If we have been so far away from home, yet so longing to see you
doing anything else would be far too natural.
Should I have been trying my love
a while before
and relax after listening to my Lord?
She was going through my life
With only sensation in our minds; yet
only games for anyone else.
Basking in the best wishes
from all my friends over-easy,
we were going back to see how to die
of course, but we had no intention at all
to make love with ourselves.
We only had fear. Fear for our us,
found floating in the time that was
slipping away.
Sometimes I don't know anything about you.
Other times
you could not be known more by me.
If I could fly away from the shadow
the dim sun draws on my face
as you stand on the ever-far horizon
I would.
Dec 15, 2017
Dec 15, 2017 at 10:14 AM UTC
Who want's a love poem?
A thing about some guy and some girl
and how something's just so **** blissful
or just so **** sad and dramatic?
***** that.
How about we find something we can swallow?
How about we forget our little cry-c's,
and take half a **** second
to
to
to write a **** love poem...
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 1:32 PM UTC
It seems I run here
as if it were a confession booth;
concerning looseness of eye or brokenness of tooth.
I find my penance here
I find my penance here
and now constantly
and concertedly I understand.
What I can see to be sin is simply a symptom
it is not the disease
and it is not a matter of debt, but lack of income.
I have taken no pleasure in my beloved.
Where is my joy? Is it not in the Lord and the fullness thereof?
I have been fighting a battle already lost.
To pursue to imbue in myself a passion
while the stone of my heart remains as a frost.
Striding for the ends to produce means has no ration.
When I read that faith without works is dead
and then pursue works to produce faith
I'm dead.
Apr 11, 2015
Apr 11, 2015 at 12:32 PM UTC
Reset pv4 pin ID add host lvl
with my broken concentration,
while the reboot computes and
command prompt prefers
and no I don't have the router,
but yes I'm an administrator.
Who is in charge,
and who is punishing me?
Superstition sends me around back into the
Ground beef while I'm repenting of my sins
to get my hard drive running smoother,
like it's a catholic father
who just gets crotchety in the presence of gigabits
and lil ***** who won't behave
and condemns this piece of crap to an early grave.
Oh, but maybe it's just I need to unscrew and then pull out and blow off and put back in...
doubting it all again and a big circle starts anew.
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 12:45 PM UTC
Well, here you have me again.
In repentance again; a requisition for mercy at your feet.
I have not seen you in so long, and it is because I have not looked.
I have not taken the time to enjoy my father's company.
Why is this? I will tell myself to read, to write, to think, to record,
and do not do it.
Shouldn't this be forth-coming in a natural overflow in my gratitude of your blessing and glory?
I treat you like a blimp, like a ladder.
I worry about my image, and how I will present myself.
I worry, but I do not address anyhow, and it is vanity.
Lord you are my portion, and you are my prize.
I am not perusing you out of lack of anything else to do.
I am sprinting after your coat-tails for the sheer goodness of your substance and presence O God.
This is my confession Lord. I have not loved you.
Help me to remember my first love.
Let me drink in the milk I first tasted.
Bring me back to the beginning again, that I may remember your deliverance for me from the hand of darkness.
Mar 24, 2015
Mar 24, 2015 at 11:32 PM UTC
Alice in her wonderland could never have imagined
that the bounty of the promise land was not found in her companion.
She would have sought to make him king
she would have bought him everything.
But falling short of all her providence,
he would need some sort of evidence;
to show that indeed twas he
who from greed was very free,
and could love her in her poverty
if say, from above she'd loose propriety.
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 12:25 PM UTC
When I sit to listen and to
contemplate
I have no music in my head;
only machinations.
The words within my mind are dead
for soundly vanquished is the inspiration.
Passion
is
fleeting
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 8:08 PM UTC
yad a ekam dluoc I fI
noitalsnart ni tsol saw eno on erehw
!eb dlouw taht yad yppah a tahw O
dniknam sah ydalam retaerg tahw roF
kcal elpmis ruo naht
.gniwonk fo
sdnim lautum ruo fo gniwonk ehT
dlog naht thguos erom si
revlis naht suoicerp erom
dnoyeb dna raf dna
derised erom
. sevlesmeht sthguoht eht fo yna naht
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 12:09 AM UTC
It's one of those days; those days when you feel like a looser.
You feel like there's a pressure pushing in
from people who are busy;
who are better by their busy bodies
budding and boiling over,
filling the life you try to look through with steam,
and as the pressure builds, you
sit and sweat and worry,
trying so hard to hurry.
"What to do?"
You'll say,
and in the end you'll stay;
stay in that sultry salty sweaty screw-up that you are.
Cuz on that day you feel like a looser. You realize
you built your life like a pressure cooker,
not a steam-engine like you wanted.
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 11:37 PM UTC
If the perfect
last end of
the wrong thing
before and after
the last could be
molded faster
than a fastener
then why not
return to the gurney
and be wheeled about
on a short-term journey
through the keyhole?
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 12:22 AM UTC