Cry of the Stars

falling slowly, into mire gloomy
the overseers sings songs of groovy
there is nothing more to lose
tossing heavy with humor, an ocean of gastric juice
what more hides behind the veil?
the grey fog gathers close to wail

hope dons a heavy iron crown,
while the people who pass wear the same frown
the mocking bird smiles slyly,
his garb, a choker of overgrown ivy
tomorrow will forget the wind
as society seems to be quiet blind
the rain is inclined to take a bold chance
so, let us all enjoy this hypnotic trance

tell me it is not a farewell you imply
even though elves have not an intimidating battle cry
forever's march is still yet never ending
however, it's all the rules we'll be bending
your lips are cracked and dry
bobby stole your rhubarb pie

bloodstained tears cover the skies
for, picking mushrooms blindly is unwise
every page falls to its death,
by the cringing hand of bad breath
hear the harsh tone of fire's crackling roar
the reality of everything dear is never spoken for
she weeps unheard in the cold moonlight
come, dance to polka's muse with me tonight

mcf.

There's a glorious song
Weaving through all Nature
Listen close
You'll hear it.

The stars
scattered, sprinkled
across the deep rolling blue
of the night sky,
singing
voices clear and high
like silver light upon the ear
twinkling melodies
glimmering
glinting
Listen close
You'll hear it.

The trees
swaying gently, waving
branches, rustling leaves
of emerald green
singing
voices clear and strong
harmonies intertwining
like tendrils on a growing vine
glowing
gleaming
Listen close
You'll hear it.

The ocean
tossing waves, crashing
against the mossy cracked rock
of faded grey
singing
voices clear and rippling
like swirling frothing sea-foam
soothing lullabies
shimmering
streaking
Listen close
You'll hear it.

The sun
rising, setting
in golden sweeping swathes of fire
cast across billowing clouds
singing
voices clear and burning
dancing rhythms
like snapping, cracking sparks
flaming
flashing
Listen close
You'll hear it.

In the cry of the seagull
the gust of the wind
the wolf's mournful howl
the moon's pale rays
the snow-peaked mountains
There's a glorious song
Weaving through all Nature
Listen close
you'll hear it--

Then sing along.

-Del

I come when winter's midnight dreams
When all the world have closed their eyes
When golden light begins to glow
I come to bind the silver skies
My face is hid by branches bare
My eyes are like the northern stars
My hair is wound through icy streams
My gaze is piercing, near and far
I seek the one who hears my song
The one who brings me to the sea
I seek the one who gives me rest
The one whose eyes will set me free.

-Del

I hate my writing
It looks so horrifying
Please don't look at it

~M-Dawg


Authors note: i really do hate my handwriting, it really is horrifying, and i really don't want anyone looking at it.

Apology note: Sorry for not writing in a long time... I had no inspiration around me.

It's dark here,
and I can't remember what sunlight looks like.
Is it yellow, green, or blue?
It can't be red, because I can't remember red.
What is white?
Maybe sunlight is white.
But it's dark here,
and I hate it.
Hate how the sound of water
is but a drip and trickle
maddeningly out of rhythm
Hate how the ground is cold
and wet, slimy,
slippery.
Hate how the only voice is mine
too loud, too soft
and strange to my ears.
Do I still speak?
Or is this just my mind?

Oh, take me home!

I remember home
Hugs, smiles, light
warmth.
friends (who were they?)
trees, grass, stars,
moonlight.
Mountains in the distance,
cool rivers laughing,
rushing by
clouds dancing in the sky,
thunder, lightning
thrills of speed.
But I can't remember sunlight.

I want to.

Oh, take me home!

-Del

Who am I?
I am a girl,
One who likes to laugh
Who speaks in rhythm
Rhyme
But still can fly in dreams.
I am a child,
One who has not seen the world
Who looks for adventure
Excitement
But still knows the beauty of home.
I am an artist,
One who watched for years
Who has stepped forward
Drawn
But still watches, to learn.
I am an author,
One who tells a story
Who breathes out life
Action
But still loves to read.

Yet who am I?

It's strange.
simple.
For I am only me.

Yet who am I?

It's stranger.
simpler.
For I am only Him.

-Del