| » Poem: Dead days |
Dead days
written by Genocide Reaper02:25 PM 3/15/05Dead days.
Heated days.
Summer rays.
Summer pain.
Fall comes, the breeze grows.
The noose tightens.
Winder comes in with a roll.
Freezing us all in our foot-steps.
Cold as a cadaver.
Where is the favor?
Dried in the desert.
Flesh melting from the bone.
Chemicals have been used on human pawns.
Spring shows its lingering face.
Melting snow in the frozen place.
Corpses ensue to decompose.
The red bud peaks its head above the frost, the rose.
Bloody and abused.
Fucked thoroughly and used.
Mercy comes with its finger on the trigger.
Mercy becomes the fucking killer.
Suicide comes along with homicide.
Murder, then self hate.
Death to your own plans.
Fate rears its ugly head.
Feel the pain as it surfaces.
Reminder of unobtainable leisure's.
Its the perfect example of burning cases.
Memories, reproductive nightmares.
The ones that have a million faces.
The ones taking place in a billion places.
All through out the mind.
All the time.
Every dead day that passes by. |
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This Poem has been viewed 399 times
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| » Comments / Feedback | by Dianesjewels (3-15-2005 - 03:40 PM)
| Very well written, great use of language. You could improve on your meter, but whether you do or don't, this poem is something to be proud of. |
by Genocide Reaper (3-15-2005 - 03:49 PM)
by deadheart4ever (3-15-2005 - 03:57 PM)
by Dianesjewels (3-15-2005 - 03:59 PM)
| Meter:
The measured arrangement of words in poetry, as by accentual rhythm, syllabic quantity, or the number of syllables in a line.
A particular arrangement of words in poetry, such as iambic pentameter, determined by the kind and number of metrical units in a line.
The rhythmic pattern of a stanza, determined by the kind and number of lines. |
by Genocide Reaper (3-15-2005 - 10:04 PM)
| Ah well, fuck that.. I'm not doing it by any set standards, thats why its called reckless abandon. Forget what you know, and forget what you've been taught.. Just write what comes out. |
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