Amelie Ison

I may not be your cup of tea
But I am your tenth shot of tequila.
We are made to be together
One way or another.
...

The silhouettes are all that remain:
There is nothing left of them
But the memories that have faded over the years.
From generation to generation,
...

There is a crow that always follows me:
A master of shadow—
His dark black wings full of mystery and evil;
His cunning dots for eyes.
...

Well, all the yellow paint that you consume
Will not paint happiness inside you.
A splash of paint on your internal organs
Will not brighten up you like it brightens up your walls,
...

-For Burns

Hanging from its branches,
The tree bears them like glorious fruits—
...

-For Hades, the crow

We put you up high so the cats can't get you,
But it is futile: you will die anyway.
...

I watched a dog sweep across the land where no man stands;
So delicate in his every step—
He manoeuvred across it with a strange familiarity:
The mud to him was not a problem,
...

-To my friends (who are not poets)

How can you not be a poet?
Let me understand:
...

A poem is someone's soul on paper:
It emits a feeling,

Perhaps of great rage or warmth or sadness—
...

Man cannot surpass dying—
He cannot live past his own death.
Power fades and falls. Like the tide,
...

I know what they are doing,
As they carry me to the car—
I have thought many times upon this moment;
As I know you have too.
...

Our silent heroes:

The animals who served us
...

If I were a lamb,
I would be a favourite of the priest's.

I, being so docile and so sweet,
...

I have taken pictures
Of a perfect summer's day;
Flowers, alive and new, in spring;
An elephant, majestic and proud, staring at me.
...

Let the ground have my body
So I can play hide and seek one last time.
Let the worms eat my flesh
So my death brings about something good.
...

Do you think I run scared from you?
Do you think that you stand above me in those big boots?
Do you think I cower, trembling beneath a table,
With my tail tucked between my legs,
...

I am seeing the snow fall from down here: in the mud.
I am watching gentle, soft snowflakes fall upon the ground—
Isn't it bizarre that something so delicate and beautiful
Would be found somewhere so barren?
...

I'm not an artist by design,
Though I picked it for GCSE—
So where do my true loyalties lie?
What does my heart want me to be?
...

Wow, death really is so final.
To think, that in death, you'd close your eyes
To never open them again. How
Can anyone sleep knowing it might be their last?
...

Tell me, dog with the big teeth,
What do you see past that muzzle of yours?
What do you hear through the whispers of those that go by?
You crave to feel human touch—
...