deepundergroundpoetry.com

Hounded Ires A collaboration with Rochelle Taylor and Richard Johnson

Wandering through the rain

Cold drops soothe the burning pain

Sorrow froths from open veins

The melody of silence marks the end of days

Silver and red reflected in puddles in the street,

galaxies staring back into cold dead eyes.

Is it remembered as it is in that moment,

or forgotten in a path of memories...

Life in itself is a knife.

The angel standing at my feet I�ve met before.

How many times shall I find myself lying on death's door?

Trying to speak with air that resembles sips,

the words flow from my tongue and drip from my lips.

Knocking...

Always knocking never acknowledged,

A person is only valued when wanted.

Creatures of habit

We don�t really think about it

Just do what we do.

Once upon a time

We were all just slime and grime

Our parents own genes.

Soul spiraling downward

Like the notebook I write in,

Time to swim back up.

Sweat on a brow,

Copper on the tongue�

It is a bitter wound to wear when at war with oneself.

The devil is found in what ifs,

What have yous,

and what nots.

Live for you and damn the ifs.

A war with oneself,

a battle within,

no matter which part loses,

you'll still always win

Or lose depending on your own perception...

do we hang mangled chewed and waste away?

or do we continue to beat the path that kills us the same?

Tonight we dine on cheese fondue and fine wine.

Spill your secrets divulge your desires.

Scoundrels will fall on hounded ires.