Poem: A Shadow's Lament

A Shadow's Lament
By: Abbey Rutter


Little black shadow,
Slave to the sun,
Never quite belonging
To anyone.
Forever to follow,
Forever alone.
Confined to a stranger, no will, no control.

Little black shadow,
Hidden from sight.
You vanish 'til sunrise,
To play thief in the night.
As you spy on your stranger,
Consider your plight,
Envy stars with their glory,
And lust for sunlight.

Little black shadow,
By the darkness undone.
In the dawn of tomorrow,
Cruel surrender must come.
You know it by nature,
Yet still how it burns,
On the sweet of your sadness,
It pays anguish well earned.


 

No one speaks to a shadow,
No one asks it to stay.
And so take for granted
The labors of day.
Without glory for shadows,
Forever ashamed,
The live on with their strangers,
And lament in their pain.

Quote of the Day: Oscar Wilde

"Every saint has a past and every sinner has a future." -Oscar Wilde

Quote of the Day: Charles Dickens

"I only ask to be free...the butterflies are free." -Charles Dickens

Poem: A Satire of Pop Culture

A Satire of Pop Culture
By: Abbey Rutter

Pathological liar for hire, come apply.
Sarcastic, piece of plastic, will you buy?
Your ten pound shoes and coffee news
Can't make you high.
It's a new prescription for mass addiction,
So come on in and try.
It's the hardcore scene, with the badass theme,
It's the worst best time,
It's the one they call,"goodbye."

Poem: The Survivor's Suicide

The Survivor's Suicide
By: Abbey Rutter

Who am I?
I stand alone.
Why can't I leave,
This broken home?
I'm trapped inside
My own dark mind,
And it kills me.

Where were you?
When will you come?
For my salvation,
I'll need someone.
I'm losing will,
But endure still,
And it kills me.

What will I find?
I'm scared to know.
I've lost my mind
Nowhere to go.
I'll lose this fight,
And end this life,
If it kills me.

Poem: Please, From the Afterlife

Please, From the Afterlife
By: Abbey Rutter

Will you remember,
When my spirit sets my body free?
Preserved there in fond memory,
Will you love me still?

Don't cry for sympathy,
'Tis not loss, rather liberty.
Think instead of tranquility
Not of death's rumored chill.

Poem: A Prisoner Paranoia

A Prisoner Paranoia
By: Abbey Rutter

She buries her heart,
In the safe that she keeps
She holds it locked tight,
She muffles its beat
Like a drum in the night,
Unwelcome, foreboding,
It traps her inside,
Thus the door never opens.
She will never know love,
Never feel of its passions
Not to break in beneath it,
Or quake in its ravage.
She maintains she is safer,
But loss is her game.
For there is no victory,
With only envy to gain.