Exclamationpointman

from unholy cradle, our shadow came, barely human this nighttime slave, out that slumber stirred the longing shame, looking to us with empty, deformed face. "those eyes, they have washed away, I see nothing left..," as screaming fade. yet the body, cold limp flesh, remain. in night, a final touch cascades, young dreams where such darkness made. now alone, the nothingness wades, far out into it's same water's grave, with it only left to suffocate beneath waves.

i was afraid to sleep where they roamed, engorged beasts in blood forgery their wars, certainly, my own. though unknown, the resting abode, Death arrived curtly commanding me, "Row." in river Styx, i lay dead, fading souls float bloated with melancholy jaded, before the Fate's final say is,     "I had not meant to have been kept waited,            but time is gone, and ends equated." unholy cries, that clamor created, as eternal hell emptied out souls in basins to hasten the faces fleeing helplessly their Satan. now from the prison within, a war still wages, and i sleep, at last, knowing only what pain is.

To enter, one narrow hollow winding far with no direction discernible your definite steps, each as certain, particular and peculiar, yet, preceding my threaded pitfalls the eyes follow tracing failures each scuffing cut below, ones tarnished living-room curtains. Crumbling, my creaking castle, a dancing jester trances, trounces, wooden boarding together horrors at order – collapses, though shouldn’t, more doors one gallery walls, adorned, glorified blood-smears artistically spurned; churn their swirling mass to nostalgic stores strewn public in display. Desire, the killing kitchen, a bonfire, scraps for dust the line, wire bin

room in the black gave looks and it in, soppy eyes crying out. within, blackened sight absolute, lonely prison the silent spills of stars beyond. night was quiet, alone in the streets; and what shadow, mumbling tears, waltzed a granite dance those clouds of asphalt watched. long halo of light, scouring curb thrones the angels steps; following for nothing. tired gaze, such galaxies sleep awake; void, above, reign endless what dark valleys see ends.

The days fall like golden wheat from Azrael's sweeping scythe to soil the lavish harvest of health, the only thing that is left. For them, fang hooks sting; the jailbird sings: Whippoorwill, will 'o' wisp, come to me. My plea for forgiveness falls on deaf ears, and autumn leaves fall from trees. We are the resplendent wreckage left behind in your wake - broken edges jagged, sparkling. The days are a thin film of ice between you and me— soon to thicken or to shatter, only time will tell— that I reach up to touch, but it's too cold, it pushes me away. I'm left shivering alone, away from your warmth, separated from your lig

-Moon Princess Adventures In Ponyville- ========== Part 1- Departure ========== "Pyew pyew! Captain Lunaverse and The Thundercolt Twins are going to take you down Baron Badhoof!" Luna said, playing with her old action figures as she lay on the floor of her room. The irony that she herself had only recently been a figure more like Baron Badhoof than 'Captain Lunaverse' hadn't been lost on her, but she pushed such thoughts away, they would only serve to depress her. Again. She'd struggled with such depression ever since her return. "Luna? Are you in here?" came a familiar voice from the doorway. "Yeah sis, just playing." Luna replied, put

I need you to be my night light. Lead the way through dark; Lead the way through life. I need you to help me when I fall; I need you to help me through it all. For better, for worse, In sickness and in health, Until death do us part. With this poem and these words, Carelessly written on the screen, I choose you.

Sky covered in stars; I wonder where you are As time passes by.

my daddy is a clockwork beast he is tinkering and fiddling with steamy things and like my grand- -father riding with iron horses, he rides regal with sea horses. he is a crafted daedalus figurine making sails of albatross feathers, he lives for ship, breathes in sea, in requite: the defected things steer 'im windbound with love, and bitter salt. for all the lexicons in the world i cannot decipher his delphic heart for all the frost and the ghosts my daddy is a clockwork beast and for all my hesitant fears i love his faltering thundering gears

I want words, like iron, a tongue like mercury, so that the words of my mouth and the meditations in my heart will be acceptable in your sight. I feel like Moses, who needed Aaron to say his words to the Israelites. My spoken word is Brutus' to my writing's Marc Antony.  I am a plain dealing writer, I eat when I have hunger, sleep when I am tired, and truer words I have never spoken, because my tongue is mica, and despite how to my friends I have plain, blunt mannerisms, I can never find a way to speak what I think and feel. But somehow, I feel like I can spin/sing/say across all 6300 km and 6.3 billion people and feel for them, because I wan