8/12/00; 12:23 AM
The world around is a messAnd everyone is amiss
You are left to stand in the mindless mist
With hopes scattered on the floor
All covered with duress
The haze is thin
But still blurs the world in front of you
Almost as if you had just awoken
From a mid evening slumber
But the fog laughs
As it abstracts your view of the world
Leaving you with nothing you took for granted
As your mind begins to unfurl
Without a thought you are one with the mist
Truly a daunting and lonesome metamorphosis
Now every wind makes you twist and swirl
As you search for someone to join you
In your abstract world
9/11/00; 9:43 PM
It oozes forthBlood churning
Flaps of flesh foaming
It all oozes slowly
But the wound is not clean
One can clearly see that it is bleeding
But man’s surface perceptions are decieving
And only the victem can feel his pain
For it’s within him that it resides
And it will stay forever locked within him
Where it can hide
It continues to seep outside of him
With the occasional gushing and bursting
And one would think his health is progressing
But the only increase is in his subtraction
For the victim’s wound is filled with dejection
No one knows how deep it goes
But he is certain that it didn’t reach the other side
A relief to his health, but of none to himself
He would rather have two holes oozing forth
With twice the occasional gushes and burst
Two eyes crying tears of red
Hastening his subtraction
So that his pain would finally end
10/14/00; 5:59 PM
I see the empty in my mind...I see the illusion I left behind...
But have I ever seen such anything
Squirming within such nothing...
Probably not.
There is the illusion none the less
But it is gone
Nothing remains of this scarred soul
Except some forgotten songs of good times
That were left by the wayside
But it is of no consequnce
I am here now
Regardless of wether I sould or shouldn't
Be contained by the nothing
Be restrained by the nothing
Because everything is nothing
And there is nowhere to run
12/26/00; 1:18 AM
I can feel the sweat drip off your face.I can see your eyes yearn for more.
I can hear you knocking at my bedroom door
Wanting to go flocking with the masses,
Much like before.
Brother, you are just like all the others.
Thus, this song is for you.
I'll stab the quill into the ink jar,
And write with the remaining residue.
The paper breaks under my thoughtful weight.
I let out a loud monotone groan.
It is then when I'm struck with a plague of laughter,
As I see you as you were before.
Saddened but free,
Sometimes even wanting to talk to me!
But, some things just weren't meant to be
Friend, I see you like many of the rest.
Trying to run around,
Trying to do your best.
But in order to climb to the top
We must keep falling down.
Brother, whatever happened to your frown?
2/19/01; 9:57 PM
I am not afraid of fame.I will not back down from the crowds.
I will look back upon this someday,
And see how much I've really won.
Success is coming soon.
I know this fact quite well.
But the definition of soon is something
That only time can tell.
I am not afraid of this gutter.
I hold no fear living on the street.
I hold my breath, but to remember --
My only successes are while I sleep.
A Disgruntled Writer's Valentines
Day Card
2/19/01; 10:23 PM
I am not a poet!I sing no song of lovely lands.
I tell no tales of holding hands.
Sonnets are certainly not for me.
Is this a fact you cannot see?
I recite no Shakespearean slang
To make some sullen sweetheart swoon,
For that is something I care not to do.
Enough of sonnets, stanzas are just as bad.
They're full of similes and symbolism I cannot stand.
With hidden meanings I wish not to diagram,
And metaphors about as lovely as a can of Spam.
Rhyme schemes are the worst; how could one not agree?
Especially with these forced ones we often see.
It makes me sick to think of rhyming tricks,
Even if they make the children giggle really quick.
I am not a poet!
And there is only one way to prove it true.
Yes, some roses may be red,
And certain circles believe violets are blue.
The customs of this day may fill me with dread,
But regardless, I love you...
2/27/01; 1:50 PM
There is a white spring dayIn the month of February.
With Bradford Pear blossoms abound,
And the tranquil spring rains
That bring gentle sounds.
There was a winter morning
In the month of February.
With leafless trees looming around,
And small children's cries
That bring wrenching sounds.
What happened to February,
Who does it want to be?
Is it a white blooming pear,
Or a desolate tree?
3/7/01; 2:23 PM
A mental disturbance.It flutters across the mind
Bringing a glazed look to his eyes.
But, there is no other phasing.
A sudden thought.
It overwhelms the chain
As it breaks under his disdain.
But, there is nothing wrong.
A flash in the wind.
It carries a chilling breeze.
He follows it with his eyes,
And he drops to his knees.
A fleeting memory,
Another tragedy,
And, all in a moments notice,
The war is ending.
8/28/01; 1:17 PM
Caution! Keep out of reach of small children!They have 69% more fat,
And are made with real cinnamon.
Elizabeth’s bare arms could burn.
Tylenol is magically delicious!
Warning. Take one every four hours,
Even if it smells like dead fish.
Elizabeth’s heart could burn.
The Disappearing refillable duct tape is Gr-r-reat!
Especially in this world of Sterilitia.
If it breaks, it needed replacing anyway.
And, Elizabeth isn’t okay.
What a world of Boca Petite!
Topless Fortune Tellings!
Dancing in the Streets!
SPF 100 moisturizing treatments,
And Weezer’s new CD.
Elizabeth, your mom left a message.
Jesus called, said to keep an eye open for kegs to go.
The party writers will make you a super hero.
Nothing really matters Elizabeth,
Anyone can see.
Take the maximum dosage Elizabeth,
And you will be free.
?/??/01; ?:?? ??
They are back to haunt meThey have returned again
Springtime must be near
I can try to run from them as much as I wish
But it is of no use
They aren't just after me
But everyone else as well
It's times like these that I wish I could run like hell
But there is nowhere at all to hide
Every little nook and hidden cranny I can do
I can still hear them coming
Even if my ears are shut tight
I'm sure that they're still hunting me
They were once so beautiful
In a once upon a time that began many years ago
Now they are dreadful
They fill the skies
Arriving in the spring
And staying for a month or two or ten
Maybe someday they'll never return
And things will be peaceful again
Yet if the birds weren't there
What then would I be running from?
All writings are copyright of Chris Ward 1998-2000