[x]

The Rat BoyThere was a rat boy, so timid and small.
Everything in this world, seemed so tall.

To everyone, he was minuscule,
a lonely, livid, leaf, inside his school.

There came his oppressors, his offenders,
and in a diary he'd write, hidden in his dresser.

Dear Diary
Day one

They found out I was a bastard son.
Hunted me like a fox, all for fun.
I guess to them,
i'm just a joke,
with a very weak pun.

Dear Diary
Day 22

More abuse, do I deserve this? What's the excuse?
They knocked out a tooth, found themselves amused.

Oh well. You have me, I have you, what's that Diary?
I love you too.

Dear Diary
Day 43

Too tired, too weak, sorry diary lets bot

Cordis Somnium*Fall past the asphalt
Thro’ the honey bee scene
Dip thy feet within
Naides’ yielding stream.

Thine arms splayed toward Hyades
A grey morn consumes the sun
Rain brings silk to the heat fraught meadow;
For time to touch thy form, it must run.

And thine hair was a mess after the rain.
“Will you ask it of me soon?”
Before the world is found to be concrete and sprinkled streets
“Before my qualms on leaving find the noon?”

The sharp cry of the meandering city
Thrives on slapdash letters, in cheap, restless dives
Therein reside, the silent concerto of our drifting
Where individual voices drown, and no love

Masquerade at Windsor Hall

Gallant sirs and debutantes arriving at the ball.
A masquerade on friday night, down at Windsor Hall.
Cocktail's flowing, band is playing, winner takes it all!
By the time the party's done it's on the floor they'll crawl.

Silk-laced gowns and three-piece suits and faces that are masked.
Homely Archduke's daughter's there (surprised that she was asked!).
Woodford twins arrived at ten (weren't asked and so they crashed!).
Gals of Downton also came, in adulation basked.

Truth be told, behind the masks and costumes made of wool,
are rotten chaps and spoiled debs who suffer not a fool.
And if you think these words of mine are harsh or mean or cr

I aint made of paintI aint made of paint.

I'm made of concrete.

Your the one who kicked me off my feet.

Look past the picture.
Look past the scriptures.
Look closer, look deeper.

How bout
for once, you be the brush

How bout
for once, you shut up and hush.

You the mortal and pestle,
my spirits you crushed.

Into fine grain, into fine dust.

Your form the colors!
You sculpt the bust!

I aint made of paint

I aint acrylics.
I aint oils.
I aint water color.

We are no art scholars.

But,
listen good.
Listen close.

Next time you don't like, when i'm feeling blue.

I refuse, to paint a picture for you.

Slow and SteadyCrowds of people rush around,
their steaming coffee in one hand and phone in the other,
while they juggle their problems and all of their emotions
and claim that everyone around them is a bother.
Caught in such a frenzy, they push their way
through the slow and steady that block their path,
for they're already running far too late
to even consider slowing down or turning back.
Where they are trying to go, I haven't the slightest idea,
but even if I asked, they'd surely be far too preoccupied
ignoring everything else as they sip their cold coffee
and stare at their phone, wondering how the battery already died.

Red-Eyed EgoOn a dying tree, in a forest of lush,
sat a lone crow, whose red eyes
scanned every stone, branch and bush
in that vast land.
The wind picked up, carrying the leaves
that had fallen from that tree,
which the crow strongly believed
was her only home.
It needed not a single leaf, nor
a shred of life, for all it needed
was to stand, to help the crow explore
and see everything that surrounded her.
She required no love, nor a single friend,
so long as her tree stood tall
in that forest, until the end -
all she wanted was the sight.
With her piercing eyes, that crow saw
everything that could be seen -
she saw every virtue and every flaw
that exist

LifeIf we really think about life, then we soon realise;
we're nothing but a splatter of blood, on a killer's knife.

walking corpse syndromerotting bones in a coffin of flesh
why havent i been buried just yet
i wait, i ache, i slowly decay
why is my body treated this way

i'm only a ghost inside of a corpse
oxygen kills and it's starting to work
but everything seems to move far too slow
i'm like a puppet, alive just for show

Shut inDon’t mock me, or block me
from taking my stance;
A pity, the city
is caught in a trance.

If only the lonely--
the rich and the poor,
Admit it, we did it!
By shutting our door.

