Subconscious Speaks
Subconscious speaks
leading me down a patch of dreams
Idyllic lives that never passed
wishing what I couldn’t have
A golden mountain blocks the way
I’m set to climb from the base
“it’s do or die,
you better climb,
and leave this field
of forgotten dreams.”
Inside Shadow
There’s a man full of shadows.
He finds delight in his eyes of blight,
a memory of when he first saw light.
His sense of touch and taste lane to waste,
like ashes after being set ablaze.
Smoldered lungs with every breath he takes
All he can bear to say:
“I miss my life,
before the shadows,
I even miss the pain.”
Fears
Death of a memory
Lose of identity
Limited vocabulary
Brain deteriorating,
But body undying
Hollowed rationality
Baleful personality
Liken to insanity
And no one knowing I was here
War with Peace
Let’s speak of my war with Peace.
Tortured souls killed in me
Vacant eyes I despise,
like every priest that lied to me.
These tortured souls, they plea and cry
begging me to take my life.
And so I war in my mind, and let them die.
All so I can keep my life.
Should I lose,
my war will end
that is peace: my deathbed.
and so I’ll war until the end.
Mad
You are mad
You seek the words of saints
and yet the bite of viperous fangs
You are mad
You cry out, life too heavy to bear
then snicker, no weight in frivolous games
You are mad
You claim to be something great
while waisting away at your bedside
I am Mad
I found the words of saints
They cured me of the viper’s fangs
I am Mad
The weight of life is that of the world
and I bear that weight beneath my feet
I am Mad
It’s at my bedside, and only in dreams,
I can claim to be truly great!
Write
This is what you were born for
Write
This is what you said you would do
Write
The words will flow off the page as you
Write
Your love is like a stream deep inside
Welcomes all the hate and new heights
Leaps above the fame and the new lights
this is but the pain that revives
Write
Another Session
There’s a rhythm in writing
it’s almost hypnotic.
I’d give up the world
to write that melodic.
To type and key
as if I were breathing.
I’d give up sleeping
no use left for dreaming.
I’d even stop eating
in favor of keying.
I’d give up my life
and die in delight,
because writing saved it
so many times.