The Hangman's Noose by moonlitwarrior95, literature
Literature
The Hangman's Noose
Your words are the rope you hang yourself with.
Trust me. I know.
Too much is said.
Hangman's Noose
You didn't say enough.
Tightens around your neck.
You pour hate into your words.
The lever is pulled and the floor drops out from under you.
Now you're dead.
No chance of saying sorry.
No hope of reconciliation.
Death has stolen your words.
You're paralyzed
Silenced.
Forever.
You're words twisted together into a rope.
The rope that ties itself around you.
Tightens.
Chokes you.
And now you're dead...
You're words are the rope that you've hung yourself with.
Do you ever get the feeling
that it's too easy?
Too peaceful?
Too simple?
Too good to be true?
I did...
It was like the calm before the storm.
The silence before the thunder.
The dark before the lightning strike.
Then it hit me.
I've been beaten.
I fell for the ruse.
Except this time you weren't the one who tricked me.
This time it was my fault.
I convinced myself I was immune.
...Invincible...
I told myself I was stronger then
In the gleaming light-clouds
Of your peppermint dreams
I see you smile
While whispering to me
[And all begins to shine]
It isn't gold
Not silver, nor bronze
Its the melody or your song
[In my world].
The colors of the rainbow
Reflect vividly on you
The stars shine brighter
With your wishes too
You're the waves of my world
You're the grass and the trees
The Golden Rose of my world.
An orange-colored rose
Under a silver rain,
While the white moon shines lime-green
The sight of your perfect World.
In your peppermint dreams
I was just born yesterday
And see how scarves connect our necks
And our hearts our far-fetched dreams
[Personally I think it's my best poem ever. Enjoy!]
For a poet,
The beauty of the rainbow lies not in its colors,
For a poet,
Its beauty lies in the invisible dance between the breeze and light,
Which forms its shape and gives birth to its hues in misty sights.
For a poet,
The city is a jungle of wild, tall structures,
Beasts among smaller suburb rodents,
City windows: the butterflies upon a building's bark,
At night, dancing fireflies light the prairie roads.
A poet sees not the sun and moon,
But the sky's irises;
One golden, the other a silvery hue.
The ocean, for the poet, is not merely water,
But a mirror map for the sky,
Upon which i
I used to be in your Heart,
Now I'm just a memory fading in the sands of time.
So please, Angel of Death,
When I die take my soul, and leave my heart.
For I'd rather feel nothing,
Than the pains of this heart.
But please let my memories live on,
For I'd rather be hurt by my memories,
Than live smiling without them.
Let me remember,
But don't let her be remembered of me.
For I'd rather she walk with my sacrifice,
Than feeling the grief of being abscent from her side.
Such is the pain of a broken heart.