Poetry

Greg
PROFILE About me Friends (3) Poetry (48)



2 august 2012

What's Left

The place haunts the very core of core-less dreams
Sucks blood dry from virgin marrow



Wander, years old and aghast at the death to which I'm sold
(Or bought to hold)
To the winding ranges of demon light
The meadows screaming by dream-filled fright
Unknown and heard on the lingered spade
I am afraid
I am afraid



Of what comes forth on the lights that shine
Crystal glass and a heartless rhyme
For you to read and the world to see
And what is seen?
             All that's left to be
Of love and life and eternity
Bliss malformed into me



The sea made waves that forgot the fish
Are made of all the sand that is



A standard set 'gainst the fortress wall
Shrouds of shrapnel, hollow eagle breath
For eons of aged so gently spared
The English poet is made to die!
And lie in pain beneath the ground
Of muddy waters and schematic breaks
You're the light of these darkened eyes
My friend you are



Drunkenly orchestrated, as a moment of ego masturbation in disguise
Fuck the world!
And the vile being of I...


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