Visions of Hell

Have you ever felt like you've done a-lot but yet you always seem to have much more to do?
Have you ever had so much to withhold but yet they expect much, much more from you?
Does expressing feeling actually count even though the ones we express to don't seem to care at all?
Why do we waste so much time on the little things but yet, we spend so little time on the big things?

We, Americans; try to do so much bullshit in life for what? A simple pat on the back or a appraisal. I'm sick and tired of everyone complaining about how bad they have it compared how bad someone else has it. Why can't we all just say "fuck it" and actually have a day to our self without living with the consequences of tomorrow?
You want to know why?
Before anyone ever told you, we were trained, brainwashed you might say, at a early age to do these things. As a child do you get to make your own choices? No. Even as an adult you still can't make your own choices without someone telling you "No, don't do that" or "No, that's wrong". What ever happened to a little something called free-will? We're deprived of so much stuff in life that it's overwhelming if you stop to think about it. Life is over-rated, and so is the world that we live in, but yet anyone has done nothing to change the fact.
I remember back when, when mankind actually had a choice, had a voice in this country, and this was country was "The Land Of The Free". Now today I ask myself, what exactly is freedom compared to what it was back about ten years ago. Where has the freedom in land of the free gone? America is ruined and is turning into hell. Everyone knows this, no magic wand or someone stating "Change" is going to change this country. We've been far gone.

Now I ask you this America, what exactly do you think free will is compared to your own personal freedom?

(Comments opened to the public)

Visions Through My Eyes

Like tyrants assembled with tears,
Trembling like a tomb,
And singing like a statue,
Chance is as empty as the ocean.
My blind eyes scream in silence,
So this eternal echo will be known.
Given to the foils of time,
And shattered like plate glass,
You freeze within the fire.
Darkness now lives at daylight,
And shadows turn to the ghosts.
With all that shined is hollow,
You imagine unconsciously.
And pretending to sleep you realize,
Nothing is what it seems.

Lonely Nights

Lonely was the night, hooted an owl nearby,
slowly I glided , under star-studded sky,
Silver gown flowed, over the velvet moss,
waved dark tresses, reflecting angelic gloss,


Staring at the words, embossed in gold,
trickled solitary tear,silent and cold.


Blossoms lay dried,withered was her heart
engraved on a stone - Till Death do us part.
Each dusk, when sun goes down the hill,
arrives my apparition, serene and still.

Freedom of Free

Take those things I gave away back with you to hell,
There is nothing left in me to barter or to sell.
Tell your master my soul is his for just one night of rest
And I will be a testament; you are his legions' best.

Patiently, you watched for years until your fruit was ripe
And at my lowest point gave my lips this cursed pipe.
At first its' smoke seemed magic taking my worries away,
Then, it took all my dreams, a price too high to pay.

It took away my judgment; the good inside was bare,
Erased my love of people, made drugs my only care.
As I look into my tortured mind one thought comes to me,
The devil gives us nothing and nothing is ever free.

My Shallow Grave

Restless heart of suffering agony,
test this withered soul no more.
Fates laid hand upon my grave,
darkness beckons me home.

No rest or hope for the wicked be,
have I been so bad, I wonder.
Tell tale signs of life gone south,
rotting within my own flesh.

Now the evermore calls my name,
the dimension of eternities sleep.
Decay festers upon my bones,
wrapped carcass of a hollow shell.

Enveloped by death, a welcome shroud,
the hero of the grave returns home.
Finally peace can be mine again,
for life was such miserable sorrow......

Vision of my Dream

Careful must one be in picking his friends,
For the slightest mistake shall lead to calamity,
And even that it transcends.
So be sure to treasure every second of your amity,
Because each moment can be your last.
Wicked as the world can be,
It can ruin a friendship very fast.
That's what I'd like you to see.
This is just one of my visions,
as you can see it fit.
Shall it not be nice or cruel,
The vision is still mines,
Even till this day.

Glorious Faded

Life, the center of every living organism on this planet, some though, more important than others. We all "feed" off something whilst we know it or not. That's our only way to survive, to live, to have life. A good friend of mines once told me for every action there's always a re-action just waiting to happen. Sometimes it can be a good one or bad. Can it be we can control our actions to differ the re-actions? Is this why we dream, to take our minds off the re-actions of our actions? Why can't we just live life without thinking or worrying about the next step; or worrying about how to survive? I ask myself these questions day and night but fail to brainstorm an answer.

Am I just a tool? An anvil is a perfect example, and the rest of the world is the hammer. You pound at me all day and all night but yet I refuse to crack, to mend into your part of life. Yes, I'm a tool. Only one purpose and the purpose is to take continues pounds. One after another, day by day, the hammer pounds on the anvil, until the hammer has done what it needed to do or what it needed to take, but the anvil just sits quietly, continuing to take another hit; another slow, progressing smack. That's it's only purpose, one objective, goal. We are the widow-makers of life, and I'm the widower. Condoned inside myself, around life.

So mend me all you want, hammer me in all ways you can. Life is just a big tool, and life is life. This poet has seen enough, transcend.