| And loving loss drives me to Hate, A novelly new, serious fate. |
Her
Newest
Riverthe river is a mausoleum.River
depth untold and temperature hopeless
constant ebbs and rapids of thoughts
rounded banks and whispering sands
hanging onto the sides of cliffs
leading into slips and silt
dying as the day grow long
freezing as our hearts grow cold turning to rub the face of humanity
curving over the horizon
into an eternity of life
by ~tuxisme
Card Trickmy blood spills over the table,Card Trick
leaving red streaks of pain,
crimson stories on mahogany,
heartbreak and the common (hate)
I was brittle, now I am broken, softly dying
and soft spoken, slowly bleeding words
of wisdom to hardened hearts and
severed ears, lines misheard, and
lines abused, continuity reigns
over saddened souls and gambling
zeros; the chips are up. poker is a
Friday-night-game, with beer and
chips aplenty. the path to writer’s
hell is narrow, more so than you think.
my bluff is up. I am dying, and I am sorry
for the words
by ~tuxisme
Begin anewI met a wayward shade while walking in a wood,Begin anew
He looked rather ill, of course, that is well understood.
I passed him like a silent night, a bittersweet lament,
I couldn’t turn my head to him, mysterious and bent.
He called me back and said to me, “Friend, where do you go?”
I couldn’t even speak, my blood felt cold as snow.
He acknowledged my silence and nodded, sweet and slow.
I couldn’t help myself, I asked, “Well, where did you go?”
He concentrated deeply and furrowed up his brow,
Saying, “I know I do remember, but it doesn&
by ~tuxisme
ShadesI pulled my shades down.Shades
shades. Not on the window.
whispers. In the dark.
it is light outside. What are they?
they are my shadows. I am afraid.
scared of my own shadow.
they occupy my time.
they are cheap. Cheap entertainment.
they tell me stories,
of unknown places and guesses.
of what people say about me.
they are my personal demons,
friends and relations,
I am free. Free, of them.
not free of me.
my shadow.
progressive.
I need help.
pull these shades down.
by ~tuxisme
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Club has been given!   My name is Weston Holder and i live in the Peach State(which is way too sunny and hot, might i add...). I write poetry, prose, and i devwatch many people. I'm a HUGE fan of SeptemberBreeze... though i shall never amount to him. Ehh... ah well. Wait... that's not all! I'm 14 as of late, i play guitar in a band now, and i can't write a real journal to save my life! Read my poetry, will ya? I am, of course, none other than blank verse. I don't know where I'm going, yes, quite right; And when I get there (if I ever do) I might not recognise it. So? Your point? Why should I have a destination set? I'm relatively happy as I am, And wouldn't want to be forever aimed Towards some future path or special goal. It's not to do with laziness, as such. It's just that one the whole I'd rather not Be bothered - so I drift contentedly; An underrated way of life, I find. <HREF=\"http://quiz.ravenblack.net/poeticform.pl\">What Poetry Form Are You? |
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