Two Poems

Hello, Frosty here. Two more poems from us,  Frostfyr, so I hope you enjoy them. First, a poem about mentality, linking in with the events of the previous three poems.

Two of us

I have always loved you with all of my heart,
I've hated you from the very start,
I hoped you would one day give me a chance,
I never gave you a second glance,
Don't listen to the other voice- we don't think alike,
He thinks that, but deep within we do.

Why must you fight who we are,
Because I am the greater one by far,
Greater what, I must inquire,
The greater side of you of course, the catalyst to your fire,
How does my fire not burn without you, who are you to say?
Because i'm a part of you, and I fuel you every day;
I see your struggle with love, I strengthen you through lust;
Listen to me, I am the one you should trust.

I hate you with all of my heart,
Oh please, you've loved me more than him from the start,
I don't love anyone except him, and me,
Than you are nothing but a product of failed love and vanity.


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And the second poem, one I quite enjoyed writing. I hope you see that in the words.

Blinded

It slides down my face,
It feels like tears,
I touch it; look at it.
Black.

What is sight?
It is but another creator,
Your visions make you Happy;
Sad, Disgusted, Thrilled,
It creates feelings of Unease;
Fear, Envy, Love or Lust...

Yet I feel nothing.
I see the black,
Feel no Joy, nor Misery,
Or Sadness in the solitary shade.

Maybe I do feel,
Yes, I must feel,
The black pleases me greatly,
Despite the lack of colours or shapes,
The black is a great blank canvas-

I can picture the grey urbans,
The brightly lit countrysides,
Rolling yellow plains,
And great long planes;
The towering constructions of man,
Reaching for the clouds,
Crumbling to the powers of Nature.

My visions are only my own,
Unseen through any eyes and held in my mind,
I can hear great infernos,
Crackling and turning our great constructions to ash,
I hear the whispers of mice,
Loud as mighty oceans.

But I cannot see what I wipe,
From my very own face, I may not see
The atrocity what it truly is,
I know what it is.

Thick, metallic smell,
Our life, keeping us alive,
Through the black I picture it,
My face in a mirror,
Crimson flows running from two chasms,
What once held the gelatinous globes,
The human cameras that were a part of me.


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If you have any questions about my writings, Email me!

frostfyr777@gmail.com

Stay Frosty!