I wonder . . .
When the candle will be lit?
By my mother . . .
Or did she forget about it?

Should I light it . . .
Or maybe I should quit?
Lighting candles . . .
I must admit.

Poetry by Me

I like to fantisize.
Bout the symptons they prescribe
And the newborn afterlives
That the phantoms prophezise
The demons in disguise
The heaven in our skies
The one who steers our lives
The grim reaper to surprise
The sun we see at sunrise
When I am not awake
How it will be decorated
My next birthday cake
How my life will be if my dream comes true
How the sea will seem when I stand there by you
Once in a few times an unwanted thought
Flows into my fantasies and is cought.

How it will feel the day that I die
How it would feel to commit suicide
When my dear parents will fade away
What would happen if the sky turned endlessly grey
Another war broke out and we were all consumed
One of my fears were realized that I never assumed
Would. Knock on wood knock on wood.

If the sun never set this one afternoon
If the world stopped spinning then again resumed
If our house was hit by a deadly typhoon
If a comet crashlanded on our porch.

We would all be flamed and torched.
If a war broke out we would be tortured and caught.
If a war broke out we would be slaughtered like pigs.
Pigs will still be slaughtered if we don't hinder it.
My uncle died and it's stilll just a month away.
There is no guarantee we will see a new day.
Another catastrophe might be heading our way.
And god might not exist, so it might be useless to pray.

They say a lot of things. They fantasize in arrays.
Of a number of digits an equation persuays.
Logic has been missed and missplaced.
With this thing called science.

Without form or face.
A limitable sentence or phrase.

Poetry by Me

There's a fly
In my soup
It can't fly!
Fly away

There's a fly
In my soup
And it drowned!
Here today

There's a fly
In my soup
Waiter please!
Take it away

There was a fly
In my soup
But the fly was burried
So it's ok.

Poetry by Me

A tree with flowers
Drowning away
Diving down to earth
Day and every day

Some wise men never say
That the world will be ok
And they're too wise to think fast
Or to their beards shave

They once told me to brave
Which is purely scientific
Someone knocked on my door
And I asked, "who is it?"

But no one answered
So it's a wise man I suppose
It takes a wiseman
To prophesize - one of those.

Poetry by Me

Blow wind blow
It's only two steps ahead
The cottage I seek
To escape this white dread

The swirling the whirling
The whiffs of sacred bear
The boundires I cross
For the life I hold dear

I can't lift my feet
In fear of being blown
Into the distant valley
And by snow overgrown

I cannot move an inch
My body is frail and tense
I struggle with every muscle
Just to stay in sense

The snowstorm endlessly rages
Sometimes for nights and days
In the middle of this blizzard
A stubborn being stiffly sways

Sways between cottage and cliffs
Sways between life and death
Gathers all remaining power
Everything there is left

Sleeping with one eye open
Standing without rest
Could the storm please end soon?
That would be for the best.

Poetry by Me

Theres a lit candle on my desk
It burns slowly and lights up the keyboard
It helps me write and when days are dark
And when nights are grim and when life is feeble

It glows it warmens it softens my skin
It brightens the eclipse of which I am in
When my skin turns green from alienation
I look to the candle for purificication

It's stubborn glow symbolizes motivation
And I get power and strength to write
When we sit by the desk slowly typing
Both day. And night

Poetry by Me

So dull
So grey
Every night
Every day

So peaceful
This state
Full of hatred
Full of hate

So corny
So grim
This world
We will live in

It's a game
We cannot win
We cannot keep playing
Until the end of time

Only memories
Survive the final rhyme

Poetry by Me

So soft, so groomed and dull
The detective in my skull
He looks for things I've lost within
Things I will never find

And he will never find
Because it's a big mess - my mind
He's lost in the system
He's beyond the suns shine

Poetry by Me

I once saw a man impaled upon a cross
Nailed across the cross, a symbol of our loss
It must have been in a past life but I know what it was
It had a meaning, a moral, a stone to turn and toss

Poetry by Me

I admire, the man
Who invented, fire
Elevation, to new levels
Higher and Higher

I doubt a firefighter
Could ever shine brighter
From the very first matchbox
To the cromiest crimson lighter

I tell no talltales
Without fiction or fails
No fairtales prevail
In the land of science

Poetry by Me