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 Jan 2015
spysgrandson
digits digging divots, gyrating
in the finite field I have left on which to play,
bringing me closer to a goalless line    

mornings I ran the ball,
feeling the turf beneath me, green and flat  
in the afternoon I passed, hoping another would move onward
by eventide I oft punted, conceding my opponent
should be given his run, only to crash into me,
to be shoved into the demanding dirt,
a victim of my will, gravity,
and chiseling chance  

when the ball returned  
to me, as it eternally did,
I called another play, everyman scrambling
for a chance, at more measured madness, more
yardage marked by mocking minutes, that became
miles, hours, days, and more massive, metastatic
months, unstoppable, no matter who had the ball,
or how far their running feet  
would take them
Written New Year's Day
 Jan 2015
Innocent
I hung my head, I hung my head
I looked down and all I saw was red

I walk along the outer rim of the atmosphere
Reveling in the beauty of the frontier
I hung my head, I hung my head

I lay me down in a feather bed
I saw the brilliance of the sunrise
Dew drops on the wings of a dragonfly
I hung my head, I hung my head

I taste the sugar of lead
The poisonous white solid used to **** the mighty Mohamed
I hung my head, I hung my head

I see the children and the underfed
And I wonder

I hung my head, I hung my head
Artist: Sting
It inspired me simply cause I love the song and they way Sting writes
#ilovedoinglines
"The walls around me slowly close in threatening to crush me between my throes of guilt and shame"

Walls like towers
Made of questions of "why's"
And distorted old stories
That reach the sky
Bred of agony and despair
Watching you slowly die
Gone, as if you were never there
Don't suffer through the fate of lies
Scream out the rage and make yourself care


"A threshold where I fall off the edge just to find myself back on the verge"

A door like desperation
Walking through to whence you came
Revolving around, teasing your mind
Like a revolver with bullets of shame
Shooting you between the eyes, every time
Lodging in your brain
Never leaving, or something you can find
Opening and closing; playing you like a toy in a game
Break down the door, smash through to the other side
Tear it off the hinges, don't even save the frame


"I beat upon the glass to shatter it,
but find only my hope's breaking"

Windows like pictures
Of things in the past
That you can no longer have
How long can the struggle really last
Before your insides bubble, boil and burn with regret
Time to find a way around the pane, fast
As the windows gets smaller and you completely forget
All the good in life of your past
Calm yourself, release your guilt,
Don't let feelings of which you can't control amass


"It'll all come crashing down, how much can this brittle barrier bear before a familiar, fickle fate is found?"

A roof like design
Made of the limits you've thrown upon yourself
Images vivid, destructive and divine
Playing projections of depth and death
Inception in the back of your mind
Telling you you're simply not good enough
Rise up, reach out and surely you will find
You are truly made of stronger stuff


"
This is my house of Hell and Horror and to it, I will always belong. I never knew finding home could ever go so wrong"*

A *house
like hell
Horrors and demons of your scarred heart
Built up, surrounding you in agony and pain
Ripping out your core, tearing you apart
Sweltering in the heat of lies you contain
Never finding the ending, or where to restart
*Keep faith, light a fire, don't live in vain
Burn it, smoke out the truth and purify the hearth
Watch the flames destroy it all, until nothing remains
Look out to the world, at all that now surrounds you
And silently wait for the rain
Bold from: House of Hell and Horror 1-5 by Frank Ruland
For Frank's "Let's Do A Line!" challenge.
All these lines, plus all 5 poems in there entirity, truly meant a lot and struck deeply within me. If you like this even a little, please read Frank's "House of Hell and Horror" series. Thank you dearly Frank for writing them and the challenge which gave me the opportunity to post this. I hope you like it. <3
 Dec 2014
Amber Blank
I have no monetary wealth to give
No gift of gold, frankincense, or myrrh
No diamonds to shine or rubies to sparkle
My gift is one of the heart
My gift never goes out of style
and will never go bad or loose its grandeur
The only gift everyone wishes to have returned
A gift that if shared will multiply and spread to the entire species of man.

My gift to all is the kindness of an open heart
A promise to lend a helping hand
A kind work of encouragement
A hug when you are feeling blue
A ear to lend and to listen
A shoulder to cry on

A promise to you all
To be a friend to catch you when you fall
To never let you feel the sting of solitude
I dedicate my life to the goodwill of man
To not let a day pass by without giving a smile to a saddened soul
A compliment to a broken heart
To uplift spirits in any way humanly possible.

Even though my gift may seem small
I offer it to one and all
May we not waste a moment or take for granted how beautiful the gift of life can be.
May an example of love and kindness that was born in a manger fill our hearts and spill out into this cruel world.
Merry Christmas to all!
 Dec 2014
Latiaaa
Have you ever felt so fluttered,
That you need to dream?
I once saw an Angel,
With warm blonde hair and soft cream cheeks.
Freckles were scattered all about the face,
And his eyes were peaceful through his glasses.
Did I mention his tone?
A gentle lilac of laughs and no harm.
His bandanna holds the sweet sweat that lays on his forehead.
Hair pushed back,
And mouth full of silver goodness.
Must I remind you,
This angel wears whatever he wants to wear.
From ugly sweaters, to rugged band shirts.
Hair so blonde,
It hides within his skin.
You look around,
You won't find this type of angel.
This angel seeks peace like any other angel,
But yet differs.
This angel makes me dream soft,
Makes me flutter.
 Dec 2014
Erenn
Breaking through rows of hull grins
Taking the midnight train to the brain
But it seems impossible to the naked eye
'I can do this' he said
A storm of chuckles burst into the night
Leaving eminent traces of happiness

Grappling on dear life
She wonder if she’ll survive
If she can pull this through
Breaking amends and grazing on truth
The imminent outcome to foresee
What speaks and what lies beneath

He still remembered that day at the library
Where she fell and he yelled
His left foot swollen due to her pointed heel
But it was worth the pain
Millions of other fragments could never beat this

They started spending a little each day-
Bartering hilarity on lame anecdotes
Reading together without imparting words
They both felt it
This intense chemistry

Pretense running weary
Who would make the first move?
The fear of getting rejected
Injected to the head
He finally confessed
But it was too late
He will never be hers
She will never be his
She made him promise her relentlessly
That he’ll find someone again
Her life filched gradually
And finally came to an end


Fragments lingered till this very day
*The ones who came after will never be the same.
You know those tear jerking films you watched. It's really sad to watch if one of them dies at the end. In reality the one who's left alive has no more tears to cry. It's dry. And I don't know if I'll ever meet someone like her again. I might fulfill that promise, or I might break it. I don't know.
All I know, I'll never forget every fragment, It'll always linger. 28 July 2010
 Dec 2014
CS Oakes
Yes yes yes yes yes;
no no no no no no no:
PLEASE JUST TAKE ME NOW!
Light in nature, yet I stil feel there's a lot of meaning in this.
 Dec 2014
Carl Joseph Roberts
He Never Said I'm Sorry

He never said I'm sorry
For the bad things that he did
Or all the time that he missed
When I was just a kid

He never said I'm sorry
For never teaching me
All the things I would need
To help me through me teens

He never said I'm sorry
For not standing by my side
The day when I got married
Not meeting my new bride

He never said I'm sorry
For not knowing his grandson
Missed the day he was born
Never knew how he grew up

He never said I'm sorry
As he laid dying in his bed
Now for him I just feel sorry
For all the things he never did

He never said I'm sorry


Poem by: Carl Joseph Roberts
I guess the thing he did give me was that I now shower my son with love every day.

If you like this, please add this to a few collections and help it trend. Thanks. JOE
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