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Criticize THIS!
Aeon Posted: Wed Dec 10 01:08:21 2003 Post | Quote in Reply  
  I wrote all these in one night. In an orgy of creativity. I'll put little notes with each one.


With my wings of wax
Iíll grab the sun for you
And with my tongue of brass
Iíll sing a song for you
And Iíll spit out bronze words
Theyíre never good enough for gold
All my lines clichť
Like the lies Iíve told
And when my wings melt
Like I know they do
It will feel so swell
As I fall in love with you


Iím all alone
Itís 2 A.M.
And Iíve never been
This cold
And I walk a mile
In the frigid air
Just to wait a while
Like you even care
And still the moon hangs
Like a picture frame
On an empty wall
I walk to my car
And I save myself
By telling myself
I never meant
A word I said to you


Please somebody
Save me
Cause Iím neck deep
In the salted sea
It burns
And fills up my wounds
My words
Have no effect on you
Would you rather I drown
And save myself
The trouble Iíve found
The pain Iíve felt
Youíre a foot away
But too far to reach
And I slip away
And try to breathe


Tell me something
Just anything
Tell me what you need
What I need to be
Tell me your deepest desire
And Iíll make it mine too
I will make it my lifeís work
To give it to you

"St. Peter"

Crucify the hopes
And nail up all the dreams
Stab at all I feel
Laugh at the petty soul
It all seems upside down
Turned and flipped around
It all sticks like a thorn
Over worked and over worn
How much more
How much can I take?
How much
And I hear you say
ďI deny I hurt you,
Deny I did you wrongĒ
Thrice more still the cock crows
And I deny you in a song

"St. Francis"
note: this is about being anorexic... which I was. St. Francis fasted for 40 days after all.

Sorrow like a cancer follows
Everything Iíve said
Tomorrow still I try to borrow
And still the cancer spreads
Wallow in my pity hollow
Like an empty threat
Sparrow black upon my gallows
Like the knife I whet
Scarecrow thin, a saddened fellow
Just like Iíve always been
Marrow dry and eyes turned yellow
Yet eating seems a sin

"St. Thomas Aquinas"

Why seems like the question
I always ask myself
I guess thatís why Iíve always felt
Like life is an inquisition
If I had a microscope
That could see through to the soul
Iíd poke and prod and diagnose
The causes of my hollowness
Iíd advance the science of souloscopy
Farther than itís ever been
And Iíd take the praises of my peers
All within good stead
Maybe then Iíd finally see
Just what I know is true
My soul is not my property
It belongs to you


Iíve been touched by God
He left smudges on my soul
Fingerprints and what not
And a sign saying, ďsoldĒ
I wonder if the devil buys
Or trades in damaged goods
Do I really have to sign
A contract in my own blood
Can Mephisopheles give me what I want
I sure hope he comes through
When God himself could not
And he played me for a fool
Satan summoned from sacrifice
Pentagrams and ancient signs
I hope I have the right supplies
Does the devil prefer red wine?
This is all so new to me
Ritual and what not
I didnít like church when I believed
In that thing called God


Tomorrow seems so far away
And hope I had is lost
I want a sign from God to say
Just what I ought to do
Speak to me
Tell me something
Whisper in my dreams
Signal to me
Writing on the wall?
Dreams and prophecies?
Where has this all gone?
Why canít they come to me?

note: Sessa was the inventor of chess. Notice that in the poem titles of board games are spliced throughout.

Life seems like
Some game I always lose
Am I right or am I right
Itís a trivial pursuit
Someone has a monopoly
On all the time I spend
Youíd think that this was surgery
Or some careful operation
But they just tell me sorry
So I put up with this shit
And wait for my payday
Then they sink my battleship
Someone else yells yahtzee
This is far from candy land
Life it seems has scrabbled me
And I havenít a clue or plan
Iím left with a boggled mess
I have a single checker
And only pawns in chess
Maybe life gets better


Play me like a fiddle
While I slowly burn for you
Answer me this riddle
And make it turn out true
What can you have
But can not take
What can you stab
But also break
What can you arrest
Or fill with chocolate
What can you confess
Or pour like a vase
What can you wear
Or harden like steel
On what can you swear
What can you steal
What can be stepped on
But can not be bound
Before I go on
You must know by now
What can you lose
But with you cannot part
What else can you choose
The answer: my heart

JAZER Posted: Wed Dec 10 01:42:27 2003 Post | Quote in Reply  
  Awesome man... UT is really makin you creative man. Keep it up and we will get that meeting together before long.

addi Posted: Wed Dec 10 07:08:50 2003 Post | Quote in Reply  
  You've a gift young man. Liked them all, but St. Peter stood out to me. It hit me that you put your soul into your writing. Passion, anger, doubts, hurts, questions. Some poetry bores me. Yours doesn't.


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