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Luke R E Webster Aug 2012
Love is always around us all,
As abstract as it js,
We live and breathe it,
Venerate and give it,
And exist within it's thrall

We feel when looking in the sky,
Or sat tentatively in a city street,
When we pick up the phone,
or with relatives we do meet.

When violinist does raise his bow,
When we exhale our opinions,
Breathe out soul.

Love is simply all this this,
Maybe so much more,,
But in consideration to make a rich man poor,
To make happiness blind,
And successful times sore,
Love is the door.
Luke R E Webster Aug 2012
When the smallest child,
Picks from a tree,
Does he think,
This is what I shall be?

Does he make,
a decision there,
To forever eat,
A juicy pear ?

Or does he take,
A forsaken route,
Pick from it,
A more forbidden fruit ?

Perhaps the boy,
Had always wanted,
The piece of truth,
He always wanted.
Luke R E Webster Aug 2012
Heaven has fallen,
The angels are bawling,
God is cremated,
Jesus is hated,
His throne surrounded by bottles.

Lucifer rots,
His evil blood clots,
Hell freezes solid
The mouth growing squalid,
Where blue lips doth mottle.


The humans in the middle
Intellectually twiddle
Twaddle their minds
Waiting for times
Eras that will not come
Prophecies undone.

The rapture was never,
The primates glimpse forever,
But alas, once again,
The apes now turn,
Deeply fearing death,
To the lies
Religious yearn.
Luke R E Webster Aug 2012
So slow,
Time wasting,
Time gone,
None left.

No one to know,
No dreams,
No hope
Or self.

I hate you now,
I see you dead,
You incompetent creature,
This MUST be said.
******* of a coward,
Being of a snob,
Just know this,
You will not...

Corrupt
Maim
Or poison me.
Anger
Change
Or fault me
Because
I’ll get you first,
You....
My clipped winged dove.
I do enjoy pushing views into poetry :)
Luke R E Webster Aug 2012
A man split in half,
Searching for the arc,
That will tell him what to do.



Jonze, Ma, or Mr. Brian May,
Manhattan, Tokyo or maybe L.A.
This little boy has lost a little sight,
Maybe of the upcoming and unfolding plight.

He knows little of the situation,
What will affect his future vocation?

Will he fly or will he die,
Maybe he'll just end up lying in the sty.
I personally hate this poem, it's a little pretentious, obviously shaped around the rhymes and has little meaning and it's all mine. I don't whether it was intentional on my part to make a meaningless poem, but at any rate, it seems flat. Outside looking in, I'd say I was blabbing about having high hopes for the future but not having a clue how to get there. Or it's meaningless.
Luke R E Webster Aug 2012
A poor rich man,
Wallowed in self misery,
He did not posses in hand,
The caress of a fine young lady.

How he wished he had that possession ,
To add to the others he had in his collection.
To add to the two or three he once had,
Simply because it was the fad.
A poem I wrote Five years ago, when I was still relatively wet behind the ears.
Luke R E Webster Aug 2012
The lady,
She is wise,
Rosy,
Complies,
Cosy,
But good god,
The lady is dozy.

She eats with her hands,
Her humour is bland,
Her laughter is canned,
Her emotion is ham.

Excuse me

The lady,
She is neat,
Friendly,
Meek,
Heady,
But my lord,
The woman's deadly.

She tends to ride side saddle,
Floats without a paddle,
She often will straddle
All that will addle.

But alas,

Though the lady has dangers,
Needs warning of strangers,
The lady has conquered,
The art of my heart.
A light hearted effort, with humour and love :)
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