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The things we say,
made into something other,
anagrams discovered,
mumblings muttered unclearly,
reprieve me,
for, these games are deceiving ,
just yell for to leave
or my company,
maybe then I can sleep.
counterbalance beast
serf of nature's beginning
tyrannosaurus
In sleep sings memory,
abnormal, eclectic melodies,
impressing to me what needed attention,
because, today was successful,
until the latent rears its unrestful head,
friends deceived, belief left dead
could I dispense such blatant injustice?
apparently so,
for, deep in the throes of these old unknowns
lies knowledge uncovered, under errors disowned.
Analyze your dreams with open eyes
Eyes, like estuaries,
droplets carry our weary emotions,
into a sea,
where needing cedes its frustrations,
the turbulent I,
let me run dry.
unlimited strength
embracing softly, my hands
such power understands
nothing is so strong as gentleness
and nothing so gentle as pure strength

Saint Francis de Sales
In loves muddy wake
failingly chasing its start
we might as well swim
Inspired by Kenan O'meara
circles find their aim
humans like their range within
ellipses begin

circles hide their aim
humans fight their way within
ellipses pretend

circles might remain
humans hide their pain within
ellipses restrain
A little haiku for you
left, breathless
bereft and broken
spoken words, inept
dreams and regret
waking detests this emptiness
such unrest
what sleep may come
R.I.P David Lamb
sweet oblivion
come take today from my hands
nothing plans demise
the machined being
control or be so
manufacture hope

the machined being
plastic or be so
molded misanthropes

the machined being
alone or at home
the phone doesn't know

the machined being
control or be so
fight or let go
finish or fold
at the cold feet of time
father might have met his match
underneath the bridge
clarity bids its riddle
ceding overpass
when suffering's luster loses glow,
when overcoming is never known,
what dreams may come from fire below,
lonesome moments, ever-boding,
misery imposed, for evermore,
glorious warnings from sordid war,
of freedom imploring,
indifference ignoring,
and discontent exploring our stratosphere...
measly metamorphs,
wearily forcing inaction forward,
desperately sourcing mortality,
fallacy after fallacy fall to their knees,
umpteen deviations,
outlandish iterations, exhausted,
accost me no more, mister consciousness,
for I've already given in,
just when my sin uncovers itself,
befuddled and bereft, at the gates of hell,
the self dispenses its painful beliefs:
that nothing comes without leaving,
remains we bequeath only provide what's conceded,
so seek what is needed,
impede not the other,
and love will muster from such healthy souls.
Kind of rambled on this one, but the pens just kept going.
Hopefully not too convoluted!
Thanks to anyone with the patience to read this :)
Happy writings
Days are not won
Time is not done
As it comes is as it should
All that’s done is all that could
Until tomorrow
Where life is sorrow
Let love be comfort
Something a hunter could never perceive
Seeking what comes after seeking’s reprieve
The seed of acceptance, now planted
Let its hallowed branches reach my hands
And command me
For as long as I’m standing
And as long as the phantom of suffering insists it’s candid contempt
All that’s left
Will be all that sends me into its arms
Charming it can be
But I’ve grown to see
Nothing comes without leaving
Scenes exist, and then they’re dreams
Appease yours
And implore you’re sordid, foretold, worth onto this ordered, and forsaken, world..
Started to early
mourning mornings never had
together passes
Once upon a time stood still,
assurance wilted,
uncertainty lilts
from forlorn to guilty,
what will she choose
the velvet noose,
the jagged truth,
russian roulette
with two bullets left,
labeled, bereft,
designed for bloodletting,
let one in,
let the chamber sing its victory,
as history swallows the other,
silver heartbreaker,
make up your mind.

— The End —