Wednesday, December 14, 2011

down narrow valleys of strife we trail and tread
and even though not a thing in us or wind is said
it is verily known that the world will soon end
but on the faces of death dealers and charity's leaders
there places a long an easy grin for all we ever desired
was the end not portrayed however in what we said
but what we so longed for is to be dead
our hopes and passions destined for heaven
 although maybe I'm quite mistaken
that something so grand can be lowly taken
maybe it's but a road to hell we are making
full of good intentions, but we are faking
and of heavens grasp we are shaken
so the end, we fear, being swallowed and forsaken

Monday, December 5, 2011

The Ghost's Tale

The ghost grazed the edge of the stone with a dull blade, letting the sound play as the background chant for his tale. His voice cracked from the months it had not been used. Clogged by silence, he broke it with an uneasy voice. “I have been dead for nearly three years now. Although I'm not certain you would refer the state I'm currently in as dead. I'm still existing in this world, and have not passed on to the after life. I tread the earth, but it does not feel my feet. I struggle to be tangible, and even so, I feel nothing.” Slipping the blade back in his pocket, the ghost spoke with a dreary and solemn tongue. “But it was three years ago I was murdered. I cannot so well recall everything that happened that night, as it would seem that my memory of living is slowly slipping away. Of what I can reminisce is not so clear, but I shall make due to explain the moment of my death...”