Silly Little Laugh

Oh look, another poem. It’s interesting how one can twist the truth in the creation of art.

Silly Little Laugh

Silly little laugh
Is how it likes to say,
“Hello, my friend, it’s me again
Why don’t I come inside?”

It rushes ‘round the space
Knocking things from their place
As if to say, “You don’t need this,
Today we’re going away.”

Though I protest and try my best
The imp won’t be dissuade.
It knows me well, and better yet:
The one inside the picture frame

The one thing left upon the wall
The single thought left undisturbed
Your silly little laugh I heard
Once upon a distant time


Let God Love You

I hear you as the anniversary draws near
And every fiber of my body wants to scream
Every second I talk to you, listen to you
All I can think is one word:

He wouldn’t fix everything in your life
Bring your step-father back from the dead
Or make your brain normal (whatever that is)
But he can be there better than I
He is God

I listen as best as I can as your pour out your heart
Listen to all of the death and pestilence in your life
And I know that it’s scary to feel so helpless
To be in a place where you can’t do anything
So let God love you

If we let Him love us, we know we are helpless
We can’t return the favor, we hate being in debt
In a debt we can’t repay with anything we have
Because we are human, and He is

But that’s okay

He is God

Being helpless is okay

So let God love you

Because every fiber of my body screams


Cracks in Her Heart

I know her heart. It has
New cracks
Every week

My own heart is strong, but it
To see hers

So many days
I’ve wished to show her
What life can be

That she doesn’t have to
Every day

I’m here
To talk to
To vent to
To be a rock

The keystone of her life
That’s holding her together
Standing by her in the fire

But I’m a rock made of
Weak to floods

I am weak because I am
Prone to failure

But there’s another rock out there—
Who is strong

He is always there;
Waiting for you

The Lord, my rock, will not
He is eternal

He will not
Like everyone will.

He will not
Like everyone will.

He will not
Like everyone will.

The Lord my God,
Almighty Father,
Creator of Everything,

Know that He is God, and he
Loves you
Like no one will.


Lost children come to me and see
Through the fog of your carefree
That you would understand my will
That I am not an animal
Not some game to be hunted down
Or an insect to make you frown.
Though I punish you so strict
It is not my aim to afflict
But you, children, have gone astray
And I must bring about doomsday
If you will not heed the warnings
Then blood red shall be your mornings.
But always keep this in your mind:
Mother loves you, though you be blind.

Syn and Synner

My darkness hovering over her body
Her mechanical spirit, broken
Speechless, lost, and oh so crippled
Bought from life with everybody

Her life and heart, a beauty
Once alive and a light in this wasteland
Which strikes down with pestilence
Any who would dare be happy

Her shattered shell, an imperfection
To those who would use her
And those who would take her
But not for me and my affection

She once asked if I could fix
A frozen, withered skeleton.
I told her it doesn’t work like that,
Only once do dead men cross the Styx

But she, she is no mortal man
She is my angelic machine
A machine can be repaired
And for my angel, I will do all I can

The Author’s Tale

Preface: This was for my British Literature class, where we had to write a story in the style of the Canterbury Tales, from the perspective of a modern profession. This is mine.

The Author’s Prologue
As I understand it from all these tales,
The human race continues to hypocrisize,
And others still are high and mighty.
Though some of them have shown some promise,
I’m largely disappointed in the human race.
I think I’ll give the elves a try, they seem to have it right.
I’m sure from just that opening you can see
That I am not a harmless madman.
If you’re not but an idiot, I’ll call you out.
If you have no hypocrisy, then that is fine,
But no cause for celebration.
Smart and sincere should be the default,
And only mentioned if one is not.
If you do not try, you are to blame and no one else.


Now, do not take this as insult;
You’re no worse than anyone else.
I’m just as happy on this bus as if I’m off.
I accuse anyone of their hypocrisy, given the chance.
The fairies, they’re alright, but any besides.
I just seldom get the chance to rant
Against the madness of humanity
To the mad humans themselves.
The best I get are imps, and they always listen.


But I’ll not dwell on that much longer,
People tend to yell if I keep at it.
Not that I mind the noise, the dwarves,
They make enough with their incessant hammering,
But yelling leads to hitting, and I’ve enough bruises.
Instead, I’ll tell a tale I think we all will understand,
Of the sloth of man and man of sloth

The Author’s Tale

I start my tale with a man named Lex,
Who as many do, but not too much,
Was oft found on his couch, doing only,
As those of Aegria would do in modern times,
Lay and watched TV, day in and day out.
It did not matter much what it was,
So long as it had a lot of action.
He couldn’t bear to hear the news,
Far too boring for the likes of Lex,
And who needs to know what the world’s about
When you have The Walking Dead and Breaking Bad?


