[x]

Homosexuality BitesThey found me slumped over in the school showers
With a towel loosely wrapped around my waist
Scalding hot water was blistering my skin
As I bled from an unspeakable place

A hard-handed teacher dragged me to my feet
With little or no sign of sympathy
For the bruising to my feeble framed ribcage
And the fractures to my identity

I think they all thought that I had it coming
As no one was willing to testify
That the sodomy inflicted upon me
Was something to which I hadn’t complied

Boisterous boys laughing in the corridors
As I shamefully limped throughout the day
Not a thought for the pain that was inflicted
Just worried for what my pa

I Am a WriterI am a writer.
Yes, it’s easy for me to fall into a dream.
But there is nothing wrong with being tighter
With a story’s theme.

I am a writer.
That is all I will ever want to be
In the end, my story will be lighter,
And my characters will finally be free.

I am a writer.
There is nothing easier to say than that.
I will never let a story wither
Nor let a story fall flat

I am a soon to be author.
With several books ready to be read,
I want them to have great honor
And wish there will be tears shed.

Pieces of chessKings and pawns are all the same
All but pieces in a game
A stroke of luck
A touch of ill fate
Decides in the end who will be
Checkmate

Twinkle StarTwinkle twinkle little star
Noone cares just who you are
When you fall the fall is far
Twinkle twinkle superstar.

*Mask*Tonight hearts will beat
Identities are concealed
When we masquerade.

Familiar voices
Behind flamboyant disguise
Recognize those eyes.

2013 Delice1941
13th April2013

The Soldier's Letter To HomeI write this from my death bed
My eyes fading in the light
Drowned in crimson red,
Drowned in shaking fright.
The enemy has won
The war now has ended
And though killed by my son
May his sins be ammended.
For this is Civil War
I cannot change the tide
So from you I implore
Do what is right.

Bury me somewhere nice
Near, and fair to look at
And forgive my son his sins;
For in war, no one wins.

Take Death's HandI do not fear Death.
My life has been long enough.
It's time I take my last breath.
I shall not rebuff.
Death stands by my side,
his hand extended for me to take.
His face is veiled like that of a bride.
This life I now forsake
as Death takes me away.
I do not regret
for I am free of the fray.
Please do not fret
for I am okay.

~Evil creatures~

They're evil creatures in the night
Lurking in the shadows but still seeing there sight
From they're pale skin and glowing eyes
Out there graves they will rise
Moaning and groaning is what you hear
Your body will soon fill with fear

They walk or run in a fast pace
Here they come for the chase
Get ready for the fear
Coming through the door they are here
Board up the windows to keep them away
This is the place you don't want to stay

It's too late now they're breaking in
It's a fight you may not win
Grab you shotgun prepare for the fight
This battle may last all night
Pain and blood come from your arm
A bite from these creatures can cause muc

AveryHis veins are filled with music and with stars.
His thoughts are filled with emptiness and flow.
His voice is made of dusty old guitars.
His mind’s a rusty cog that clanks below.
And these affects and gifts with which he’s blessed –
Or cursed, as alternately it may be –
Are some well-known and some yet unaddressed,
And they determine all that he must see.
But when his veins must open up and burst
And when his thoughts in dark directions fly,
When all his voice can do is preach the worst,
When all his mind can think to do is die –
It gives him pause to check himself and breathe.
May he stay in this world and never

EndlingHere am I, the captive thylacine
Treading my tiger-striped, ungainly way
Around the metal-mesh confinement of my cage
Here am I, exhibited, exhumed
Brought from the brink to pace another day
A living testament, a final thumbmarked page
Here am I, the only specimen
Bereft of mate, of pups, of kin, of kind
Watching the claws of history extending
Here am I, the final thylacine
The only one, the last, the lost, the endling.

Who Was HeHe stood at the average height for men.
His built was quite average.
His eyes were that of cyan.
Nonetheless, he was average.

His hair was that of blonde,
Nearly, white.
His walk and personality had a great bond.
He was a confident sight.

