Numbness as I walk in halls
A heavy load in my hand I bear
Tome of the ancient past
Portrays a fog in my mind
Emptiness, void and vanity
As I look at zombies like me
Consumed by an epidemic...
Which left us cold-blooded
At the darkness of dusk
When the sun shines no more
I lie below the tombstone of my grave
Devoured by a sleepy hollow in my coffin
Vitality where are you?
Where are your streams of life?
I' am lost, Where am I?
Oh wait, that's right
I'm in college
Copyright © Dorlan Tiu | Year Posted 2013
A place to sit, to insist the other exist.
Instinct ink; a brief connection to persist the other exist.
A place to relieve myself from this brief connection.
Instinct ink; a recollection of all things beneath.
A place to sit, and the smell at my feet reminds of all the visits paid my grave state.
I insist, a place to exist would be eventually diseased or the others' seat.
I hate myself and everyone else for discussing my health.
I self service the help, first I self service myself heaping portions of self help.
Maybe, above all we, recall that disbelief with humorous forgiveness.
Maybe, a place to sit, to insist the other exist, is the exact form.
Instinct turned ink on walls now speak for all things.
A place to exist would rejoice in the moments known love could damage my grave state.
Copyright © Jonathan Michael Conlon | Year Posted 2012
Yeah, the Angel of Death was an ugly old Toad
In a ratty black robe as He walked on the road
Where I drove a big truck full of asphalt that day
So I hollered at Him, "Get the hell out the way!"
Then he gave me a look that would stop a clock dead
And it felt like a brick had just struck my poor head
But I shivered and regained my composure at last
So I pulled the air horn, and He jumped at the blast.
Well, I laughed and I laughed 'til I thought I would choke;
I mean, who would've thought you could play such a joke
On the Man whose sole task was to make people die
And to leave loyal dogs at their gravesites to cry?
I get mad when I think of the arrogant Creep
Who does nothing but plant victims two fathoms deep.
How the hell does He know when it's our time to leave
And to snatch us away whilst our goldfish all grieve?
But as much as I rattled the grim-looking Goon
He refused to indulge me by ending too soon
The long life that was left me to do as I like
So He settled for booming, "HEY BUD, TAKE A HIKE!"
Copyright © Roderick Molasar | Year Posted 2015
"Grave is not mistake-
Nobody can miss it and everybody to take"
Copyright © Muhammad Safa Thajudeen | Year Posted 2014
Eight hours of toiling in the sun
With pick and axe digging for rum
Captive to the sentence yet
Prisoner to none
Hard labour, and this sure ain’t fun
Sweating in the heat, shoveling the dun
Digging and digging this work never done
Callused hands and a back carrying tons
The sun is setting, yet escape seems far
After all the digging is the gravel and tar
I am dead, dead dead!
Dead tired and wish I was in bed
So fair warning I am leaving here soon
Leaving this torture, to sing another tune
Leaving, I am to fetch me some brew
Some Tim Horton’s coffee and maybe some stew
ummmm a coffee shop, lets see what trouble I can get into there!!!!! :)
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2017
ghostly figures dance
diaphanous dresses swirl
in the pale moonlight
it’s the graveyard shift
on the eve of Halloween
we’re in good spirits!
Sponsored by Laura Loo
Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2017