If this is fate then I can live with it
but if this is the work of fairies and elves
flitting, fucking and flying between
the guy ropes of a circus tent on an autumn dawn
then I object.
I'll be damned if I let them dictate to me,
I'll certaintly not take it laying down.
The holes in my sock let me know I can no longer count on you for relief
only for you to cheerlead Death's black new limosine,
or for my oranges to be no longer be freshly squeezed,
for my mornings to be free from the threat of love's biggest disease,
REGRET...
Oh you are attractive I'll grant you that,
the flutter of a final feast in the cheating of a heart ready to sleep,
a blood smiled in the beatific mind,
of a failing pride,
God that hurts,
didn't see that one coming,
HUMAN after all...
but if this is the work of fairies and elves
flitting, fucking and flying between
the guy ropes of a circus tent on an autumn dawn
then I object.
I'll be damned if I let them dictate to me,
I'll certaintly not take it laying down.
The holes in my sock let me know I can no longer count on you for relief
only for you to cheerlead Death's black new limosine,
or for my oranges to be no longer be freshly squeezed,
for my mornings to be free from the threat of love's biggest disease,
REGRET...
Oh you are attractive I'll grant you that,
the flutter of a final feast in the cheating of a heart ready to sleep,
a blood smiled in the beatific mind,
of a failing pride,
God that hurts,
didn't see that one coming,
HUMAN after all...
Here's the poem I wrote when I was 10/11:
The Blaze.
A broken bottle
on which the sun reflects
the reflection hits a dry leaf
it smoulders
and catches fire
a gust of wind
more leaves alight
the fire engulfs a tree
smoke blackens the sky
a flock of birds fly off
the dancing flames grow higher
more trees are engulfed
a squirrels home obliterated
all that's left
smouldering trees and dead animals.
It's not the best poem
Your one is much better, I think.
Who's the lassie?