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Forest for the trees
who will see the forest
’round that melancholy tree the brain
that goes to the light
with a thorn
Poesie sull''argomento: brain
Poesie sull''argomento «brain» su Poets.by.
Darkness my friend
Yeah , you are a monster
You eat my brain
You drink my mind
You live in there
Yep, you give me troubles
You make my head burst
You made me a psycho
You never left me
That's why my dear darkness
You are my best friend.
Life lesson
I say " I'm never going to do that again "
But i did
I say " I'm not scared anymore "
But i am
I say " I'm hard to catch "
But I'm not
I say " my heart is strong "
But it is not
I hope my heart is strong as my brain,
I wish my brain teach my heart.
I pled my heart accept like my brain,
But then i realised both my brain and heart
Are useless stupids.
Cannot Delete: Access Denied
Once in a while you have to clean your system.
Empty the Recycle Bin,
Clean up and defrag the disks.
Files accumulated over the past
Move crumpled into the bin
And then to oblivion.
It would be nice
To have a hard disk instead of a brain
Where fungus-ridden memories grow maggots
Eating into my soul.
Jan 1
given the brain being an industrious
essay just beginning physically
un-inked and hopeful
and given the skeletal structure
rolling over and away from the heartbeat
galloping off ahead of the heartbeat
gambling and running back to wait for the heartbeat
Jim's I think drinking his heartbeat
always mentioning purple everybody's heartbeat
and given the cool brain riffing
through the smoke to the clear sky-writing
and given this conservative
forming and reforming of the letters
"boys will you burn the leaves?"
This industrious thing
can't be trusted
The Artificer
I FEEL that your neglect has flayed my soul
And left it a sore, bleeding, pulsing whole!
I feel there is hot fire in pain,
To boil the iron-pot that is my brain!
All my experience, all my thoughts and dreams.
Bubble together, and the mixture steams;
In lovely shapes the bluey vapours rise.
Angels and kindly goddesses console my eyes.
Into the boiling pot I plunge my spoon.
And of hot misery receive my boon.
For from the viscid liquor make I shapes.
Fairies and goblins, little goats and apes.
Many-hued jewels, gem-like flowers.
Bright beads to count kind prayers and happy hours;
Once from the pot a crystal sphere I wrought,
It was a new, clear, and quite splendid thought.