Mother, I wish to live and love; Mother, I wish to cry; Mother says I deserve to suffer; Mother says I deserve to die.
By Conostra3 years ago in Poets
Every man has three missions, three wars he must wage He must conquer his father, which then sets the stage To next conquer his demons, relinquish his shame
Whether Jesus was gifted Frankincense and Myrrh, Whether stories once told are the ones I've once heard, Whether legacy fouled or embraced by the masses,
Speak like a poet with a sailor's soul Concrete jungles bred a thorn-riddled rose Tongue laced with bitter poison and honey-sweet prose
When money came around, enough worth to spend, My brother, my mother, we'd walk round the bend To the corner store, get a sandwich or two
You ever just, close your eyes? You ever just stare? Stare into the darkness? Just, let the eyelids close over themselves, and wander the dreamscape that appears before you? Endless black. Endless darkness. You ever just let that become your world?
By Conostra3 years ago in Fiction
Every man is an island Or so it is said Every man has his castle, his sanctum, And a man's queen is his castle,
I had once envied Atlas, the strength in his palms The power in his shoulders, the brace of his arms With his calves carved from mountainsides, bones cast from steel,
Back when I was a boy, and the winters were long And the snowfall was heavy, and bitter winds strong When the ache of the cold would destroy all your bones
They get on us, press everyone that they call the youth But not correct us, protect us like they ought to do Don't respect us, neglect the proof that it's the honest truth
Something deep and primal within me entices me to die in the cold. I often leave where I reside, sometimes for peace, rarely to sleep,
If one sees Sisyphus as content, Elated In his languish, his anguish, his torment Its unchanging nature Its unceasing way
