Late night meandersShe tethers herself to her chair,Her fingers hovering over the keysAnd waits for the moment to typeWhat she feels, what she seesWhen she goesThe lights in the house are dimThey\'re darkest at midnight, you knowHumming quietly overheadEven the computer screen glowsShe leans forwardThe night sighs heavilyWith a deafening air,Pouring forth behind the glassSeemingly brought of nowhereHer hands are freeClicking clicking clickingResounds, sweet melody of solitudeAnd the poem is bornMidnight meanderings...
It was the Popcorn\"It was the popcorn!\" He cried to no one in particular, pointing accusingly at the bag.But the jury did not believe. A day and a half passed before anyone even allowed the things brought forward to be discussed. When they were, a heated argument ensued.One man with a reddened face slammed his hand down on the long, shining tabletop and glared at his companions. \"Popcorn cannot kill a man!\" He declared.\"No, but it can kill or severely damage the brain cells of a man, causing him to slowly go insane.\" It was a young Brit named Loyd of about twenty years, who sat back in his black cushioned chair while idly twirling a ballpoint pen i
Epitaph for a StrangerI know not how you lie....The winter grows old and weeps its white leadDo you remember dead trees and quarrelsome magpies?Still, the earth is tired, and tired every dayThe loathsome kill of frosty betrayalMakes the bones ache and the tiny green rootsTucked far below long for new daysUnburdened daysShall I write a bittersweet memory?Would your stone carry your weight in anectdotesHalf forgotten on pages of timeCountless hours you spent in bed before getting upYet I was the same... huddling in my own warmthThose mornings, we never thought about themThey happened, and there was nothing more to themThe moonlight show
Gone for a PromiseThe king on his deathbedHe sent for the troubadourA search was set, but to no availHe couldn\'t sing no moreMy soul\'s been black,He saidThe words all badMy song is deadRather be gone than shallowHe said againSo I\'m packing up,He left for a promise then.Here on Planet ElvisYou said you wish you saw that bandThe one that took the worldFame written across that handWell here\'s some bad newsFor all you lovers,Death comes quickly To the martyrs.Ya travel long and wearyDown this roadA map of sunshineLooking for life\'s secret goldAlong the silver wayLed by laughter and promises,You wander for yo
Do Not ListenDo not listen to the swell and fallOf the gentle sea as it singsThe last remnant of Iluvatar\'s song callsHear it in the cry of the gullsAnd you\'ll be gone; Like them, taken wing.The boats await on the shoresGrey as the towering clouds before rainThere, the Flowering Foam moorsShe creaks and bows with ageless mastWhispering, \"The old ones cannot remain.\"Farewell to the mountains of ancient tale,And to lake, the sky, beloved forest.No more, Beleriand, all gone to sail...People of light, harken to sea and lo!Final welcome Haven in the True-West
I love this one, reminds me of the fairy tail cartoons from the 80's (yeah I am showing my age
Grats on a great pic
~ the Jam ~