some poems by...you guessed it!

homeless
people going home to a warm and cosy house,
pass by the slums quiet as a mouse.
forlorn figures crouch, lost to humankind,
some feeble and some injured, others with no mind.
the streets are dark and empty, the building old and worn.
in the alleyways and parks, huddle helpless forms.
occasionally they whisper, meaningless conversation
thier dark and sunken eyes reflect thier desperation.
the smog hides the stars and no people ever go by,
no one seems to care, if these people die.
they are hoping for a miracle, but hoping in vain,
they are doomed to forever feel, a lonely rejects pain.
darkness creeps around them and a crow emits a call,
sadness fills thier faces as the snow begins to fall.


the descention
the lords silver moonlight,
tumbles,
through the open window next to the shadowy bed.
frail features,
lie exposed to the silver blade of light.
pale eyelashes flickering slightly.

the angelic appearance,
of the dying lady,
simply a deception.

“lord accept her soul into heaven”
the words whispered in the awing room.
this lady,
known for her good deeds,
she should surely be granted a place above the stars,
no doubt in the priests mind.

the past,
evolves often,
into a very different,
present.
but always affects,
a future.

the lashes flicker and lie still,
the soft rise of the bony chest ceases,
the priest raises his eyes to the heavens,
thinking her soul to have ascended.

but,
as the saintly thought woman dies,
far, far away,
in a dimension unknown,
flames lick around the flat-soled shoes,
of the lady.

as she descends.


everty
his face,
his eyes,
his hair,
his arms,
his smile,
his way of moving,
his laughter,
his sweet, sweet scent.

tormented by his memory,
haunted by his spirit.

blank eyes,
slack mouth,
motionless hands.
a grieving widow.

ever to see…
never to see…

Him.


stranger

the rain was pouring down,
when the stranger arrived.
walking about the town,
nightclub alive!

she entered through Gold,
as if of a queen.
told of stories old,
and where she had been.

the belief in her,
lead to her name.
cowboy with spur,
hunter with game.

so on that night,
the maiden arrived
through lights shinning bright,
she made me alive

that poem is really random. i just found it in my documents on our computer so i think i wrote it. it had y name underneath it so i guess i must have. but i must have been high at the time or something.
soryr if these poems are too depressing. :)