[x]

DaydreamingI'm all locked up inside
My own personal cage of sin.
Sanctimony is a righteous bribe.
It brands dark ink upon the skin
Leaving me breathless, and fooled,
Not whole, not again.
I no longer wait for night to unfold
To cosset me in downy pillow dreams.
I close my eyes right here, right now.
The mind will fly where it's always free
To seek the memories of a land of old,
Not stale, not for me.

the sound of gears and stoneborn in steel and clay
rising to press back the clouds
and scattering them with a wave
of hands and arms made for
other things

the sound of gears and stone
shifting and grinding
shifting and grinding
walking towards the edge
of the world

pocked with the mark of times
when hungry beasties fed
and took me to their bed
if only in their minds
not their hearts

the horizon is never closer
and entropy betrays me
but not yet, I say,
but not yet, I say,
and I move through the night

William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

FarewellEs ist nicht alles wirklich
in diesem Zustand zwischen
Wachen und Schlafen...

" Wie du mir warst..." flüstern Türen
und Wände seit Jahrhunderten
in stillem Einvernehmen
dazu das Atmen des Holzes
ein- aus -ein- aus.

Der blinde Spiegel tut ein Übriges
und schweigt-
er hat schon zuviel gesehen.

Grünes Gezweig rankt am abgeplatzten
Fensterrahmen
und schlängelt entlang
der verblassten Tapeterie.

Einst blühten hier Rosen
sehr laut und sehr rot
und jeder Strauß weinte still
in seiner rostigen Vase.

Nun liegen Fliegenarmeen- beinoben-
an den matten Scheiben.

Ihr letzter Blick
war sicher ins Grün.

Witch's BrewBubble bubble
toil and trouble
eye of newt
its the witching hour.

Its the witching hour
where the witches
are in a gitty mood
making new potions.

A dash of frog's lips
scale of dragon
wings of a gremlin
stir them all into a cauldron.

Witches just love making potions
they got so many viels on their shelves
you can find all that you seek
at the witch's cottage.

Make your true love fall for you
there's a love potion that'll do the trick
want to be a few inches taller
there's a growth potion to help with that
just be careful not to drink it all
that is if you want to be a giant.

Witches love the time of hour
making their potions with wick

The Power of Wordsa gentle whisper on the wind,
carries across nations,
through homes and across cultures,
a simple play on speech pulling heart strings,
a gentle rhythmic lull in your ear,
even the sweet sound of silence calls to you,
"a pictures worth a thousand words",
yet a single word can tell infinite stories,
end wars,
bridge cultures,
and unite families,
a single word may change the world,
as can the neglect to say it,
a single word but once uttered,
can span the vast flow of time,
and carry on into eternity,
words speak to the soul,
and connect people in remarkable ways

Who I amWho I Am

&

Who I Want To Be,

are so far away from each other it hurts.

Twerping Birdies

I. not a morning person

Twerping birdies, chorping away at the day
As if I were supposed to be awake
At the crack of noon.

Cheerful construction workers obliterate
The restful silence, encouraged, perhaps,
By the bad example of the twerping birds.

There's plenty of rest for the wicked,
But none at all for me; let the early bird
Gorge itself on wormy guts for all I care.

II. insomnia blues

like unto the gentle, polyphonic susurration of the wind
through the leaves of the sibylline vuvuzela tree,
the evocative, resonant, goldurned whiny two-stroke
of the kargyraa engine of progress that powers
the early morning hunting call
of the ove

vengeance for injusticea mother she cries
cries at the war
now she waits
waits for the call
of the soldiers orders to kick down her door
vengeance she took filled with hate
for her husband and child who couldn't be saved
now she's locked in a cell
she buried her son
they put her through hell
but it's okay the rich man won

cirque de nuitanfangs ein rauschen am nachthimmel
so geschehen vom flattern der wimpel im

halbdunkel und dem klagenden streichton einer
singenden säge.

genommen und versteckt
verloren und gefallen

und ein riss der das zurückkommen
nicht möglich macht.

ein bild unter glas
getrübt - verhangen wie weisses Metall.

( hast du das licht vergessen- hast du?)

die leine baumelt mechanisch
am hilflosen arm.

ein atmen - stockend und menschlich fast
(etwas pocht herzähnlich)

ein raunen geht durch unsichtbare reihen
enttäuschend wie ein sprung ohne boden.

verlierst du dich verlierst du mich auch
und haben wir schon uns beide verlo

One Thing Leads To AnotherOne teachers bitterness
Can lead to this
Student that's struggling in the back row
A snide comment about a test score
And their whole world
Will take a blow

Little did that teacher know
The magnitude that their actions hold
That one comment, look or eye roll
Could tear that kids whole world

That kid leaves class
Without a second glance
At the teacher who was meant to enlighten them
But broke down their confidence
And shattered them

It starts with passing giggles in the hallway
To comments in the next class that their friends made
To their parents questions at the end of the day

To the very next morning that same kid
Is late to class becau

The Ugly TruthI'm not a miracle worker,
I'm not superwoman,
I'm a broken, 17 year old girl, who has no idea where shes going in life.

