Just some poetry I wrote about love...
Death of an Angel, Birth of a Friend
Star crossed lovers fell fast towards the ground.
They burned up in the atmosphere and did not make a sound.
The stardust scattered with tremendous symmetry
Who knew that one of the victims was me?
She said I could fly through the skies
And now I can't silence her cries
I was an angel in her eyes
And now I must remove my disguise
As a friend and not a fling
It is the truth to her I'll sing
Love is what an angel will bring
And I was king among king's
I'm still an angel, I just cut my wings.
Winter Solace
When the chaos crumbled into calm,
I grabbed her arm in the cold mist.
Sweat dripping from my palm,
And the cries of the night were silenced.
"This isn't fair, this isn't right!"
I screamed as my clutch got tighter.
"I thought we agreed on this. Why do you fight?"
She replied as the tears in her eyes grew brighter.
The lamppost light shimmered in an unusual fashion,
As it's rays focused on her beauty.
My soul was suddenly overcome with passion,
But perhaps this separation was my duty.
I then realized what I had just lost,
While my hands bled from the shards of my shattered heart.
And now I stand here alone in the frost,
Understanding for certain that we are apart.
Love Degeneration
The first step is the shock you feel,
While your heart quickly commences surgery.
It begins to slowly mend itself
While you slowly begin to contemplate,
Why it has been broken.
The second state is the independence you feel.
No longer being tied, finally free.
You get excited at the prospect of a free life.
However, freedom has it's cost.
The third stage is one of withdrawal.
Your independence has served you well,
But there is no one to share it with.
You begin to grow lonely,
And terribly miss the one who used to be there
Now things get complicated,
As the fourth level is regret.
Was this event truly necessary?
A question you will ask yourself continually.
Round five hits and boy is it hard.
You begin to suffer deprivation.
No food, no entertainment. Pure isolation follows.
The reason for your existence,
Seemingly cuts your nourishment.
Now we've reached the top, the pinnacle,
You've amounted to the top of the iceberg.
Surgery is complete.
Independence has been scorned.
Withdrawal has been ignored.
Regret has been settles.
Depravity can push you no further.
My friend, behold the end of the line.
The seventh cut,
The final practice...
Madness.
Front Crawl Forward
With powerful strokes we tread through the future
Reluctantly pushing away the waves of the past.
Each movement brings us two feet closer.
Each kick, three feet back.
We dive in hopes to seek and see
What lies beneath, what lies ahead.
Reflections of past times shimmer in our eyes,
And we restrict ourselves from breath.
Limbs begin to struggle and lungs begin to beg.
This time spent dwelling on better times, lost times...
Why do we not surface?
Why does the pressure rise?
The future is obtainable,
Just a couple strokes away.
During this front crawl forward,
Looking back eases the pain
