[x]

Angels of wrathHarken black herald sings,
come to me angel of nightwings,
soar through skies of tainted rage.

Let your mane of fire sweep across the skies,
turn cerulean, vermillion.

And burn, fire, burn.

Pour down from angered storm clouds,
call the spell of the squalls and typhoons,
draw fourth a maelstrom and destroy, destroy.

Show the world the wrathful destiny,
bring them kneeling to the flames of fervor.

And burn, fire, burn.

Bring after your vitriolic hate
an endless indigo darkness,
show the sorrowful forevers,

whisper from the vespers,
Bellephron rides again,
pegasi now darken.

Burn, fire, burn.

Show us ageless wrath,
angels of

Don't change.It was over the course of months.
Months and months of shy smiles,
hiding behind hands and various other items.
It was a coffee shop...
No, it was a café, a proper café.
One that seemed to spring up
overnight.
She was sent, he thought, to him
though he didn't know why.
But, every week, on a Wednesday
or a Tuesday, there he'd be.
Waiting for her.
She was a Barista,
she served him coffee,
she had an Italian name -
that he went to great lengths to find out.
Eventually by sneaking a look at the staff rota
and guessing right.

Every Tuesday or Wednesday, he'd be there,
with a book, a pen, the coffee she made (and only

Through the eyes.Through those eyes, I portrayed as beautiful, you overstepped me.

I can believe it, I can, because I'm not that,
so I'll sit and smile behind a painted on, porcelain smile.

I was in love through your eyes, the wonders I thought I saw.

Soon after though, the morning after,
the cracks on my porcelain face begin to show.

Why? I'll pretend it's alright,
when all I've lost is precious time,
precious time, and you.

It was going to happen, you saw it coming,
though I looked through your beautiful eyes,
I did not.

With your intoxicating half-glances
and the delectable way I pretended not to care,
our design was a fatal one.

(Or fl

Father and Son."When're you coming home dad?"
"I'll see you at the weekend."

It's the weekend now.
It's 14:31 on saturday,
when're you coming home?

I know I haven't been the best of kids,
but, like, you know, there was never the feeling
that...

I wouldn't see you, that you wouldn't be... Coming home.

Sure, you never did all that often,
sure it wasn't easy when you did...
But now, I only get to see you once a week,
for the entirity of 2 hours.

Last time we cleaned your bike,
something we'd have never done before,
something we did...
Together.

You know, like a proper father
and a proper son.

Now I'm sitting at my laptop,
crying my eyes out

A better life?The woman screamed at the top of her lungs. She screamed so that her head almost burst and she could feel her temples wildly throbbing. As she sat on a trunk she thought this scream had long been overdue. It had started this morning when like every morning her husband had gulped down his bowl of cornflakes carefully hiding behind the daily newspaper, grunting non-committal noises to any comment his wife made.

The need to scream had increased when her children had run down the stairs, never satisfied with the love she could provide, always worried about the things they didn't have, about what they needed to fit in the cool crowd, about the th

If You Were My Girl

If you were standing in a queue
while I was buying food
And you didn't want anything
I'd ask you
If you'd like a kiss
instead

If you were walking in the woods
And I saw you
with a smile
I'd turn around
and make my dream
come true

`Cos if you were my girl
I'd do all this for you
I'd paint the sky
and then wonder why
it was yellow and not blue.

And if you could only see
The intensity
With which I love you
Then you'd have to write
a better song
than me.

If wishes were like gold
I'd give you all the wishes
in the world
I'd place the stars
Like candlelights
Inside your head and around your bed

If the places we

One perfect minuteYou want to know:

Why?

First it was the sunrays on your bare shoulder,

a thousand playful fingers caressing your curves.

Then there's us,

The loyal princess, the lonely warrior.

Later on,

It's your fingernails creating new landscapes on my back,

later on,

it's the palm of my hands exploring the hills and valleys of your body.

Afterwards,

a musky scent lingers in the room, the scent of trees a thousand years old,

while all we crave is this one perfect minute, this one perfect moment.

