Monday, March 19, 2012

Lyrics to a song I thought of for fun

In the night of cold and wrath,

It chocks upon my mouth for truth,

Never seems to escape,

Can not be open.

Or allowed to be free,

Upon the will,

Of Hercules's bravery.


The moon dances with you,

My little darling dream,

You come and cry to me,

Like I also do to you.

The curtains start to rise,

The swords are raised high,

The voices rang out,

As the crowd settles low.

The hands are then raised,

And bloods spills slow,

As voices swallow,

Like the weakness of Ore.


Like a clash of war,

Galaxies collide,

People ties knots,

Whiles others let them go.

Letting them fly,

Falling from the sky,

To never ending Earth....

Of fairies, birds, dragons and snakes,

Of witches, warlocks, ravens, and stakes.

They all tumble down. 

Like deadly dreams they are.

They all tumble down.

They all tumble down....

Saturday, March 17, 2012


This is the last to the trio of Perpetrator and Victim. This is now the bystander.

The pain and fight,
A wind is slowly dying,
And the struggle to speak,
You all lose it all.

You stood and stare,
Like deer in the headlights you are.
Too scared to move.
But instincts tell you its all right.
Your head is lowered,
Too frightened to see the truth,
For the ghosts of the dead haunt you.

They tear and grab with rotting hands,
Clutching your throats and eyes,
Making you feel handicapped,
Needing assistance from others.
But no one comes to you.
No one. 
Not one.
Anyone would leave you be.
In the grave except your bleeding heart,
Now in the hands of the victims,
And later taken by the perpetrators.

If you don't help,
Descending the lives of the dead will travel.

Monday, March 12, 2012

Starting at a Dead End

This poem is dedicated to the victims (because since I did a poem to the perpetrators, I have to do it to the victims as well. Go figure).

What did you feel,
How did you react,
When you realized,
The fruits of freedom,
Can be reached?

The tall tree bare and dying,
Is now lively and thriving.
The victims go to the tree,
Hands trembling as they do so.

Their bodies shiver from the flavors,
The sweet liberation mixed with the sour of pain.
Some even spit the fruit out,
For many is tastes bitter with loneliness.

Families leave the tree once gathered, 
Starting new lives,
Bleeding and dying the old lives are,
Being abandoned in the dark.
The old lives being replaced,
And the loners who didn't leave,
Stay under the tree.

Slowly as they stay there,
The road to recovery disappears,
And drips down people's faces.

For both groups of people,
They both started from ashes.
They began with air in hands,
Able to grab nothing between their fingers,
And had a huge grey stone wall to climb over.

They all made it past the wall,
Except the spirits of the dead,
That still circle,
And dances,
And soon rest,
Around the now,
Fruitless tree.

Thursday, March 8, 2012


The creasing light of dawn,
Shall it be the call?
To signal the new Reign,
Under Frindle's name?

The King's dreadful blood,
The Queen's mourning sound, 
To the daughter that was not to be,
A dead upon the living.

The trees scream and cry,
The fey hide their white faces,
The pale moon stand above,
Now hidden under the cloudy cover.

The new Reign has come,
Frindle is now on the run.
Look out,
Of you could be her next victim.

The Kill Shall Listen to the Killed

A poem I have to do for my class. It's based on people who are perpetrators and committed really bad crimes. So, here is to the people who kill or who I call, The People of the Dead.

Lives willed,
Lives killed,
Blood loss,
Head at your feet,
No longer,
The boss.

Today for you is the day,
Shall forgiveness be happy to come your way?
Of it dawns as it take it leave,
Darkness of Death chokes on to thee.

It sits in the stand and watches you,
As your in court, head up from your chest.
You dare to say you aren't guilty.
Til He lowers his decaying thumb to the floor,
Like a Roman God of War.

Truth defies against lies.
Death repents your life,
And the privilege to walk the Earth.
"Tis no right", Death proclaims to the perpetrator,
"To live I shall let be,
But to die is the decision of me".  

I let thou cry as he shames thyself,
To what you deserve to be free,
If the headless king comes to his throne of nooses?