Details |
Levi Stephenson Poem
I'm afraid of the monster under the bed and in the closet
I'm afraid of the lycanthropes who just like all our hopes were once beautiful and now who roped us in and now savagely
enloped with the vampires and the liars and like the fires of desires, now we burn in funeral pyres
Because it's the dark that makes us look into our hearts,
oh mrs. Hart the art teacher with a gun in her mouth and no one could reach her, the teacher who only wanted to to be the breacher of all the famed darkness, like a famine of the mind she succumbed, the bills like giant hills filled her with dread so she cleared her head
like ghouls all the fools in class who grew so fast and in their last moments the components fit so they screamed about what they dreamed and then when it fits it hit and it hurt cuz the undead hopes fed on their dreams
The vampires we hired and fired play the lyre at our full moon with a tune old as a rune next to our tomb.
And I'm not afraid of the dagger because I'm so haggard, haggard of my life and my strife which is rife
but that's life I'm told so never fold, hold my hand because we can and we'll fly in the face of life and never land,
yet I'm still afraid of the mirror under the bed and in the closet and in the dark.
It feeds on my heart this part because the zombies and ghouls and vampires were always real because THAT'S how we feel, that's the deal so yes the monsters are real but so are our dreams.
Darkness is the best mirror because you can only see yourself
leave a comment please
Copyright © Levi Stephenson | Year Posted 2017
|
Details |
Levi Stephenson Poem
filled with emotions hollow, forced to go through the motions, never caring for the commotion. Fairing like a flame in the marsh, no hope to claim. wandering without aim. are my parents to blame? How many people feel the same?
Feeling so harsh, so brazen, hatin the flow, life feels too slow, eyeing the hope like a crow. Future like a tree fell, as the tears well, and they call our final bell, Too painful to tell, filling up every cell.
Waiting for the reaper's scythe, pondering this life, watching my only friend the knife. Will they mourn the lost life, the worn spirit? Was this my destiny since I was born, to feel forlorn, to be so torn?
So why, why not die, why continue to try?
Are you afraid you'll fry? Can you not fly? Is it too soon to say goodbye?
Let's be sincere, we don't belong here, our best possible career is to serve beer. Go home to our dear, live in our house of fear, and when the end comes well silently cheer.
And after we pass, some believe that will be met by 72 a lass, some think we will simply meet our end, nothing around the bend, a few believe that saints await at the pearly gates, but no one is ever sure about what waits behind the fates.
Feeling so harsh, so brazen, hatin the flow, life feels too slow, eyeing the hope like a crow. Future like a tree fell, as the tears well, and they call our final bell, Too painful to tell, filling up every cell.
We go through our lives, presenting Broadway with a faux smile, half-hearted foes, just waiting for the close,
Is this really the life we chose? Filled with more cons than pros. Please let it all be some sort of hoax. Each morning coaxed out of sleep, and we weep. The sadness creeps into our hope. We lose our ability to cope.
And as the knot slides, the death of a thought Tears caught, soon we will rot
Copyright © Levi Stephenson | Year Posted 2018
|
Details |
Levi Stephenson Poem
the first breath of a second child, the third place in his fourth race while his dad drinks a fifth in their sixth home in his seven-year-long life, knowing only strife, eighth drink of dads, nine grams of coke on the table, ten lashes for losing, eleven years till freedom, twelve pills in the kitchen cabinet, thirteen hours of recovery, fourteen years of depression, fifteen years later and his second child takes his first breath, last chance to stop the loop.
Copyright © Levi Stephenson | Year Posted 2017
|