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How Quaint More Lives Are Lost To A Rigorist Sigh Than To Bullets
Another morning wasted in hysterical swoon
To the skull bled markings running deep through the skin
Thoughts that play by like a record train
That pop the veins candidly just like a Novocain
With water that flows like melodies timeworn
Nostalgia keeps all the keys
Lost in these walls I can’t say it all
Was worth it but it’s what I need
The world isn’t as cold as the war is sublime
The heart is a time bomb without any wires
The view isn’t deadly but the soul will deny
That like flowers we only thrive in season
Our fire the remnant of pieces that with time cool
As time heals all wounds but knowledge
So what is love that can’t be requited by way of empathy?
A cruel jest at the poorer side of reasoning
The pulse tips in way of checks and balances
Something uncontrolled by a “sacredness” blind
But by the cleansing of the mind
The admission of defeat
By palms that have a choke-hold on our very being, our hearts
The world is not but just a stage
The faces are not always a façade
The view becomes thicker as the truth becomes brighter
That like flowers will die in season
Our fervor the memorandum that with time fades
As time heals all wounds but knowledge
I, too, have faced morning light when have howled for the moon
I, too, awake startled at the secrets confessed in my dreams
There is not a person that is unburdened by the scars of temptation
For those souls are shallow, shallow caricatures of a man
Enough can drive fantasy wild and leave a stunted reality dead
For there is none crueler than an unrealistic heart
Than perhaps an entire world built with one after another on top
That so taken for sincere falls
The world is not represented by any cliché of persona
The unbridled sense of something that is naught
The views of persistent vigilantes that command how to rule the stars
That individuals may raise eyes to a course of phantasmal dream
That break the thumbs of bladed and irrationalized weeping
That wield fate like something worth keeping
As I know that what I have is not a wound
Though steep and stung with blood
It’s a knowledge that looms over the best of intentions
But a hell-bound spell kissed with lust
If only time healed all wounds, if only there were enough time
It’s an incandescent vicious cycle
Stirred only by those who are in love
- by FaithEmblem |
- Poetry And Lyrics
- | Submitted on 07/16/2008 |
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- Title: How Quaint...
- Artist: FaithEmblem
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Description:
This poem abstractly mentions lots of different things, from emotional to political issues. It can be interpreted in many different ways, as it's meant to be. This poem is an original concept, by me.
Critiquing is very welcomed :o - Date: 07/16/2008
- Tags: quaint lives deeper meaning
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