[x]

Homosexuality BitesThey found me slumped over in the school showers
With a towel loosely wrapped around my waist
Scalding hot water was blistering my skin
As I bled from an unspeakable place

A hard-handed teacher dragged me to my feet
With little or no sign of sympathy
For the bruising to my feeble framed ribcage
And the fractures to my identity

I think they all thought that I had it coming
As no one was willing to testify
That the sodomy inflicted upon me
Was something to which I hadn’t complied

Boisterous boys laughing in the corridors
As I shamefully limped throughout the day
Not a thought for the pain that was inflicted
Just worried for what my pa

I Am a WriterI am a writer.
Yes, it’s easy for me to fall into a dream.
But there is nothing wrong with being tighter
With a story’s theme.

I am a writer.
That is all I will ever want to be
In the end, my story will be lighter,
And my characters will finally be free.

I am a writer.
There is nothing easier to say than that.
I will never let a story wither
Nor let a story fall flat

I am a soon to be author.
With several books ready to be read,
I want them to have great honor
And wish there will be tears shed.

Pieces of chessKings and pawns are all the same
All but pieces in a game
A stroke of luck
A touch of ill fate
Decides in the end who will be
Checkmate

*Mask*Tonight hearts will beat
Identities are concealed
When we masquerade.

Familiar voices
Behind flamboyant disguise
Recognize those eyes.

2013 Delice1941
13th April2013

Take Death's HandI do not fear Death.
My life has been long enough.
It's time I take my last breath.
I shall not rebuff.
Death stands by my side,
his hand extended for me to take.
His face is veiled like that of a bride.
This life I now forsake
as Death takes me away.
I do not regret
for I am free of the fray.
Please do not fret
for I am okay.

~Evil creatures~

They're evil creatures in the night
Lurking in the shadows but still seeing there sight
From they're pale skin and glowing eyes
Out there graves they will rise
Moaning and groaning is what you hear
Your body will soon fill with fear

They walk or run in a fast pace
Here they come for the chase
Get ready for the fear
Coming through the door they are here
Board up the windows to keep them away
This is the place you don't want to stay

It's too late now they're breaking in
It's a fight you may not win
Grab you shotgun prepare for the fight
This battle may last all night
Pain and blood come from your arm
A bite from these creatures can cause muc

AveryHis veins are filled with music and with stars.
His thoughts are filled with emptiness and flow.
His voice is made of dusty old guitars.
His mind’s a rusty cog that clanks below.
And these affects and gifts with which he’s blessed –
Or cursed, as alternately it may be –
Are some well-known and some yet unaddressed,
And they determine all that he must see.
But when his veins must open up and burst
And when his thoughts in dark directions fly,
When all his voice can do is preach the worst,
When all his mind can think to do is die –
It gives him pause to check himself and breathe.
May he stay in this world and never

Twinkle StarTwinkle twinkle little star
Noone cares just who you are
When you fall the fall is far
Twinkle twinkle superstar.

All AloneI'm sitting in my four walled room
Their closing in, like an ancient tomb
I feel like I'm wasting time for two
When all I want is me and you

Who Was HeHe stood at the average height for men.
His built was quite average.
His eyes were that of cyan.
Nonetheless, he was average.

His hair was that of blonde,
Nearly, white.
His walk and personality had a great bond.
He was a confident sight.

His skin was a delicate peach.
His muscles were quite firm.
So irresistible, a teasing reach.
His appearance had its own term.

One that the dictionary cannot confirm.

Who was he?
That man with his own sea?
He was one without a name.
His appearance was a taunting game.
He was one without a number for an age.
Forget it, he’s fake on this page.

SuicideThere's no blood on her hands
Bullet holes in the door
Nothing but colored pills
And her lying on the floor

You look at her face
There's despair in her eyes
And you wonder what she thought
As she fell and died

And maybe you're begging her to come back
And maybe you're asking why she let go
The hurt in your chest feels like a heart attack
And now you finally know

Maybe you could've helped her
If you'd looked past your own nose
Maybe she'd be alive now
You had a chance, this is what you chose
Now maybe you'll learn from things
That you didn't see
Maybe you'll open your eyes
And rescue him, or her, or me
Maybe she cried a prayer
For the oth

You never chose the middle pathYou never chose the middle path, the place
of careful, safe and unremarkable,
the sky at 10 am, the camp at base,
the decaf paper cup unbreakable.

