Journal

Insomniac's Journal

Words birthed in the internal

His subconscious' dunk-tank

These words remained unranked

Articulate the contemplations

Of these waking frustrations

Pen in hand

Sleep be damned

These are the greatest thoughts in the land

But why do they come at 4 in the morning

Must write them down

And heed the warning

His memory won't serve him as well when he wakes

If only he knew what was at stake

Words, Words, and more still left to come

Cannot stop till he sees the sun

Sunken eyes

Blood shot red

Sleep finally comes to the walking dead

Thursday, May 10, 2012

Devil

Far fetched nonsense
Impracticable insanity
Backwards logic
Unreal reality
Superstitious blather
Not to be believed
Outrageous trickery 
Growing like a weed
One thing is for sure
It must be stopped at once
This underhanded swindling
These appalling stunts 

The folk have fallen prey
To horrible deceit 
A kind stranger
Weary on his feet
Innocent and worn
And tired from his travels 
All he wants is shelter
Before he comes unraveled
What's the harm in that
Simply none can be found
But this stranger is not to be trusted
Instead he should be bound
Locked away forever
Throw away the key
Because bad news follows him
Wherever he may be 
He'll beg you for your ear
And ask for your attention 
Then spread his toxin
And watch for the dissension

I warn you not to hear
I warn you not to listen
His craft is with words
For these he has a penchant 
He wants for our demise
He wants for us to fall
He wants for us to bicker
He will destroy us all

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