The Street (Port 2.)

The spark of light
brings power to
the skies.

Winds of summer
circle the trash encrusted
back light streets.

Dirty.

The World.

Stealing ideas from
beneath street lamps.

Searching for anything new,
distinct.

When the world has lived
and the world has died.

Why do we
try to reach
heavenly heights?


(For the angles.)

Ink Pen (Port. 1 [Poetry])

Pen plunged into the vein,
Black ink winds throughtout the room,
penetrating the body that holds the story.
[Spreads.]
Arteries know the awnser why this world is
full of an unending cancer.
City streets are where you find
Little girls who cut their minds off.
Their hands are unbindingly tied;
wrath no longer concretes their ideas.
Long lost in the prophet-less desert time
Sing me to sleep with iconic dreams
Said like a one no longer here.
Dear,

Life Left Living

Tap into the vein
just once more
relieve the pain
so you can be no more.
The essence of truth
all that has ever been.
You know too much.
The powers of this planet
were not meant to be found.
Take me out
Lay me down
Put my words
back into the ground.
Burry me
Kill the scilene
Take what wasn't yours
This will be over.

To You

You probably aren't out there, I will never know you. You are that girl that looks like all the girls I have ever knowen with my heart. You are all of everything that would be found. You are the essence and the flowers and the trees. You are the grasses that blow with your hair. You are my dreams. I've knowen you in so many ways, yet always been so far from reaching you.
You will probably never know I'm watching you.
But you will always be my love.
My sunlight, pale skinned, perfect love.