You're only granted one of these they say...

Nightshift. It's been a long hard night,
working without sleep,
again.

I was under the stars,

The same stars,

The same stars I want to show you.
Just appreciate, will you?

I try, I try and I try.
Hard work's nothing to keep me awake,

Like the thoughts of you.

That can, did and will keep me awake,

for so long.

So long, I can't sleep, I can't...

I'm not.

The stars I'm gazing under,
They're all dead, aren't they.

The stars, I mean, we'

The show must go on..."Voir le rouge." she said,
a haven for the artists,
a poet's utopia.

The cardinal, carnal, scarlet rue de sin...

The single signal, the swirling sails of the Moulin Rouge,
they call us all, those whom seek their fame and fortune.

From infamy and squalor we rise at night,
to shine like stars in the night.

The grandest colour we paint our walls,
envious, jealousy stained veridian.

The line between right and wrong ends here,
not a blur, nothing left, just none existant.

The girls strut on to the stage,
showing us their wares, offering.

Here's what they have,
when we have nothing,
from nothing, they rise.
Their lives played ou

Through the hourglass.She looks like you, or you look like her,
and they say deja-vu will be the end of the world.

When you find two hearts like one,
lost one,
identical singularity,
finding along the way.
To lose again, later.

When you wonder with nothing but staring,
staring into the hourglass,
estimating the remeaining time
(No one knows.)
no sand,
no markers.
Time-flow.
Quick-slow.
Or no more snow.

When you lay drowing under endless sand,
behind the glass,
you're looking out, for more time,
oh please, just a single grasped handful mor

The moth upon green wallpaper.The moth on the wallpaper, looks so out of place,
insect in this house, the closest living thing to me,
I don't know if it thinks, nor what it breathes,
but, the moth, it's just...
Sat there, staring at the wall.

See, the imagination, so fickle,
but the moth's still there.

Brown and white, upon my green-shade wallpaper,
why are you here, little moth?
What are you thinking of?

Do you know, that I'm pondering your existence?

If I were to hold up a flame, would you fly?
Would you fly into the flame?

Would your wings burn and would you die?

Moth to the flame...
Would you take me with you?

Would I perish in your flames, just for

Damaged goodsWhen every beat of your heart is resonated
by the hollow rattling of an empty tin,
there's nothing there anymore.

No charitable souls to donate the time to broken toys,
no one wants the damaged goods, even though they're so,
imperfect.

I wouldn't, won't say outcast, just downcast,
see the broken toys, they're not that bad.

No one needs to love them, no one needs to have them,
to hold them, well, they just don't need it.

The rattle, within sounds off that something's broken,
some internal working that doesn't really matter,
but makes them imperfect.

Look, when the blood dries a little,
you can read what's carved into their fore

The cracks are showing...I'm saying precisely what you wanted me to,
I'm playing precisely how you want me to,
I'm doing all you want.

And I'm doing it consciously.

Do you need, or do I?

I have no, I don't.

Sometimes I play,
you, I won't,
your way, I don't.

Sometimes the end,
or beginning,
forever begins,
but end,
believe it or not.

Welcome, come in,
pass over the threshold,
please, come in,
here, have a seat,
no, take three,

look, a mirror,
fix your hair,
I'll steal glances,
then give them back,
ashamedly.

Can I offer you tea?
Coffee?

Sweet nothings?

Kisses?
Cuddles?

Sex?

Infatuation?

The latter, take the latter,
throw the latter,

The darkness of......I love you...

I read it,
a fellow poets line,
another something stolen,
I love you,
Je t'aime,
ich liebe,
whatever,
whenever.

I love you.

I can't try and express,
you'd...

You wouldn't believe me,
because in belief
there's lie,
lies,
so many lies.

I'm drunk while writing you this,
incoherent, I'm barely legible,
but in big letters,
scrawled across the page,
I love you.

I do, and always have.

Many, so many cliche's.

Can never love again,
heart broken too many times,
silence between us,
all this, the same.

