Poetrys-Renaissance

Natures Tears Splash To The Earth To Flowers And Trees They Offer Birth Soil Caress The Warmth Of The Sun Life's Mysteries Which Gaia Has Won Creation Stirs Behind The Veil Of Time Bringing Forth A New Era That Of Mankind Though But An Ember In Natures Fires None Has Such Strange Whims And Desires The Candle Flickers, The Flame Dies The Innocent Child Softly Sighs Knowing No Shadows In Life's Light Free From The Darkness Of Human Plight Delicate In Thought Like Threads Of Silk Weaved And Adorned With Gaia's Milk Purity Of Spirit Is What Was Meant To Be And Such A Child Shall Live For Eternity

...I wish you could see the beauty of what I can see, your young boy, now the man you wished for him to be. Let me engrave my memories of the past 8 years onto your tombstone; --sometimes, I sit and wonder why can't death and life have a telephone so I can call in and tell you about my day And ask, 'How's my mothers's hero?' By the way I got through my GCSEs with results non lower than a C. ---i hope you reply that you're proud of me. Because right here and now, I wish you could see the beauty of what I saw and see; your young boy is now the man you dreamt he'll be.

Suspended in some dark corner of this shell, Between multiple mirrors that blind my reason, I, their creator, am the focal point. Every mirror shines in its proud stance, Silent monuments in a pensive world, The degrees of their differences incredibly variant, Carefully aligned to direct my mind's light. Thoughts bounce off their radiant surfaces, Reflections are thrown into indefinite space, Inanimate forms that grow sentient on inception, Each a replica of my psyche, Born to restore some sense of purpose, A longing to see simple answers again, I weakly place my trust on these brothers, Demagogues that adopt various ideologies,

I am the atom of my mind, The axiom of the universe within, And hence the universe without. I direct the light outside inwards, Thought molecules enter the arena of my mind, The tiny units collide in this medium, I watch as collateral debris combine to form ideology, Smaller pieces disappear as dogma, A vibrant colloid of thought and thesis is my center, My psyche sustained by these ideology compounds, Little cogs to move a perfect clockwork, New principles attached to my external acts, My world recycled by my mind, Beautiful patterns woven by clear process, A simple system thus devoid of any anomaly. But now, deviant forces e

"I hate hospitals." "Why's that?" "They're always trying to hide." "What do you mean by 'hide'?" "You smell that?" "Yea. Smells clean." "I hate that smell." "Why?" "It's too clean. It's like they're trying to hide the fact that people die here." "Well that's morbid..." "It's the truth." "Would you rather it smell like germs and corpses?" "No. But that's not the point." "What is your point?" "It's all just too... pleasant." "Well yea. Hospitals are meant to help people. They're supposed to be pleasant." "...You've never had a love one die, have you?" "...No." "No one should have to sit and watch the world spin on as if the pe

I rip pages out of poetry books, the titles of Shakespeare and Plath and Dickinson littering the floor like trash, and I wonder if we don't all wind up stepping stones in the end.