Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Gidgette Apr 2017
Cherry blossoms
         weep
The moon
         cries aloud
while the
       stars
twinkle on
        Breezes
blow
        scattered ash
   Of burnt
Hearts
And
    Its called
Oxygen
   Music plays
Until it
     Stops
Only in back ground
          White Noise
And the Universe
         hums
Seedlings sprout
        with the spring
Sun
         Who cries not tears
But
          Rays
And we
          Bask in
Sun tears
  Apr 2017 Gidgette
Sjr1000
"Peace!"
Cried,
The diversity of humanity
to
Their true
gods.
  Apr 2017 Gidgette
Akira Chinen
As a child years seemed to take decades to pass, as if I was stuck in some time loop watching the same years over and over...
And now years seem to bloom and fade away in mere seconds and there is as much fear as excitement in not knowing how much time I have until I have taken my last breath
And love is different now... I worry less about the concept of dying alone and fear a day I might not love as deeply as yesterday or might find a day I love someone less than the last because in all truth that wouldn't feel like love at all
I want my last breath to have and hold the chaos and insanity only found in the brief moments of madness that make time stand still so that it may witness the only thing more infinite than itself is love and that love is endless and is always growing deeper and reaching wider in our every breath from our first to our last and it is the one thing death dare not take from us but rather that in the kiss of death as as our bodies are reclaimed back to fire and wind and earth
we find our hearts immortal as death gives our souls back to love
Gidgette Apr 2017
I attend the funeral of hope,
weekly
Watch the birth of despair
daily
I think God has gone deaf,
atleast to
my cries
People look at possessions as
success
They aren't
They're stones tied to souls
making sure we all drown with the
Jones'
we all so long to keep up with
Oh yes,
those Jones' are falling to the
Depths of "stuff"
far faster than we Smiths
Good Lord
All day, Everyday,
I see and hear the "upper class"
whine
About the stupidest things
Its appocalypse if the Jones' buy
a BMW
while the neighbor only owns a Cadilac
Utter DEATH
I see these things and hear these silly conversations daily
"Oh did you see how fat Pam's *** looked in that Vera dress at yesterday's luncheon?"
"Yes! All that money spent on lypo! Haha!"
Disgusting ****
like sulfuric acid poured into my ears
And the road on the way to this Country Club and Gated Community called
Deerfield
Is lined with falling down trailers and houses without glass in the Windows
Clothes hung on ancient strings because the wearers can't afford a dryer
Or the electicity to run one
Children filthy and barefoot playing with
hand-me-down toys
in hay field yards
Still cleaner and more pure
than the
Filthy Rich
I wavered in my original intent with this one. I just got So angry today at work. These rich people in their multi-million dollar homes behind a coded gated community are complaining about the "eye sore" homes of these poor mountain people. Rather than help them, or try to see from both sides of the gate, They'd rather the city take the land and tear down these peoples homes. They would rather human beings be ******* homeless, than have to drive by any imperfect thing on their way to their 12 and 13 bedroom, lake front, mansions!! Seriously! They are actually petitioning for this devilish act. I spit at them! Better educate these people and give them a chance to do better. Knowledge is wealth and power. And knowledge should be given freely. The public schools here are awful. The children share books And the local high school only has three computers in the inadequate library. I won't deny being lucky. I went to a private school, as will my Stella. But know this, I donate frequently, And when I taught the dance, I taught more than one girl for free. I could rant about this all night but I have Easter baskets to fill. I love you all. Happy Easter<3
Gidgette Apr 2017
The enjoyment they gather, from each
Black feather,
Plucked
So carelessly
from my oiled wings
They smile as pieces of me are worn
upon the brows of faint hearted paper mache
Death,
I'm served daily
upon
Silver platters,
with a side of flame
No extra charge
They smile red,
Placing my feathers in
Mine own hair
They like that
Those demons I serve myself to
I'm at the country club working right now. Yay me.
Next page