A Few of my Poems

The Falling

Cities will fall as lepers skin
Charnal winds, sanctify and begin
Herein lies redemption of sin
Commence the slaughter of your kin

Life will pale as a soldier upon a knife
Foolishness on a grand scale, result of strife
Empty vessels will be sent to a lonely wife
Memories, bravery, honour, at the cost of life

We must break this chain, remove the seal
While the pious kneel, forward the dawn we shall steal
Pull the sun from the sky, as the tides rise
Complete encompassing darkness, lamenting cries


The End

Let the meteors rain, let the flies swarm
Let the depths unfurl the void and unknown
From the seas, spew forth what you possess
Let the rich lose all they obsess

Let the world drown in its greed
Let those who indulge be in dire need
Let the spokes turn, the others burn
Animosity cannot be unlearned

Stoke the fires with the bodies of the dead
Let their souls be fuel, ashes their bed
Apocalypse, release, rapture, the end
Rules of life will break, not bend



The Mirror

A mirror sits in pieces on a dirty floor
Jagged, torn, aged by time and more
Reflections are blank, dull, listless
It lays there; broken, no purpose

A small man with shaggy hair walks in
Age and disease has eaten his once friendly grin
Picking up a corner of the broken mirror
He wipes it clean, then gasps in fear

What he sees upsets him most
An empty shell of a man, simply a ghost
Looking deep within the pupils of his eyes
He cries, and falls to his knees to realise

That once, he was great and well known
All but the blasphemous king upon the throne
Monotonous flutes whine and cry out loud
The sound of a man falling, who once was proud


Tabula Rasa

Thousands of closed eyes, blinded by lies
Their actions confined by corporate ties
They sit and wait, unaware of inevitable fate
When they will be wiped like chalk from slate

Tabula Rasa, again it will be
Once again, nobody will ever see
The light behind the lies they illuminate
Too bright to understand, or to state

Blinded we struggle on and on
Until a cliff will be stumbled upon
The mystery, heresy, in death we see
We have once again repeated history