PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I turn on my tainted TV

My eyes are exposed to a horrific view

I can't believe the news I see

I can't accept this tragedy as true

They tell me that you're missing

They let me know that you're gone

The memories I'm reminiscing

Singing seclusion's solitary song

Cry an ocean of acid tears

Feign a smile as I stare at the sinful sun

Dreams drastically transform into my deepest fears

Future and fate start to disintegrate and become undone

And through all of this

My devastated heart still manages to somehow beat

Desperately wishing to hold your hand and have one last kiss

As I walk with my shadow by my side on the vacant street



The mannequins mindlessly march

Come Monday

March on down to our last gracious goodbye

And tragedy strikes

Come Tuesday

When the silent sound of surrender is stridently heard in the hawk infested sky



The wicked witches witness this wretched war

Come Wednesday

Battlefields decorated with bloodstains and broken hearts are visible as far as the eye can see

And turmoil appallingly asphyxiates our love

Come Thursday

Hopelessly searching for obscured artifacts of our relationship underneath the rubble and debris



I turn on my rapacious radio

My ears are introduced to the most suicidal sound

The rumors I hear I really wish not to know

A distressing story of a spirit that is lost and can't be found

They inform me that you've gone astray

They enlighten me that you've disappeared

Perpetually vanished in another day, another shade of gray

The rain clouds overhead have never even separated or cleared

Wave "farewell" to forever

Bury tomorrow today

Slice away salvation as the sutures sever

Chase the hearse down Cemetery Road as it rapidly drives away

And during all of this

My broken heart still somehow finds a technique to keep on pumping blood

Childishly dreaming of cloud nine and everlasting bliss

As I walk alone on the crowded street when my toxic tears cause a frigid flood



The freedom fighters fight

Come Friday

Brainwashed to salivate to the strident sound of a malevolent and betraying bell

And the saints secretly sin

Come Saturday

When they throw their tainted two cents into the wicked wishing well



The conniving seasons change

Come Sunday

Showcasing their splendid shades of deceit and treachery

And the dying doves will cry

Come each and everyday

When we submerge our shattered souls out to sea



...And the devious doves will cry

Come Doom's Day

When the world finally finds out that freedom is far from free...