Another Brick In The Wall

The Wreckage

He leans against a swaying palm tree,

I cannot see,
I cannot see,

The wreckage lay dead, reaped by the waves,

I wanna be saved,
Why can’t I see?

The sand is dark yellow, and clashed with green ferns,

Oh God it burns,
God damn it burns,

The sun rises up higher and higher,

I am on fire,
My body burns,

The water ate the boat, leaving nothing but foam,

Take me home,
Oh take me home,

And the leaves try to fan his body in vain,

Stop the pain,
And take me home,

In life, he had only done people good,

I need food,
I need food,

He wondered if he somehow offended God on high,

Lord, I’ll die,
Without some food,

The midday sun finally begins to sink,

I need a drink,
I need a drink,

He tries to stand up, but falls back to the ground,

I need to be found,
And get me a drink,

He crawls to the water, filled with coral and kelp,

Someone help,
Someone help,

But the salt burns his wounds and mangles his guts,

All these cuts,
I need help,

Now the moon has risen, with the stars as its aid,

I’m afraid,
I’m afraid,

And the ghosts of the island slowly appear,

Filled with fear,
I’m so afraid,

They dance around fire, but no heat can he feel,

They’re not real,
They’re not real,

They chanted and screamed and stories they tell,

This is hell,
And hell is real,

Sometime before morning, a specter comes over,

The cliffs of Dover,
Cliffs of Dover,

And grabs his hand, and takes all his fear,

I hear they are lovely,
This time of year,

Led by the ghosts, he begins to walk inland,
Leaving the sand and the waves and the moon,
They are all swallowed by thick underbrush,
And did not return as the sun arose,
The water harvested the last of the wreckage,
The last bit of proof of Neptune’s harsh wrath,
The palm trees swayed in the soft morning breeze,
And the ocean sat still, like cloth stretched to the horizon.

The Pricker Bush

She rides the back of a great cement serpent,

As the gentle sun sets on the fertile, green desert.

She knows that she is alone,

But somewhere she hears someone moan.

She steps off the light of the winding, grey snake,

And is quickly swallowed by the withered green trees,

And the moaning gets closer still,

But she slowly starts losing her will.

Her damning curiosity had almost died,

But she decides to push on just a little while more,

As the serpent still held tight,

Lit by a hundred lamps’ light.

A suffocating clearing emerged in the trees,

Where a bush stands armed with sharp prickers and vines,

The girl just stares with strained eyes,

As the bush waits idly by.

The bush kindly whispers to come over closer,

And sample from his sweet offering of berries,

So now she begins to advance,

She decides to give it a chance.

A scream is lost in a deluge of death,

For a vine reached out and pulled her in closer.

She tries to fight it, in vain,

But it just causes her more pain.

After decades of seconds, a carcass is released,

But a hollow shell of what it used to be,

As the serpent, the color of tombs,

Readies another girl for her doom.

Moonshine

The wind softly shrieks to be let in for the night,
But the cold steals all feeling from your shriveling limbs,
The wood briefly speaks for mercy from God,
Inside of the forgotten house on the lake.

The moon cogently brings life to the water,
But the waves still try to rip themselves from the depths,
The trees gratingly sing callous cawings and cries,
All which is gated by great, looming mountains.

The man painfully steals another swig from his bottle,
As he lays under the window in the dusty, dark attic,
His pain achingly feels as if it’s being ignored,
And doesn’t even bother to return anymore.

The house incessantly groans as the sky comes in closer,
And the moon’s heartless stare barrels down like mortar fire.
The wind endlessly moans like an unattended child,
Who had to face the truth many years too soon.

The moon solemnly peaks through the grimy old window,
To see a man sprawled out like a doll on the floor,
The liquor damningly leaks from the mouth of the bottle,
As death lies motionless in a flood of moonshine.

Untitled

Sometimes I cannot help but dream
Of horrid things that to me seem,
Ghost no sane man should ever see,
Like ill specters which never rest,
And as my heart pounds in my chest,
I hold my breath, unendingly.

I can feel their heinous presence,
As I predict painful events,
Filled with punishment and scorning,
I know my soul will never rise,
My pasture’s brown, with cloudy skies,
Retribution for sins of morning.

Sometimes I pray I wake up dead,
Or find my innocence instead,
There’s a war of shame and pride,
But guilt is easier to fight,
When the sun scares off the night,
Until then I can only hide.

VOTE PLEASE.

discalced:

• cassandralee

or

• keep it as “discalced”?

I want to change it to something more personal, hence why “cassandralee”. discalced is just a random word I like.

Cassandralee