All poems found containing the word crocked
Adrian AIDZ Giannini "Left alone again in a crocked spine adjusting to delirium"

The muse holds a shimmer

Every street light showers an addiction in neon
If this hope for you was to come back, is gone
Dressed in skin I couldn't weave enough to loose
Chipped in black, torn nails hang from my fingers
Eyes glazed in shadows live through the dawn

Tears, scream in the breeze as tomorrow falls
Crazed, crackled Jade as your eyes say sorrow is mine
Plead in fuken forgiveness as a shallow lament is yours
SImple as it may be, I can forgive a denial of blood
Sleep in an alcoholic haze as summers drift on by

I cannot choose fear
Live in the sun
Walk away from others as they hold out a hand
Pick the scabs until they bleed
Stain my skin in hues of blood
Forget the path you walk
One you can remove
WIth a nod
And a choice
A better life lays
Captured in a dragons breath
And folded paper
While I live and die
Tipped by a rusty blade
Sliced in a vein
Silhouetted in oblique
Against the obscure
As a twist in ten saves me
But not the sun

A dream will carry a silence born
Several steps upon a crooked pavement echo arrival
Waft a feather of forgiveness upon a blessed soul
Count the shadow of lies in scars upon my flesh
Look upon the scars as I follow you

Im having trouble as I try to sleep
I open heavy eyes to a day just before
Left alone again in a crocked spine adjusting to delirium
Silence beckons peace unlike before I dream of death
In silence I kiss the butterflies breath

Sally Kavourmas "Stepping on, a crocked stye......."

I met a traveller on the road,                                                                                                                                                     Chin in hand............a heavy load........                                                                                                                                     He sat before me.........on a grave                                                                                                                                             A man in thoughtful......of the brave!                                                                                                                                                  And slowly passing, by his side                                                                                                                                               I felt him crying, for those who died                                                                                                                                       And looking down. I saw his name                                                                                                                                                   Him, my father, was his name                                                                                                                                                           Stepping on, a crocked stye.......                                                                                                                                                                                 I overlooked the bluest sky............                                                                                                                                         Auld men travel down the roads                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          Each burden him..............A heavy load.

sparkles asparagus "into crocked chapels"

Is not only ordinary in the most vile sense
It also lacks the creative imbalance
That which pulses through the blood of cryptic elders

Although being encaged in a box
has the comfort of rigidity
It destroys the fetus of all that pretends to be beautiful

Contemptuous moments ruined
Because we are weak enough to ask, why?
To pander For a something as feebly human as a definition

Why must everything  be placed
on the hand of the glockenspiel
When the world has clearly indicated
The presence of a divine anomaly

The trees are freezing
into crocked chapels
The blackened oasis
tearing slightly along the buttons

Through this all the celestial ambiance awaits
Its complexities weave
each stroke unparalleled

r
The urge is to destroy
That which makes our eyes sting
And our brains blast through the unseen hallows
Riding the coattails of a blastiod

This gusto is blanketed over in our simple minds
Forged into a hammer and sickle
Of absolute and definite terror

Destroy it all
All of which can chemically mix and produce
A new mystical pattern of deficiencies
Naked spayed on the cutting room floor

We must destroy it
By forcefully coding its gnome
Correcting what appears to be a hint of insurrection  

When we already no the what already know the why
but the current answers will make us their slave
They will bind us in hopeless ecstasy

So we form new words that don’t do it justice
Outlandish plans for this invention
Destroying its capability to be
simple
beautiful and
without purpose

 
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