Tell Me How it Feels

Close your eyes and picture this
A loving smile, a tender kiss
Now tell me how it feels to fall
To hear life’s warning, to heed love’s call

A soft caress aside your face
Held in a kind and gentle embrace
Now tell me how it feels to dream
When the loneliness inside you screams.

A single tear on delicate skin
Comes from somewhere deep within
Now tell me how it feels to cry
Without the strength inside to try.

A moan of pleasure, it feels so good
Making love as lovers should
Now tell me how it feels to lust
When you don’t have the will to trust.

A look of anger, boiling blood
Rage, a river, the coming flood.
I’ll tell you why it feels so great
To finally know what it’s like to hate.

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Tell Me How It Feels by Alexander J. Hicks is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.

Play The Fool

Always shall I play the fool
You’ll see the surface, never through
My face hidden beneath the mask
That one day I hope to remove at last
And forever shall I hide myself.

To face the world with knuckles raised
Instead of hiding here in the haze
That the winds of change had carried strong
Into this place that I don’t belong
A place where the liars cannot follow.

I want to trust, to remove this guise
To see the love in another’s eyes
But the scars from the blades
That were hidden with praise
Have shielded my sight from the truth.

The world is full of liars and thieves
Who take what they want and do as they please
But I will won’t succumb to their worthless ruse
Because behind this lie I’ve nothing to lose
And they can’t see through my mask.

So forever I shall play the fool
You see the surface, never through
Behind this mask I hide my face
Because in life, I’ve lost my place.
And forever I shall hide myself.

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Play The Fool by Alexander J. Hicks is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.

The Rising Ire

It’s beautiful really, don’t you think?
The red that fills your eyes.
The rage replacing rationality
The one that’s sick of lies.

The rising ire from betrayal
With the knife still in your back
The blade that sits and numbs the flesh
The ropes that hold you to the rack

You try to fight it with naught but reason
But it defies your rationality
It fills you with a dark desire
and it disputes your reality

The knife is there you can’t refute
In your back the cold of steel
Radiates into your core
And anger is all you feel.

Give in to passionate beast
The indignation in your heart
The monster lurks inside of you
Let it tear you apart.

©2015 Alexander J. Hicks

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The Rising Ire by Alexander J. Hicks is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.

Words in Blood

When I write I hold the knife, and deep within I think
that with each poem that I write I spill more blood than ink

Because with each word that I know, that dares to grace the page,
my deepest thoughts, I delve into, and pour the blood away.

Much like the blackened ink that coats the tips of quills
Pages soak up blood drawn words like motion picture stills

And every stanza, every verse, blood letters on the sheet
From eternities of blinding pain, eternities words keep.

Within every poet, every artist, every piece
Ink flows where the blood once ran and never will it cease

and with every poem that I write, the artists cruel demand
a piece of me is drained away, and bled by my own hand.

So when I write I hold the knife, and deep within I think
that with each poem that I write, I spill more blood than ink.

©2015 Alex Hicks

Words In Blood by Alexander.J.Hicks is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.

Arid Waters

Drink of the water of the sleepless.

The water which within itself tastes dry.

A thirst that cannot be quenched

but by the bourbon of another’s thoughts;

by the whiskey of another’s dreams

Getting drunk on thoughts and dreams

does naught but catch the mind

in nets like spiders webs.

Made of the lines

that once formed letters,

that once formed words,

that once formed thoughts.

Twisted, tangled, messy and chaotic;

the web of strings of letters and words

touches me like one would touch a lover.

A soft caress – a gentle kiss.

And the senselessness of twisted words

becomes clear within the passionate embrace.

In chaos there is order;

In madness there is sanity.

And drinking of another’s thoughts –

tasting of another’s dreams –

Is getting drunk from an arid well.

Arid Waters by Alexander.J.Hicks is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.

A Shard of Himself

He sits all alone in his room

Picking up what pieces he can

He can’t shake this feeling of doom

as he holds what is left in his hand

The shards have all fallen from him

Like glass from a fell picture frame

The pieces all fall from within

And no one remembers his name

No one remembers the tears

That glistened in his soft eyes

All he can see is the pain and the fear

And all those who told him the lies

He knows that he should regret

Hurting the ones who say that they care

Now waiting for deaths soft caress

Only now he admits that he’s scared

He thinks that he won’t be missed

No more chances, he can’t ask for help

Blood pours when he opens his wrist
With a jagged, sharp shard of himself.

 

A Shard of Himself by Alexander J. Hicks is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.