ScriptingCurse the curly bracket!And it's pointed tail!Blast that semi-colon down;that seeks my quest to fail!Down the console-clear-refresh-with it's most helpless hints.I even hate the editor!With it's blinking cursor grins...Why is function spelled like that?Can't we shorten it like var?Don't make me talk about the loopsthat puff up code so far!Damn the whole HTML and ever Scripting language~Screw the whole congregation!Then is why I'm in this messand locked in an institution
Waiting for the World to EndWaiting for the world to end“Perhaps 'can be today!”shout little boys who jump and runout from the Fat Man's way.Leaping with glee a the rattling gunsraise the white flag high“KID CIVIS!” walking's fun!“Red-alert is nigh”Waiting for the world to endcheery in their seatshe hopes the seals in his mask blendwith the blush on Susie's cheeks.Her re-breather shining brightlyenough to catch his eye.He leaned his goggles, winkinglyHer O2 heaved a flirty sighHe's the one she sees through the war-smoke.He peers at her through the gloom.He promises himself, on her happiness shes' choked“HUG YOUR LOVED ONES! HERE COMES THE BOOM!”
All is All12 little church micewho eats their own tail11 little pigletson alters made of nails10 little rabbitshung from twenty trees9 little foxhoundsall bloodlust and greed8 little rag dollsa staple for each eye7 little blackbirdsscreech “The End Is Nigh!”6 little schoolboyslearn to shoot a gun5 little gamecockssoaked in their own blood4 little billy-goatbaying at the sky3 little mountain sheephave found the reason why2 and all is noiseall is sleeping 'round1 and all is comesound and crash and silenceAll is All
WaitingLong wet tongues lick shaking lipsHe waits. They wait.Cold bead sweating off off burning finger tipsHe waits. They wait.Freezing demons and burning angels flyHe waits. They wait.Lurking haunches, the blinking pryHe waits. They wait.Primal evil, beyond heaven's reachHe waits. They wait.Creeping dark and saucer eyesHe waits. They wait.On all four, not sleeping, lieHe waits. They wait.Dark caves, he amid the shadows lingerHe waits. They wait.He is abound. They will descendHe waits. They wait.The day will come. He will arriveHe waits. They wait.
Sounds at MidnightOn songs, on sounds, on harmonieswho's ringing in your sleep?On bells that chime out loud and clearin the darkness deep.On the tunes that haunt the nightdown every hall so hallowedGongs that strike the midnight hourSounds are seem and sights are heardin darkness utmost power
No RoomThere's no room in heaventhe angels have fledthey cry weeping feathersthat fall from their heads.There's no room in hellwhen all heathens laughthey mock up from bellowat the theological crash.There's no room in limbothe creatures do bleedthey've not talented bestbut suffered from greedDown on the earthwhere dim humans prowlthere are mouth that do hungerand long to hear howls
MelodyThey'll never see the smiling faceshan't touch touch the handor know the grace.She lived in ignoranceand died in peace.She barely knew lifene’er lust, anger, or greed.A miracle childbefore her first breathno sun in her hairbut spring in her step.She lay in her gravein the warmest of seasonsplucked from her lifefor the least valid of reasons.And though she is missedand though she is mourned.She never knew life.She never knew warm.
The Spaces Between WordsThe space between wordsis like a melody unsungdreamed waiting to be dreamedor tasks waiting to be done.They are the pauses in a speechthe empty spaces breathing inhow days are interrupted by sleep.The spaces between wordsis the white space on covered pagethe ellipses, the ampersandschess master awaits the final stage.Little is thought about this placebecause our species hates anticipation.The worlds between that set the paceto human's agitations.
On WindThere are men who speak of tempestsbut few who speak of wind.The winds that cries of tormentand the breeze that speaks of spring.Hot gusts of demon's breathsharp witness sees the sighs of angels.Air that curls and stirs the dustwhile long thin fingers twirls and tangles.Why are there so few musingson wind but make rain and snow cliche?By the pound are poems on nightly broodingand ill weather's passe.Wind and gale, an invisible beastlong tongues that bash buildings.The curse of the East.Nature conquering mankind's fumbling.Perhaps man need not speak of windIt's wind that speaks for mana voice upon the air it brings.Halt and listen if you can