My collection part 2

[Solivagus]

All the doctors and the nurses,

Causing headaches and sharp curses,

Causing confusion with simple fact,

Asking their questions with so little tact.

 

Trying to understand what's easy to see,

Trying to solve a false puzzle in me,

Doing their utmost to misunderstand,

These so called geniuses upon the land.

 

Questions about the ring upon my hand,

Questions of the hawk on golden band,

They fail to come to any conclusions,

All they leave are more confusions.

 

How can they miss what all the rest know,

They believe I hide what I plainly show,

Instead there are sessions and endless talks,

The only bright side are the long outdoor walks.

 

False kindness abounds through hospital grounds,

People come in with false sympathy sounds,

In truth doing their best to make my life worse,

All that they are is a damnable curse.

[Solivagus]

The end of religion is drawing near,

But all of the priests will have nothing to fear,

They can come over to my place for somewhere to dine,

And then drown them selves in red holy wine.

 

All of the bread can go to the starving,

Save those of whom are marked for the carving,

For in the future all men are food,

You ought to try it it's really quite good.

 

Anyway where was I, oh yes, dead religion.

Man has woken up and seen his dillusion.

He now sees that god is a fake and a fraud,

No more are the people now overawed.

 

The few priests remaining try to hold onto their faith,

They simply don't get that god's an empty wraith,

Thier life has fallen apart, there's nowhere to go,

But the carvers are waiting, to the priesthood they go.

 

After all, helping people, that's what they are for,

Now no one is starving, one for their score,

But how could they die, watched over my god,

I suppose he was sleeping, just having a nod.

 

Some people may wonder why I feel this way,

There's no reason for hope, what more can I say?

I live only because I'm too tired to die,

At least I make people happy, they laugh 'till they cry.

 

I realise this poem is rather a ramble,

But all of my mind is quite in a scramble.

My head now is throbbing, can't stop thinking the worse,

Now that I realise all life is a curse.

[Vanessa]

I like the rhythum and the tune once you showed me how to read them. I liked the way it went together. I liked everything except for thr f$%£ing topic!

[Loki Wyrd]

I liked both of them, especially the second one. I, for one, thought it was a great topic. They both flowed very nicely as well.

Edited January 19, 2004 by Loki Wyrd

[Solivagus]

Here I am just sitting on a hill,

Laughing my my poor head off.

Your complaints have come to nil,

So I sing into the treetops.

 

For while you seem to always try,

To change the way my mind works,

You'll never take away deaths sigh,

Go home and do your school work!

 

Live your life as nothing'd wrong,

Continue the wat you're living,

At the end of the day you'll remember this song,

You'll know just why I'm singing.

 

You'll dress in black and understand,

Just why I feel as I feel,

As the coffin sinks below the ground,

You'll know at last the worlds will.

 

If only I could say what speed and tune to read this it would probably sound a lot better.

Edited January 19, 2004 by Solivagus

[Loki Wyrd]

Your sitting on a hill line reminds me of Fool on the Hill by the Beatles, which was a damn good song. Another nice read, keep on writing.

Edited January 19, 2004 by Loki Wyrd

[Solivagus]

You can see them if you look hard enough.

Emotions, feelings, impulses, instincts.

Most, nearly all, rise up to a peak and fall,

Falling back to the bottom to wait thier turn.

 

But then you have hatred, pain, suffering.

Endless torment caused by the falling of the most.

The constants in life, they are eternal and endless.

Look to them for the answer to life.

 

You love someone, they die, love falls.

Back to the bottom of the pile to hide.

In that falling, only the constants remain.

Felt all the more keenly thanks to the small rise.

 

You suffer, burning and raw in mind and soul.

You feel anger rising, rising through you in a wave.

Hatred to the killer whether you or another,

And despair for the memories and how to go on.

 

You see the lies and false sympathy around you.

You see the full truth of what people say,

Their sneers at what you so foolishly thought right,

You realise the truth of the world in the constants.

 

Hatred gives you new eyes with which to see.

The view is so much clearer, sharper, sweeter.

The bitter, sour taste of the unknown assails you,

The constants protect you, you remain safe and warm.

 

This doesn't say enough, but I can't think how to fit more in.

[Beautiful Nightmare]

you have great poems i love them all!! Keep them coming!!!