A poem for those who with bread to share...
Unspoken softly, the smooth silent story
spills the secrets. The glow of the moon
reveals all, yet, starry skies tell lies
in response to my cries.
The seconds slip by, drip-drop into the sea,
swishes fwish krrrrksh
crescendos to the break, crux
achieved through beads of raging glory.
O hearken, heed, my angelic one: a spoken story
of heaven and hell and of tolling bells;
the beggars music, they tell.
Who's story must be tell'd, i sit
sobbing in the cold,
sipping slipping stripping
goes tongue, mind body, soul
flies away, splinters, cascading oh slamming,
into the shining sun, exploding her rays
staying until the day fades,
But the night will not come.
Share with me your heel of bread,
a side of your bed, second skin you shed.
I used to be one of you,
before i was dead.
But now I rise, one who dies knows no lies-
the truth of death asphyxiates the mind
Sickly adverse, perversing humankind
bitten! infected, now I've become.
Soulless and broken, some
say a dead man walking;
a dead man talking;
all are wrong.
Quiet soaks in, a story untells,
the bells freeze.
the world clutches her heart and
begins to seize
krazed! she rips apart
crusht beyond comprehension and thought.
Vengeance they told akin to rot,
though frightened, I simply was not.
This. This is what I blessingly sought.
i am warm.
i sink down the dusty sill, as my joyous tears silently spill.
transfixed I watch,
one, by one, as all my cries
drip down from the skies.