Grounded

Discontent breaks me to a point

Where I step into the hollows of a familiar path

One I cannot bring myself to regret treading upon.

An entire life, stretched out in perfect view,

Yet not real enough to spot the hands—

Though to some eyes they are already damned.

An apparition of my former self,

Carried through to fruitition,

No longer forced to hide behind

The glamour of reformation.

Everything I do with joyful heart?

Nay—when shadows of possibility

Cloud every section of the heart,

And make the dreamer cry out in desperate longing,

For the pain to stop, or burn brighter in the flame

And consume it entirely.

It is not real. It is not real. It is not real.

Just a player on the stage;

But what is real is only from a distance.

 

 

 

Hells Bells

Have we in fact created hell on earth?

Where children murdered in the streets

Fail to reach more than news in worth

Forget so quickly, new fads to meet

People join in happy matrimone

Only to break the bank, end up alone

Cracked hearts swallowed in hollow space

That plague our days with useless tasks

And keep us detached from the race

Isolated, with no need to ask

Why we fight and why we feel

The need to drive our lives ahead

We scheme and plot and even steal

Until we seem a satisfied dead

We fear the world beyond our own

The one of darkness, rumoured pain

But stop and think, this place, our home

Indeed the void, the black we fear to name

Go to hell, what the hell

Need I really say more?

At every turn this tolling bell

Ringing, knocking at my door

There Once Was A Girl

There once was a girl

Who’s smile lit up the world

And everyone, loved her so.

But secretly inside

Was a child who cried

And a sadness that would everyday grow.

She looked in the mirror

With eyes full of fear

As she saw, a figure of shame.

She stepped on the scale

Heart hung in despair

The thoughts, they snuffed out her flame.

A vision in her mind

Of an image divine

Hollywood pictures, flawlessly drawn.

Photos telling of girls

With blond locks and curls

Using women, like they were pawns.

They drove her to feel

That her fate would be sealed

For something, less than she dreamed.

A knock on the door

Forever more

Her life, controlled by the fiend

She let it in

Prepared to wear thin

The life, she once held dear.

Her smile quickly faded

Replaced by the jaded

Look, of pure skin and tears.

But still maintained

There was more to obtain

Her longing, for paragon.

Tears were her song.

Slowly she’s dying

And forever denying

That there’s, something wrong.

Oh someone please tell her

She deserves so much better

Than the void, deep inside.

Give back her pride.