Are these screams from inside my mind? Or out there? Is it the theif? The scent of ravaged swine in the air? It conflicts though my tongue remains straight. In this cursed world. The truth they hate. Their aim, the unblossomed an it’s dark. Sanity has boarded. I cannot watch it debark. The dark soulsContinue reading “These Screams”
Tag Archives: Faith
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The Bullet
I dont know what you want. Friends waste my time anyway. Someday I’ll be gone. My words though, will carry on. I write, as I find it hard to say. I cant explain where my interests are born, but I need them like the night. I’m blessed in the eyes of danger. Though I struggleContinue reading “The Bullet”
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Is There Really Now No You and Me
The sun burst from the river flowing, not love that caught my eye. The days I cursed somehow inside did treasure, Our love that made me cry. I need you here, why are you there? How can you not care? Enable this void while I walk a highway of troubled souls. Bring the light ofContinue reading “Is There Really Now No You and Me”
Real World
I’m struck still where I stand, as the low Autumn sun shines bright, in all Gods glory and wonder. As I take in such frightening beauty, on my future, I ponder. On this hill like my life, I hit a blind summit. Feelings of the past are sad. Though I trust there’s increased beauty downContinue reading “Real World”
The Blade
I guess I was just kid back then. But I now know why you hated me so much. ‘My weak mind.’ It coudn’t have made sense to a man like you. It’s hard still now to say aloud, that you once made me cry. I didn’t realise what you were doing. Maybe I still don’t.Continue reading “The Blade”
Into The Light
From obscure realms the whisper of my conscience mutated into screaming. Only gathering my cross carrying the load when the soul cried out for meaning. As the sun I arose the hero of the day, victorious from the dark night’s fight. Beaming away insanity, like a baby emerging into the light.
Butterfly
The violins cry out for cultural identity. As bullets still fly from klashnikov’s. “The cold is coming.” Sounds the whispers of suicidal writers. Innocence is manipulated, developed, then kills. Released from hate. The defiance, awe inspiring. As caterpillar to butterfly, let the metamorphosis happen. In a white stoned building I see lions in crowns movingContinue reading “Butterfly”
whole
my spirit meets my body when I pick up my pen.
Smith Shine Poetry 