I’d doubt it, without it,
We’d crumble in ruin;
Still, steady, already
forgot what we’re doin’,

We chide the society
for shutting us in--
When really, the “silly”
was us to begin.

time to grow uplife feels personal but it's not
woes befall by scattershot
what's happening now has happened before
what does not pertain we learn to ignore

you pray for a break you want a promise
it is what it is there is no justice

llp - dA - may2013

Sins of the FleshThey're gazing in their mirror eyes
Full of loving longing and filthy longing
And moist-meat sounds that turn
My stomach at the thinking of.
They rut, my friends, and damn themselves.
I envy the damned, their ignorance.
Their love looks like lust to loveless eyes.

And as such, I can see them rutting
Whenever I close my eyes
And the thought itself disgusts me.
And in the ending of their tryst
They pool together into one.

They strut and rut in the streets
That burn in lust beneath my eyes.
Would that a tide would wash away
Oh that a tide of fire would burn away
And cleanse this world of its filth!

Yet one day, in a possible future,
I may be

ThinkingStronger and stronger i may i might,
Why have i sat here all tonight,
Thinking and thinking but not alone,
What am i thinking for someone to know?
I sit i wish i will move on,
But its just another step on,
Live the life that you want,
For its the life you caught.

this world will offer...this world will offer a tie for my trust
but no government can raise life from the dust

so i got to remember the truth that resides
when ile follow my heart instead of the lies

that everyones spewd whether like it or not
who knows wut is best in a place that will rot?

so just smile and think 'wut a fool is that guy'
hes not going to college he'll be shoed as a fly

and tho i may not be on record or known
we'll all be remembered for wut we have sown

not wut we have reaped or wut we may claim
achievements or 'honors' as fame is a game

and 'trusty' employers will say they know why
and demanding u orders to follow, or 'bye'

but i got to ask

Chasing hidden light

Water rolls off of pristine petals
Far beyond the beauty of moist metals

The organic life fighting for the outside
Wanting a life the cage seems to hide

Customary blooms of a sacred nature
Alloy of a colder nomenclature

But beauty always finds a way
No matter the sunlight given through the day

To brake the bonds of a confined space
A battle so many in life have faced

Yet like a broke heart that only wants to decay
The side of the fence has a better light….and I want her to stay.

Awake in my ExistenceLive through others in your proxy
You challenge existence without noises
The only thing you cannot fathom
Is the wakening of your boredom

Awake a life full of illusions
Crave for another lost sweet union
On a realm of cruel destruction
You whisper words of guilt and nonreaction

The frame of death float on your life
Not another hope for the lost souls
Desire, joy in your cortex will subscribe
Stand up choices who belong mentally yours.

Browse More Like This

Download File
HTML, 457 bytes more ▶

More from `TomWilcox

View Gallery · View Prints

Featured in Groups:

Not currently featured in any groups.

Details

Submitted: October 14, 2005
File Size: 457 bytes

Thumb

Statistics

Comments: 29
Favourites: 9 [who?]
Views: 716 (0 today)
Downloads: 85 (0 today)

[x]

Fade to Black

by `TomWilcox, Oct 14, 2005, 3:12:59 AM
Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Traditional Fixed Forms

Fade to Black

Knock knock, it’s the boogie man;
He’s coming after me.
I’ll grab my coat,
And write a note,
“At last, at last I’m free”.

Dead dreams, nothing seems
To matter anymore.
Fade to black;
Don’t look back.
No need to lock the door.

– 10/20/01 Tom Wilcox

Fade to Blackby `TomWilcox

Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Traditional Fixed Forms

©2005-2013 `TomWilcox

Short and not so sweet. A low point in my life.
Written in 2001; a very personal piece I am only now able to share.

Tom

*RainySkyz Jul 19, 2010

Oh wow

yeah, can identify with those low points in life. You seem much improved now though. That's good!

Reply

`TomWilcox Jul 20, 2010

Yes thanks,much better.

Reply

~Ocalikecoca Jun 26, 2006 Hobbyist Writer

very nice one. i just love straight to the subject poems. it's a fav

Reply

`TomWilcox Jun 27, 2006

Thank you. I am probably typical; I do my best stuff when everything around me is falling to ashes.

Tom

Reply

~Ocalikecoca Jun 27, 2006 Hobbyist Writer

happens to me just the same

Reply

`TomWilcox Jun 27, 2006

Reply

~asssshley Jan 23, 2006 Student

nice!

Reply

`TomWilcox Jan 24, 2006

Thanks Asli. My poetry is very personal but I love knowing that it has been read by someone.

Thanks so much!

Tom

Reply

~shaddowspoken Oct 28, 2005

Haunting..

Reply

`TomWilcox Oct 28, 2005

Thanks - a compliment

Reply

Previous
1
2
3
Next