Details |
Sean Day Poem
Why do you enjoy my suffering?
Does my torment really please you?
Disrespect me as often as you like.
Ignore my existence the way you do.
Why do you enjoy my suffering?
You claim to love with all your heart.
Selfish, cruelty must be an art form.
You excel in hatred, tearing me apart.
Why do you enjoy my suffering?
Your cold smile could conjure the dead.
Your evil stare torments my dreams.
I wish I could get you out of my head.
Copyright © Sean Day | Year Posted 2014
|
Details |
Sean Day Poem
For centuries humans thrived.
Education, how they survived.
Changing environments a challenge.
Through clever skills they managed.
Became prepared for any situation.
Assuming no more devastation.
The dark sky brightening.
Impossible war, not lightening.
Everyone chanting prayers.
Gods no longer cared.
The beings who started it all
Came to make it fall.
Humans will no longer possess
A future without distress.
Blessing to die than to strive.
Never be a chance to survive.
A planet devoid of a vaccine
As Earth is wiped clean.
Copyright © Sean Day | Year Posted 2014
|
Details |
Sean Day Poem
Pleasure.
Ecstasy. Euphoria.
Positive feedback mechanism.
Art. Music. Literature. Appreciation.
Pleasure.
Copyright © Sean Day | Year Posted 2014
|
Details |
Sean Day Poem
I wonder my place in the universe.
Imagining the eternal vastness of space.
Mind explores a mathematical explanation.
Soul searching for the divine answer.
Meditation on the laws of physics.
Constantly searching for the explanation.
I wonder my place in the universe.
There must be an answer hiding.
Waiting to be found in the darkness.
No reply. No answer. Just silence.
Copyright © Sean Day | Year Posted 2014
|
Details |
Sean Day Poem
Welcome to the house of judgement.
Where your soul will weep.
Where your dreams decay.
Where your mind dies.
No use to pray.
Welcome to the house of judgement.
Where you are alone.
Where you burn forever.
Where torment is normal.
And prayers left unanswered.
Welcome.
Welcome home.
Copyright © Sean Day | Year Posted 2015
|
Details |
Sean Day Poem
My hand holds the knife
As it hovers in the air
Awaiting to massacre the dead.
Every cut precise
And meticulously planned
No matter the bloody mess.
Pieces of flesh fill the air.
Some discarded as waste.
Some saved for taste.
Split open bones with
Nerves exposed as I
Finish my task at hand.
Clean up the blood
And prepare the salad
For our fresh chicken dinner.
Copyright © Sean Day | Year Posted 2014
|
Details |
Sean Day Poem
Tired of broken pencils flying at me.
Their graphite claws reaching
For my saddened heart.
Tired of the children’s cries.
As their frustrations stab
Into my tangled mind.
Tired of communication
Yelling of hatred pierce
My infected ears.
Tired of living in negativity.
Damaging my health broken
As well as my damned spirit.
Copyright © Sean Day | Year Posted 2014
|