The Beating Heart of The Dead

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  • Dark Poetry

    The Beating Heart of The Dead
    A every so slow heart beat
    a stab in my soul
    another breath
    another hole in my life

    ever chance of love
    is another chance to be in pain
    the ever so fresh cuts
    covering my torched soul

    iv seen people take there lives
    and have always wondered if it was for me
    speaking the words of death
    as the darkness creeps closer and closer

    like a slowly dieing man
    my soul slowly turns to sand
    I'm always looking for the light
    but the light never last long

    i see them
    so called love
    and as my eyes encounter all of this
    they bleed inside
    scorching my soul

    i live for love

    but only death lives for me

    Shall i see what the future beholds me

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    Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does.

    Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997) U.S. poet.

    Razorblade’s Poems (4)

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