Mathew Lewis Poems

Chase the black sunrise
In search of your alibi,
While this is not goodbye
It sure as hell, ain't hello.
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I burn…
Not for you,
And not for me…
For these –
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O what a dank day, miserable fruit,
Torn little porcupine stuck upon an ant hill,
We should feel sorry for you no doubt?
But what a funny sight you are.
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I have felt so deep before,
With heavy clouded visions,
That all my pain no longer
Can endure, the thought of you.
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Five people at a club,
One a compulsive drinker.
Sitting at the bar twenty four seven,
Never moving form the seat,
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What is a poem?
Is it a classic piece of literature,
Or a timeless piece of art?
Should we marvel in its reverence,
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Let the thunder roar,
Let the heavens be disgorged,
Let the lightning whip the sky,
Let the clouds cover my eyes,
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What am I but a mangled freak?
A broken little nothing,
What am I but a mindless geek?
Trying to be something.
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Full of dark intentions
Too chicken to fullfill them,
Full of stark inventions
But all of them a problem.
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There is a sad complacency
Of brilliant minds,
Locked away in their dingy rooms,
They tell themselves
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