Sunday, January 15, 2006

The Annual Death Anniversary.
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another creation of emi.

It started with humongous dark,grey clouds,
Then they started coming,the visitors,
It had turned night,the moonlight faded,
Hidden behind,not daring,so unamazing,
In white and black they came,
In tiny groups and ones all the same,
So assembled,

The leaves started to spread out,
The owls started to blare,
Shattering the silence,darkness cowered in fear,
Wedging in between,they started to jeer,
Those menacing evils,hidden somewhere in between,
A meaningless night was all it seemed,
So dark,yet so aligned,

Requiems sung out in memory of the girl,
Her photo attached to the grave,still lone
where the longtime memories faded away with that one smile she gave,
etched so deep,corners twitched,you should have seen,
The borders of the picture,yellowed,
Chrysanthemums were the gift,it was all she had,
yet,they never saw,

Standing there all along,an invisible stranger,
Using her very own blood,a long time ago,
She ended a life,the life of her body,
Yet,her soul was still wandering,
Regrets unwavered,she roamed it all freely,
With a stench of the eleventh hour,alone and drained,
Peacefully?

On this very night,she seemed to lit up the surroundings,
yet no one could see her,
Her very own gleam,she sparkled,
Yet,beneath that light,you should have seen her soul,
The remains of it all,no different from when she was alive,
Detached from the body,she soon detached her soul,
Where what remains to be seen,no one knows,
she stood there,

Even after death,a loner she was,
Few visitors gathered,for that solemn moment,
Spiked with the air of drugs,the spirit was there,
It was all so silent,morbidity?Fraudity.
Initials carved on that very tombstone,
Number seven it was,at that very cemetery,
Of which was so dark,so creepy,lurking in the shadows,

Rest in peace it said,
R.I.P,
Yet,the truth remains so mysterious,
A certain dark angel watching them,
With bloodshot eyes,tearing skin,bleeding insides,
Amputated cruelly,spiritually,disfigured unknowingly,
The initials,
M.O.X.L,
carved in red,
25 of march was the day I said.

And they slowly left,
voodoos hanging in the air,
Dangling;so unrealistic,yet dressed at their very best,
Where was the laughter,where was the tears?
Emotionless,So afeared,
Bloodstains everywhere,it all smeared,
A new era of bloodshed?



3:10 PM

`____mellisais productions-   Â©2005-2006





blog
this is a place where we compose poems and whatever we want. if you don't like it, DON'T READ IT.

the composers
melissa - elisabeth
mel/lissa - lisais
18 - 18
chij st.j - sphs

hotmail:
mel.isforreal - peachypeachypeach

aim:
n/a - whheex

gmail: thebeautiful.letdown@gmail.com - n/a

domains
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lisais

previous compositions
- Hearts of Steel.
- An Anthology.
- Death Girl.
- Jewels Of Heaven
- A Notorious Dedication-
- A silent Requiem-
- Extraterrestrial
- Superficial.
- Ode to a sad christmas.
- The Mutilation.


the oddities

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credits
skin layout - rach