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Alzet Weideman Nov 2017
Live for the living.
Die for the dead.
Live because of the dead.
Die because of the living.
A short poem depicting four states in which we live.
We live, either to be with the people that live with us, or as tribute to those who have died.
We die, either to reunite with those who have passed, or to escape people in our lives.
Alzet Weideman Nov 2017
Occasionally the world becomes dull and all the colours encircling me appear grey.
Sometimes my emotional skin becomes insensate and my heart clots.
When I then collapse in a whirlwind of woe and wonder, the only temporary resolution seems to be the notes of another's instrument.
The dissonant harmony of an unknown's timbral heart noises.
A prose about listening to music when I'm depressed.
Alzet Weideman Nov 2017
There are words hiding
in the shadows of your body
Script too dark to write
for my wrist is too weak and ink too thin

Unstaged monologue
Unspoken song
Unwritten essay
Unravelled riddle

Grant me an inkling, my lover
a concession for my effort; a reward for my toil
So I can construe the omitted allusion
So I can hear the whispering voice of your soma
Alzet Weideman Nov 2017
I wish our roles could be recast
then you would be the one hanging on my lips;
charmed by my eloquence.

I would have a higher consideration for it
that simply a childish infatuation.
I would embosom it, treasure it,
cherish it until my last breath.

The moment that I first laid eyes on you, I can't remember
but every second since then your tune plays incessantly in my head.

My heart bleeds when I think of your face
and I realise that it's because I know that I would've held it so gently in my hands.

Your story I'm not acquainted with.
How burdensome the impedimenta of your every day, I don't know.
Nevertheless, with every ounce of my might I want to help.

What should I have done to catch your eye?
Who should I have been to win your heart?
Alzet Weideman Nov 2017
It was a blind pick type of match, premade
You're a full kit, a pro, a stunner
But my focus, my chase, my dive, my pathing
For you, my target, to you, my destination, were on lockdown

With a flash spell you summoned
I was instantly cast
Unsuspecting, you took me off guard
Hooked, gank, gap closer, leash, pull

I was a full tank
building up my defenses
MRes, taking care to keep myself safe from the ****
But I'm Rdy, a Sleeper OP

I'll Hold
I'll cover your lane
Defend your tower
Protect your base

A Rambo attempt; diving in alone
A Proxy strategy; high risk high reward
A Skillshot; an aim that can potentially miss

Say you'll commit,
That you won't retreat
Say that you'll fight
Until the battle is complete

To my Champion, my Main,
My FotM
FF; I surrender my heart
No DC, No MIA, No QQ

WP my love GJ
GL my love HF
A love poem using League of Legends lingo.
Alzet Weideman Nov 2017
A one hit wonder
A single rhyme all that he could create
History, a golden oldie, fossilized and lost in the muddy mires of mimic  

His yearn for praise waltzed over the staves
His strive for applause dropped black notes barre for barre

The rhythm of his heartbeat on percussion
Soul humming the melody
Blood and sweat running over his Martin acoustic's strings

He gave his best, he gave his all
Wonder, did you perhaps give too much?
The notes echo continually on my playlist
But his name fades with every tick of the clock

A bright white-hot flame
That shon too bright to last
Burned the remaining sheet music in the fire

'Where is he now?' I wonder
'Where is he now?'
Where are you now, Wonder?
Where are you now?
Alzet Weideman Nov 2017
My brain: an incessant essay with unstructured paragraphing and excess analogies, yet something in the syntax so mollifying.

The ink that I have wasted on my past is sometimes the only form of tangible clarity in the present.

Unfortunately, my typewriter often stutters on paraphrases and plagiarism, though my pernicious blessing of overactive neurons always seems elude such exigent situations.

I fall in love with punctuation that is of utmost relevance and universality, but I'm tumbling over my own pleonasm.
The ramifications of my inconsistency is is that I tend to bombard ears with clauses, but at night I dream of shouting without a single sound escaping my mouth.

Also, I hate anglicisms, although I know that the reality is inevitable.
A prose on how my mind works.
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