| Apr. 21st, 2006 @ 03:10 pm new poems, better poems |
|---|
Pen's Purpose.
My pen's purpose is reserved
to dig below the earth's surface,
until I make the world nervous.
If you heard this, then my words weren't worthless,
and just absurd blurting.
Observe the burden of learning surer wording.
My body is a pen's shell.
My soul is ink as well.
Paper stains are the words I yell,
heard worded well.
The words that hurt at first to tell
still stain the page after the ink has left the shell.
And I, inkwell
Find zen in living life like my pen
Living life until the end.
Living life up to the brink,
And when my soul runs out of ink
The paper will still say exactly what I think.
-----
Not titled yet:
The woman who want you,
Only want you,
When you don't want them.
And the women you want,
You only want,
So you can flaunt them.
So often we're told love is awesome we soften.
My exes are like hexes,
Chained to me like a necklace is.
A choker choking
Thought Provoking,
But not all thought can be spoken,
Because thought is broken.
Love is a joker's token;
Flipping, smoldering, and smoking.
Plot twist ending, sickly joking.
If I could be anywhere
I'd be a million miles away from her,
But it'd still feel like she was right there next to me.
Damn... she got the best of me
-----
Still not titled.
I believe trees
Express geometry.
Look at the patterns in the leaves.
If you can't believe,
Listen for the voices in the breeze.
The open eye recieves
What the closed mind leaves behind.
I try to find the place in my mind
Where poems reside,
Then recite what I find.
If I could I'd give sight to the blind,
In hopes it'd help me unwind.
If I could I'd have the planets align,
From Mercury to Pluto
Until I found a suitable loophole
To turn the ugly beautiful,
And have it prove immutable.
If what I'm saying sounds new to you
Try and figure what the puruit of truth could do to the roots of you. |
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bryanobrien's journal
elated... nearing completion
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