Incineration September 3, 2008
Posted by essaytch in Bad Poetry.Tags: burn, death, fire, flames, incineration, overjoyed, peace, soul
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A bitter breeze blows,
chilling me to the bone.
I shiver in rhapsody
barely containing the anticipation for what is to come.
I face the dying of the light,
The golden hues reflect my joy.
The purple and red of the flames,
ignite a fire in my soul.
I watch the old man burn
And am overjoyed.
He dies a thousand deaths
and it brings me peace.
-DJ Nezz
The Conifer’s Last Word September 3, 2008
Posted by essaytch in Bad Poetry.Tags: arms, cones, conifer, death, fire, life, poems, roots, seed, spark
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So much more than green
More infinite than brown.
Arms far-reaching,
Legs firmly planted in the deep terra firma.
Your disregard sparks my dissemination;
Heat bursting open my cones,
Showering my seed,
Scattering my children to the winds.
And when you think you’ve leveled me,
Torn me down and stripped me of my dignity:
I return and haunt,
Choking your air with my refined smoke,
Puckering your nose with my foul stench,
Invading your homes with the by-products of my majesty.
I am everywhere.
And when you are gone, I will remain,
Reaching ever higher to the heavens
While you wallow in your abysmal shallow death…a memory.
-Essaytch