His skin was a delicate peach.
His muscles were quite firm.
So irresistible, a teasing reach.
His appearance had its own term.

One that the dictionary cannot confirm.

Who was he?
That man with his own sea?
He was one without a name.
His appearance was a taunting game.
He was one without a number for an age.
Forget it, he’s fake on this page.

SuicideThere's no blood on her hands
Bullet holes in the door
Nothing but colored pills
And her lying on the floor

You look at her face
There's despair in her eyes
And you wonder what she thought
As she fell and died

And maybe you're begging her to come back
And maybe you're asking why she let go
The hurt in your chest feels like a heart attack
And now you finally know

Maybe you could've helped her
If you'd looked past your own nose
Maybe she'd be alive now
You had a chance, this is what you chose
Now maybe you'll learn from things
That you didn't see
Maybe you'll open your eyes
And rescue him, or her, or me
Maybe she cried a prayer
For the oth

All AloneI'm sitting in my four walled room
Their closing in, like an ancient tomb
I feel like I'm wasting time for two
When all I want is me and you

One WindowOne window is all I need
To see the world for what it truly is
With my mind a system of creed.
My talent can depict or dismiss
This world of goals, so hear my heed.

I sit down beside a journal,
My fingers clutching a pencil.
I will make my character’s life spiral
And send them off to a council
Where they must advance through the next trial.

One window is all I need
To watch them afar a long, hazy field,
Where I can study their speed
Of understanding when they will yield
Of life, itself, so they need to hear my heed.

My character’s goal,
As well as mine,
Is to be whole
And see how bright life can shine
Even through the darkness

Last RoadTwo people, both alike in personality,
Shared a home where the scene was played,
From shattered souls to new beginnings,
Where screams were heard on this doomsday.
From golden moons crisp as the sun,
A mother who has not yet won,
The illness will strive until the deed is done,
Even if the daughter has not begun.
The road that lies ahead,
Is now a mother who is dead,
With hugs and kisses that are gone,
The daughter who will beat them all;
Thy which your eyes and ears can pretend,
What here shall be a transformation undid.

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In the Exam HallThe loudest silence you’ve ever heard,
That clattering and coughing.
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Grumble grumble, tac!
As you dot the i’s.
The pen’s voice rises and falls,
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Make BelieveYou lie next to me
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You are warm like sunbeams.
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Siwatu sat and watched as the Gods and their machines passed by. On the horizon, the black shapes sailed like clouds against the setting sun, like the herds of antelope, wildebeest and giraffe that crossed the plains in search of water. But the Gods didn’t search for water: he was sure of that. They were after something else, but what, he didn’t know, and wouldn’t have understood if he had. The vibrations caused by their passage sent small stones rattling against the baked earth, even at this distance, and blood-red lizards scuttled to their holes in alarm.

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Iago felt his stomach leap into his throat and tried to close his eyes, but the cold air that whipped past his tumbling body tore them open and held them there, watering and stinging, the forest flying by in a blur. He knew immediately that he was going to die, but he had no time to have any further thoughts on the matter. His cheeks bulged as he fell, every muscle tensed in terror as the heavens tore themselves from their proper place and were sent tumbling around in the vicinity of his ankles. All this in an instant. Then, with a thump, he was struck hard by the earthy embrace o

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Fidelity

by ~Paul-Cooper, Dec 6, 2009, 4:46:25 AM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Traditional Fixed Forms

I have seen thirty dark monsoons,
two flowerings of the black-stalked
Kurinci flower beneath the moon.
Too many long nights have I walked

through the Hill Country's sweet thunders –
the rain tears the earth asunder,
the dusted Kuyil soars higher;
bamboo ploughs the earth like gunfire.

Fidelityby ~Paul-Cooper

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Traditional Fixed Forms

A Rispetto for

's DFC. Enjoy.

=DragonsChest Dec 7, 2009 Professional Writer

Not bad at all...

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