Danny, James Archer
Danny, James Archer Poems
'lei bello occhi'.. not to be overly frank. 'Voy un...' Oh please! '...SESSO con mi' you will! ?
If You Open Your Heart
If you have to think it, it’s not truly true. If you haven’t learned it yet, you don't need it. If you try hard, you were supposed to fail. If you open your heart, you will die.
A Modern Philosopher
What queries I have sought to answer, selfish questions I wanted, for me, to say. 'Of mortals or deities are the winged creatures above? ' 'all, ' I reply, 'overtly looking for love! '
When a red sun contrasts a blue moon, when a light makes the whole world dark, when a feeling is displaceed at the 'wrong' time. Thats where the world will crumble?
I Miss My Childhood
The summer has left me a broken shell, now the heartache shall destroy me. I look at the omnious clowds wondering, when can I leave this house?
Subconsciously it bathes in me, ensuring the mood is entirely subdued. Melancholy aches of gross injustice from which the world has failed to notice
Its Me! !
water forms on a cheek a moment of silence cold, wet and bewildering frost forms, a chokehold
Over The Hill...
Over the hill, not to death, but to 'midgets' in boxes, to yellow eyed honour. Over the moon, not to happiness, but to children poking fun at 'idiots' in that car down the road.
An Unexpected Meeting
Long I have dreamed of a resolved world, of a time and place where we all embrace. However, in truth we lie out on the floor, red fears exhalted on the green ordered row.
old seas melt in red oppose, And only the dead lay melted there. When they feel there life is closed, the waters up in there lungs will tear.
Diary Of Despair
And there it is, our 'relationship' summed up in three crosses at the end of a letter. 'I used to love you' past tense. 'I used to trust you'... I feel no use for hyperbole.
This Is Not An Ode...
White mist, white sky, white ground. Asyndetically I stand anonymously among the silence. no one to the left, nor right. This once fertile pasture is now a
Read This! !
You trust in words, the 'paper' they are written on is a lie to begin with. We beleive in verbs and nouns but who invented them? 'the person who wrote your history book made it all up! '
The World Is Grey
You stand in colour, I gaze black and white, Subconsiously idolising your pessimistic overview. I stare for a while, those mirror glass tears again haunting.
As I peer through the mirror
A name that has pejorated over time plays songs with my head
the blood tears stain the glass,
as rain contrasts my mood.
A song rushes the memories back,
the chorus holds the significance.
If I could forget I probably still wouldnt.
and now you pattered grin plays havok in pictures.