Poetry & Prose

There are strangers in my room.
Questions, and then silence.
"Who are you?" they ask,
and I scream for them to get out,
but no one looks my way.

I wait.

They sit on my chairs and I sigh.
They look straight through me.
I pout and stomp and they ask for more.
"What do you want?"
But they ignore my reply.
"Do you know that you're dead?"
And my whole world collapses.

And thus in anguish Beren paid
for that great doom upon him laid,
the deathless love of Luthien,
too fair for love of mortal Men;
and in his doom was Luthien snared,
the deathless in his dying shared;
and Fate them forged a binding chain
of living love and mortal pain

J,R,R,Tolkein - The Lay of Leithian lines 786-793

(And Ace, that 'ghost' was a car reflection )

Akkarin wrote: (And Ace, that 'ghost' was a car reflection )

Shhhh...! :whistle: Haha, I know. I actually wrote that poem a few days back after watching Ghost Hunters, lol.

Hickory-dickory-dock,
The World rolled round th'epoque,
The clock struck One
--but just for fun--
'Twas really but seven o'clock ...

Hickory-dickory-hick,
Has everyone gone thick ?
The clock stikes six,
--a right dodgey fix--
In a World gone mentally sick.

Can you hear the drumbeat,
the rhythm of being and blood,
of humanity's core pulsing,
flowing through our water-wrapped planet
from gravity's union with our distant star?

There is a drumbeat, a tribal dance,
a living, breathing body
that cycles through every atom.
There is a council of all who dwell,
and those who can hear the drumbeat,
they sing.

Never stop singing,
for what is a beat without a melody
but a half-finished masterpiece?

Poetry can be;
Thought provoking and very fun;
Don't you think? Chicken.