Fists slam down, oblivious to the receiving end
Filled with anger and agony they attempt to destroy
Everything unwanted and unpleasant
It breaks, shattering under the sheer force
It all breaks, every last bit, into tiny pieces
Shards that pierce and are pierced
Light and dark clash, refusing harmonious coexistence
Battles rage and floodgates shudder with tension
Releasing the pent up blood that bathes all
A Heavenly sound escapes, over and over and again
It wails for the lost, weeping for what cannot be
Only to sing again the sweet song of sorrow
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The Mind
Mainly a record of my more interesting dreams that I was able to remember after waking up. (Apparently my uncontrollable confessions, as well. In the form of poetry. All to the same man.)
If the boy who draws
lets you look over his shoulder.
If the poet
smiles
and shows you her words.
If the girl who sings for the shower only,
hums a song
in front of you.
Know that you’re no longer a person
but the air
and dust
that fills their lungs.
When the world perishes,
and all things cease to exist,
you’ll remain inside an ink stain,
a paint brush,
a song.
— Alaska Gold
lets you look over his shoulder.
If the poet
smiles
and shows you her words.
If the girl who sings for the shower only,
hums a song
in front of you.
Know that you’re no longer a person
but the air
and dust
that fills their lungs.
When the world perishes,
and all things cease to exist,
you’ll remain inside an ink stain,
a paint brush,
a song.
— Alaska Gold