The Web Poetry Corner
DreamMachineThe Web Poetry Corner is a Dream Machine Site
The Dream Machine --- The Imagination of the World Wide Web
Google

The Web Poetry Corner

Brock Daniels

of

Carbondale, PA, US

Home Authors Alphabetically Authors Date Submitted Authors Country Submission Rules Feedback



If you have comments or suggestions for the Web Poetry Corner, you can contact us at:
willy@dreamagic.com (Paul Larsen)


Find a book store near you, no matter where you are located in the U.S.A.!


Cerzan

...the best independent ISP in the Twin Cities

Gypsy's Photo Gallery


condescending rain

by

Brock Daniels

it pours upon the earth as we hear its call
white fire signals the birth of it all
never a whisper as it crept towards us
a message we can never decipher into our mortal words
we wept upon my hands as I cried metal tears
my love has permanently occupied my host
over the years, it shall devour the above or grow admantly strong
the crashing waves of liquifed clouds mark the
making of all that is wrong
your precious shrouds are worthless to my dying eyes
burn your souls in emotional sin and evaporate into the very
lies you represent
the spell I uttered at the end of life casts a
shadow on the material side of fate
never thinking of the possibility of the reality I
might abate
as the messenger slows to a trickle of thawed blood
I glance over my flawed existance as a man
and pretend to barely notice
ignorant to the strain of love she attempted to
condescend
I cry softly as our star takes to nap and my
severed heart dissolves in the
horizon


heaven's loss

by

Brock Daniels

a fallen angle in my hands
her mother in chains
her children, sewn into far-off lands
the ashes in my palms, her cried remains

a fallen angel in my hands
her sacred blood no longer pure
the spaces of my heart fits her demands
a fallen angel, the stars, my cure

a fallen angel in my hands
eyes stolen from above, hair of tarnished gold
a fallen angel in my hands
worth the soul which I sold


sores

by

Brock Daniels

the air tastes like salt
upon my open sores
to stay awake
to refinish my fate
I just won't believe
to knock at the fault
to season my sores
to relish in the ache
a promise meant to abate
in the present, I have no time
to grieve