RideMake-believe blue is interruptedAs ink yells at watercolour paints.The sky rolls on behind darkHills, wetting the sound of wind.They are like charcoal,Left in mounds on my desk,Almost widowed by night,But the pencil shavings keepCompany through the clouds.But in morning, the greenNever comes full circle,Always ending on horizonsOf lost love and uncertainties.Counting the mistakesOn the paper is like waitingFor someone to stop breathing;Unnecessary and subconscious-Repeating what you alreadyKnow to be false.Just asA storm keeps running behindThe mountains, hidingFrom those brighter than it.
Who Are StillI watched a catSitting by itself.It was quite contentOut there inThe rain.He stared intenselyIn one direction,Then the other,Seeing everythingThat I could not.I secretivelyGlanced at him,Making sure heDid not see myCuriosity.We sat on a curb,Not really together.The only sounds wereSlow rain and theOccasional car.The cat got excitedEach time fourSpeeding wheelsRaced by; he wasWaiting to cross.But part of me thoughtThat his own curiosityWould lead himAlong with the carsOn that unfortunate road.I was on the sameRoad with the catWho questioned every movementI made. And in one secondHe was gone.No one ever wantsTo know whetherA dear friend makesIt across or not,But I see him dead.
Rather BentThe limber spine, as fragile as a rose,Easily snaps with the anchor of blades.As the spine breaks quick, the bloody chord goesTaking its time in pain with clubs and spades.The brain is just as easy to persuade;The useless little veins it used to loveAre soon massacred in a sickly play.And when skin and bone are drenched in the bloodOne wonders what the dying ones are thinking of.
ReposeAll in quiescence, the roses faintTo the snow that is softer than they.Their red turns golden to the starsWhile pedals silent lay.Sullen leaves dressed in whiteKnow where muffled secrets hide.And as the night comes in so calmAll dead eyes open wide.The decoration is spontaneous;As most the dark things are.The white wings flutter in the windRevealing orange without mar.Everything settles lightBut the shadows love to play.All is muted to the moonAs slumber steals the day.
FreedomStones tell me where they lieAnd liars tell me I should cry.I only sit alone in the graveyard;I listen to those who have died.They, oh them who know more than I.I really cannot wait to die;And rest in pieces in the graveyardWhere my "eternity" will imortaly fly.