Category: Bad Poetry

I am the machine. I think and breathe electrical impulses.
I am eternal. I am perfection in digital emotions.

This is one of my favorite poems, that I wrote back in my late teens. It was suppose to be about what I felt for a forgotten friend who died suddenly.

Seperate cries
of wounded eyes,
That tears lie
while something dies.

Of a mind, of a beauty
that ceases to exist,
Erased from the poem
and kindred spirit.

In dark places, my feelings hide
emotions deeply rooted, with thorns
that strike a sadness open and timid.

In the light of night
my eyes turn upon a memory
and sculpture. The semblance
of your face, the touch of
your dream, wet and colorful,
the shades of day: grey
in comparison.

Your eyes lay in shadows.

The dream, begins to
take shape and form, upon
a stone grey marble sculpture.
My Love solidified, wounded and
distraught, I must go on
Without You.

Past Love’s gate, away from
your death and memories,
I tread a path beyond
cemetery roses.

Think of things combined.
Words, places, faces, the
many and the few, intricate
hours without You.

In the dawn, color and light
penetrates and blinds.
The breach of night begins.
And I am saddened by
not my wounds but by
the time that separates
us from what we once had.

Past this gate, away from
your love and care,
I tread a path beyond
cemetery roses.