SouthernGal<3
05-23-2008, 06:57 AM
Just a few of the things I have written. Comments and criticisms are greatly welcome.
Beneath the water
My heart is heavy
Its leaded down
Weighed by words iv never spoken, and have always wanted to say
Weighed with emotions, never expressed
And by stories never told
I begin to think, all my life, will be like this. Like I’m drowning, but I’m breathing, breathing beneath the water. I’m not dead, no; god wouldn’t grant me that kind of satisfaction. But I’m not living, not up there, breathing in the cool soft air. No, I’m here, floating, stuck between it all, and it’s the most excruciating feeling.
I’m screaming, screaming, yelling to whoever is up there, to let me out, set me free, bring me down, or up, I don’t care, just get me out of this rut in which I’m stuck, in which I’m jailed. But then I remember, I’m floating, and the water swallows my screams. And by the time they reach the surface of the water. They are no more than a soft, sweet hum. A hum, that floats through the ears of the sun bathers and the inner tube floaters upon the surface.
So next time you’re there, floating on the surface of some lake, or pond, on a warm summer’s day. And you hear that lively hum. You think it’s the hum of life, the sounds of summer, the crickets in the distance combined with the blowing of the gentle wind. But don’t be fooled, it is none of those things. That hum that comforts your mind and floats through your ears, it is me. My cry, from beneath the water.
War
Sergeant…
Sergeant…
SERGEANT!
Please,
May I buy a bit of your time?
What is it son?
An answer please, for all of this crime.
But we have won?
I know it sarge, but about this war…
What about it son?
What is it sir, what do we fight for?
Ah!
My boy! Your jokes do not cease.
We fight my boy, we fight for peace.
Birds of Black
Every bird of black, born is He white
He flies in black skies
His blood once red, turns dark and dies
For now He flies in skies of blue
In melancholy days that once were new
This bird of black, He soars and cries
For colors once His, are replaced with lies
And burden upon burden rise
So now He bids adieu to sky
There be no ashes from here to rise
The bird is dead, It's dead and die.
Beneath the water
My heart is heavy
Its leaded down
Weighed by words iv never spoken, and have always wanted to say
Weighed with emotions, never expressed
And by stories never told
I begin to think, all my life, will be like this. Like I’m drowning, but I’m breathing, breathing beneath the water. I’m not dead, no; god wouldn’t grant me that kind of satisfaction. But I’m not living, not up there, breathing in the cool soft air. No, I’m here, floating, stuck between it all, and it’s the most excruciating feeling.
I’m screaming, screaming, yelling to whoever is up there, to let me out, set me free, bring me down, or up, I don’t care, just get me out of this rut in which I’m stuck, in which I’m jailed. But then I remember, I’m floating, and the water swallows my screams. And by the time they reach the surface of the water. They are no more than a soft, sweet hum. A hum, that floats through the ears of the sun bathers and the inner tube floaters upon the surface.
So next time you’re there, floating on the surface of some lake, or pond, on a warm summer’s day. And you hear that lively hum. You think it’s the hum of life, the sounds of summer, the crickets in the distance combined with the blowing of the gentle wind. But don’t be fooled, it is none of those things. That hum that comforts your mind and floats through your ears, it is me. My cry, from beneath the water.
War
Sergeant…
Sergeant…
SERGEANT!
Please,
May I buy a bit of your time?
What is it son?
An answer please, for all of this crime.
But we have won?
I know it sarge, but about this war…
What about it son?
What is it sir, what do we fight for?
Ah!
My boy! Your jokes do not cease.
We fight my boy, we fight for peace.
Birds of Black
Every bird of black, born is He white
He flies in black skies
His blood once red, turns dark and dies
For now He flies in skies of blue
In melancholy days that once were new
This bird of black, He soars and cries
For colors once His, are replaced with lies
And burden upon burden rise
So now He bids adieu to sky
There be no ashes from here to rise
The bird is dead, It's dead and die.