Words/by:Haunted Lunacy

-
Words mean nothing.
The poet said as he slammed
his book shut and tossed his pen 
 to the floor. Just noise, syllables of 
 a discontent madman, and nothing 
 more. 

Just phrases sculpted by our demons, 
letters shaped from our screams.
Quiet utterances of our deepest fears ,
Fuzzy memories of our distant dreams.

The ink will dry, the pages will rot.
We will die and they will remember us
not.

Words mean nothing the poet said 
as he picked his pen up from the floor 
and opened his book, but her, 
she means everything, he said as
he began to write once more .

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Cupid Smiled/by:Haunted Lunacy

-
Cupid smiled as he drew back his bow, he felt the weight of the string on his fingers and a stirring in his soul. He wept for the target for which his arrow  was intended,  for he knew that once it pierced their heart   that it could not be mended.  So with a sigh he let it go, and the arrow it did fly, and as the arrow pierced his chest,  an angel caught his eye.  With a broken halo and tattered wings  the angel did pretend, to love his empty,  hollow soul, and always be his friend, but soon the angel bared her teeth  and devoured this man’s heart,  and to her hell she did return  to brag about her art.  Now alone, the broken man, in silence  he did scream “oh god please wake me  up from this horrid dream”, but his ears  were only met with silence, for his  god did not reply. So he picked up his  pen and wrote this poem as his   soul did slowly die. Cupid put his bow   away, hi...
Read more

Lunatic ideas not finished or in order

-
The lunatic dances to the sweet words of madness, a symphony of terror, delight and decay. Madness is the daily struggle of not becoming someone else no matter how sweet the words they whisper. The lunatic wants to dance but the stage he must never see. The lunatic lingers silently in his cell, pondering, waiting, anticipating the moment the door will open and he will be free. Free to lace up his shoes and take the stage.  to dance the dance of madness, to sway to the beautiful symphony of lunacy, to embrace the whispers of sweet dilusion.  locking away the host of the show in the cell that he himself once called home.  to take center stage forevermore. The host sits silently in his cell, he hears the music, he hears the elegant footsteps of madness as he put prances upon the stage. A stage that was once his.  I started this show he thinks in his head.  but all this time little did I know I was merely the opening act. Lunacy now owns the stage and I shall fa...
Read more

Taking Applications/by:Haunted Lunacy

-
I am taking applications for a brand new muse. Come one, come all and  please do abuse. Rip my heart out from my chest,  take a bite and  trample the rest.  Torture me in my very soul, I am your puppet to hate and control . Steal my breath this very  night,  So that this poor poet can once again write.
Read more