[ 30.7.02 ]
It doesn't seem quite right that everytime some new alien race comes to Earth, that they should immediately start dissing us. In every book, in every movie I've ever seen, the aliens that come to Earth always preach on about how lowly humans are; about how stupid and incompetent and basically just how awful and nasty we are.
You know, that's not nice. That's not nice at all. It's a lumping together sort of thing. Stereotyping. I hate stereotyping. I have to work with myself not to lump people into groups. Just because one person is a snob and is stuck up does not mean that all people that look or talk like her/him is that way. Just because one person is rude or whatever does not mean that the whole world is that way.
Therefore, I think I have had an idea. Life is 3 parts bad, one part good. It's sort of like the Ironic/Irony whatever song that was popular back in the 90's.
"And isn't it ironic. . . "
The world seeped in sin
sinks in its own muck
burns its own life
people live anyway
I could make a poem out of that if I wanted. . . but not right now. It's 2:09 am and I think my creative brain cells have shut down for the night. Thank you, thank you. You've all been great. All ~looks at counter~ two of you.
Bye now.
I'll be back-- probably.
Val [2:02 AM]
[ 28.7.02 ]
he sits without thinking
the sun harsh on his neck
the road burning his feet
emptiness filling his heart
gasping for breath
stomach long past growling
rags barely covering--
his peeling, burnt skin
blood drenched fingers
grope at the endless stretch of road
he knows the end has come
alone in the wilderness
he never thought it'd end this way
thought he'd be at the top
watching others die--
maybe
not like this
not his time
shouldn't be anyway
life's not fair
so I found him
eyes rolling back in his head
beaten, broken--
all but dead
forgotten but not gone?
I asked him softly
he looked at me--
with contempt in his eyes
not my turn
that's what he said
dude, it was your turn
that's what I said
the time comes around
bad luck to everyone
luck is blind
just your turn
he said no
his turn had come
why couldn't they--
just leave him be?
who? I asked
demons perhaps?
or monsters?
or soul stealers?
no, he said
freaking voices
that's the truth
I swear it
Voices? saying what
I wondered aloud
voices, he said
telling me to do stuff
yeah right--
so I laughed
every nutball around
has freaking voices in their heads
telling them to do stuff--
like kill their boss?
or their friends?
or their kids?
same thing--
couldn't you be even
a bit original?
I asked
you freak!
he yelled hoarsely
you don't understand
no one does
I was the demon
I was the killer
I was the one that made kids
fear for their lives at night
I am the hunter
death to all those who dare--
to forget me--
to laugh in my face
I watched millions die
I sentenced them
slow death, fast--
painful, whatever
I took pride in hearing--
their screams of agony
their pain upon pain
turning their souls to fire
freaking voices
started waking me up at night
saying stuff like--
remember the first one
remember the first what?--
I asked
the first one that died!
he yelled
the first one that died?
why should that be such a big deal--
if you kill so many--
anyway?
the first one was an accident
my accident--
he said weakly
my fault
she shouldn't have died
she should have lived
it was an accident
never should have happened
the voices reminded me of this
my debt to her
had to be fulfilled
they said
what debt
I laughed it off
ignoring them
freakin' voices
they weren't just figments--
of my imagination
they had power
to hurt me
to hurt me like she hurt
to make me pay
for the death
of one so innocent
the pain of her death
seared through my heart
burning any love for life--
out of my heart and soul
but the voices tormented me--
on and on
they won't let me forget!
he cried out to me
To Be Continued . . . . (hopefully)
Val [6:09 PM]
I think the possible secret to writing poems that are a bit more cheerful is that you have to write about specific things in life (i.e. -- the breeze, trees, sun, etc).
Val [5:33 PM]
[ 20.7.02 ]
Burning bridges
background red
smoky air
barely breathing
pain so strong
finds my heart
makes me remember
won't let me forget
tried to help
left for dead
world's about gone
nearly
light's extinguished
fire lights the sky
ozone gone
death near
not so quite
had a hope
a promise
for later
pain now
blacking out
end in sight
or not
before I'm gone
looking around
tried to help
those around
crawling around
same as me
or not
dying
They're dying
lost and gone
flesh burning
heart seared
reaching out,
I grasp a hand
now flesh falling away
crying out in pain
not ready
more to do
left to die
gone
gone completely
saw the bodies
friends
enemies
they died
and here am I
end in sight
but not for me
feeling strange
looking up
fires burn below
not here
here is that
which dreams forge
hopeful images
of life.
Val [1:33 AM]
I'm Sometimes Not So Sure God
Weaknesses and all God, right?
Promises I made
Thoughts I had
Ideas too
Not your fault,
but mine
weaknesses hurt me,
but okay to you.
...........................
Bleah, how much more devoid of feeling can I get? Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that it is 1:27 am. Hmm, perhaps? That's what I was thinking.
When I went to camp about a month ago, I came to the conclusion that perhaps the reason that I can never write happy poetry is because I haven't ever been really happy- outside along with inside.
I also came to the conclusion that those under God don't exactly have a easy ride. In fact, it's kind of tough to do the right thing, you know? So in other words, the storm rages on, but not all hope is lost.
Val [1:23 AM]
help?
