TheReapersStylist

Where do you think the secrets go Those you think alone you know Are they hidden under lock and key Unless you will it, never free Or are the whispers whispering among themselves Dusting off long forgotten shelves In the deep crevices of our mind A treasure we all can find Whispers merging with all we know, So where do you think the whispers go? They go on.

Tethers of the Heart An old man in an old field, weary, beaten, broken Soft breaths so shallow, so deep, whispering words seldom spoken Eyes closed, fluttering, still Blind to the field and the night's cold chill. Though the words spoken were silent, soft, and quiet They spoke of terror, an inside riot Spilling secrets with barely a sound Infusing them with the deep profound "There he lies, cold, buried, dead, Gone not from ailment, but from murder instead I pulled the trigger, and then he was gone Past all barriers he trekked on and on." "I fought for what I thought was right, I did what I could with my narrow sight, But still I am stric

Whenever I place a pen to a blank paper I pause like a diver on a high diving board Looking down at the waters below, so far away, So far removed from the casual air of everyday life I take in one last breath of normalcy I bend my knees, preparing to jump, And I plummet into my soul, so far away. Sometimes the decent is marked by angry white Bubbles streaming from the mouths of tortured thoughts The days gone by seek retribution, it seems, As it tries to alter my writing, making it sad. Surely, surely this must be hell Blinded by anger, jealousy, remorse, Surely, surely, this must be hell Drowning in convictions, my own self-doubt,

For power For lust For self Forsaken Forgot For peace For love For others Forgiven Fortune Forever

This is a monument to trash, To junk and garbage and little scraps, Built out of the filth that would otherwise poison Our Earth, our home, our campus, our lives. For everyone involved I dedicate this monument, For the University of Utah I dedicate this monument, For the families harmed by pollution, For the animals dying because of it, And for the lost memories buried here The foregone thoughts wasted in the waste The memorable article, the old birthday card, The bear with the stuffing all over the floor. This is an ode to filth And this is ode to its inevitable cleansing.

Open mouth too clogged to breathe       And whisper those the whispers             Of final farewell                     Of last wishes                            Of things too long unsaid Open hands too knarred to grasp       To give unto them who stand there              Gifts of soft sentiment                     Gifts of ill repute                            Gifts of the heart too long ungiven Open eyes too weak to see       The blur is the mist of those still there              See them as they are                     See them as they were                            See them in light too long forsaken Open