0verkil

            Startled by the man The mouse, from the barnhouse fled             Into the owl's claws

Hills of pink and spheres of green Lay idle across the ceramic scene Not one, nor two, nor three, nor four But a plethora of orbs and maybe more One by one they head towards their goal Venturing deeper into this darkening hole As time went on their numbers became nil But their goal still reamined and try they will There is strength in numbers they always said And whoever they were, they were right in the head For the few green orbs who on the ceramic still lay May or may not reach their goal this day The hope, it seemed dead and gone And time and time were carrying on The orbs knew now what was to be done And so one by one, eac

The Mountain Dew, it is scarily blue And there's graffiti spread across the wall There are a few guys, maybe two Who stayed to help clean up the hall It must have been quite the party At least that's what I'm told By the other students passing by And I doubt this headache is a cold I'm still not sure what I did Or why my hair is white I wish I knew why there's a kid Passed out in bed with a kite There are a group of yo-yos on the floor That almost spell out, "Believe" And there's a note posted on the door "Can't help mop, I've got to leave" I don't quite understand This crazy world I'm in But I'll be damned if it isn't grand

Is this me Is this a demon That walks under me this day Is this me Is this a change Or has it always been this way Is this me Is this you Whom against, everyone seems to stand Is this me Is this someone else Who even I don't understand

The young bird bursts into flight, Blissfully ignorant of the consequences If it does not succeed. Its spirit tells it to go, But the world tells him to hold. It does not have a chance, It need not be so bold. Regardless, it carries on, Unwavering in its intent. The stone wall in front of it had seemed to fall away, But not only was it there, It had grown in strength. A dive, a crash, a broken neck. The bird lies, cold and dead. Though it was not long, Before it stood and walked again. Back on its feet, The bird continued the flight. The wall, larger than before, But with the wall the bird's drive grows. Its brothers

Stunned in your presence, unable to act. Is the mind of a lover, not fully intact. What must be said, cannot. My tongue, forever caught. I still wait for the strength to speak. So that I may prove that I am not weak. However, to wait will get me nowhere. I must fight through this tangled affair. The birds now sing. They tell me to end this whole thing. Now between the birds and I is a sense of strife. For this feeling will be here till' the end of this life. I carry  on in the hope of reaching the next step And ,you know, this does bring life a sort of pep. After all, this isn't that bad. They say to love is to live and to liv

These pains we feel, these wounds that heal, and these scars that never fade. The days that pass, the months that fade, and the years we send off in a bang. These places we see, or that we wish we had, and somewhere we call home. These mysterious five senses, these emotions, and these complex minds. The pulsing stars, the silent moon, residing in a place we call the night’s sky. These words we speak, these people we meet, but all to what purpose? These thoughts we all share, but there is no answer there. For, in reality, reality is just a theory.

 A quiet rain beats upon the hood of a rusted Ford pick-up truck, sitting outside a country home. The night is dark and the forest old, many trees dry and splintered. A woman lies within the truck, asleep. Grasping a jacket as if the owner has gone diving outside the vehicle and she is holding his lifeline. However, the woman is unaware, consumed by her blissfully ignorant sleep that the line has been cut by Death’s scissors. Whether it is carefully sipped or forced through a funnel, the acid that is death will always burn. Even before Death visits a loved one, the acid begins to seep down the throat of who he will affect. Any risk they

    David was tired he failed at all his poems    and deleted them