Black fire on the tip of my finger
A sinister silky spark ,
An inferno in my index ,
That blankets the world in dark.
A swarm of midnight insects ,
A deadly skull-skylark.
Like a book without words, or a tongue-less syntax ,,
Midnight black is this evil inferno in my index..
White is the blaze of my melancholy apartment complex ,,
Where I reside with hate and pride, one of a million convicts ..
But beneath this hard tree bark;;
May not be a sinister spark;
Rather, a stronger power. .one able to slice;;
A blizzard flake,, a volcanic flower,, a peaceful touch of ice.
Friday, March 7, 2008
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3 comments:
powerful words ek.
very intriguing, good poem.,
are you alone when you write your thoughts?
he he. Usually, but this poem, being dark and fiery is actually misleading. The poem ends in a happy note and it means that humans have the ability to be as bad as the devil and and good as an angel.
For me, if the poem is really beautiful, that means I was alone and depressed when I wrote it. Not for this one tho.
Voila!
that is so original.
me too, i cant understand myself
sometimes im bad, somtimes good.
~_^
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