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Homosexuality BitesThey found me slumped over in the school showers
With a towel loosely wrapped around my waist
Scalding hot water was blistering my skin
As I bled from an unspeakable place

A hard-handed teacher dragged me to my feet
With little or no sign of sympathy
For the bruising to my feeble framed ribcage
And the fractures to my identity

I think they all thought that I had it coming
As no one was willing to testify
That the sodomy inflicted upon me
Was something to which I hadn’t complied

Boisterous boys laughing in the corridors
As I shamefully limped throughout the day
Not a thought for the pain that was inflicted
Just worried for what my pa
I Am a WriterI am a writer.
Yes, it’s easy for me to fall into a dream.
But there is nothing wrong with being tighter
With a story’s theme.

I am a writer.
That is all I will ever want to be
In the end, my story will be lighter,
And my characters will finally be free.

I am a writer.
There is nothing easier to say than that.
I will never let a story wither
Nor let a story fall flat

I am a soon to be author.
With several books ready to be read,
I want them to have great honor
And wish there will be tears shed.
Pieces of chessKings and pawns are all the same
All but pieces in a game
A stroke of luck
A touch of ill fate
Decides in the end who will be
Checkmate
*Mask*Tonight hearts will beat
Identities are concealed
When we masquerade.

Familiar voices
Behind flamboyant disguise
Recognize those eyes.

2013 Delice1941
13th April2013
Take Death's HandI do not fear Death.
My life has been long enough.
It's time I take my last breath.
I shall not rebuff.
Death stands by my side,
his hand extended for me to take.
His face is veiled like that of a bride.
This life I now forsake
as Death takes me away.
I do not regret
for I am free of the fray.
Please do not fret
for I am okay.
~Evil creatures~
They're evil creatures in the night
Lurking in the shadows but still seeing there sight
From they're pale skin and glowing eyes
Out there graves they will rise
Moaning and groaning is what you hear
Your body will soon fill with fear

They walk or run in a fast pace
Here they come for the chase
Get ready for the fear
Coming through the door they are here
Board up the windows to keep them away
This is the place you don't want to stay

It's too late now they're breaking in
It's a fight you may not win
Grab you shotgun prepare for the fight
This battle may last all night
Pain and blood come from your arm
A bite from these creatures can cause muc
AveryHis veins are filled with music and with stars.
His thoughts are filled with emptiness and flow.
His voice is made of dusty old guitars.
His mind’s a rusty cog that clanks below.
And these affects and gifts with which he’s blessed –
Or cursed, as alternately it may be –
Are some well-known and some yet unaddressed,
And they determine all that he must see.
But when his veins must open up and burst
And when his thoughts in dark directions fly,
When all his voice can do is preach the worst,
When all his mind can think to do is die –
It gives him pause to check himself and breathe.
May he stay in this world and never
All AloneI'm sitting in my four walled room
Their closing in, like an ancient tomb
I feel like I'm wasting time for two
When all I want is me and you
Who Was HeHe stood at the average height for men.
His built was quite average.
His eyes were that of cyan.
Nonetheless, he was average.

His hair was that of blonde,
Nearly, white.
His walk and personality had a great bond.
He was a confident sight.

His skin was a delicate peach.
His muscles were quite firm.
So irresistible, a teasing reach.
His appearance had its own term.

One that the dictionary cannot confirm.

Who was he?
That man with his own sea?
He was one without a name.
His appearance was a taunting game.
He was one without a number for an age.
Forget it, he’s fake on this page.
SuicideThere's no blood on her hands
Bullet holes in the door
Nothing but colored pills
And her lying on the floor

You look at her face
There's despair in her eyes
And you wonder what she thought
As she fell and died

And maybe you're begging her to come back
And maybe you're asking why she let go
The hurt in your chest feels like a heart attack
And now you finally know

Maybe you could've helped her
If you'd looked past your own nose
Maybe she'd be alive now
You had a chance, this is what you chose
Now maybe you'll learn from things
That you didn't see
Maybe you'll open your eyes
And rescue him, or her, or me
Maybe she cried a prayer
For the oth
You never chose the middle pathYou never chose the middle path, the place
of careful, safe and unremarkable,
the sky at 10 am, the camp at base,
the decaf paper cup unbreakable.

You had to go with high and low and real,
with rich and fast and things more notable:
the sky at midnight, Himalayan-feel,
the oxygen and you, unstoppable.

