The lowest time in my life
O' sweet plunder! Upon despaired hearts, and blinded man while their souls remains aroused.
A sweet ardor tend to sooth the wolves at the gate; or upturn the boiling pot can send the man into a frenzy only can contrast with darkened flame that engulf. At a time, one was able to find himself with ease, solace within mere ink droplets, of Hemmingway, or the multitude of perspectives as the modern poet progresses, but alas! I'am lost amongst everyday diligence; split halls with an enterance for men and and outlet for machines. A hampster wheel that allows naught for one man's adieu. A tearful journey of man that acknowledges others progress, but somehow deemed marginal; The battle field of diner nights in slumber, the drudgeries of life anticipation of your final resting. Its not known what lays me down at night, or rather what awakens me in the morning, countless hours humming the slaughterhouse blues. Puddles lie before me on this concrete walkways. when I walk alone through the borroughs within my head, cloaked figures flag me down, "Slow down? Where are you going?" And another, "We love ONLY you!, Harder! Work harder!" How does one live this way? So many halls with even more doors, never ending punishment with many a questioned ask and a constant vague. A feeling of nothingness after the storm, My burdens, mine alone. I feel not exhault within self loathing, but one tends to ponder, when the end of pain, when will a dog finally lay down? When will my labour pay off, why do I work two jobs and still lack power; power to cope, power to let all loose end pass on? My wall triffled with painful innuendos; an old checkstub, highschool diploma lie under dated magazines along with various litter, and faded picture, all tributes to my fortune. Accient as rugged palisades, to keep countrymen from the wild, and a stone keep to divide the country and separate king from kings as well as themselves, I carry my very own world within a little straw-sewn sack, and miniature globe I can grasp in my hands, shake it to get a reaction, sometimes good, and sometimes reactions are dysmal. If one wishes to witness me, turn away and cheer me on or shoot me down.
Bang!
You're dead.
If one desirous nature draws them unto my failing, turn to me and accompany me.
This life, heavily endured, none know what the end credits will read at the the end of this drama we know as life, no one will know where my hands will lay when then room rumbles into quiet to loud illumination.
Red trivilations confound my sadness, an elegy call love, A lament memory called happiness.
I don't want to stay here, when will all come to end? Who'll talk to the dead, when im gone?
I want to be Free,I want to be Free,Oh God, Take away this ball & chain.
Poetry by wolfthepoet
Read 784 times
Written on 2006-06-24 at 15:02
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Take away this Ball & Chain
Just get up and go, the time for the young bird out its nest and a man to take plight;O' sweet plunder! Upon despaired hearts, and blinded man while their souls remains aroused.
A sweet ardor tend to sooth the wolves at the gate; or upturn the boiling pot can send the man into a frenzy only can contrast with darkened flame that engulf. At a time, one was able to find himself with ease, solace within mere ink droplets, of Hemmingway, or the multitude of perspectives as the modern poet progresses, but alas! I'am lost amongst everyday diligence; split halls with an enterance for men and and outlet for machines. A hampster wheel that allows naught for one man's adieu. A tearful journey of man that acknowledges others progress, but somehow deemed marginal; The battle field of diner nights in slumber, the drudgeries of life anticipation of your final resting. Its not known what lays me down at night, or rather what awakens me in the morning, countless hours humming the slaughterhouse blues. Puddles lie before me on this concrete walkways. when I walk alone through the borroughs within my head, cloaked figures flag me down, "Slow down? Where are you going?" And another, "We love ONLY you!, Harder! Work harder!" How does one live this way? So many halls with even more doors, never ending punishment with many a questioned ask and a constant vague. A feeling of nothingness after the storm, My burdens, mine alone. I feel not exhault within self loathing, but one tends to ponder, when the end of pain, when will a dog finally lay down? When will my labour pay off, why do I work two jobs and still lack power; power to cope, power to let all loose end pass on? My wall triffled with painful innuendos; an old checkstub, highschool diploma lie under dated magazines along with various litter, and faded picture, all tributes to my fortune. Accient as rugged palisades, to keep countrymen from the wild, and a stone keep to divide the country and separate king from kings as well as themselves, I carry my very own world within a little straw-sewn sack, and miniature globe I can grasp in my hands, shake it to get a reaction, sometimes good, and sometimes reactions are dysmal. If one wishes to witness me, turn away and cheer me on or shoot me down.
Bang!
You're dead.
If one desirous nature draws them unto my failing, turn to me and accompany me.
This life, heavily endured, none know what the end credits will read at the the end of this drama we know as life, no one will know where my hands will lay when then room rumbles into quiet to loud illumination.
Red trivilations confound my sadness, an elegy call love, A lament memory called happiness.
I don't want to stay here, when will all come to end? Who'll talk to the dead, when im gone?
I want to be Free,I want to be Free,Oh God, Take away this ball & chain.
Poetry by wolfthepoet
Read 784 times
Written on 2006-06-24 at 15:02
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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