- Summer Guide
- College Guide
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Personal Experience
- Travel & Culture
- Current Events / Politics
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
- Community Service
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
Ten Feet Below
When twilight let falls a teardrop curtain,
laced with pearls of dewy light.
When midnight dawns on the early hour,
and the raven of Night takes flight;
The silvern moonbeams will shine on down,
And the forest awake and arouse.
Arouse a hidden beast that preys,
Preys on the souls of the departed dear graves,
preys on my heart with its chilling touch,
reminds me of the warmth I now miss so much,
How can I forget what I have lost,
Lost the love from your sweet touch.
I can recall the day you had left,
And in response I'd gone and wept,
Wept a river of sorrow and grief,
And in return I met The Three.
The Three terrible things that pursuit me so;
Loneliness, Depression, and Sorrowful Woe.
For now, whenever I wander,
a rogue spirit in the rolling thunder,
I'll stray upon a forgotten rose,
And its perfume will send new repose,
To the wysteria tree, and magnolia grove.
Even down to the birches where the grasses play,
in a gypsy wind that had gone astray.
Gone astray as if by Fate,
like your own departure as of late,
you have forgotten in your now underground home,
But my dear, you are not alone,
You've taken my wretched beating heart,
and there it lays in scattered shards.
Thriving, pulsing beneath your own,
But underground, ten feet below.
Ten feet below in skeletal bones,
In rags of cloth now growing old,
You'd said you gone for a mere vacation,
But you've caught a sickness, with no vaccanation.
Caught a disease that made you a crumple so,
Like a mere house of cards when a mighty wind blows,
Blowing it over, in scarlet red,
Like you m'dear, the King of Hearts is dead.
Dead, dead, the Angels should sing,
Sing on high with their trumpeting wings,
Welcome you into your new home,
where you'll wait for me, ten thousand years old.
So maybe, I'll just leave you here,
X marks the spot when the treasure is near,
But you see, you are more precious than gold,
And without you, it's gotten so weary, so dreary,
So downcast and bleary, that sometimes I think,
that I'll just dig my own grave, my own underground hole,
lay down beside you to just sleep for a year,
Maybe a millenium, down in the bellows,
And wait as I slowly go, in my underground hole,
ten feet below.