The Storm - A Collection of Original Poems

Rambling

And the storm rages on within me.
The mistakes made on a cold young day say that this is not the way. The forked tongues spit mean drugs and black bugs, old guns shoot new thugs because kids don't get hugs. The world fights over empty rights, no sight of wrong or right except what's forced into the light. Bodies lay cold and gray in the light of day, and the winds say…

The winds don't say anything. 
They whisper, hushed voices and secret tones.
They do this every spring,
And in the spring I feel the least alone.
When the wind howls my ears don't ring,
The noise muffled by voiceless screams.
The fire of my desire doesn't sting,
It burns brighter in my sleepless dreams.

Spring leaves and she sees my heart beat on my sleeve, my spirit reaved as I don't believe that she could love me. Days grow but I know eventually the sun goes, I would follow you anywhere, sun or snow. The sea of green in your eyes lay unseen, except by me, I need you to understand that I flee when I'm afraid and god dammit I'm terrified but here am I, by your side, ready to face life…

But life comes with many faces,
Many of them evil and dark.
When we reach these empty spaces,
Our love will take us far.
I don't always intend to write about you, 
But that's where the words lead. 
Even when I'm feeling a cold gray-blue, 
You are what my soul needs. 

I experiment for fear of the event that tears will be shed as thoughts plague my head, I'm not ready to be dead. I say I want to die, it's no lie but my life could be so bright and I don't like finality, I want to cease the need to breathe, want my heart to beat with no speed, my feet are fleet to meet the reaper. I must admit that I'm unfit to get riches, I took a hit and lost my wits…

My wits abandoned my hollow shell, 
Left me useless, dazed and confused.
I sink into my self made hell,
Too weak to even refuse.
I'm too broken to pretend to be well,
I'm sick of living a lie.
I reached my peak and then I fell,
Too weak to question why.

The events that led to the detriment of my head were bathed in blue and red. In white and black the desire lacks to fight back, despite the fact that I run from the night’s black life tap.