Submissions by Lord_Carroll
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
I do not see the sea. I only see the waves. Those crests in the dark waters, how they whisper each step of our lives no matter the age.
SELF POEM
Published
25th Jun 2016 6:45am
25th Jun 2016 6:45am
Concealed
I shape shift in to the sun
today in the dark
foray of a newborn
infant.
I see its face
I listen to its eyes
it hears me cry out
it hears my shout.
I bear the cowards
way in mind but
I am meant to forego
a lonely day.
Maybe the sun
will take me to hell
and the moon will drag
me to heaven,
I conceal the shadows
upon which I hide
and the dark moon rises
and the blood's tide.
today in the dark
foray of a newborn
infant.
I see its face
I listen to its eyes
it hears me cry out
it hears my shout.
I bear the cowards
way in mind but
I am meant to forego
a lonely day.
Maybe the sun
will take me to hell
and the moon will drag
me to heaven,
I conceal the shadows
upon which I hide
and the dark moon rises
and the blood's tide.
488 reads
1 Comment
SELF POEM
Published
24th Jun 2016 4:15am
24th Jun 2016 4:15am
Creative Drippings
Thoughts curse my mind
as the fashion trend
defines the times,
a series of crimes.
I write in this dark recess
of my thoughts
that plague me forever,
a series of crimes.
At some point this whole
world felt like an oyster
that closed itself
in a series of crimes.
This deadly game of
creative drippings
that wallow from the thoughts
of tears and crimes.
I've never done wrong
At least I think so.
Yet I'm constantly trapped in
these walls, all white,
covered in an owl's blood.
The wisdom...
as the fashion trend
defines the times,
a series of crimes.
I write in this dark recess
of my thoughts
that plague me forever,
a series of crimes.
At some point this whole
world felt like an oyster
that closed itself
in a series of crimes.
This deadly game of
creative drippings
that wallow from the thoughts
of tears and crimes.
I've never done wrong
At least I think so.
Yet I'm constantly trapped in
these walls, all white,
covered in an owl's blood.
The wisdom...
467 reads
0 Comments
STORY POEM
Published
21st Jun 2016 1:32am
21st Jun 2016 1:32am
the Chronicler
nomadic tale of desolation,
mysterious like the desert.
The caravan arrives
on the planes of the desert.
Gold to be found
near the old sand's
days,
where we could live like
nothing really mattered.
We could throw the sand in
each others' eyes
and still we could
see.
This old winter how
it attempts to siphon the
life force
of a forgotten world,
of a place where
those of kin live
and the dead
arise like horse
flies.
They bite into the flesh ...
mysterious like the desert.
The caravan arrives
on the planes of the desert.
Gold to be found
near the old sand's
days,
where we could live like
nothing really mattered.
We could throw the sand in
each others' eyes
and still we could
see.
This old winter how
it attempts to siphon the
life force
of a forgotten world,
of a place where
those of kin live
and the dead
arise like horse
flies.
They bite into the flesh ...
555 reads
3 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
19th Jun 2016 1:20am
19th Jun 2016 1:20am
Janitor
I work
to live
at night
and
that's all
you need
to know.
to live
at night
and
that's all
you need
to know.
630 reads
8 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
18th Jun 2016 3:06am
18th Jun 2016 3:06am
Devoid
Devoid of
ingredients
and life.
Tell me again
how great
I have it
Mr. Billionaire,
unlike how hard
your life is.
Tell me Mr. Military
is it hard to
be given orders?
Directions
are faded
for living.
If only
I had never
wanted
to live
resilient
and devoid
of ingredients
and life,
so be it.
Tell me
Mr. Clear,
how near
are you
to finishing
what you want?
By the way
windex doesn't
work
on
broken ...
ingredients
and life.
Tell me again
how great
I have it
Mr. Billionaire,
unlike how hard
your life is.
Tell me Mr. Military
is it hard to
be given orders?
Directions
are faded
for living.
If only
I had never
wanted
to live
resilient
and devoid
of ingredients
and life,
so be it.
Tell me
Mr. Clear,
how near
are you
to finishing
what you want?
By the way
windex doesn't
work
on
broken ...
599 reads
3 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
17th Jun 2016 5:19am
17th Jun 2016 5:19am
Forgotten Lessons
It's not our fault
that we don't
understand.
It's the forgotten
side of the world
that did it.
How could we
see what was
to be in this
world when
we didn't know
what came before?
So we searched
and searched
and searched,
and we found
and found
and found.
We discovered
the path on
our own accord.
Tell me, where
were you
at midnight,
when the world,
all clocks,
shut down
forever?
that we don't
understand.
It's the forgotten
side of the world
that did it.
How could we
see what was
to be in this
world when
we didn't know
what came before?
So we searched
and searched
and searched,
and we found
and found
and found.
We discovered
the path on
our own accord.
Tell me, where
were you
at midnight,
when the world,
all clocks,
shut down
forever?
486 reads
1 Comment
SELF POEM
Published
16th Jun 2016 9:40pm
16th Jun 2016 9:40pm
the Emptiness of Midnight
Crawling forward,
time slips free
dawn approaches
uncertainty
in abyss
farewell
a
darkening
plane
of existence
in the seer's
times.
The corner
of the mind
that's hit
with tears;
crystals shed
like watery
fears and
depressed emotions;
I believe it
is time for
the end
of light.
time slips free
dawn approaches
uncertainty
in abyss
farewell
a
darkening
plane
of existence
in the seer's
times.
The corner
of the mind
that's hit
with tears;
crystals shed
like watery
fears and
depressed emotions;
I believe it
is time for
the end
of light.
527 reads
2 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
15th Jun 2016 00:25am
15th Jun 2016 00:25am
the Path
Doesn't it happen
in the sparkle of night lights,
thoughts coast under the headlamp
like fireflies, swamp dense;
when a dog loses its way,
quickly finding another day,
does it limp along the sidewalk,
like a child learning to crawl?
Trees coast back and forth
along a winding highway
of tumultuous bumps and guards,
who steer the path straight
and steady, unlike the skies
changing hue;
it's the fools who tell the miser's
story they were told to act out.
in the sparkle of night lights,
thoughts coast under the headlamp
like fireflies, swamp dense;
when a dog loses its way,
quickly finding another day,
does it limp along the sidewalk,
like a child learning to crawl?
Trees coast back and forth
along a winding highway
of tumultuous bumps and guards,
who steer the path straight
and steady, unlike the skies
changing hue;
it's the fools who tell the miser's
story they were told to act out.
574 reads
4 Comments
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