Non Conformity
It's hard to capture passion, an elusive force beyond
our grasp.
Which defies laws, time, for fashion.
A smoky is behind the door, a twitching body against the floor.
These are passion, these and dreams of virgin whores.
Bottled inside a twisted mind, in flooding horror undefined.
Unlike passion.
Unbottled, unbridled, no fixed sight to point my gaze, surrounded in a
sweaty,
sticky, haze, of passion.
Floats, a far, then draws nigh, and buries it's self within your eye.
Set me a fire in smoldering sin, and leaves your heart as cheap as tin.
It's hard to capture passion.
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The Friend
The package stood in the shimmering night,
as if held fast, in the lunar light.
It's contents were poison to a person like me,
a harness of shackles devoid of a key.
"A gift of faith!" you say with a grin,
but I now of a sweeter hell I'd rather be in.
I accept with remorse, the pacifist's pain,
and take on your troubles with little to gain.
I am meant for better rewards,
than plastic wall plaques and butterfly boards.
You say I am gold, and worth so much more,
I say I am you, who eats off the floor.
You know when I am a low, and it makes you so high.
To see me rejected puts a gleam in your eye.
We feed off each other, devouring pain,
like mirror reflections we're bonded in vain.
Still, I find amusement in he things that you do,
we often shared joy for a moment of two.
WE are called friends, as odd as it seems,
we will share everything, but never out dreams.
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Everything in it's ....
The brittle corn stalks lay in shambled delight,
a long faded memory of August's sight.
In the greenest of minds the eye catches on,
to the strains of labor frosty,a nd gone.
By the sins of our fathers, all snugly in bed,
to the dreams of the feeble inside of their head.
From the trees that grow tall and reach for the sky,
to the birds that take shelter and sing by and by.
The earth worm digs holes, the waiter serves tea,
all have their places, all except me.
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