fe-addict

Comedy's dead, Gogo, Fell asleep in a ditch a long time ago For the last time. When? Shakespeare wrote comedies and tragedies And the fool was always there. Never died, never suffered. Until the end. Billy killed him And about time, too. Had him hung In a glorious moment of realization. What was I going on about? Can't say I recall. Oh yeah, the fool. Well hung. Cause once a man's satisfactorily hung You can at least ensure he won't go on about romance. At the very least. You or I could use that. We've got a tree, You've got some rope. Should be able to hold either one of us. It would pass the time at least. Time till what? We're waiting.

Here we are Dancing asleep together In the warm space between moving bodies. In the heat of gyrating forms, Mindless movers, We seek to lose ourselves in the moment. You’ve painted a smile on your face Because who can be sad When they’re as free from the world’s troubles as we are? The world may be on the brink of war And neighbor holds a knife to his neighbor’s throat, But so what?  People’s politicks will come and go. In the desperate pace, And the brushing of skin on skin, We seek to simply hold on. The building is nothing but a husk of its former self And the band packed up long ago, But everything will

       With a rumbling, throaty cough, he felt the pier shake beneath him, sending ripples through the placid waters of the lake.  If there was anywhere to reflect, this was it.  Serene, detached from the world, only the grandeur of nature around him.       Another garbled noise ripped from his throat, causing the rickety wooden pier to sway violently.  That darn nagging cough—he’d had it so long.  If only he hadn’t taken up smoking at 17.  Just one of so many regrets he had…       He looked down into the mirror below his feet.  The image was finally settling from his latest bout of coughing.  His brow was furrowed

When at last I am laid to rest In such final slumber sweet, There is but one request I lay down at your feet. Do not let me be confined, entombed, For I all my life have been imprisoned Within such a domain. Rather let me remain freed, In closer communion with my Father Who let my first breath in. One would think the jester right In saying I’m in hell With the way you carry on In a continuous mourning song And let such a great din swell. Yet, I tell you, take comfort, For I but return once more, To the dust from when I came As so many generations before. Why do you still shed tears And such useless vigil keep? When I, who lay bel

It's funny how you try to spook the ghosts out of hiding Years after you put them to rest. You want to find them again because Something came up or They crossed your mind again or There's still some unsettled business or You want to relive the memories you burned away So very long ago. But you've found that they've left To haunt some better ground. You want so desperately to find them But you don't know where to even begin to look. After all, what's dead is dead.

Your words echo in my head As I follow the lines on the page. Clearly, you left this here for yourself, Though it feels as though for me alone. I reach into these pages And smell well-loved books That mingle with the uniqueness Of the history they contain. I want to connect with what you've said, Internalize the vastness of your knowledge And open these messages in a bottle Set afloat generations ago. I've no doubts that, Though you're gone now, You'll live on in the ways you've impressed yourself upon us With words that, In their fine curls and careful touches, Have affected our lives.

Your laugh I can't help but think Every time I hear it About how much it hides. I've heard the stories About what you've done. Sickening. How could you do such a thing And still bear a prideful demeanor? Do you not care? Your laugh I can't help but think Every time I hear it About what your parents would think If they knew. Or is there more? I've heard the stories About your past And the painful give and take Of each day. But that's not an excuse. Your laugh I can't help but think Every time I hear it That there's an attempt to justify yourself. And yet, I've heard the stories About the hurt, The beating, And the

The voice of the great son, The fearless and strong, Rises above his men on the battlefield "Who dares challenge the might Of the great Beowulf, son of Ecgtheow, Who has slain many a beast And secured for his people The richest of lands By the power of his might?" And, truly, the legion of men did turn in terror of such as sight, Penitent of their trespasses upon his land. When awoke the dragon great And it did ravage the land, Beowulf and his men rode forth. When the dragon struck, The men did flee Yet Beowulf faltered not. He slew the beast with his bare hands Lest it should do harm to his people. Yet he perished in the f