About

From now on, I am going to write my poetry up on this section. It won't be much since my comp died in early september and I haven't bothered to write any of it again, not that I could from memory. Also, I have rather morbid poetry, rather depressing, so, get used to it.


On This Battlefield

On this battlefield, a man lies bleeding.
In his pain, he cries for help.
Who will hear him? Who will come?
Will they help him? Will they heal him?
Or will they let him suffer? Will they let him die in pain?

On this battlefield, a man lies dying.
He screams into the growing darkness, to find his voice muffled by his pain.
He hopes that help will come, but in his heart, he wants to die.

On this battle field, a man lies crying
He tries to rid himself of an awful truth, but fails.
He is why a man lies bleeding, he is why a man lies dying.


How Many?

How many men have died today?
How many died by the hands of a stranger?
How many died by the hands of a friend?
How many men were sent off to war, never to come home?
And how many men took their own lives?

How many men became killers today?
How many spilled blood on their hands?
How many did not want to kill?
How many turned and fled?
And how many men spilt blood on their hands, and will never let go?

Though somewhere may these numbers be found, they are truely beyond count.
Life does not stop for the man who has died, nor for the man who has killed.
Life moves on from a bloody today, into a bloody tomorrow.


The Silliest Poem Ever

One day Napoleon was standing around,
when a seventh grader popped out of the ground.
And Ben was standing with his hair,
but Jackie Chan jumped into the air.
Chuck Norris came down and kicked Ben in the groin,
And then Schuck's 'fro jumped up with a sproing.
Schuck's 'fro crashed with Chuck Norris' back,
Michael Jackson rode up smoking some crack.
Ben fell down and Jackie Chan flew
and collided with Jackson and killed him, too.
A lawyer came up and sued Jackie Chan
And died by the electrically killing man.
The lawyer lost his head to the kick of Jet Lee,
Homer Simpson farted and flew yelling "WEE"
Simpson and Lee smashed and died with a clang,
And a man who was smoking lit the fart with a BANG.
The explosion lit Schuck's 'fro with a POOF,
But without his 'fro, Schuck died on the roof.
So now 13 people lie dead in a grave,
and it sounds to me like they're having a rave!


Untitled

I don't know who I am.
I don't know where I've been.
I don't know where I'm going.
I don't know what happiness I've felt.
I don't know what pain has mared my life.
I don't know what's up.
I don't know what's down.
All I know is a familiar tune playing in my ears.
Somewhere beyond men are laughing.
The smell of brandy wafts around me.
A white sheet of paper stares back at me, daring me to write.
Somewhere deep inside me my heart beats as though it had suffered through a hundred years of pain.
I'm here.
I'm going there.
A million miles lie between.