Wicked Poetry -- Melancolic Despair

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Subject: Wicked Poetry

Author:
High Flyer

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Date Posted: 13:35:31 10/23/02 Wed

I used to write some poems to evade myself
slave to my own madness , i started up some new sentences

They were built as wise as i thought i'd be
but instead they were my own sense of a cahotic reality

confessions erased by the chains of time
meaning that some words no longer needed to find

they were strait, cruel, those verses i used to write
blown by the wind, on stormy states of mind

evolutions never meant much to me
constructions, rhymes , pure insanity

never realy felt like standing up to rules,wisdom
settled words like in geometry
always was so faithfull to my on poetry

it burns inside like a torch of despair
my fingers spit out the words i dont always say
leading them as birds lead each other on their way

but i dont always find what i'm looking for in the end
it's like a strange act in which we can pretend

the truth always follows, some way or the other
catching up with imagination, your feet moving foward

poetry... just flows, throw in the wings of your soul
wings you never owned, and never will
but at least here you can pretend...
let the others believe in it

let them fly with your tripped words
although you know they wont go any higher
for its your fake truth they're reading...

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