Something_Vague
02-05-2005, 08:52 PM
Well since my last piece that I posted was considered a dud by most everyone, I decided to get alittle prestige with this one, it isn't that old but it is one of my favorites that I've written, comments are very much Appreciated. :thumb:
Enjoy :lol:
My Piano Plays Itself at an Attempt to Gain My Attention
A flashing siren's light echoes through my eyes,
The blues and reds halt my vision momentarily.
The chalk outline of an outline lies still amongst
A concrete memoir that holds four dying daisies.
Our rain pours from torn clouds and the cement
Drinks every drop, soaking the roads with silk.
And every spilt tear from a bronze fountain
Strikes their flowery insignia with a wilting passion
With an ever longing desire to remain plastered to our cheeks.
The faint whimper of exaggerated lust, betrayal, and death
Collapses our lungs as we create ice with our breathe
And the cracks on this tombstone show our decay
But the mounds above this mourning dirt
Lets us share and rejoice in this deceased playground.
If only the black suits were turquoise then maybe we could
Maybe we could, die a little slower.
These winds are not for the shattered and broken hearts
And each pint of whiskey won't rekindle our flames.
These pillars will break but they were never holding anything important.
My hands are dirty; I don't want to play anymore....
Enjoy :lol:
My Piano Plays Itself at an Attempt to Gain My Attention
A flashing siren's light echoes through my eyes,
The blues and reds halt my vision momentarily.
The chalk outline of an outline lies still amongst
A concrete memoir that holds four dying daisies.
Our rain pours from torn clouds and the cement
Drinks every drop, soaking the roads with silk.
And every spilt tear from a bronze fountain
Strikes their flowery insignia with a wilting passion
With an ever longing desire to remain plastered to our cheeks.
The faint whimper of exaggerated lust, betrayal, and death
Collapses our lungs as we create ice with our breathe
And the cracks on this tombstone show our decay
But the mounds above this mourning dirt
Lets us share and rejoice in this deceased playground.
If only the black suits were turquoise then maybe we could
Maybe we could, die a little slower.
These winds are not for the shattered and broken hearts
And each pint of whiskey won't rekindle our flames.
These pillars will break but they were never holding anything important.
My hands are dirty; I don't want to play anymore....