem |
[Dec. 15th, 2007|12:14 pm] |
(Sept 18th 03)
I am death
For everywhere I tread
The ones I love
Will end up dead
I fear to love
I fear to treasure
No one who's promised
Has stayed forever.
Is it for destiny
Is it for fate
Or is it perhaps
For the choices we make?
How do we determine
How we're fit to live?
How do we find out
What we're prepared to give?
I am death
For every tear that's shed
I find all of them
Are for someone else instead.
For ever life
That I find bound to mine
Each of them will fade
Be brushed away in time.
Is it because of me
Or is it their fault
To see by the light
Or to know naught?
I am death little one
put your trust in me
For eventually all will be gone,
And you , little one, will be free.
Could your heart carry on
Were it not for my cry?
could you live for long
if not for my life?
I am death
For everywhere I turn
So many other
souls are left to burn.
I have kidnapped killing
and put it on a leash
Between myself and life
a chasm, a breach.
I have taken hold of fate
I have torn her flesh
Made her beg for mercy
I am death.
I am the master of pain
And I have kept him caged.
Ready to release him
Upon a cowering age.
Mercy I know now runs
Afraid to be in my sight
Day has hidden her body
From the ages-old rapist, the night.
Where are my dark angels?
Where's my silver wand?
Where is their hope
Now their children are gone?
I have been cut off
secluded from the rest
Is it any wonder
That I should be the best?
The best to pull you in
The best to push you away
The best to make you go
The best to beg you to stay.
The confusion all around you.
You have nowhere to turn.
Hesitate not too long my friend.
Or it'll be you who burns. |
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calistowolfe's journal