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The Ring.

He has his head on pillow propped against my thigh.
Oh wouldn't you like to know where this boy has been?
That book he writes in speak a tale of places so dark
his past is fading into space.

              They call us insane in the flick of the second hand.

Smells like beer, the paper from a cigar,
that taste and the nostril flare
But he's not alone--we all have our pasts.

              They speak our names in hushes in the hallways.

And oh how they'd never want to be us
--the nights we have full of the deviance of the subteranean.
God, how they wish they could see us
--when drained in the early morning.

              They whisper to us like we're more than a passing face.

Crying, and screaming, no one shatters with worry,
muttering words and shouting that nothing is good enough.
Pull some more strings, the world around them
crash, crashes, crashes down.

              Just because we're not really seen doesn't mean we're not noticed.

They may not see us as one of their own,
but they're enamored with the underworld
the hazy fogged world that is our life.
We hold the secrets to their entertainment.

            Secrets we make, the secrets we keep.
                        The secrets that everyone knows we can't tell.
                                The world the world that social heirarchy
                                      would fall like the decaying Roman empire.


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Comments


  • stavykm gold member
    February 24, 2008

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    Interesting Poem

    I had to read it through a few times for I'm a bit slow sometimes and this is a excellent poem. I love the lines, They call us insane in the flick of the second hand., They speak our names in hushes in the hallways.,They whisper to us like we are more than a passing face., Just because we're not really seen doesn't mean we're not noticed. Brilliant really!!! Thank you for sharing your gift to write poetry with me.
    Many Blessings
    Kelle Marie
    stavykm


  • De-Throned
    February 14, 2008

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    great write my favorite part was:
    Secrets we make, the secrets we keep.
    The secrets that everyone knows we can't tell.
    The world the world that social heirarchy
    would fall like the decaying Roman empire.
    Good luck in the contest
    De-throned