Skip to main content

Laughing clown

When the nonsense goes is when the conscience grows|

Obscure in the emptiness of nothing|

A dark hole with no hope|

Dwindling with the closing door|

A crack in the middle|

Sprout a light of hope|

The light grew|

Isolating the dark with scenes of grey|

Absent from the remote land|

A screaming voice Utters|

The noise to block the sound from the sun|

The voices uniting into one loud screech|

Misplaced was the microphone|

Unplugged to dismiss the surrounding sounds|

The pounds the weight carried to bury the noise|

Today sees the time|

Tomorrow shows the minutes|

Next week tells the days|

A Rusted crown on the head of a clown laughing|

From the outside of the hole|

That dark void|

Singing with a menacing tone|

His throat clogged in a patterned noise|




-This poem was originally longer, but I had to break it down. Because i didn't want you all to be lost. My brain works in strange ways, and i get all these ideas that pop into my head all at once. I know most people still won't understand what my exact message is, but I like it that way :)

Anyways hope you guys still like it.


Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

High-Class Noon

I turn my tongue green with a pint of mint listerine. A blistered knee. Eyes bleed from the passing of a centipede. Don't stand close to me I erupt in a millisecond, conforming into a catholic priest. I stand high underground. The sounds of an orchestra swimming in the mud with the sounds of an orca. I boast I had it all, but now I can only hope that they don't take away my last adderalls. Don't test with a number 2 pencil, give me a red pen so I can pencil him in. And they call me a backpacker. Hike up your mountain till I find the erupting fountain and go for a deep sea dive, only to come back to land in the space of a spaceship, blasting off with my sins. High-class noon, blast off past the moon with a fork and a spoon, I went too far; now I need to rewind so I can get my piece of the cake, in a cheesy plate. Its an arms race to the finish line, my A.K. is too heavy to glide across, I could only make it past half of the track. I had to make a pit stop and grab my Tech ...
6 comments
Next Page »

Trapped in Dissolution

Her ability to feel no longer lingers from her inner chest| Replaced with an emotionless sense of the world around her steps| Instead of looking up she sees only the ground| Not the faces which once laughed and smiled| She built her own road to walk on| But nothing in the background| No grass| No trees| Only a deep black screen| Static hides the image| I once dreamt of where she would end| On a road with no hope| A slope hill heading down towards the abyss| I once heard laughter and joy created from those lips| Anger took her soul and wrapped itself around her shoulders never to let go|
6 comments
Next Page »

Excavating Thoughts

Excavating thoughts purge the deep swell in an abundant forest filled with catacombs| Think not of what to say| Rather| Think of formations and placement for your words| The expression expedite hidden phrases| A realm in multitude of scenic shades| Which fill stains and covers from edge to edge| Put in motion a rehearsed visual| Captured for later interpretation and judgement| A glory outdrew| A painting foreseen inside that thought| Once emerged from a projector working its way from picture to sound| From sound to dialects| From dialects to expression| From expression to memorized interpretations or unsightly inked writings| Exclusive to emotional reincarnations| Contemplation and relegation amount heavy loads| To collapse the foundation in which laid heavy groundwork| Obscure water waves regulate the sounds of prejudgments| Before seen in the obscurity of the themes| Awake from the thankfulness of your mind| And enter into the depths of the b...
7 comments
Next Page »