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patrick-islington
patrick-islington
Irish love writing and reading poetry, from Ireland
Wake up, wake up, from deep slumber, waits the land, for warming up, beneath, hold its hidden treasures, push forth, proud heads erupt. All dance and kiss spring morning, colours wave in gentle swale, purse their lips, all delightful, nectar scent ore hill and vale. Flora fauna finds its rhythm, young arrive on nature’s breast, a touch so fine, enchanting wisdom, behold majestic, times request. Hearts are rising, cobwebs lifting, hopes course through a brighter day, eyes are opened, more observant, her dressings for this growing phase. This emblem flies for minds impression, paints a picture for all to see, kissing spring in all its glory, igniting energy, pure simplicity.
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Apr 3, 2013
Apr 3, 2013 at 11:49 AM UTC
Kissing Spring
Curtains, veils of virtual vice So, gaze through the ****** intermix of positional latency, nano-notions lost in frantic phantasm, requisites of an idle, unhealed mind. Draw the virtual screen curtains open, bring forth the lustful images to feed the circuitous appetite, lurking front-row-presence, at the keys. Unknown, undertones of desirability, poses in patient wait, online implication of fallen ways, predication of unveiling moments. As any-time-porn pours its spill of sickest gratification behind the curtain tab selective viewing. It is someone’s child the glides on rails of drawn conclusions, through windows where drapes of cyber mindlessness hang on dank walls of seedy buildings. The ***** grinder always plays the tune to which monkeys happily dance, in a world where Neanderthals hang out, unperturbed with new technology.
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May 22, 2012
May 22, 2012 at 9:44 AM UTC
Curtains, veils of virtual vice.