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Arwen Undomiel Poems
A city in ruin from a man full of lies, Every dollar he spent, another man dies. A family torn apart, the fabric ripped to shreds. She cries alone while he goes to bed.
Strapped on my back like a dead weight, A burden I never asked to carry. Your broken dreams and broken lies, You told me it’s only customary.
There is nothing more to think about. There is nothing more to say. There is no more anger, There is no more pain.
When I think of what could have been, And I remember what has been done, It all becomes clear to me that it was never really meant to be. Pondering the good times,
The night blooms into orgasmic pleasure As my tears for you wax and wane. The soft ground under my feet, The smell of air on my skin.
And I wait... Still I wait. Waiting for something, But there really isn’t anything.
Into Your Arms
Endlessly mine Swirling in love divine. Caress my lips, So soft like honey.
And it all remains the same... Spinning in a sea of emptiness. I sit and watch as time goes by, And it all remains the same.
I can’t seem to remember the last time I smiled. It all seems so distant. What little happiness I knew dried up. I’ve been burned by their kind too many times,
Corrupted life. And things rather left forgotten. My soul wasted for nothing. I look at these hands,
I wish you hope I wish you love I wish you joy from heaven above. Knowing how far apart we are,
Your kiss, like blood. You leave a taste in my mouth. Seduce me with death, Let me live forever.
Endless eternity, Falling deep within the black hole of space; Time: No concept, no reality. Hope that was entertaining me is now gone.
Reflections of You
Forsaking all I have gained everything; Forsaking you I have gained sanity. Destined to become a failure by your strong hand, you crush me down to the soil.
Comments about Arwen Undomiel
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
A city in ruin from a man full of lies,
Every dollar he spent, another man dies.
A family torn apart, the fabric ripped to shreds.
She cries alone while he goes to bed.
A kid with a packed nose, so high in his head.
Found his father’s gun, BANG! Now he’s dead.
All of this is a stupid lie, a stupid lie.
Everything has left me terrified from stupid lies.
I want to die, I’m terrified.