I'm barely touching you,
a slight brush of clothes, on clothes,
you've no idea, have you?

They won't sl

Horrific...Why do you love him?

Did he take away your pain?
Did he?

Did he take your hand when you fell?
Did he?

Did he hold you up, when you were down?
Did he?

Why do you love him?
You can't see, what you claim is love,
for him.

Did he ever, once, show you love?
Did he?

Do you dream of sex, with him?
Do you?

Do you ever miss him,
isn't he supposed to be everywhere?

That kind of love holds no name in my eyes,
these eyes of disbelief,
I struggled hard, I can't understand that love,
this love,
your love.

How do you define the love?
Because you sleep in his bed at night?

Is your love... So easily won?
Like he, shared bed, you.

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Race with the falcons

Fly! Fly!
With the north winds!
Soar!
Through the pitch black sky!
Race with the eagles
and the falcons,
hurtle across winter skies
into the horizon
and beyond.
The wintersun calls you
to race against the raptors.
The lightning crashes beyond your gaze,
urging you on,
spurring your speeding wings,
race!
Fly!
Race with the falcons!
Tear through the heavens,
pass through Ymir's brains.
You're speed, punch a hole in the skull.
Race!
Fly against the falcons!
Rise through the sky,
fly at spearpoint,
breaking speed,
hurtle though the night sky,
speed across winter.
Fly, your destination, nowhere.

Race!

Race!

Fly with

Princess complex.

Secret tearing apart inside me.
No one knows because no one looks,
doesn't mean they don't care.
They just don't care all that much,
or care too much.

I don't care if they care, I don't.

I know you're going to leave,
so why won't you leave?

Just go, I'm fine.

Oh yeah, here I go again.

"I'm fine."

The same old lines,
meaning the same old nothing.

I see you time and again,
just leave me alone.

I'm sick of the face I used to adore.
The thought of holding you close, now repulses me.

The feeling of your skin on mine,
I once so longed for,
just thinking of it now makes me sick.

When you're with me, I'm alone.
I don't want to b

Rain-girl

I held you in the pouring rain,
smiling, kissing, squeezing and laughing.
We were so close, keep smiling for warmth,
the rain denied.

I held you to me,
you whispered,
as we kissed in the rain;

"Cry, only in the sun,
let the rain make you smile,
for me and for this moment."

I smiled, again, as your breath warmed my cheek,
my hand to your hip
as we embraced in the rain.

Many people scattered from the wet
as we, oblivious,
smiled in the rain.
We kissed all the while, rain streaked our faces.

You let my hand go, and slipped away
down the soaking street.
I lost sight of you, rain-girl,
but the click of your heels
on the cobbl

Umbrellas and tragedy.Pouring rain, we waited for nothing,
the tortured butterfly and tragedy.
He held his umbrella over her,
short and hidden under her hood,
she didn't need it, but he needed to care.

Tragedy smiled down on her,
the little butterfly.
Tragedy didnt realise that she was tortured.
But Tragedy smiled at her still,
he didnt know why, really,
but her cared for her,
it wasn't love, lust or want.
Just an affliction to care.

Tragedy cared for her,
she saw him as a hero,
or so she says,
a brother maybe?
He doesnt know,
but he still cares.

Still,
Still to this day.

You know, he missed her.
Even when they walked home, in the rain.
T

Mirrorglass hero

Prince? Hah! You mock me, surely.
Impure? Yes, but not for you.

What can I do?
Nothing, as always.
Useless more like it.
Shattering slowly.
So slowly.

Ah, this isn't,
I wish,
it wasn't.

It is.
I think, I know.
I think?

I can't think, can I?
No.

Oh me-
oh my.

Ah, this pain,
shatterbreaking
cracksmashing
heartcore
breaking from within.

Broke
Broke
Smash
Broke.

Gone
Gone
Left me
Gone.

Riding on that white horse,
flying on those angel-wings.

Ah, ah, ah, ah.

Click
the door to my room
I shut me in

Oh, ah...

This is me,

shattering,
breaking,
cracking,
smashing.

