The saviour is You

Who gives the morning sun

To light a million smiles?

Who writes the suites of passion

To turn joy from a peasant’s cry?

Who blames himself

When doubts deafen the soul,

And overcome sadness

To escape from what people mould?

Dawn, sweat and dusk,

All ways lead to one

That an end is must

For those under the same sun.

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Rectum of the Uranus (Dark Poem from the Humour Vault)

Thunder, lighting, tremors and rain

A silent losing battle inside my brain

No one seem to understand quite

The isolation and end that I desire

Contempt and grin behind their eyes

While I succumb to their laugh and whine

A secret memorabilia of an old friend

The Darkness in me never seems to end

 

Wish that I could run away from it all

find shelter under an angel’s breath

Question my courage and I will not refuse

to answer your crimes in hell’s due

What awaits there shouldn’t bother me now

Because I know good people end up how

No more Mr. Nice Guy to you

I have always found joy in solitude

I hare crimes, Lord!

I am a beggar of justice

And if I’d overdone my pleads

Believe me when I have over done my deeds.

Gentle commotion – short on anxiety

Gentle commotion in my brain

Tearful extravaganza down the lane

Hearing things believed to be true

Finding naught left me mute

Cold showers and comfy lies

My company through the night

Wondering where I will end up was my thought

At first I seemed to be on course

Sore eyes, red and bloat,

Don’t mind when I shut the door

Imagine eventual calamity disengage

I stumble on place and panic and shame

Of all the things I wish not my friend

Gentle commotion never seems to end

CrossRoads

I am at a crossroad

not beat, not tired, just waiting for the sign

 

 

Believed to worry naught

because at a crossroad, in the night

comes the devil, some ladies and a smile

You pay him the toll,

ask him to take control

take your life anywhere

but he jacks ya like a troll

I am at a crossroad, dont wanna worry the devil

He comes, and he goes, millions have lost control

You need advice, not the hounds of hell

 

Comfort in silence, compose the ringing bell

No such thing as a demon in dreams

Nor an angel in a nightmare

I am at the crossroads, and I am gonna pay the toll

because before you run, you gotta crawl

 

 

Hermit-crab-like-man

“In a town far away in the land of innocence

Not much to be, but a shadow of the notion

Crawling and crumbling blind men approach

To the alter of give and take, frail hands closed

There in the middle not very far from the last,

some humble men, living in the shadows of their past

 

When the time has come and the bell has rung

in one, two, and three, the vultures clung

The Meaty men sway from left to right

The weak gets slain by their hunger’s might

 

Upon this commotion, the fates warning blown

and the greedy men, all overthrown

Now come the chance for the humble man

to pledge a vow and ignite the torch

of a generation-long thirst from which he made,

and from which he arose

The nobles, the clerks, the warriors, and a hidden toll

a price due, all their secrets exposed

 

Upon many winters’ shrieking cries, and enduring a thousand willow mimes

The noise in his head if ripples, now a moonlit midnight tide

Though a crisis in his heart, and no one seems to understand,

His life is a war with aged eyes and wrinkled hands

Perhaps, he heeds to the call of the stray and the mongrel… ?

or perhaps to a trimmed, boots and a flock headed somewhere?

 

 

… a slow walk, a gentle pat, bestows his future on our fate”