Post by Evelyn on Sept 18, 2007 12:53:04 GMT -5
I wrote these poems a few years ago, I went through my kinda emo stage earlier than most.
This is about Jesus, basically:
Bleed
I bleed all your tears.
I feel all your pain.
I love for you, I hate for you.
The burden of many, on the back of one.
Old, dying words on a young, living tongue.
Bitter, sad, sweet; life in its prime.
I've gone, before my time.
Always, always, in my heart you will shine.
This one is sliiiightly random...
Blossom
Black flowers blossom on a dead woman’s grave
The demons that seek her gain what they crave
She flies to the heavens that fall from above
And she flies on the burnt blackened wings of a dove.
Mystery enshrouds her like a haze
Her mind dulls the senses like a hopeless maze
She revels in death and she revels in life
Her dark shadowed cloak conceals a bone knife.
Her kiss is a blessing that burns the skin
Her words are a whisper that makes the head spin
When she takes your hand you are truly lost
She owns a touch akin to frost.
A skull in one hand, a scroll in the other,
She plays the daughter and plays the mother
And when the games begin to begin,
All she can do is curse and sin,
So black flowers blossom on a dead woman’s grave,
For to become such a thing, she was evil and brave.
More later... ;D
This is about Jesus, basically:
Bleed
I bleed all your tears.
I feel all your pain.
I love for you, I hate for you.
The burden of many, on the back of one.
Old, dying words on a young, living tongue.
Bitter, sad, sweet; life in its prime.
I've gone, before my time.
Always, always, in my heart you will shine.
This one is sliiiightly random...
Blossom
Black flowers blossom on a dead woman’s grave
The demons that seek her gain what they crave
She flies to the heavens that fall from above
And she flies on the burnt blackened wings of a dove.
Mystery enshrouds her like a haze
Her mind dulls the senses like a hopeless maze
She revels in death and she revels in life
Her dark shadowed cloak conceals a bone knife.
Her kiss is a blessing that burns the skin
Her words are a whisper that makes the head spin
When she takes your hand you are truly lost
She owns a touch akin to frost.
A skull in one hand, a scroll in the other,
She plays the daughter and plays the mother
And when the games begin to begin,
All she can do is curse and sin,
So black flowers blossom on a dead woman’s grave,
For to become such a thing, she was evil and brave.
More later... ;D
