That of you inside my ears
Was hard to hear, but ever-clear.
That of you 'come out the mouth,
Was easy-heard, then brought more doubt.
Little thought about thinking
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There are people who are for no one,
For whom there is no one.
They are two sides of a circle.
The first is clad in shadow-black,
Who sails down a river of blood,
Deeper still, never glancing back.
The second, alabaster white,
Who watches over life and love,
A justice bitter as winter's bite.
Why are they not "for" one another?
Although both share a love for something greater than themselves, each stands in the way of the other's dream.
You will not
Cut out my tongue
Until you bury my corpse.
I shall be,
And speak, in freedom,
And shall owe no explanation.
If it comes
To strength and iron,
I'll fall like my ancestors,
Dying in the name of what's right.
Governments across the world are adopting a fascistic view of personal freedoms. It seems as though they wish to police thoughts and opinions. Do not let them. Oppose a regime that tramples your right to be as you are: at that point, it is no longer worthy of your suboordination.
Said the sword as the eye,
"My edge is the sharpest,
Quickest maker of greatest numbers."
So the squid said:
"Oblivion is the lip of my beak,"
And he was the sharper.
The eye, as the sword, set to the forge,
Forfeit to visions of keenness,
And became claimant to a wicked edge
Which shaved him of shame;
Which loved most the whetstone,
So he set back to sharpening,
Growing so fine as to slice the stone in twain.
In recoil, he knocked upon his plane
And cut himself from his steadfast cradle,
And was pulled silently
Into timeless unbecoming.
There are great lessons to be learned from fables. Short, deliberate fairy tales are delicious to me. I hope to do those flavors justice.
You'll lose me on that winding road;
On the guts of you I choke.
Wrought with knots like gallows' rope,
Your poem is too long.
I love the spirit's spilling forth, but in those rankled waves I'm crushed,
Doomed never to comprehend,
Buried 'neath a city of notes.
So much love in you.
So much treasure locked away,
Unable to be shared.
Too much love in you.
Too many rivers to your spread delta,
Where you stand bravely to drown.
Immortal love in you.
The gift of a soul,
The truest something.
So much love that you'd give it to nothing.
The world is skin,
But you are within,
And passion is sin,
But who would've known?
Maybe past the aeons, we can try this again.