Most of my inspiration is from sadness...When I write, I create a release..I have no intention of causing depression from my poetry, if anything I appreciate the ability to express it.

Wednesday, April 3, 2013

I approached a lone man. his eyes were covered by one hand, the other rested on his lap. 
He appeared to have no tongue, could not speak, hum or tell what he had written down. 
I leaned down to his side and whispered in his ear "why are you here?".
Silence was my cue he could not hear. 
Gardens surrounded the shelter. 
Lush, green flora imprisoned us.  
Clouds formed a grey gate outside the entrance. 
Vines and branches rapidly grew before me.
Hands and ankles bound, lifted above ground......
The man laughed as if he knew....

It poured, acid like rain burned my skin.
The clothing I wore melted away.
The fumes from the air disrupted my vocal projection. 
A loud roar of thunder echoed in the night...
Blood dripped down from my ears..
The man stood on one foot and removed his hands from his eyes.
I was blinded by the toxic skies. 
"Want to live?" he asked "Sign this paper and you'll pass."
Of course I would to survive..
The deed was did and done, the man vanished and I was left.
My sight had been taken, I could not speak, nor hear. 
I traced what was written with the tips of my fingers...

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