I hope you like.
Hiding under a blanket, with the imagery of a pirate ship, to keep myself amused.
Open my windows, I want to waste away, from the red air.
Throw your pens against the wall and watch them bounce.
For in that time, downfall will commonly occur.
Kings will wrap they're cloaks around their ankles.
And push away their servants, for he knows,
they have the adequation of him as a being.
Play your paradiddles oh musicians.
It will very well be your last.
Play your strings, I wish to fade while I can.
Poets will rhyme, and competitors will challenge.
Mere death is as waking up from a terrifying slumber.
Hearts will crush under pressure of confusion.
In time the hearts mind will be banished, and tears will flow from mortals' eyes.
Unable to speak, congressmen will pass restrictions.
People of north and south will come together, and quarrel.
Their fingertips will bleed from a bite of the thumb.
All book pages will burn along with what they created in the minds of many.
I will vanish as will they.
I will close the door, and die away.
When necessary, I will resurrect into the sunbeam.
To find, I should have stayed exposed.
For I'd rather waste, with the rest.
Poetry by Paulie Casper
Read 595 times
Written on 2007-03-31 at 08:44
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Blank, Burnt Pages
Sins on a soul, growing like the fungai of a deep-sea rock.Hiding under a blanket, with the imagery of a pirate ship, to keep myself amused.
Open my windows, I want to waste away, from the red air.
Throw your pens against the wall and watch them bounce.
For in that time, downfall will commonly occur.
Kings will wrap they're cloaks around their ankles.
And push away their servants, for he knows,
they have the adequation of him as a being.
Play your paradiddles oh musicians.
It will very well be your last.
Play your strings, I wish to fade while I can.
Poets will rhyme, and competitors will challenge.
Mere death is as waking up from a terrifying slumber.
Hearts will crush under pressure of confusion.
In time the hearts mind will be banished, and tears will flow from mortals' eyes.
Unable to speak, congressmen will pass restrictions.
People of north and south will come together, and quarrel.
Their fingertips will bleed from a bite of the thumb.
All book pages will burn along with what they created in the minds of many.
I will vanish as will they.
I will close the door, and die away.
When necessary, I will resurrect into the sunbeam.
To find, I should have stayed exposed.
For I'd rather waste, with the rest.
Poetry by Paulie Casper
Read 595 times
Written on 2007-03-31 at 08:44
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text| Texts |
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