Death

A murder
Spiteful killing
Jealousy
Death

In a coffin
Scratching her way out
Yelling, screaming
Still alive

A cry for help
Feelng weak and alone
Not a chance

No food
Anxiety
Emotions boiling
Sadness

Can't get out
Dieing
Lifeless
Icy stare

The killer, mean , nasty
He's insane
he's laughing so evilly

He's plotting another killing
He'll kill again
Obsessed with blood
 
Liking blood
drinking blood
DEATH
 
 

Guilty

I step into the room

Guilt sweeps over me

No ones around

it's just me

All alone

I smell blood, the blod of my companion

I remember, remember the day it all happened

The quarrel, the balcony, the terrified screams

Blood all over my body, my clothes, my soul

now i sit alone

alone in my cell of darkness

  
 

Remember

Remember when we met?
i thought you'd hate me
but you didn't

Remember when we danced?
I thought youd step on my toes
but you didn't

Remember when I thought you were happy?
I said I was
But you didn't

We had a lot of good times together
and then when I said I loved you
I thought you'd say you loved me too
But you didn't
 

Untitled

If you were a star

              I would be the moon.

              So you could see me every night.

              If you were a rainbow

              after the rain

              I could be the sun

              so I could talk to you.

              If you were a dandelion

              growing in the grass.

              I would pick you up

              and make a wish.

 

That Poem was one this girl wrote

because her mum died of aids.

 

 

 

Spring Comes With A Need for Water

          Even water gives up in winter.
          Contrary to the cold,
          it boycotts all roots,
          stays too stiff for a cup.

          A little heat loosens its mood.
          Earth again sits as a sponge
          coaxing most molecules into motion
          save those lazy ones
          asleep on mountaintops.

          - Ron Willy
 
 

ANOTHER RIVER

 

 

 The friends have gone home far up the valley

                     of that river into whose estuary

                     the man from England sailed in his own age

                     in time to catch sight of the late forests

                     furring in black the remotest edges

                     of the majestic water always it

                     appeared to me that he arrived just as

                     an evening was beginning and toward the end

                     of summer when the converging surface

                     lay as a single vast mirror gazing

                     upward into the pearl light that was

                     already stained with the first saffron

                     of sunset on which the high wavering trails

                     of migrant birds flowed southward as though there were

                     no end to them the wind had dropped and the tide

                     and the current for a moment seemed to hang

                     still in balance and the creaking and knocking

                     of wood stopped all at once and the known voices

                     died away and the smells and rocking

                     and starvation of the voyage had become

                     a sleep behind them as they lay becalmed

                     on the reflection of their Half Moon

                     while the sky blazed and then the tide lifted them

                     up the dark passage they had no name for