Leaden Hands
With leaden hands I write these words,
Too tired to stop them should I want.
They flow in bouts from my cracked soul,
Slipping from their rotting haunt.
With leaden eyes I watch these words,
Too tired from tears to see them straight.
The tears have stopped but left a hole,
The hole in which I threw my fate.
With leaden lungs I breath these words,
Too tired from sighs to stop their flow.
My chest feels dead from inside out,
love has dried as foul winds blow.
With leaden heart I beat these words,
Too tired to move and drown them out.
They pound my chest but chill the whole,
And fill my veins with shame and doubt.
With leaden mind I think these words,
Too tired from life to catch their gist.
They fill my soul with emptiness,
And cloud my thoughts as with a mist.
Leaden hands, leaden eyes, leaden lungs.
Leaden heart, leaden mind, leaden life.
Lament Of A Tiger's Fan
Once I saw
A baseball
In the fall,
Down in the Motor City.
Gibson flew
The bases too,
Stole a few
Then went west, a damn pity.
That was then.
When I was ten
Back then when
The pitching wasn't shitty.
Sweet Lou stopped
Balls that hopped
Or that popped,
Pounced on them like a kitty.
Lemon's hot,
His mitt caught
Flies a lot;
His throws to Trammel pretty.
That was then.
When I was ten
Back then when
The pitching wasn't shitty.
|
Submission Name: LeadenHands&LamentOfATigersFan
