'DEATH'
None can escape it,
For it creeps so stealthily towards our existence,
Hoping to rid us of our being.
And it often succeeds,
Comes as a punishment,
For our wrong deeds
For it is the harvester,
Of all living seeds.
None can keep it from its due crop,
And as we sit and our eyes we mop,
Weeping in the memory of the deceased,
It creeps away,so very pleased
For it,it's been just another day's work
So beware;near you it may.
I sit alone
I sit alone at my
Windowsill
Trees crackle,
Sunrise blares and
Children laugh like death
Their sharp happiness is a
Knife to me
One jealous snake on a
Windowsill
They will be here, trees and sun
And children with canes and pretty skin
When am but a memory
I laugh at the trees of time
I sit alone and try to love them
I sit alone a snake
I sit alone and try to love them
I sit alone and laugh…
Gothic Arts and Poetry
To Die For
By Filoso
The Negative World
Shallow rivers of heavy grief,
Flowing faster with lack of belief.
Their banks overfilled in barbaric thoughts,
Ideas to hurt and desires to deceive.
Frequent floods bring traumatized fishes
To shores to die as reborning cliches.
Their bodies decompose and fertilize the land,
Aiding in harvests of unfulfilled wishes.
The same crops yield every season.
Dead trees grow without any reason.
Bad dreams loiter all over the place,
While Goodness lay drunken in prison.
"Help me! Please!" the wind whispers.
Echoing back, the words slowly disperse.
Confused raven in reddish skies,
Roughly cawing some forbidden verse.
See! The onlooker loses sanity,
Watching the demesne; a damned entity!
Locked inside this head as a blur,
Bearing the curse of infinity.