But then your weight became too much for skies.
Your melamine became a china cup.
And those who cried moved on to lesser highs.
They look ahead, or down, but never up.

You never chose the middle path, you raced.
I’m looking up, and pray that speed is graced.
One WindowOne window is all I need
To see the world for what it truly is
With my mind a system of creed.
My talent can depict or dismiss
This world of goals, so hear my heed.

I sit down beside a journal,
My fingers clutching a pencil.
I will make my character’s life spiral
And send them off to a council
Where they must advance through the next trial.

One window is all I need
To watch them afar a long, hazy field,
Where I can study their speed
Of understanding when they will yield
Of life, itself, so they need to hear my heed.

My character’s goal,
As well as mine,
Is to be whole
And see how bright life can shine
Even through the darkness
Last RoadTwo people, both alike in personality,
Shared a home where the scene was played,
From shattered souls to new beginnings,
Where screams were heard on this doomsday.
From golden moons crisp as the sun,
A mother who has not yet won,
The illness will strive until the deed is done,
Even if the daughter has not begun.
The road that lies ahead,
Is now a mother who is dead,
With hugs and kisses that are gone,
The daughter who will beat them all;
Thy which your eyes and ears can pretend,
What here shall be a transformation undid.
SomedaySomeday all this work
That I have nearly mastered for years
Will be recognized and will lurk
Between the pieces that my talent fears.

Someday I will look upon a shelf
And see the story of my child,
A character that is true to thyself,
And their plot can then be finally compiled

Someday I will have a fan base
That will love me even through my faults
And have a beaming smile upon their face
Mostly during the greatest results.

Someday I will be an author,
One with a great metaphor.
'The Thing''The Thing'
The thing that's so strong
no one can get rid of it.
The thing that takes millions
especially the innocent.
What rages on,
poisoning anyone that gets a hold of it.
What is this thing?
I can't even say
the name of the object
that takes loved ones away.
It lures beautiful people in,
and tears them apart.
So after that,
they will wish they had never start.
The Thing's only purpose
is to attack.
Whether it goes to innocent or evil,
it will never go back.
So heed my words
and stay away from 'The Thing'
because once it takes your soul,
you won't be here,
so your story will never be told.
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More from ~Professor-Kirby

Autumn Impressions IIIAutumn Impressions

i.
Walking to the drugstore in the rain
As worms wiggle past and streetlights blink:
"Walk."
"Do not walk."

ii.
I'm warmed by two things –
Hot cider in my stomach and your arms around my waist.

iii.
Violent yellow fungus
Thrusts its way outward from the tree trunk.
Creeping, creeping,
I see girls come and throw rocks at it.

iv.  
John's voice reading The Raven by a campfire.
Embers flavor the s'mores as smoke clings
To sweatshirts and woolen socks.
A glittery shooting star
(or firework?)
Flames overhead.

v.
Pea-soup sky –
The science building is a haunted house.

vi.
Your kisses are Sund

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November 17, 2008
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Last Dance of the Seasons

:iconprofessor-kirby:

Last Dance of the Seasons

So now November kisses him goodbye
With a touch whose love cannot endure
And Winter never knows the reason why

She hangs her head to golden tear-drops cry
On ground his sorrow washes white with hoar
So now November kisses him goodbye

Eternal promised love a weeping lie
No time-bound thing can last forevermore
And Winter never knows the reason why

He calls down all his armies from the sky
In wrath, his heart is brimming full of war
So now November kisses him goodbye

She shudders with a wail and strives to fly
The arms and fingers which she did adore
And Winter never knows the reason why

These lovers always parting with a sigh
As they first met, but seemingly before
And Winter never knows the reason why

She never lingers hence for any ply
Her numb, forsaken sweetheart can implore
But now November kisses him goodbye
And Winter never knows the reason why
:iconprofessor-kirby:
Was assigned to write a poem about the end of autumn for poetry class. I love villanelles, so I decided to take one on, partially inspried by some things that happened recently in my life.. Thad helped me out with the title and a couple lines I wasn't sure about. :heart:
:iconana-d:
*Ana-D Feb 15, 2009
Hi =)

This work has been featured here: [link]

:blowkiss:
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:iconnimphaiwe:
~Nimphaiwe Nov 18, 2008  Student Traditional Artist
Wow, this is really pretty.
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