I hope you all are well aware,
That slothfulness is next to devilness,
Or so the saying ought to go.
This man was the worst offender,
The laziest of all humanity,
But do not let that stop you, I’m sure you’ll try
To outdo him in his slothfulness.
But first, hear me out, for before nightfall
He’ll have some visitors you’ll want to know.
Much like Scrooge on Christmas Eve,
Three ghosts he’ll see, but not of time.
They’ll be of warning, no need for sight-seeing.


A rerun of The Walking Dead,
Interrupted when the first one came.
Just after three, the TV crackled and shook about,
But Lex could not be bothered to get up.
Eventually the ghost had given up,
And decided to try another way.
Now the TV came back to life,
With his ex-wife upon the screen, or rather,
Just her image, as this ghost did tend to do.
Lex gave a start, but did not get up,
And then her mouth began to move,
And spoke in a voice like hell itself,
‘Sit up, old lump, and listen well,
This afternoon may be your last
If you don’t heed my warning call.
Tonight’s the night, I’ll let you know,
That wraiths and ghosts are rising
To tell who they meet of their great fortune,
And you ought to know by the image you see,
It’s not good fortune that I bring.
For if you stay at home, upon that couch,
You’ll see another ghastly figure yet.
One last warning for you to hear,
Before the last of three you’ll see.
And if you see the next, then fear,
For Death is knocking at your door.’


With the message said, her face did go,
And back to Walking Dead, Lex went.
He did not heed her warning.
Surely it was but a trick by his ex-wife,
One last try to change his mind,
But he was firmly set upon his ways.
He’d not get up but for a can of beer,
Or maybe an antique bag of chips.


I’m sure by now you people see,
That my story does not cling
To anything you see as real,
For I am part of a bigger game,
One that involves much greater things,
Than tricks by exes and silly wishes.
The ghosts are real, you must have seen them,
But your dull minds just won’t accept them.
Don’t you see, in your eye’s corner,
A glimpse of something not quite there?
It’s men of fae, avoiding eyes.
And all that ringing in your ears,
Is only dwarves, who fashion spears.
Smells you can’t quite place,
Are Kobold kids, cooking considerable cakes.


But back to Lex, not that he’s moved
He’s still on the couch, and now it’s four.
The TV doesn’t change this time.
This time there begins a knock upon his door.
He yells at whoever may be knocking,
‘Go away, I’m not buying!’
But then a shadow creature does appear,
And crosses before the TV’s light.
‘Out of the way, and who are you?’
Shouts Lex, with just a bit of dismay.
‘The second ghost, which you were warned of,’
Replies the ghost in silky tongue.
‘The door is knocking, won’t you answer?
Or do you know it’s Death out there?
He’ll be in here soon enough,
Doors don’t hold him very long.’


Lex did neither want to believe this man,
Nor did he want to die tonight,
As the knocking kept on coming,
So, carefully, he asked his question,
‘If what you say is true, then how do I avoid it?
I don’t believe that Death is here,
It’s just an elaborate trick, of course,
But just in case you tell the truth
What is it that I do to live?’
The shadow laughed its silky laugh,
And shook its blackened head.
‘The only thing to do for you,
Is run away from here at once.
If you’re not here for Death to find,
You may escape his foul mind.
But then, of course, you’re you,
And you don’t run for anything.
You seldom walk, and hardly crawl,
Save for some form of food,
That would make you fat.
I’m sorry, Lex, but for you I know,
Of no way to save your soul.’


With that the shadow did fade away,
But the knocking on the door continued.
Lex did try to move his legs,
In such a way as to run away,
But he never moved them quite that fast
And tripped and fell into the mess
Which filled the room in which he lived.
His femur snapped, and spine collapsed
His neck did crack, his skull, cave in.
Death did not need to enter, for Lex
He came to Death. He sealed his fate
When he had eaten far too much,
And burned that off far too little.


Now you see what folly it is,
To sit around and seldom move.
Sloth is but the second of the worst,
Since the first might cause my death,
But it is still a worthy cause.
Don’t be lazy, be crazy, and run!
There’s an awful lot of running to do.