creative writing, love, poetry, Romance

Social Norm

She sees pictures on dark walls, of times that she can’t dissolve,

Reflections of an echoed past, that evening that happened so fast.

The fault was not you nor I, yet you chose your grave to hide,

A death to the nights we shared, from the tears we bared,

Because we were scared, of the choice we declared.

Sometimes I still see her face you know, in the moon lights glow,

Reflections of your soul, shining on the tear drops of my pillow.

On that sunny day in May, or when the autumn leaves turn gray,

Shouting with such Boisterous gay, our families were dismayed.

I’ve filled this poem with words, that look bright tonight,

I’m older with youth, giving them the love we had those nights,

When I stepped in to the future, and you rose to a new height.

I keep in silence as a lamb, as cursed I am, another broken dam,

Force to drift through uncharted seas, and through forest filled lands

Yet in my heart lies this quest, birth from our turmoil and stress,

To prove this sexuality is a vest, honed from our loves laments.

So let loose this bitch for war, let the courage of women soar,

In this time of scorn, lives hate for what isn’t a social norm.

animals, creative writing, Fantasy, nature, poetry

Quick Sand

Beautiful day cross-country, mind open to the sky,

Birds warble songs for nature, woodland creatures forage to survive.

Earlier watery freshly shed droplets, course down one’s fur a new,

Pastures held to one’s hooves, as we saunter aimlessly through.

Eyes engrossed forward at family grazing, it’s a captivating vision of tranquility,

My little fawn tracks toward me, tranquil purity for her safety.

Curiosity of my being here, happy to run up and play,

Never seeing a two leg deer, ignoring the dangers of pray.

Sound rings out in the warmth, and the baby deer stops,

Sinking to her knees, red rain from her starts to drop.

My Eyes tear up, one can see she’s in pain,

She starts moving forward, pleading looks after her, bang!

I’m running now frantic, must see, must see what is wrong,

My tiny one is hurt, she is just a petite innocent fawn.

That white being on two legs, will surely help her out,

That black being holding the stick behind it, is dancing all about.

My fawn is raining red, what is the happiness for,

I must get to her and help, as my beater sinks to the meadow floor.

My back hooves launch me onward, no in truth they stay still,

Because what I see next, is truly unreal.

My darling fawn kicks out, knocking the white being down,

My thinker is racing, as she jumps to the ground.

She scampers right for me, and my beater gets faster,

Baby fawn runs back to our flock, avoiding disaster.

Yet white being comes towards me, seemly aggrieved?

And it starts to get smaller, first her hooves then his knees?

That’s his waste, and now her chest,

Truly what is happening should I save it, or what’s left?

Black being is not dancing, it has dropped its loud stick,

He is running for white being, why does it look like she’s sick.

Launching forward from dirt, I grab white being with my teeth,

My hooves can’t find purchase, and they start to sink?

Feelings of pulling, clutching me from the back,

My hooves stop sinking, as my strength starts to task.

I’m making progress with white being,

There’s the waste, knees, and hooves?

It has emerged from the dirt, and it is grabbing its hooves?

Running to the black being, they embrace, and I hear laughter.

The loud stick sinks in the ground, guess no more here after.

Silly fawn, strange white and black being,

I run back to the flock, and start my own feeding.

Why did they choose to play near the ground Predator?

It never stops its eating…

creative writing, entertainment, Music, poetry

I’m Afraid of Music

I’m afraid of music, or what hellish parody it’s become,

The image of stars has darkened, darken one’s imaginings of fun.

Musicians have become scandalized, from abuse, violence, and disgrace,

Money and power takes presents, of those once Platonic days.

The string guitar is a noose, the drum and base are non-medicated drugs,

Voices are hyperventilation, I’m being raped by the thought of what was.

Demonic life illustrations, over obnoxious acoustic and electronic trilogies,

Take the place of Thought provoking lyricism, above expressive hypnotic melodies.

I once found security as a child, in their words and their seductive songs,

Musical illustrations helped me battle, through cancer and sickness, when the nights were long.

Is it wrong to choose disease, over these once spell bounded tympani’s?

Or wait for a day of relief, where the love will come back to me?

Intoxicated hallucinations, bring and hold a semblance of harmony,

Then I tolerate those once peaceful enjoyments that are now violating non-realities.

Whether if it is Molly or Drake, or if it is Blink or Green,

Alliteration’s of M.J., now scare me with the dearest limericks of Kelly.

Can true wisdom tell the difference, over a painful foolish resemblance?

Is my pretentious phobia curable, if I embrace this toxic ignorance?

While they recite phenomena, out of their satirical lyric tunes,

Acidic verbal nonsense, gets heard from our rational views.

I’m afraid of music, or what concepts it’s inspired,

Thoughts of giving up my talent, light my ambitions on fire.

Call me a coward, say I’m terrified of nothing,

Yet has times ever become dark, and music made that depression cutting?

Am I alone in belief that the world’s music, had better for us and our loved ones?

Than hearing drummer boys rock from their flocks on the streets of their trap funds.

They Talk gun clapping over auto tune beats, but real culture takes it and puts it in to reality,

The first reason I’m afraid of music, what it is doing to the community.

They preach inspiration from intoxication, melodious narcotic creativity,

The second reason I’m afraid of music, endorsing tranquillized abnormalities.

I wish this phobia was void, and there was not any reason to fret,

The third reason I’m afraid of music, I can do nothing to change it.

Arts, creative writing, Fantasy, poetry

Deception

Dragon breathe in strengthened skin, magic purest from the soul within,

Deep blue Scales of ice tie claws of sin, heart rant pain from furtive gin.

Bone of steel holds blood of iron, demon’s curse keeps fire held by andiron,

Thy beast of depth not seen by eye, yet spirit felt shall make infants cry.

Caged in the tomb chain by prayers, in idol wait for sworn slayer,

Screams of fallen whom taxed and failed, by merely a glance or sound in air.

Here comes woman as knight with arm bared, with beauty mind beneath silver hair,

Asked by the town to extinguish foe, for jewels and riches like river flow.

Yet she says not to coins and jewels with hidden pride, yet for love and revenge shall she ride,

In to the dark where fate is unknown, yet a book from thy cave will be her atone.

Secret texts which depths she knows of her own, foolish residents know not thy precious tome,

Yet she’ll be the one who defeats the beast, then pluck from its maw this tasty feast.

The knowledge she’s searched for, sense the day of pain she thought was at death’s door,

The cursed gin who took her son, and trapped him in this cage out the sun.

Through the forests she slinks, like the mythological sphinx,

In to the mountain she creeps, quiet as the serpent’s sneak.

Yet the silence is for not, for the beast has quickly caught,

The fragrance of his loved one, who he was told he had lost.

Here is the Knight of beauty versus the beast of the land, tricked by the devils malevolent hand,

Will we ever not fall victim, to the words and deceptions of other men?