I wrote this when I was 15. It's about a variety of things.......but I want others to see what THEY see in it.
Him and me.
Isn't it amazing?
Quiet communication
Soft and strange.
Dreams of deserts and death and fear,
Of calm killers, contemplation.
And I laugh.
Like the ocean is one with the wind.
Hands pressed, broken dances.
Moving as one.
Soul in soul, one leapt into the other
Like a frightened child.
No connection, family talks.
Smooth words in songs.
Guitar player, he plays for us.
To an unready world,
Like the bloody red dawn chases
Creatures and monsters to gather
And chatter mindlessly.
I live for this.
I live for you.
Spirit chained, spirit free found
A way back.
The world is a scene,
Drugged out and sow
Blinded by time.
There is rape in the hall,
Strangers al around looking,
There's wine, pills and music.
Music is the world.
I'll tell you....
Freedom, like the will to stay awake.
Like a newborn child.
Everything wasted.
Driving with the windows down,
Us, the idiosyncrasy,
The place, the problem.
Crooning verses on the beach
Eyes shut tight.
Who knew him?
Who understood?
Who knew him?
The wilderness waited,
Still and cool, they plant and grow.
They plant and grow forever.
The West, the promise.
Gods watch and sense us,
As we beg for redemption.
Redemption, our way out, they say.
Driven mad by the old messenger,
Cold hands reach out everywhere
For the sole comfort of peace.
Watch them, the jokers,
Always smiling, always lying.
Do you see them? Al the same,
Walking unaware like unknowing
Sheep walk through the slaughterhouse.
I rise, and so does he
From the world we never needed,
Never wanted.
In the name of luxuriant romance.
Injuries torn and I awoke.
Caress the night and breed its pleasures
My friend, written in the stars.
Young, weird sacrifice.
Propel this situation with your words,
Don't let the water run.
They go in laughing,
Confusion.
The heaven is there,
Were you meant to go?
Visions of the strip show.
They call, voices wrap around each other.
They call, for nothing at all.
I'll show you a good time,
Pulling back his hair,
Eyes dark, brooding upon the young creatures of the underworld.
Sleeping away the day's hours.
And so do I.
I'll speak of everything, I'll tell you a story.
I'll tell you every person I've been.
The myths and blind talk.
Fixed over the high moon.
Too high for dreams.
Love and colour,
I see them all,
Hues of all nature,
Splendoured and wasted.
I'll tell you about the times,
The forgotten, the heartbreak.
I'll tell you about the heartache and the tambourine man.
I'm never hungry.
The evening's not new.
He leads them in...
Maybe one or two.
It was after the show, I don't know.
And the chanting summit was heard
If you were near.
Into the hot forest,
Leaving her behind.
She thinks she's had enough.
He has fun, feeling the endless rush of taking a hit.
After hit, after hit.
And death smiles, grinning maliciously.
The end.
The end of words that softly die.
Listen to them change and snake along.
Identical, mental, soulful.
Together, us. We are what we are.
The end of those who call us in,
Who motion and chide.
The end.
Poetry by Zane
Read 588 times
Written on 2006-11-20 at 17:25
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Him and Me
Him and me.
Isn't it amazing?
Quiet communication
Soft and strange.
Dreams of deserts and death and fear,
Of calm killers, contemplation.
And I laugh.
Like the ocean is one with the wind.
Hands pressed, broken dances.
Moving as one.
Soul in soul, one leapt into the other
Like a frightened child.
No connection, family talks.
Smooth words in songs.
Guitar player, he plays for us.
To an unready world,
Like the bloody red dawn chases
Creatures and monsters to gather
And chatter mindlessly.
I live for this.
I live for you.
Spirit chained, spirit free found
A way back.
The world is a scene,
Drugged out and sow
Blinded by time.
There is rape in the hall,
Strangers al around looking,
There's wine, pills and music.
Music is the world.
I'll tell you....
Freedom, like the will to stay awake.
Like a newborn child.
Everything wasted.
Driving with the windows down,
Us, the idiosyncrasy,
The place, the problem.
Crooning verses on the beach
Eyes shut tight.
Who knew him?
Who understood?
Who knew him?
The wilderness waited,
Still and cool, they plant and grow.
They plant and grow forever.
The West, the promise.
Gods watch and sense us,
As we beg for redemption.
Redemption, our way out, they say.
Driven mad by the old messenger,
Cold hands reach out everywhere
For the sole comfort of peace.
Watch them, the jokers,
Always smiling, always lying.
Do you see them? Al the same,
Walking unaware like unknowing
Sheep walk through the slaughterhouse.
I rise, and so does he
From the world we never needed,
Never wanted.
In the name of luxuriant romance.
Injuries torn and I awoke.
Caress the night and breed its pleasures
My friend, written in the stars.
Young, weird sacrifice.
Propel this situation with your words,
Don't let the water run.
They go in laughing,
Confusion.
The heaven is there,
Were you meant to go?
Visions of the strip show.
They call, voices wrap around each other.
They call, for nothing at all.
I'll show you a good time,
Pulling back his hair,
Eyes dark, brooding upon the young creatures of the underworld.
Sleeping away the day's hours.
And so do I.
I'll speak of everything, I'll tell you a story.
I'll tell you every person I've been.
The myths and blind talk.
Fixed over the high moon.
Too high for dreams.
Love and colour,
I see them all,
Hues of all nature,
Splendoured and wasted.
I'll tell you about the times,
The forgotten, the heartbreak.
I'll tell you about the heartache and the tambourine man.
I'm never hungry.
The evening's not new.
He leads them in...
Maybe one or two.
It was after the show, I don't know.
And the chanting summit was heard
If you were near.
Into the hot forest,
Leaving her behind.
She thinks she's had enough.
He has fun, feeling the endless rush of taking a hit.
After hit, after hit.
And death smiles, grinning maliciously.
The end.
The end of words that softly die.
Listen to them change and snake along.
Identical, mental, soulful.
Together, us. We are what we are.
The end of those who call us in,
Who motion and chide.
The end.
Poetry by Zane
Read 588 times
Written on 2006-11-20 at 17:25
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