Killian Brooks
Killian Brooks Poems
Two fragile lives
Intertwine ware their frayed paths meet
Gazing at the stars above
Going through they're farewell races
...
The love the hart emits
For a different type of kiss
The heat that rushes through your face
Spreading your body,
...
To she, who in life’s fatal grip holds -
Fast to pain beyond her years,
She speaks a language, to gray;
Though her eyes glisten with laughter,
...
In the distance
A ladder calls to me
One hand reaches to take opritunity's saintly palms
And one to take mine own
...
In a crack apon the walk way
A little flower blooms
In silence now was broken
And who's light shall fade quite soon
...
May the arch angel walk beside me
And may that posion flower bloom
May the morning bells be ringing
May the pairate claim his loot
...
If you want to date me
I sadly must refuse
I'm tattooed by a ghost
Was made only for his use
...
I can not say I love you
It might scare you away
I can not say I miss you
If I want to see the day
...
Warm, cool air
Wafting over us.
Who's forms should ne'er touch
Wasting away from pure joy
...
Trapped in the cross hairs of my own invention
I know it's a long shot I'll probably regret
But right now
The place that I'm in
...
Killian Brooks Biography
A 17 year old girl Who's still forming mind Has yet to learn how to deal With the un-named emotions that Life bestows on her wanted or not A sister and a daughter A nice, a girlfriend, a cousin, and a granddaughter She lives in a biased town with biased teachings To which she tries to make sense As they contradict the basis she's raised by To young to have an opinion And still to old to play on the jungle-Jim in McDonald's. - - - - - - - - - - A 20 year old Who's hidden thoughts Need voiced)
The Best Poem Of Killian Brooks
The Olive Tree
Two fragile lives
Intertwine ware their frayed paths meet
Gazing at the stars above
Going through they're farewell races
Slowly, slowly, slowly
Falling down
To earth,
To die.
I remember theses things,
Of the fires,
Of the people I crushed in anguish
Fathers, mothers, daughters.
In wrath of the crimes of a few
Retched men.
Who's meaty fists and staves
Made a concrete angle
Out of you.
All gone.
Burnt to a crisp.
Who's eyes I dug out, with my own two hands.
And on your hill,
Grows an olive tree.
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5/3/2024 9:53:03 PM # 1.0.0.1119
