sponge

[Hannibal]

Candles that light stairwells to area's far removed,

Webbings around small crevices that lay dormant,

Mildew, rot, and decay, decadently dispersed like a fine cover,

Pools of knowledge dry and withery, like a last sordid tale,

The amounts of food that sit,
The amounts of juice that warm,
The amounts of thoughts that flow,
The amounts of,

Flourescent eyes searching a vast square footage,

Many miles laying within a square foot,

Brilliant letters of times past, laying to turn to dust,

Vibrant colors waiting to renew again, laying heaped unto the floor,

Souls burning, like the tears that fall from them,

Idols feeling nothing, as their eyes bounce upon the fallen.

Failure, Failure.

Birth.

To bear or become.

Birth. Birth.

Death.




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As miserable as life may be I hold it pretty precious...

If I lose the light of the sun, I will write by candlelight, moonlight, no light. If I lose paper and ink, I wil write in blood on forgotten walls. I will write always, I will capture nights all over the world and bring them to you.
Word And Voice
Motocross Fanatics
General Philosophy

[machinery]

good words in this poem...

spacing in this makes a nice read..

the use of alliteration:
"decay, decadently dispersed"
-makes a good rhythm

as far as the point???
an educated guess, so um...

you are born only to die?
the loss of being able to cherish life, materials, knowledge, etc.



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"ashtray says you were up all night."