And I'm scared.

The morrow has dawned, crisp aThe morrow has dawned, crisp and clear,

A new medium on which our lives shall appear

I slept and dreamed of dreams unrecalled

Like faded memories lost in fog

But those faded memories do abound

Yet in your arms my soul is re-found

Washed anew by love's hot touch

Bless my heart, I love you so much.

The Song of the Dead (poetry)"The Song of the Dead"

The sands are falling one by one,
Can you feel them in your head?
Closer and closer the time draws near,
Can you hear the song of the dead?

A plague is due, they said;
Can you hear the song of the dead?
The sand drips faster and thicker than blood,
Don't dwell on it -- rest your head.

They eat time for breakfast,
Rest your head they said.
They'll snatch you up in your sleep,
Can you hear the song of the dead?

Gaping jowls of time,
Fears that julian and shred,
My soul may have left long ago, but
Can you hear the song of the dead?

There's too many of us, they said.
The hourglass is empty, they said.
All in which you

Living :Conest Entry:To say man is sinful, doesn't seem to quite say it.
Because all that brings to mind is blasphemers, fornicators, God-haters--all of us.
But to say man is dead, is all the more accurate
Because a corpse can't feel sympathy, it can't hear cries for help.
It tastes not, hears not, handles not, it becomes as lifeless as the very idol it worshipped.
No, to say man is sinful doesn't seem to quite say
Because he who identifies as a cadaver can't hope to know who he really is.
That's why my endeavors are heavenly, and my ID is "Living Among the Dead" Because I know Christ gave me life so I could feel your pain even though find it pleasurable,
To se

I Am RageThere are no ups to my downs
Moods like seasons yet I'm always cold
A good day is one with no blood on my hands
Yet red is the color that burns in my eyes

An itch of underlying rage that swelts
My core a fire with no intent for peace
Emotions run blank when confronted by others
Yet the desire to release feels like nature

There are pictures I see that are dark
Scenes of macabre that need to be locked away
Second guessing every touch I make
I don't trust the lit fuse that I am

A battle is always on my mind
Reality twitches with things I wish I didn't see
I cannot let go of this rage without combusting
I cannot turn away from what dissolves

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SecretsIf I told you everything
Would you run away
Would you pretend you don't know me
Or mock me behind my back

I have some secrets
My life isen't fun
But do i deserve the laughs and stares i get
When people learn my secrets

If I told you I wish I would just die
Would you tell everyone at school
If I said I would cut if I could bring myself to
Would you call me emo and mock me

Is there something wrong with me
That makes me feel this way
Is that why they laugh
Is that why I cry

Every DayEvery day of my life i hide behind a mask
Every day I search for a meaning in this life
Every day people like me die and slip away unnoticed
every day i ask myself

Is it soposto be this way?

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Pressure

by ~billbilltokiohotel, Sep 21, 2009, 6:21:52 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Urban & Spoken Word

You expect to much
And when I dont meet your expectations
You yell
And i crack
Under the presure
Under the pain you put me through
Can't you see
I'm not like you
I can't be the best
Because I'm not the best or the brightest
I'm me
Simple, plain me
Why can't you see
When you yell
I crack

Pressureby ~billbilltokiohotel

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Urban & Spoken Word

©2009-2013 ~billbilltokiohotel

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=paperthin-z Oct 31, 2009 Hobbyist Traditional Artist

i like it!
so true...

Reply

~billbilltokiohotel Nov 3, 2009

thanks i'm glad you liked it

Reply

=paperthin-z Nov 4, 2009 Hobbyist Traditional Artist

Reply

~radsurfer3 Sep 26, 2009

Please don't crack, we all feel pressure, but please don't crack

Reply

~billbilltokiohotel Sep 27, 2009

i know its just school and parents and everything i needed to vent but i'm all good now

Reply

~radsurfer3 Sep 29, 2009

okay

Reply

~billbilltokiohotel Sep 29, 2009

^^

Reply

~Mysterious-Dragon Sep 24, 2009 Hobbyist Artist

wow this is really good...powerful

Reply

~billbilltokiohotel Sep 24, 2009

thanks i wasen't sure how it would turn out

Reply

~Mysterious-Dragon Oct 3, 2009 Hobbyist Artist

it turned out really good

Reply

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