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Butterflies, Flutter by. Yet they can't help me, While I die. My life flashing, Before my eyes. Death has quite, An odd disguise. Inside you, my friend. Is where he lay. But why was it, My time today.
This morning when he woke up, he didn't know his time was up. Pulled back the covers and put joggers on, and off he went for his daily run.
My body's giving signs. That it might like to stop. That's a crying shame. Don't feel fit to drop. Starting to feel pain. A wasted life's excess. Try so hard to win. Without much success.
What If you were to die later today?. Where would you go, what would you say?.
This wound would be the deepest. This wound would be the worst. This wound would test his mortality. This wound would leave him cursed.
It's been said life's eternal, that deaths only the horizon, I'm a wordstress vast and free, I know what I really want to be, I feel my souls an infinite space, transient mirror image in its...
*This is a compilation of parts of various poems I have written that I have combined to create another poem :) Hope you enjoy...
Didn't head my own expedition. Didn't call my own conditions. I was never the one. I was never the special one. Did I take it for granted. Did I pull my own chain. I was never that one.
My name is Rou, but to those all around me, my name was Rou.
Time to let go. Of all that I feel,. I'm just one person,. I'm no big deal,. My head is spinning. And I can't think straight,. But there's no going back. It's much too late,. The pulse of the music.
The hardest thing was going home and facing the rest of my family. When I got home I took a good look at everyone, because I didn't know how many times I would be able to do that anymore.
Always speeding, never stopping to see. This is the human race, but not me. Glance up to the sky and suspended in the air, You will see whispers of cold despair.
When the sun dies The old clock stops When nothing's alive When I'm feeling alone No stars on the sky When my tears begin to drop.
I often dreamt of my perfect world when I was little, how I wished it were real.
Much to come on this. Chatting to my Dad, while on a walk out in the (rare for this weather) sun, a woman drove by, that I mentioned look like his Mom, my Gran, He agreed.
Lying here Close to the end Wishing for The things not done. Wish I'd never walked that path Or I'd said those words Wish I'd married my first love But wishes cannot change.
Every morning I sweep and Hoover a full head stuck in the drum. Yet unnerving as seems the mirror still gleams with more than most.
When colon cancer came They talked it over. Stoic and humoured. He drew on her bald head. She lined him up With future dates. They planned and prepared. She chose to live But died anyway.
[final song in a trilogy: The Cradle, The Palace, The Grave. All three have taken me the last four years to complete and can now be found on Opuss.
The numbers on January's arm caught the light. Three minutes. Twenty seven seconds - make that twenty six. January cradled her head in her hands, and kept her breathing as normal as she could.
Cold and flaccid, with the old smell of loneliness. Solitude, at night, no stench of beauty, nor perfect sunrise.
Souls are hanging from the tree. Tonight. Your body dangling next to me. Tonight. Memories dripping from the leaves. Emotions recently bereaved. Them demons have caught up with thee. Tonight.
I look around half lost half aware. Feeling the almost non existent air. Repressed memories look at my face and stare. How dare, how dare. Fading love for those left there.
My name is Death. I'll come for you. When you least. Expect me to. In your car. On the train. Bright sunlight. Or driving rain. In the day. Or in the night. I'll come to make. Your soul take flight.