Forgive Me Not, Love
I wait on this filthy night
For my love's return.
I spent this dark day searching
For her whereabouts.
I spend this white night crying,
Looking for a sign
That my fair one's still alive.
Forget the hand that scared her.
Damn my dreadful tone.
Forget my words of hatred
That drove her away.
Forgive her trite mistakes
That drove me insane.
Damn the hand that struck her face
And its intentions.
Damn the dagger I had held
That ripped her gorgeous body,
That ended it all.
Forgive me not, love,
For the scars on your pale face.
Forgive me not, love,
For your blood spilled in my hands.
"Out, out, damned spot!
Oh, taunt me no more!"
Forgive me not, love,
For I have done this ill deed.
For you I shall mourn
Until it is morrow;
Then I will join you,
Angel,
To show my love and sorrow
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White Line on My Heart
I can't help but sit here
Looking at the abstract mark,
The white line you've drawn across my heart.
You're a kiss away in my subconscious,
A million miles away in my dreary consciousness.
To have you near is but a dream.
Life is too cruel, too grief-stricken,
To have such a fantasy become reality.
To walk to you would be so sweet
Only to be dragged away at the feet
By your countless other admirers.
Your beauty is the sunshine in my days,
The moonlight in my night.
Your heart in my possession
Is my burning goal,
So ends my confession.
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Social Blackout
Marching down the alkaline battlefield,
Searching for electronic souls.
A drive down Silicon Valley.
Technology new, psychology old.
With a flick of the wrist, in the blink of an eye,
The White Man comes with replacement of mind.
First go the eyes, in exchange infrared.
RAM sets in as the body goes dead.
Then goes the skin, replaced by
Aluminum alloy, mechanical pie.
With nerves of steel, veins of wire,
A circuit lights our funeral pyre.
A blackout destroys the pockets of time
Passed and gone, no rhythm or rhyme.
As intangible chips control our desires,
The logical race soon turns to retire.
On the screen we rely, on the board we lean.
The lifeline recedes as we fix the machine.
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Angel in a White Gown
She floats into the room
Sailing on her long, flowing skirt.
Her beautiful face is illuminated by the light,
The light from the florescent, baroque lamp.
Such riches as that are only worthy of her.
Her voice calls me with a sweet silence
Like that of a breeze in mid-July.
Her lips may be cherries pressed close to mine.
Her skin and hair have the pure essence
Of a strawberry field in London.
A feeling of ecstasy fills me
When she enters like this.
She tells me of her sweetest thoughts,
Her deepest thoughts...
And her newest lover.
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Isolated Child
I used to be the isolated child
But now I am thrust into a world stranger than I.
I was the boy wo shyed away
From all grown-up mannerisms,
But now I feel the trembling
Of incoming adulthood.
It hits like a meteorite
Would hit a plastic planet.
My dreams of playing with toys
And becoming He-Man
And dancing with sugar plum fairies
Are all shattered like mirrors.
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The Crow
Through the yellow field in pitch black,
Eyeing the barbed wire on the countryside,
This wretched redneck wasteland,
The crow soars like an angel in black
Across the plain, mediocre wheat fields,
Over the blandest patches of rye,
Seeking not the ever-present corn
That reeks upon its breath.
It seeks a more rancid odor,
The smell of dead souls.
He calls for them
With his lone, desperate cry.
Yes,
The crow is a collector,
A collector of the deceased.
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Not Knowing
You walk into my life not knowing
That you have attracted this lowly boy.
Unwittingly you played with my heart like a toy.
How could you see, how could you know?
You cannot realize that I love you so.
My love is as flowing as the mighty running Nile,
But you cannot see us walking down the aisle.
Your ignorance to my feelings is causing me sorrow.
My love, will you be here tomorrow?
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Dry Dreams Dreary
Tonight I weep and moan and try to find
A kinder meaning in my cruelest dreams.
Then I lose it and go quite out of line,
And wake my weary neighbors with my screams.
Fueled by substances more potent than drugs,
I siege the demons who strike my poor soul.
I search the mind's back lots for all these thugs.
My conscience raped, my joy they robbed and stole.
Are they old friends, or are they my old foes?
Memories I can't shake, still stick to my soul,
Sour scent of grief reeks rancid in my nose
Like decaying corpse of faultless feathered fowl.
But should my ladylove enter my fancy
She'll fend worries and send fears a-dancing.
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Sitting
Within the millions of jolly, stupid clowns
She sits emotionless
With a face fit for a portrait,
A da Vinci,
The only pensive face that could be considered pleasant.
She is the kind of person you can't see in a large crowd.
But now, with one slip of a hand,
She smiles,
Produces a grin that could make the sun rise out of its current gloom
And make me fire my spirits into the still air
Like fireworks sputtering flames and rockets to disarm the silence of the sky.
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