insignificant-ant

I have a head that's heavy with regret, A heart that's bound by the chains of sorrow, With a mind that cannot seem to forget, And eyes that cannot see past tomorrow. A string of broken images swims through The eternal sea of drowned memories, Here where the sunshine is denied a view Past the gray haze of my bleak reveries. Hounded by the barking dogs of the past, The faint echoes of empty blisses, I try to find tranquility at last Down this desolate road hope dismisses. The future's beyond all premonition, A rain cloud follows wherever I tread; Happiness comes under one condition— I give up the fight and lay down my head.

I The streetlights are blinking red and yellow: Time for the flow of traffic to mellow, In this town where the dreamer's one delight Is to gaze at the stars that cloud the night; To lie upon the hills bedewed with rain, Where scattered leaves festoon the autumn plain; To wander by the winding highway road, Wherein the vagrant's feet do not well bode, As headlights pass by with their thund'rous roar And splash yesterday's rain upon the poor Old man who walks down this decrepit street, Alone, with only a bag and his feet; Unknown is his final destination-- Forgotten is his old generation. II Young dreamers walk along the other s

I stand here alone in that forest by the sea. The trees have been shed of their skin, Swaying gently like bare skeletons, For winter has hit, and I can see The fruits as they grow beards of ice And drop to the ground for the hungry mice. That cabin we built was just an illusion, The music we sang but a painful echo-- A memory that I cannot let go. The nightingales sing a song of confusion As they flee from their nests of security To the land that offers golden purity. My muse has died, but I drag her corpse To the beachhead of the frozen sea, That place where her spirit was most free, That everlasting, renewable source Of life

I do wish I could tell you all about how I broke out, but I'd really rather not. That would require more energy than I'm willing to expend. It's nothing personal or anything; I'm just an egotist, always have been, to the extent that I've been diagnosed as "malignantly narcissistic." Whatever that means. Anyway, it was a bit chilly out, and the sidewalks were littered with slushy, dirty snow and salt. In various alleyways, the homeless took shelter by the warm, glowing fire, which sprang forth from giant, rusty barrels with those little holes in the side. I distinctly remember a rather large homeless man swathed in a rather lavish--or should

A ticket stub lies discarded On the darkened bedside table, Coated with stains from buttered fingers; Used and then carelessly disposed of, It marks the start of nightfall. A night of laughter and cheaply bought thrills, Of widened pupils and candy-strewn floors, Of iridescent lights and burning rubber-- All rest in the stub left to decompose. The theaters have emptied, All of the players in bed; While the spectators have flown, Scattering stubs in their slimy trails For the broom-bearing sun to brush away. To home do the night birds depart, The flock left in ruins for the solace of sleep; Minds anticipate the coming of day,

Some men cannot glimpse at the shadow Which walks with them, side-by-side; For what mysteries lie in that silhouette Unseen by the blind eye of the sun? Shadows and silence embody odd fears, Reminders of the darkness buried within; Thus the caverns so oft go unexplored, Light wins the war and takes the throne. The radiance of our gay apparel Would seek to fool the world; The luminous masks, then, bind us To dance in the sun and shun the night. Distraction tempts even the most abstinent, Leading them astray from their cloudy paths; Hiding the shadow which looms close behind, Replaced by the blue glare of the screen. A mirror ca

Like paper adrift in the howling wind, Time eludes our groping hands, Escaping the hook of our fishing poles, A spirit passing from land to land; Appearing as a bountiful harvest, A feast for the belly of a gluttonous snake; But strikes like hunger from a virulent drought, Leaving only regret in its pestilent wake. The birds stay ensconced in their homely nests, Opportunity having landed and flown, While men sit in the comfort of the cool shade, And holy men are turned into stone. Some men live in windows, others in dreams, With only bars of steel standing in sight, Sunshine faces walking past like a breeze, Giving rise to the

We were led on a tour of the Wells mansion by a certain M. Wells, a precocious young man, aspiring to be the next great writer, or so it seemed. He had long, brown hair, pulled back in a ponytail, spiritless eyes of azure, and very refined facial features. One could tell that he bore a certain conceitedness about his person, and bore it well he did. Despite the pompousness he displayed, his ragged clothing seemed to contrast sharply with his speech; he wore a wrinkled  primrose vest, tattered and filled with holes, with a laced, frayed, blue ribbon tie and black trousers. Indeed, his whole outfit reeked of antiquity and decay, yet his ma

She cannot see her beauty, Which wades before her eyes, Blinded by some inner demon, Closed shut by ribbon ties. She wanders about, trying to seize Something she'll never find, So dissatisfied, so hard to please, Fettered by chains which bind; In life she cannot find much ease, Her blame rests on her chaotic mind; Though her rage be as turbulent as the seas, To herself she is the most unkind. Perfection lies just out of her grasp, Translucent in her mirror image. While her hand and her lover's lay in a tight clasp, Still she engages in scrimmage. Her hideous appearance ignites a horrid gasp, Yet I cannot see even a blemish.

Father, forgive me my transgressions Against thy infallible will; To thee I offer this last confession, So that my penitence I may fulfill. Father, remember our sacred unity, Bear it in your mind well, Bless me once more with your impunity, Or send me to the darkest hell, Where from the fires I shall beg for immunity And hopelessly wonder whence I fell. Father, thy tainted memory remains, Imbued within my fading recollections; Your heartfelt smile which pains And your empty vows to make inflections. Father, the trauma you inflicted lives, Embedded deep beneath this unbroken flesh; To these eyes a funereal gleam it gives And w