Best Poems Written by Casey Williamson

Below are the all-time best Casey Williamson poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Image Mirror

Is there anything important left to say?                                                                                     
or is everything dust that must be swept away.                                                                        
I saw my death today in my dreams asleep.                                                                             
I awoke to find my broken mind stained the cleanest sheets.                                                     
Now I'm gone but I'll live on in the muttering of ghosts.                                                             
You'll hear my song when the time is wrong and your buttering your toast.                                
The other thing is close I'm frozen from its look.                                                                       
With a reapers hood the creature stood reading from a book.                                                   
His face is mine in this space and time filling me with dread.                                                       
I want to know but please just go heres a schilling for the dead.                                                
I'ts killing my head his voice is just a scream.                                                                            
I think I see him wink at me with eyes a dusty gleam.

Copyright © Casey Williamson | Year Posted 2011


Details | Casey Williamson Poem

Empty

The Dark seeps into the hollow place                                                                                        
empty...                                                                                                                                  
a note blares in the silence                                                                                                        
the horn of the forlorn                                                                                                              
The royal dead are my choir                                                                                                     
singing sounds of the lifeless and                                                                                               
empty...                                                                                                                                  
they twist in the wind at the end of the hangmans rope                                                             
smiling on the outside of an inside joke                                                                                     
they can't help but grin 
empty...                                                                                                                                  
look to the absent shadow the lost parade, the funeral march                                             
they dance on grey slated gravestones and laugh maniacally                                               
only their heads are mostly 
empty...

Copyright © Casey Williamson | Year Posted 2011

Details | Casey Williamson Poem

Frank

It's alive shaking fists at god                                                                                                     
ride the lightning theres life in storms                                                                                        
the twisted odd creator of the born                                                                                          
embrace the swarming energy                                                                                                 
they fill your cells with life                                                                                                         
a torch and pitchfork                                                                                                                
the tools of deluded fools                                                                                                         
they seek my sons destruction                                                                                                 
the ghoulish Frank                                                                                                                    
lumbers at work in dark fields                                                                                                   
he dreams of days denied to him                                                                                              
the slumbering leviathan

Copyright © Casey Williamson | Year Posted 2011

Details | Casey Williamson Poem

The Borders

The road to hell is grid locked                                                                                                    
while heavens all express lanes                                                                                                 
theres never was a bullet train to pain                                                                                       
nor a single clock in the darkest pits                                                                                          
all they play is uno down there                                                                                                 
don't ask me why                                                                                                                    
in paradise they play chess                                                                                                       
on boards with golden flecks like the masters eye

Copyright © Casey Williamson | Year Posted 2011

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