

The Blissful IgnorantThe Blissful IgnorantThe Blissful Ignorant
In the absence of social cognition, Apathy seems to subside. All for one, the rest may fall, But none shall see the sunrise. If ever beauty was truly present, This blood spattered canvas destroyed. A picture past holds us like glass; A notch in the road for the convoys. These black armies of smoke stack murder, Manned by man made engineers. Are draining your life as you know it. While you stand catching acidic tears.
So heres to you, the ones who harbour blame And heres to me, who ho


For SeptemberFor SeptemberFor September
Softened footsteps upon hollowed hardwood, Cascading walls of halls and echoing thunder Set loose fury upon clear thought and crumbled. Every stone fortress will someday kiss the cheek of earth. Every stone will see itself as sand. Sand to walk on with once softened footsteps, That now bury themselves beneath the aging grain. Time itself grows old and stale beneath the sky, Impending seperation from the world I know sits, Waiting, Dormant 'till September should swallow me whole.


From SeptemberFrom September (Over-Coat Metaphor)From September
Alas, Be seen the silhouette of life for what it is truely worth. Borrowed, bartered with and from the one who has no name. This life resembles a scissored puzzle piece, And I, A weed draped in rose pettals, Never cease to support the "charade". Just like my fathers over-coat, a generation over-sized So it simply drags across the hard wooden floor. Even when I hold the pockets high above my tiny ears, I can never seem to escape the swinging door, Or menacing loose nail. It has many tares and stains to accompany the years, E


My Only BrotherMy Only BrotherMy Only Brother
The present called me up today, To apologize for the past. It was very unexpected.
At first I wouldn't accept the claim, But soon noticed what it ment to him. It was so very unexpected.
At last I offered most humble thanks In a less than astonished manner. I wonder, was this expected?
And as I hung up the phone I thought, "Was he really that bad of a brother?" As quick as it came, that thought was rejected. He is my only brother...


ImmortalBlue paint trickles from a once dry brush, A parched canvass sits waiting to have its thirst quenched A poet scribbles on paper in a rush Tiny memos which feed this bland, emotionless parchmentImmortal
A lyricist hums and snaps his fingers His livelihood resting on the praise of others A guitar resonates and three notes linger A triad shaping the humble beginnings of a masterpiece
All of these things, labeled before they are born Canvass still dry, as if screaming and kicking at the womb All of these things, shattered and torn The light of day did not long rest upon their
Just saw the link on your nick, definately will watch you. Great stuff here
~Kris
It's Tara, I didn't get time to look through all your work But I'll defiently come back to read the rest.
Here's to hoping you never loose that voice you speak so fluidly with your pen. You've got a tallent Sir, and I hope to see you with a published book some day! Make school kids angst and writh with having to find the deeper meanings in your work.
Anywho- Nice gallery!
-AV.
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Fights lead to battles
Battles lead to wars
Wars lead to pain
Pain leads to darkness
Darkness leads to solitude
Solitude leads to loneliness
Loneliness leads to fear
Fear leads to insomnia
Insomnia leads to insanity
And, Insanity leads to me
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