how long can i make it last?
not long enough.
May 17, 2021
May 17, 2021 at 2:41 AM UTC
I dream once again of pastures gold.
Of midnight jesters, and pleasures old.
I remember the scent of the forest,
The Moss and the snow.
(Did I know?)
With sober certainty of waking bliss,
I look upon Willows red and chestnuts green.
Will I wake one day to find my body aching?
The thought never occurred.
So I continued.
And stood passive to see
corporate Christmas lights-
bridge lights at One AM.
(Og missikken stopper)
Hiking through ruins and fairy tale cedars
to roadside gas stations and gone under theaters.
Under the shadow of the hills at dusk.
The scent of coffee fresh to sell
drifts past us on our way
to fast food parking lots beside midnight hotels.
Music and roses late at night.
The sun beating down and blinding,
Once winter has broken free from the bonds of Christmas.
But I fret, I age and I fret.
(Will I do something that I regret?)
And how will I spend my time?
Imitating an aging cat?
I would rather watch the cars at night by the water,
music paused
than drive myself.
I've considered my ways and turned my feet.
I will remember my song in the night;
I will meditate with my heart.
And why? Out of all I did, why did I never have the mind to ask:
“When all is done what will I say?
Will I regret a single day?”
And what did I think when I said:
“I have time to hesitate,
to make my plans but decide to wait.”
To count every grain of sand and call it de rigeur
To give up early and call it a tie.
to turn off the light but not know why.
I should have been born a floating balloon.
I should have dragged myself through the trees.
And I watched my life.
I revised my dreams
to fit reality.
And was it worth it?
May I reverse the clock?
And did I spend too much time tending the lawn,
And not appreciate the grazing fawn?
(Og missikken stopper)
I find now that I bore my own hell.
And I only vaguely recall
the trips I took, yes, I forget!
(or regret?)
And what motions did I follow?
Shall I give up? Am I defeated?
(When did my hair get so thin?)
Now I've grown weary with my moaning
and the cycle will soon burn out.
Shall I give up what I began?
I must be defeated.
No.
I shall remember not the former things, nor consider things of old.
I shall walk along the pier as the water grows cold.
But Again I hug the shore and allow others to brave the deep.
(Og missikken er over)
And I look back
at many summers many false love
Nothing else causes such pain.
And perhaps a few were true.
But that, I refuse to accept.
But most importantly I remember
the sisters of grace.
Who tended to me so kindly
So I walked with caution. For I had the map.
But I fell, I fell.
I said:
“I shall make this damp cave my home.”
And asked:
“But which one?
Who is it that I love?
I feel so strongly for both though I cannot choose
I must climb from my hole”
But I couldn't move, I wouldn't dare
(Its worth a try, just look at her hair.)
I'll have to decide
or else just let my feelings die
So Again, I chose to wait, I waited too long
And just as they came the sisters were gone.
Leaving me behind. I don't claim them wrong.
(Og missikken stopper)
My back now hurts, my knees crack.
And was it worth it, to plant a garden alone.
Is it worth it when the bald spot on my head has grown,
and what I called joy was merely a clone
and you find that you never had a home
and love did come but you let it go?
Was it worth it in the end
to build a god of desire?
(When did my bed grow so uncomfortable?)
A god out of reach.
But at last they sing and usher in dawn,
Till our eyes finally open, and we're gone.
Jan 9, 2018
Jan 9, 2018 at 3:46 PM UTC
I really hate nukes
because it would **** the birds
why take them down too?
Another day passed
the world is still here I see.
It don't feel the same.
A bird flies across
the Canadian border
They don't need passports.
I do not know what
country it came from first though.
The bird doesn't care.
Nov 25, 2017
Nov 25, 2017 at 1:55 PM UTC
Og Plato synger på øya, men på gatene snakker kvinnene dårlig og du står i mellom og alle ser deg, men ingen ser deg.
May 12, 2017
May 12, 2017 at 7:54 PM UTC
Jeg kan høre det milde havskummet,
Det berører bakken så nær hjemmet sitt.
Skjønnhet vevd i sitt rustne gylne hår,
Jeg har ikke kjent henne lenge, men *** lar meg gå på lufta.
Det er noe *** har, en slags nåde,
Det skinner som en gemstone gjennom ansiktet hennes.
Hennes øyne kan være gjennomsnittlig på noen andre,
Men i hennes ser jeg himmelen, et hjerte smelter meg.
*** har barnslig lurer og jeg elsker det så,
Og *** gir av det mest lunefullt lys.
Selv når vi står på den kalde betongen,
Jeg kan se blomster spring opp rundt føttene hennes.
Jeg tror jeg elsker henne, ja, det gjør jeg!
Nei jeg gjør det ikke, det kan ikke være sant.
-Det tynne barnet bak deg.
May 11, 2017
May 11, 2017 at 6:40 PM UTC
Ear Pupils Get
Drums have to
are a know
really good your
funny way feet
when of they
there letting are
is you your
nothing see best
else the friends
to world
hear
May 9, 2017
May 9, 2017 at 10:56 AM UTC
I do not have the
attention span for reading
haikus, so i wont
May 7, 2017
May 7, 2017 at 10:39 PM UTC
I am potato
return to the stupid moon
elf dwarf walrus flerd
May 6, 2017
May 6, 2017 at 10:29 PM UTC
Wouldn't it be nice
To learn to take care of fish,
Just to help them out?
Apr 7, 2017
Apr 7, 2017 at 10:43 PM UTC
Dear Brother Jesse:
Papa Piglet has been telling me stories lately. Those conventions sound really fun, and someday I would love to make it to one. Unfortunately its hard for me to make it to the meetings. And just to get to stage two costs ₹12,000. Stage one sounds hard too, I think I would have trouble making it to all the auctions. Maybe religion just isn't for me....(?)
Your fellow Whifling,
-Mobard
Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 1:55 PM UTC