A Bloody Metaphorical Mess

If you held on to the minutes, collecting seconds to pick and steal
Would you shape them into a master piece?
Perhaps the world would look worthwhile tonight
If we were held together by whim

And if our blood were to spill
Maybe skeleton keys might dance again
they might shine again
like they ought to.

If only your fingers could wrap around the hands of the clock
A break, a pause in time,
To spend fighting for chance
is that too much to ask?

I'm not sure exctly what I'm going for here. It's pretty abstract, and abstract tends to fall apart when you try to edit it into something structured.

More Poetry To Post And Edit

And The World Stood Still, As We Stood Overlooking The Ocean

Flowing on the winds of aspiration
Faith, in the sting of salt
A solemn clap of folly
Incamped firmly around my heart

Once, we tread the Ocre waters
Arc of triumph, triumphant stand
We marchers, of little valor
A grain of sand, clasped in hand

What of our trophy, what of our war?
Spire eyed, and bludgeon lipped
Of our benevolence, speak
Lay kindle to fires, writ, ever more

Shallow whispers, in the night
The smell of feral grease and smoke
While only shadows, wrought by ghostly flame
Bear true testimony, to our eternal reverant name

Oceans speak to me on a poetic level, they are a reoccuring theme.

Existem, Respectare

Were I wrought perfection's image
Goal of present self in mind
What does perfection longingly desire?
All that is lack,
Would I become?

Knowing single state existance
Master of fault, and folly
Stave joy, my feral hunger,
Would I know true contentment.


To understand, to know
To know; will you risk becoming?

Shall we nought be patterned
Perfect in imperfection
For when is there beauty in striving?
That which is attainable, knows not.

Mediocre Is My Middle Name.

I can't think of a decent title.

This body I've worn has taken blows.
Child's play.
Limbs arrayed in absent abandon
While this heart plays the functioning part of broken

Collectively, our lives failed
Extremities withered beyond recognition

Fear and love and self loathing
Attraction interfering with mind and body

What will I have left to keep me company?
Fleeting memories, spent days, long past
Pretense, upon unfaltering pretense,
Coupled with slight presence

A shadow, faltering to pick up the pieces.
It was all sugar coated whispers and lies
You and I, tasting our extravagant alibi,
When reality had nothing to offer.

Pray, old age set in.
Senility befriend.
Lives, seeded, then buried in soil
Roots grasping plaintively for the all too tangible fruits of my toil

I dedicate this particular arrangement of words, syllables, assonance, metaphor, to you, and your all too human affect upon me.

New Blog, New Post.

For any of you that happen upon my blog, hi, hello, and what not.
That being said, this blog has little to no purpose other than to bear my rants and other nonsensical bits of rubbish (poetry, short stories, comics) that I find poignant.
I cannot promise to always be polite in my ramblings, for they are subject to a tempermental mistress, such as myself.
In truth, I am not here to entertain fellow bloglanders, and beg for comments in a depraved manor; I only care to improve upon my skills as writer, and hone whatever talents I possess.
The End

02/05/09