You had to go with high and low and real,
with rich and fast and things more notable:
the sky at midnight, Himalayan-feel,
the oxygen and you, unstoppable.

But then your weight became too much for skies.
Your melamine became a china cup.
And those who cried moved on to lesser highs.
They look ahead, or down, but never up.

You never chose the middle path, you raced.
I’m looking up, and pray that speed is graced.

One WindowOne window is all I need
To see the world for what it truly is
With my mind a system of creed.
My talent can depict or dismiss
This world of goals, so hear my heed.

I sit down beside a journal,
My fingers clutching a pencil.
I will make my character’s life spiral
And send them off to a council
Where they must advance through the next trial.

One window is all I need
To watch them afar a long, hazy field,
Where I can study their speed
Of understanding when they will yield
Of life, itself, so they need to hear my heed.

My character’s goal,
As well as mine,
Is to be whole
And see how bright life can shine
Even through the darkness

Last RoadTwo people, both alike in personality,
Shared a home where the scene was played,
From shattered souls to new beginnings,
Where screams were heard on this doomsday.
From golden moons crisp as the sun,
A mother who has not yet won,
The illness will strive until the deed is done,
Even if the daughter has not begun.
The road that lies ahead,
Is now a mother who is dead,
With hugs and kisses that are gone,
The daughter who will beat them all;
Thy which your eyes and ears can pretend,
What here shall be a transformation undid.

SomedaySomeday all this work
That I have nearly mastered for years
Will be recognized and will lurk
Between the pieces that my talent fears.

Someday I will look upon a shelf
And see the story of my child,
A character that is true to thyself,
And their plot can then be finally compiled

Someday I will have a fan base
That will love me even through my faults
And have a beaming smile upon their face
Mostly during the greatest results.

Someday I will be an author,
One with a great metaphor.

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PROLOGUE:

[As the lights come up, SCOTT, JAMIE, GENEVA, ENWARD and DR. GOULASH are walking frenetically about the space. They speak to themselves, oblivious of one another. At their turn, the pump-action sound of a shotgun and the crack of

OUTSIDE-IN"OUTSIDE IN"

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SCOTT – a deadlocked stoner. Aspires to be a petrol station attendant.
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PROLOGUE:

[As the lights come up, SCOTT, JAMIE, GENEVA, ENWARD and DR. GOULASH are walking frenetically about the space. The

Pond Life - In the Eye of thePOND LIFE –
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Cast of Characters:

Marion – a young woman, and wife of Charlie.
Charlie – a soldier, May's husband.
Sheba – a microscopic amoeba
Barry, - amoeba. Sheba's friend
Larry, - another amoeba
Harry – amoeba with history of spontaneous combustion.
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Synopsis:

"Pond Life" takes place in two worlds – the real world of the humans and the microscopic pond world of the amoebas. A split st

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Incense

by ~earth-scribbler, Jul 8, 2004, 11:06:10 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Traditional Fixed Forms

Sight, meserising.
Like oriental dragons, it
Spins, cartwheels, climbs, dissapates.
Touch, thin air.
Like a grey ribbon, it
Wavers, gathers, twirls, knots, frays.
Scent, exotic night.
Like sea waves breaking, it
Pools, spreads, rolls, journeys on
journeys out
journeys up,
Vanishes.
Sound, silence.

Incenseby ~earth-scribbler

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Traditional Fixed Forms

I was listening to Pink Floyd got hypnotysed from watching the smoke drift up off the stick of incense I was burning.

~Panther-Nora Sep 15, 2004

THis is amazing, a definite +fav.

~earth-scribbler Sep 26, 2004

ta! yay score 2 for me

~tiger-queen Jul 8, 2004

wow.... i really really really really really really really really really really REALLY like this poem. i totally know what you're talking about, and don't worry about the sound silence thingy, it makes sense to me, if no one else.

~earth-scribbler Jul 10, 2004

YAY a favourite!! *victory dance* THANX!

~tiger-queen Jul 11, 2004

no probs!

~earth-scribbler Jul 8, 2004

actually, wait a sec, that sound: silence makes no sence coz dark side of the moon was playing...hmm brain must still be mesmerised.

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Incense

Incenseby ~earth-scribbler

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