Un-named as of yet.

This is newer, and it doesn't have a name yet. I'm just waiting for a name to find it's way out. I'm not quite sure what I think about it, so help me out. I definitely need opinions on this one.

I have a box.

It sits inside my chest,

somewhere to the left

of my strongest lung.

Inside the box

a lot of things nest.

(buried alive, still kicking)

They’re always making noise.

(beating, beating!)

I try to let them out

when I find the strength

or trust

but they don’t know what to say.

(just noise noise, The Fear!)

It seems that all these little things

vanish in the daytime sun.

But still, they talk to me

(laugh, insane)

at night.

They say an awful lot.

(laugh, insane)

But I’m not sure how to share.

(no-one ever taught us)

They say an awful lot.

(LAUGH, INSANE)

But I’m not sure how to share.

(no one ever will)

If I could

I’d find the words

to tell you what’s inside

(no-one sees inside)

I’m sure those words are simple,

but they just seem to vanish

every time they’re born.

Sacred Heart.

This has been around for a while. I heard a story about how the Sacre Coeur cathedral had its windows removed during the war, so that they didn't get broken. But then, the cathedral was left open and vulnerable. The story got me thinking, and this poem happened. It's probably the closest thing to a love poem that I'm capable of writing.

Sacred Heart.

Where windows prove their hard remove,

Stained by ages glass

And lead must fall away

And open up.

It is, they say, the only way

To save them from the siege.

Else, victims of the raging war

Outside

They shatter.

Beauty gone.

Bright shields lost forever.

But-

Through vacant frames

Famed lights of old Montmartre

Steal in,

And air. Those lights

Eternal – patient, kind-

Before looked in

But did not force

Their entrance. Now,

Though, pure,

Unmediated,

Granted this first time.

But-

Here, does life belong?

Stone Heart has long been stone

That light and dust of life may mar,

Where scars of war the light may show.

Illumination, craved and feared,

Here never sought but found.

Though light, once light,

Will hold off dark.

No choice in that.

My love,

Then let light be.

You, Your Demons and I

Again, this is young and rough.

You, Your Demons and I

You, your demons and I,

trapped between these godforsaken walls,

somewhere west of Hell.

You scream at me and I scream at paper.

You are weak.

And you throw your weakness all at me.

But I will remain silent

To you. You do not (and would not) understand.

Your only words are those that kill.

Hope, Love and Family.

A Joke.