Poetry

[Hayleexx]

I have posted this poetry already on adisc.org, but I wanted to share it with more people, I am putting it in Stories as that is the most appropriate place in my view.

The Boy In The Red Boots
Years ago as a pretty young thing, I met a boy with some flair
This boy I met was the boy from a dream and he lived, not like us, like raw life
This boy was an artist, at writing, drawing and speech
And this boy I did know, he did live as raw life breathes
And this boy he wore his shirt shoes and pants, with bright red boots from who-knows where.

My other friends disapproved of him, with his music and obsessions galore,
But I stood by when the others were gone and I know that that was not much

Two years later he rebelled, he withdrew, and dyed his hair, his life, his ... Me
The boy from my dream wore his boots still, but the life in him resided far away

And the boy in the boots that did shine so bright, he did shun, and his life fell to disrepair,
And never did he answer to the friendships he had cut and I pulled my feeding hand away

I do not want to find what became of my friend, who was dark and gloomy deep inside,
As I know what will happen to me if I try

And that's all to say on the boy who life was far away, but whose body was never there
From the girl who you guided, as a friend and an elder,
From the girl who tried to abandon you, not
From the girl who misses you, immensely so in many ways
I'm sorry that I was the only one who cared

To the boy in the smile, who loved to live his life,
To the boy who gave me my art...
To the boy who helped me, in my very single thing,
If you read this, please know,
I'm sorry I was the only one there


The Pigeon

Once, I met a pigeon, unlike all the rest,
He moved with grace unheard of in a lowly flying rat,
And as I walked past I stopped, and extended my fingers,
And this little pigeon, he did not flee,

Oh No, this pigeon came and stared at me,
My hand, my soul
And I, satisfied with my new pet grinned
And my pet, satisfied with my conjured nothingness, left.

Gone, no more, his brethren still remained,
Unaltered by his disappearance,
But I stood there and took it in
And I spoke to none of my pigeon

Many years later I did see this pigeon
But not in his original form, as my pet pigeon never was mine
He was pretentious, in a world without language
This little pigeon has haunted me since

And I have promised myself,

I will never be that pigeon

UNTITLED
The wind blew down the cold dark streets, too the idle shadows
And oh the Scum, oh they did creep, through the hiding shadows
And they played the cold, Mr Frost, a distainful thing by nature

The Passerby looked idly by as he walked on past that alley,
But the Scum did seek that black heart beat
Of the unarmed Passerby.

This encounter did go badly,
And the Passerby he made no sound, seeing a friendly human face,
The Scum just stood and stared,
And he stared the Passerby down and he called to his friend,
Mr Frost, and he did clearly answer,
And the Passerby fell down and the wind did cry,
For the cruelty of the Scum who are nigh


For those who want to know, Frost represents violence, Scum is a plain clothes police officer, and Passerby is the poor 16 year-old who was shot by the police earlier this week fo possesion of a gun, even though eyewitnesses say he didn't, my heart goes out to the family and the witnesses who must be in shock.


Critisism please