RONNIE TUCKER

Haven't got any still new to this web business I do have something for I finally posted one of my written poems no one has ever seen my written poems I have always kept them to myself this was written in 2010

(Here finally I am showing one of my old poems I wrote this probably it was around 2010 I added to it to flesh it out and also this has never been seen only by me now it is yours and copyrighted)

Drink from the waters copyright@2021 

In veiled and mourning 

Evening takes a solitary day

Whispering in voices death

In the dampness follows the procession

Burning in the fires faces are illuminated 

As all crumbles to dust of faded memories 

O silent sky cast the shadows 

and drink from the waters of sorrow 

reap and repose

The flesh,the poison and the marrow 

is exposed 

Toss the clouds in the wind 

the funeral for a friend 

no time to grieve for they are long gone

only to live in the recepticals of our minds

As the hovering of Angel's on the couch of death

sing their hymns to an uncaring God 

Drink from the silent dew

The dawn is broken in a brilliant display 

as the wailing is heard above the den

we see the sparks fall from heaven

as visions run from tears in the rays of light

burning in incandescent flashes 

we bury the dead under the stains 

that glimmer in the wastlessness

of all that is left

And when we worship so it begins 

colored in purple and red

The ground consumes the flesh 

o wicked have we become 

as a beast we are devoured 

in the tears of the sun

dying reflections of what we use to be 

and death smiles at our mortality

a witness to the bitter end

For now our children become the beast

in strange company 

o astoph spiller of souls

the serpent in tongues repent

a sacrifice is bled

who are the imps called by name 

the destroyer of the lost souls 

are fed to the burning furnace of flames

when elephants become flying men

then and now 

We naturally get high

for we are the wasted and here we remain 

under the spotlight we ask our god why

but he does not hear our cries 

For he has left us a long time ago

still we drink from the waters of poisoned knowledge 

no longer to mourn the funeral for a friend 

at the threshold of the abyss 

we stand before the corridors in twilight time 

and touch the ecstasy we so desire 

from the mouths we hunger for a horn of plenty

to feed us incandescent knowledge 

we ask but the beast within cries 

no more

no more

for our well has become dry