Best Angstred Poems
i had bought her two hand made crystal glasses
one was red and one was blue
the day our son left home
his old thermos fell
from the top shelf
and broke the red glass
we still have the blue glass
and
each other
Red
blood boiling
my head aching
turmoil within
the madness begins
anger welling
inside of me
so deep within
I can hardly see
angry at what I've become
and it's only just begun
this madness consuming me
seems red is all I can see
so what's the point of trying
when inside my soul is dying
from deep within it's crying out
oh what's this life all about
so I'll just keep on fighting
these feelings now abiding
welling up inside of me
I cry out to the powers that be
now I lay awake in bed
trying to rest my aching head
and put aside all of my sorrow
hoping for a better morrow
so I pray silently in my head
that I will see anything but.....
blood boiling
my head aching
turmoil within
the madness begins
anger welling
inside of me
so deep within
I can hardly see
angry at what I've become
and it's only just begun
this madness consuming me
seems red is all I can see
so what's the point of trying
when inside my soul is dying
from deep within it's crying out
oh what's this life all about
so I'll just keep on fighting
these feelings now abiding
welling up inside of me
I cry out to the powers that be
now I lay awake in bed
trying to rest my aching head
and put aside all of my sorrow
hoping for a better morrow
so I pray silently in my head
that I will see anything but.....
RED
It takes my life,
through a delicate, plastic pipe.
I lie here. Knowing
I am punctured.
It takes my life.
Straight from my feeble heart,
that flutters,
as the red stuff flows.
My eye's open.
See chest moving, and a rose
pitifully blooming.
A spark of red on an arm
that's a dry, white steppe.
A listless breeze
blows through my skull,
a whimper off noise,
in a long empty hall.
Butterflies in stomach.
Trapped in this bed.
Head full of loves,
who are dead, dead, dead.
In dreams I claw
at loose earth,
with fingers clawed,
as if bones alone will do.
If I apply foce,
scream till hoarse,
spew bile and spittle,
won't bring them back.
Must lie still.
Bear it.
The weight in tonnes
of those dearly departed.
I see it now vivid.
I am waif-thin, pale skinned
a terrible wretch, a thing.
It's drained me. All of it.
I'm so warm that I
must glow as a lantern,
thrown against frosted window.
I am the shards.