If I had my way

If I had my way
I'd kiss you,
I'd date you,
I'd take you home.
I'd hug you,
I'd comfort you,
I'd lift you off the ground.
I'd make love with you,
I'd get away with you,
I'd mark you mine.
And in the end,
I'd tenderly
place the tip of my blade
to your heart.

Wings of dream

With wings of dream I fly,
as time is passing by.
My soul may go to heaven,
yet reality is leaden.

With wings of dream I fly,
as years are moving by.
My wings are made of fantasy,
my home - of reality.

With wings of dream I fly,
as lives are flying by.
Time is an illusion,
my dream a delusion.
With wings of dream I fly,
as time is passing by.

Mayfly

False alarm. Sorry, everyone. I still haven't come up with the motivation to finish the economy. I'm posting only because a)I happened to stumble upon this piece I'd forgotten I ever wrote(how that happened is a mystery, since it's only less than a year old) and b)at this point I pretty much have to post something or admit to defeat as far as the blog is concerned. Oh well, here I go.


A life not unlike that of a mayfly, just a flash of light within an eternity of darkness. Yet a kiss lasting another eternity to end it. Or maybe it's the same eternity: a twilight turning into darkness during an eternity of not quite change. A loss of life or a loss of soul? Perhaps both or neither. Or both and neither: the loss and rebirth of both without knowing what changed, it's hard to be sure.

The first taste, the taste unlike any other: sweet as sugar yet bitter, so perfect like a beauty of a sunrise. My body in an ocean of pleasure, yet my soul weeping for mercy. A container empty. My hunger both bottomless as the nightsky, yet sated. The darkness brought by the rising sun sweeps away my tears...

A villanelle

The world without end
Life without living
Death isn't the end

Who knows what to send
Receiving isn't giving
The world without end

Receiver indecent
Poem without writing
Death isn't the end

A life worth a cent
Rising costs of living
The world without end

Who is there to descent
Giving up living
Death isn't the end

Poet's way is to pretend
Dying is forgiving
The world without end
Death isn't the end.

poem #4

A place and a day
neither too far away.
I waited, I was scared.
I had failed to be feared.
The words in my head.
They are dead.
Beneath my feet
things with wings.
The air above my shoulders
has its own holders.
Wings on my back
something they lack
and they are laid flat.
My heart and my soul
don't hold on their own.
And their owl
does something foul.
The rains from the skies
have their own eyes.
Goddesses puppets
have limited uses.
My ribs are skattered
my body lies broken.
My wings are shattered
my soul in wrong folder

Poem #3

Note: Most of these don't actually have names. Also, I'm way too lazy and tired to invent any at this time of night.


In a dream
I loved you
I hated you
I felt true

Now
when I see you
I know the truth
Hate is an illusion
love is a lie:
I feel nothing

Note: This time I actually considered rhyming, which...didn't work out completely.

poem #2

No,
I can not love you
for I am a dream
and dreams have no love.
Only a dreamer
can love
if can.

Some serious angst

Since I don't seem to be writing any other content, I decided to put all my poems here to distract you from the fact.

Where the Heaven ends
stands a man
knowing he could be there
knowing he should be there
but he couldn't make himself believe
wouldn't make himself believe
to a god who demands belief
craves for faith
claims to be good
torturing unbelievers
the man knows
he can step in whenever he wants
but never will
And the Heaven ends...