Bad Tidings Dressed in a Yellow Suit

I am laying on my bed
the afternoon sun hides from sleepy eyes
running yellow bicycles around my brain
reminding me of that yellow ticket on my desk

Darn why did that happen?
He was just filling his ticket quota
for the ending month
Everyone knows policemen are corrupt anyway

It's just one earthquake after another
Oh here comes the starving child
arms like tree branches begging the bright warm sun
It's that color again

Yellow
On the surface it promises a brighter future
of sunny happy days
but the rays of light are fouled by material greed
like gold mines

I want it to end
but I'm already at the end waiting for the start
You can never end yellow though
It's all around--- it's freaken everywhere
It used to be one of my favorite colors
I'll just have to change it into a new color then.

The Library

It was in one of those strange cubicles at the library
conjoining four tables together
like petals on a violet
but separated by walls of oak

He sat in the table next to me
Boisterous noises and shuffling interrupted the silence
like a whistling train going through at night
I could see him in the cracks of the wall
looking in between the petals

I watched for a while
didn't care
and we went on with our business
pretending we weren't next to each other
fallen petals from a flower

Life as a student

Caffeine induced rambles
Burnt out brains
Last minute homework scrambles
and back pains

Money going into a hole
That just gets deeper
No sleep takes a toll
and speeds the grim reaper

Balding due to stress
Huge bags under swollen eyes
My life is such a mess
Rotten fruit for the dirty flies

Maybe I'm too dramatic
Or I'm just really tired
It's not that traumatic
I just can't get what I desired

One of my favorites

My prime of youth is but a frost of cares,
My feast of joy is but a dish of pain,
My crop of corn is but a field of tares,
And all my good is but vain hope of gain;
The day is past, and yet I saw no sun,
And now I live, and now my life is done.

My tale was heard and yet it was not told,
My fruit is fallen, yet my leaves are green,
My youth is spent and yet I am not old,
I saw the world and yet I was not seen;
My thread is cut and yet it is not spun,
And now I live, and now my life is done.

I sought my death and found it in my womb,
I looked for life and saw it was a shade,
I trod the earth and knew it was my tomb,
And now I die, and now I was but made;
My glass is full, and now my glass is run,
And now I live, and now my life is done.

-Chidiock Tichborne, at the eve of his execution