The sky is deep and murky green, The white sun sinking over the horizon, Extended by junk and litter.
This is the oxymoronic haven. A carnival of despair Filled with torturous laughter Distorted, slow, hurdy-gurdy whistles, And tinkling, unsettling music-boxes.
I look around this miserable paradise To see my friends all around me. They’ve encircled me, But now they’re turning away, Leaving me in this nightmarish heaven. They don’t want me anymore. What little usefulness I had, I have long outlived. So they say.
And as they disperse, The sun sets even more And the laughter, the disturbing distorted jingles, Replace the circle of friends, trapping me in the dark As I turn to monochrome, the film grain masking My cries of despair.
Suddenly, I’m falling. Falling through a bottomless pit No end. No beginning… Just oblivion… Until my eyes open again…
My muse is like an excitable dog. It catches sight of totally random things and starts yapping and running around and wagging its tail and WILL NOT STOP until I write a poem about it.My poetry is sometimes based on personal experience and sometimes on other things. Aside from that, I enjoy video games (My favourite game series is Mass Effect) and the popular television show My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic.
A volcanic kiss was becoming ungreen. The shark was coming. All night it was raining. The sap was rising and love-farm was deluged. A blue moon walks on the dry eyes. Why the tears had gone to exile? A mole
The dark clouds are rolling in quickly, wild wind blows fast and fiercely Many leaves and twigs start twirling around and circling Feeling like Edgar Allen Poe, In the distance I can hear some echo’s Of many dog’s barking in
Pillage started, when there were anti-answers. The trapped light- wanted to be released, from brutalism. When you were nearly drowned, in the multitude of questions, joining the palms, you collect the moments of solitude. You drop a key in the
As the sun dives into the beguiling sky And the darkness is about to smear the vault of heaven. The mind, then wanders the lonesome places. The moment , when the mollified region is filled with despondency. The night, then
As the day slips behind the cliffs On the far-off horizon Taking along its glorious lamp And all the warm sunshine The earth looks down wearied All hustle and bustle comes to close The world enveloped in darkness Retires to