This is a fairly old poem of mine…and yet it still seems true to me.  Emo moment, I don’t care.  This is one of my favorite and most true writings that I’ll ever make.

 

Lost in the Skies over Normandy

Such a serene shivering scream fading upon that beach.

The beach where the great ocean and black blood finally meet.

Waves of dark red wetten the olden banks.

Deadmen’s footprints, tracks from rusty steel tanks.

Such a beautiful place, torn apart by war.

All of the scars, all of the blood, but what for?

The lovely waters forever stained, tainted for someone’s greed.

All the beauty gone, nothing left but vain desire and need.

 

The white sands are forever drenched by the spilled corpse.

The stone walls broken asunder, filled with remorse.

The rain, all the while, washes away the eternal.

Drops of clear flame, cleansing the wasted infernal.

Angelic demons glide free over the wartorn seashore.

Silver dust flutters down, but to pain brings only more

A hopeless dream floats under the bloodied ocean.

In the pitch black of midday, no allies motion.

 

No friends are left, all love has past.

Torn apart by war, nothing lasts.

Insanity shears the beauty of everything that loved.

Mentality clouds emotion, hiding what never was.

All the ancient warplanes are nothing to what one would find….

Sleeping thoughts form a battlefield, burning deep, trapped inside.

Ripped hearts are the only thing keeping this together,

But it’s only thing keeping death away from here.

Midnight strikes the grandfather clock,

And with delight, he falls with shock.

Eyes rolling inward, piercing the back of his skull,

Crumbling to dust, all that remains is his soul.

The black winged angel slashes out his hardened heart,

And in it’s stead, a bleeding rose left in his dark.

A large coffin sealed tight, suffocating breath.

Rejoice in her mind, population one less.

The skin cold, cold as snow,

Turns to stone, sent below.

The icy breeze eases along with hoarse wheezes.

Brought to his knees, teasing him, the warm wind sleazes.

Dead cold flesh, freezing breath,

No more less, less than death.

 

Black ocean, no motion,

Heart frozen, not chosen.

He not the sea, she it be, all that it needs.

So unlovely, she of we, is what he sees.

Fear of her, fires burn,

Glacier, dark weather.

Milk is such a simple thing, bright and dull.

Cookies, a necessity to taste and all.

Put together, makes an unspeakable flavor.

A mouth-watering sweet that is a true savor.

A brownie bottom sundae is the taste of beauty.

Bright on top, with a silky chocolately suety.

Milk and cookies, a binding unbreakable.

Beauty, beauty, forever untellable.

—Take that.  Bitches.

Happy, Happy, while staring at the stars.

Lookie, lookie, they seem so very far.

Tick-tock, goes the grandfather clock.

Death’s at the door, knock knock.

Trees begin to brown with rotting despair,

Crying dead leaves, that fly without a care.

And all the wily while, the wind whistles in denial,

Never seen is a smile, nor a caring soul for miles.

Burning bright for all to see.  The stars!  The Stars! Oh, so happy!

Fading to black, the light shines no more. It was only a dream…

1,  2   Josh is comin’ for you

3,  4   Better lock the door.

5,  6   Grab a bigger stick

7,  8   Better run away

9, 10   I’m going to spear you.

The fire burns a frigid cold,

The kingdom crumbles into mold.

Monumental statues fall in their stand,

Sparks float all about the granite and sand.

Death lives in every birth of icy flame,

Consuming the souls of innocents slain.

The boiling waters glaze over with frost,

The dark waters of Styx, surrounding life’s cost.

The soothing touch of death seduces the glacial throne,

Fallen prey to fire’s cold breath, the pumpkin into stone.

Sparks erupted from the castle at the center of the city.

Fires spat all across the blinding sorrows and divinity.

The pumpkins melted from the inferno’s heat,

While the palace burned with a fragrance so sweet.

Buildings fell like great meteors from the sky,

The smog wept fire as the great embers cried.

Comets pierced the black smoke and spread the death.

The beauties were burned, left with ended breath.

The hardy gardens were left in scorching ashes,

Burned to nothing, like dried straw that played with matches.

A massive nebula consumed all the kingdom, leaving it in burning shadow.

The cold embrace of death came with her blade, and hung them from her fiery gallows.

The sky turns gray on the sunset horizon.

An icy breeze sweeps in every direction.

All the beauty to behold, encased in frost.

Glazed eyes stare into a coffin’s velvet trough.

A dead sun stagnates beyond the moon’s glacier.

Killing the warmth of the red ember’s brazier.

A crimson carpet spills upon the frigid ground.

Bloody feathers flutter about the silver clouds

The Pack of Cards

Draw from the dark deck, draw a single fate.

Take a chance, it’ll always be too late.

Every flip of the card is a chance for riches, a chance for a diamond.

For the greedy, it’s all that ever mattered, consuming others like almonds.

Every flip of the card is a chance for love, a chance for someone’s red heart.

For romantics, it’s all that matters, taking others’ life and leaving it marked.

Every flip of the card is a chance for luck, a chance for the ace of clubs.

For a gambler, it’s all that will matter, a trinket of luck and a dark pub.

Every flip of the card is a chance for death, a chance for a deadman’s spade.

For a mortal, it’s all that can matter, to live or die with no certain fate.

In this cardgame of chance, every choice seems to have gone below,

But if a loss is close, simply shoot the other player and go.