This is me,
Break
Break
Gone
Broken.

Impure -rewrite-

You are my dream and fear,
Such an angel should never know of me;

Imperfect.
Unworthy.
Impure.

Yet I do anything for your touch,
your smile melts my iced heart,
your eyes see through this blatent facade
to below;

My undying love and everlasting pain,
for I know such an angel would never love me;

Sinful.
Godless.
Hatred.

I just wish that you could save me.

I pray to whatever lends me an ear.
"I wish for my angel."

Yet I am seen as my darkest side
For I know that you would never love me.

So perfect,

pure,

divine.

You are a deity,
a saint, from the heavens,
and me;

Nothing,
no-one,
no-where.

I've fallen for you,
I wi

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I am a collector...

by ~CaptainOzz, Apr 26, 2007, 3:12:59 PM
Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

I am a collector,
I collect footsteps.
Wherever I choose to go, I go,
unbridled and unfettered.
Every memorised snapshot
of the places I never knew existed
bear witness to my travelling.
The moon and stars are my proof of life,
every broken blade of grass underfoot,
tells more stories of my continuum.

Where to go is never a question,
more the way of life, to travel on,
to see more of the world than you're used to.

To find home, perhaps, or to seek the place
where your soul feels it belongs.

Be that anywhere, from the frozen tundra, to the scorching desert,
I wander, my mind and I, along age old pathways and newtrodden ground.

I collect my footsteps with snapshot memories,
and when I'm too old to carry on my collection,
I can recollect, with the people I've collected along the way,
those I've grown to love, to admire, to respect and adore,
I'll share with them my traverses and my triumphs,
my hardships and dangers,
perils overcome and the return journey,
the one that never seems as long as the first.

When it's time to depart this world,
I'll wander to the next,
as I wandered in this one,
I'll collect more footsteps and memories,
people and perhaps another sense of belonging,
carry on my existance and collection on another plane of being,
and another,
and another.

The paths are endless, I'll travel forever,
for I am a collector, I collect footsteps,
I collect memories,
I collect companions,
I collect,
for I am a collector.

I am a collector...by ~CaptainOzz

Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

Life's just a long, long, long journey and everything in it is just a collection.

love 1 1

joy 1 1

~~wow 0 0~~

~~mad 0 0~~

~~sad 0 0~~

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

*CrimsonCravenheart Dec 11, 2007 Hobbyist Writer

i love the use of imagery and the repetition of 'collect' used in a broader sense; kinda reminds me of Aragorn in a weird sorta way, coz he was a ranger and it feels like its him speaking....

~Earthmagic Nov 16, 2007 Photographer

I think this is wonderful! Whether or not we realize it, be are all collectors. Hopefully while we go through this journey of ours we also are students and teachers. I do not feel I am qualified to give "Advanced Critique"....just qualified to enjoy!

~OLSPUR Jul 17, 2007 Photographer

Excellent!

~As-Death-Becomes-Her Jun 29, 2007

I can't find the words to express how much I love this poem. Please trust that your words have touched my soul.

~SpiritUnleashed May 29, 2007

i like the imagery. it seems to have an almost pessimistic view of life. the metaphor would be perfect except that that the collector is detached from the collection, higher sometimes, others not. it's interesting and in a way i agree, but in a bigger way i don't. nice job, good flow.

!mllepoivre May 19, 2007

I don't feel I'm knowledgeable enough to offer an advanced critique, but I would like to say that this is a lovely poem.

~rider-on-the-storm May 2, 2007

this really fits my life last week.
traveling across america and what not.

all the images from the ending stanza
really capture my trip.

~kaelthiere Apr 28, 2007

Excellent mmm i dont remember the word, but the image you create is very nice you bring a lot of space for free interpretation.

Your mind is beautiful.

!MadLes Apr 27, 2007

this is life as we know it ,from first steps to last ,and we walk and learn.my motto is i wish i was still 20 and know what i know now! ....well written hun ,few spellings need correcting but wow its me

~CaptainOzz Apr 27, 2007

Point out spelling errors please?

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