schyler Poetry (3)

Men of old speak of streets of gold
and thus the simple are sold
going forth where they are told
because fortune favors the bold

Why do we claim we are perfectly sane
while feeling the madness of feeling no pain
killing each other and killing for gain
we're destroying ourselves and dying in shame

By: Schyler Silvey


our ship wrecked on shores that were unknown to me
no one escaped from what all i could see
i lay on the beach in shock and dismay
where i cry and so constantly pray
then i see life in the far distant sun
she looked very old though ever so young
her eyes were so red and blistering white
they seemed to emit a blinding bright light
and now it becomes ever so very clear
she is a lost witch, siren, demon or seer
now her eyes leave me so lost in a trance
as she approaches in a slow graceful stance
only moments go bye before she kisses me
my mind becomes filled with joy and so much glee
lost in a state of lust and disarray
i never knew this could occur in that way
i never thought this would happen to me
my head bitten off on the edge of the sea