Illusions -Mark R Slaughter

Illusions

Speak to me –
Speak thro’ drifting clouds


O! sing to me –
Sing as if the sun would throw a flare
To give to harmony


Then call to me –
Call across the drowsy valleys –
Spread the word you care! 


Now come to me –
Abandon now 
My inner dreams 
That lay illusions bare.


Then pray for me –
Pray that I recover
From reality: 


But no! I ask, how could you, 
For you were never there.


Mark R Slaughter


-Clem.

The Land Of The Faceless.

I dream about people with no faces. 
Sometimes in obscure places. 
Swinging maces, maybe with braces.  


         I dream about impossible tasks. 
         Hiding from people in masks. 
         I drink poison from flasks, where evil basks.  


                   I dream about losing people. 
                   Occasionally an uncomfortable trip to somewhere with a steeple.  


         I dream about frustration. 
         Very rarely a feeling of  elation. 
         Rules of a new nation, down to every connotation. 


I dream of fear. 
To have  not one familiar face near. 
Unable to steer, hit by someone drinking beer.  


         I dream of death. 
         Only being allowed one last breath. 
         Seeing delusions like people on meth, comforted by some faceless "Seth."  


I dream of being broken. 
Never managing to get my token. 
My last words spoken, 
never to be heard....


-Clem.

Another Great Poem.

ALONE

        From childhood's hour I have not been
        As others were; I have not seen
        As others saw; I could not bring
        My passions from a common spring.
        From the same source I have not taken
        My sorrow; I could not awaken
        My heart to joy at the same tone;
        And all I loved, I loved alone.
        Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
        Of a most stormy life- was drawn
        From every depth of good and ill
        The mystery which binds me still:
        From the torrent, or the fountain,
        From the red cliff of the mountain,
        From the sun that round me rolled
        In its autumn tint of gold,
        From the lightning in the sky
        As it passed me flying by,
        From the thunder and the storm,
        And the cloud that took the form
        (When the rest of Heaven was blue)
        Of a demon in my view.

Edgar Allen Poe


-Clem.

Bones.

My bones say a lot about me. 
They say what my shape will look like. 
Down to every demention. 
Heck, they say if I'm human. 


They define most of what you see. 
But can you hear what they say? 
Would you even care if you did? 
I doubt they would if you didn't.


My bones compete with my head, my heart.
My bones get ignored more often than not.
Because its not "right" to listen to them.
What others need, want, that matters more.


I think humanity would be healthier
if they were to listen
just a few times
to just what
their bones
are trying
to 
say.
- Clem.