Monday, October 31, 2011

Killing Bees

I watched her leave, as the door slammed shut,
Self contneded, i flipped through the channels.
The night was vibrant, a shinning silver cross,
But all I could remember were her tears.

Follow the light, for light is wisdom,
And they followed to be killed by the giant slipper.
A buzz on the window screen, elated i watch,
Observing, their dance over the light of truth.

She could have stayed, my heart yearned,
She could have satisfied my urge to live,
But she left, with a bloodied face drenched in tears,
And the bees were all that were left to kill.

I watched her leave, as the door slammed shut,
A blood stained face she cleans.
She too followed the light, with hopes to fly,
But to be crushed like the bees, a strugle for life.

Saturday, October 8, 2011


.. Memory are like splashes of water, falling from the sky, they disappear with time..

Drops splashed open the door, a mountain path,
I walked, wet as the rain lashed its might on me,
A mud covered cloth to hide my shame, I walk on.

Its raining memories, washing my mind, making me numb,
Each drop a stab from the past, as I walk the path,
The rain won't stop, the blue of the water disappears.

I remember the rain, washing my dreams away, despair
The path is difficult, alone I walk, as I leave my comrades behind,
A turn for each, as they go their own ways, away from the pain.

I watched the gray of the sky, clouds laden with sadness,
Its the same inside my heart, my soul clouded with fear,
The colors fade, turn red as they splash on the ground.

Colors play their part, as they fade away into nothingness,
I have to survive, my heart says, I hold my staff, up I stand,
The mountain would be overcome, and the rain shall stop.

And I walk, away from everything that ever defined me.

Tuesday, October 4, 2011

The Cat with the Blue Eye

The cat spoke, with spurts of laughter masking its voice,
"Do you know what makes this world a place worth living?",
A blank stare on my face, that was all I could give.

The cat smiled, its bright eyes shone, blue,
It straightened its fur coat, licking its palm.

It leapt from the table to my shoulder, to whisper,
"Its that little bird over the fence, which I need",
"That yellow cute bird, which would become my dinner one day".

An evil snarl, as it leapt back, its gaze fixed on me,
An evil smile sprung upon its whiskered face,

"Open your eyes, look around, find your bird",
The cat purred, as it lay, playing with its wool ball,
Then without warning it leapt out of the window, and my eyes followed.

With a lightning move, it had the bird in its claws,
A little struggle, and a splash of blood, a little tweet.

I understood what the cat had said, and my eyes watched,
As the cat feasted on the dead bird, relishing its taste,
I had to find my bird, the bird to make this world a place worth living.

Sunday, October 2, 2011

The Reflections

I see my self in her eyes, reflections of my soul...

The eyes talk, make the world believe,
Her little eyes, they sang the story,
Our eyes meet, I see her story painted, like a movie.

The mirrors are everywhere, they are you, in you,
The mirrors made me love, made me hate.

Her little lips parted into a smile,
Her little rose lips came together in a kiss
As our lips parted, she began to sing, the story.

The walls soon will reflect, what you are,
The walls would loose their color, reflect your monster.

Her little hands hold on to mine,
I feel comfortable, fear nothing but me,
The warmth soon fades, as the fingers slip, empty space.

The water runs wild, flooding the world,
And I see my reflection, I drown in my reflection.

Saturday, October 1, 2011

The Painted Face

"...The candle flickered, and so did his shadow, till they became one in darkness.."

The paint brush in his hands quivered, spreading splashes of red,
The giant shadow danced as the flame of the candle flickered,
A smile, he drew, then a sad face, the eyes did the talking,
He won't move, for his shadow remains intact, inept for the world.

A fine line he drew, to divide, to create, the line grew, cold,
A fine line he drew, to stop, to make, the line grew, sad.

The shadow never grew tired, for ages, it just followed him,
But today it stands, still, its calm, as the storm approaches,
Its mayhem in his head, he clutches, he screams, then he sits,
The shadow paints, the fine lines that define emotions on the face.

The candle flickered, as it ate the moth that lingered around,
The shadow danced, rhythmic with that of the flame, steady, but chaotic.

The eyes looked back, as the brush painted them, created them with a cares,
The fine lines don't exist any more, for the face as a whole is alive,
The candle burns away into the night, slowly being eaten by its own light,
The shadow disappears, and all that is left is the painted face.