i feel like, under the rain

everything is subject to change

there is a certain joy in

regarding someone

perhaps you've never talked to them

or never liked them

but under the rain, really

there's a certain awe for the world

that coruscates in the eyes of its beholders

so next time it rains

take a look around

notice what you didn't see before?

we love in spite of who we are

because it is a way we carry hope

perhaps love is rebellion

only those who desire

can partake in

and maybe love isn't reasonable

but it is often liberating

if you view it at the right angle

My heart beats,

I feel the silent joy of the world.

My memento mori,

Happens to be the very thing that keeps me alive.

One day I will die,

But I can say I lived,

And that will be enough hope for my soul.

I've never been particularly verbose

Or brilliant with wordplay,

But I'd like to try

And be honest.

When the stars fade in, as the sun falls

Do you think of me?

Does the dazzling light of Sirius remind you of me?

Or do I inspire thoughts of the extinguished stars,

Which have been dead for many years,

Yet still shine?

Am I the rug on which you step?

Or the rest on which you rest your arm?

Am I the disposable syringe? or am I

The most hated monstrosity.

I hear the repetitive tick of the clock

As I lay dying,

And I can feel

That the eternal abyss

Which is so highly praised,

Becomes near.

I hear the repetitive tick of the clock

As I lay dying,

And I can feel

That the eternal abyss

Which is so highly praised,

Becomes near.

I've read your script 100 times,

Exhausted scenarios in my mind,

So every time you took a step,

A page would turn with ink still wet...

You've been down this road before,

The book you bind is just a door,

With empty contents filled inside,

And chapters hid between your lies...

So you trade your ink for lead,

More easy to erase instead,

Of dealing with more permanent,

At the cost of what was writ....

But I see through your charade,

I've read your index to evade,

The time it takes to learn the truth,

So your mistakes preserve my youth...

And when its all but said and done,

I close the novel you've become,

Without taking a second look,

I chose to read a better book...

Terry

WWW.WhiteLionPoetry.com

I am the body

of a severed head

A divine vessel

the core of the apple

caving into itself

To understand myself

I know not the feeling

only the head rolling

the soft rumble leading

my blind footing

I am a severed body wilting

a dying impression of what was

before the decapitation

Slim evidence of intimacy

between a mind and a beating heart