Bones' Bones

Here is the lot! These who are dumbfounded by their dinners while the tropics tumble and timber.
By what grace is it that legacies are taught because someone guessed right? None! For it is no luck to have your name printed and reprinted till the machines rust in the ink of your words. If what you managed to leave before you've left is worth reliving to others than you might be able to think yourself eternal.
Night already. A snug fit for such an organism and oddly inspirational to waste. Then to wake refreshed, renewed in further decay. We just may be the lot.

Forget Me Not

Hi everyone, I'd like some feedback on this poem. I don't usually write love poems, so I'd like to know what you think of this one. Please let me know if it's corny or cliché! - Laura 

I long to leave my footprints

On the sands of your mind;

To doodle with a piece of driftwood

In hopes of engraving myself into your memory.

Though I know the waves of your imagination

Shall soon perhaps wash every trace of me away,

I will remain stubborn and persevere. 

I wish to whisper my name 

In the background of your internal monologue

So that you do not forget what my voice 

Tastes like in your brain. 

I wish to be the pens and pencils you grasp

So firmly in your grip;

The keys you always remember to take with you;

The notebooks you let your 

Mind wander around in. 

But I know that I will fade,

A polaroid picture sitting out in the sun. 

A pen you’ve used much too much. 

I will fade,

And your memories of me will drift away

Like grains of sand in the wind. 

Hold me for as long as you can.

Take a fistful of sand,

And you’ll see that because I am broken into tiny little pieces,

I am never to remain. 

God Sent

I once have bled from the needle of Eve,

Unwed I lie in bed with heroine,

Whilst father said in God I must believe,

Yet I just watch the sunset deep within.

In Christian truths or lies I found nothing,

The voids in life I have failed to fill,

The churches sing yet my faith is sinking,

The mysteries haunt less with every pill.

My lungs, they cough and plea until they bleed,

And head then spins with sick, fiendish delight;

Thoughts lost here, diseased, my mind full of weed,

This, my twisted reality tonight.

                Awoke years later things aren't what they seem,

                I wish I could say it was all a dream.