58,000 names
Chisled into black granite walls.
The hallowed ground in front of
This sacred, special place
Has seen roses, rings & letters,
Wreaths, money, trinkets.
It has been watered with tears of love,
Of grief, of pain.
A wilderness of emotion and memory
Is tied to the smooth dark stone.
Name after name,
Row after row,
Slab after slab,
Wall after wall.
Behind each etched name
There is a story of bravery,
Of courage, of hope;
But at the same time
You can read the grusome headlines
Of the unfeeling papers.
You can see the blood and the smoke,
The eyes of comrades
Glazed over in passing.
You can hear the gunshots,
The agonized screams of the doomed.
Is this a place of life?
A place of death?
A place of worship?
A place of pain? Of sorrow?
A place of memory?
A place of love?

Unraveling the threads
Of my tangled, sticky lies,
Tearing the delicate cloth
Of my fragile, broken life.
One by one,
The stiches pop out
Exposing the wounds
That they know nothing about.
A single salty tear
Trickles down my face
As a single crimson drop of blood
Is dripping from my wrist.
This cruel and viscious cyle
Will never have and end
As my sanity unravels,
Alone and with out friends.

Live in the shadows
And flee from the sun,
An army of rebels
Marching as one.
Mingle your voice
With the other outcasts,
Your single goal
Is to simply outlast.

Pen glides on paper,
As smooth as black ribbons
Draped across the snow,
Or black thread
Stitching up white silk.
The lines of words
Imprint themselves into my brain.
I breathe language,
Feel my heart beat with songs,
Dream in the rythm
Of poetry.
Eventually, the
Ink
Forces its way into my veins,
Carried throughout my body
So that I bleed
Ebony rain.
It infiltrates me
Until I am crying
Midnight tears.
My hearts pumps the
Unformed phrases around and
Around again
Until I dissolve,
Becoming a mirror of darkness
On the floor
To inspire another writer.
'Tis the fate of the poet:
To become one
With one's work
And dreams
And life
And soul.

A backwards world
Where teardrops fall
On petals unfurled;
Live your life behind a wall.

Don't show the pain,
Just follow the crowd
The drip-drop of rain,
Silent screaming so loud.

Strangers give kisses
While friends hand you knives;
What you don't know you can't miss;
Our thousands of lies.

Hiding the shame
Behind perfect expressions,
Falling from fame
Into depression.

Everyone walking around
With these secrets inside,
Fall to the ground
And a part of you died.

The heart of an angel
Condemmed to Hell,
Was as fragile as glass,
And shattered as it fell.
She denied what she had seen,
But it was far too late;
Try to find yourself,
Try to accept Fate.
She wept and pleaded
To no avail,
This was her life
And she must prevail.
Her broken heart reformed,
But it was no longer clear as glass.
A smokey cloud engulfed her
As her profound shame supassed
The limits of her mind.
So she took the only course of action,
And I watch my angel cut herself,
Staring at her reflection.

The dusty old notes
Twirl 'round the room,
Bringing false sunshine
Into the gloom.
Memories form
In the back of the mind,
Laughter and smiles
From an earlier time.
A teardrop falls,
Making no sound,
On white keys turned yellow
And black keys turned brown.
Nothing is left
Except for the pain,
And as that gives way
Only nothing remains.