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Ilunga Mutombo
27/M/Maine    Putting together a book of emotions. Writing is my passion and the greatest medicine God gave to mankind. So let’s stay medicated.
California    don't follow me, I don't know where i'm going. ~I dont mind that you use my poetry for your shitty blog but atleast give me ...
Lunga
South Africa    My "bio" shall be revealed through my words.

Poems

You know Eight Owl City,
                                           -ain’t where I’m from?

You know the past isn’t pretty,
                                                -why are you dwelling there son?

You know every thought’s a lifetime,
                                                       ­    -of hands wringing, hands wrung?

Forget the past, see the future now,
                                                        -Dip­-dap-a-looma lung.

Dip-dap-a-looma lung,
A dip-dap-a-looma lung,
Dip-dap-a-looma lung,
A dip-dap-a-looma lung,

Storm on the horizon,
                                   -thunder in the air,

Crack-O-lightning split the skies now,
                                                            ­ -ignore the clouds their always there…

You know Eight Owl City,
                                         -is just a place to hide your mind?

Life is hard, it ain’t pretty,
                                          -lost in a place out of time.

Get out your head or you’ll eat yourself,
                                                       ­          -consumed by paranoia, -rage!

Forget the past; see your future now,
                                                            ­-all you do in life is age.

Dip-dap-a-looma lung,
Hands wringing, hands wrung,
A dip-dap-a-looma lung,
Hear me now as it’s sung,
Dip-dap-a-looma lung,
A dip-dap-a-looma lung,

Dip-dap-a-looma lung,
A dip-dap-a-looma lung,
Dip-dap-a-looma lung,
A dip-dap-a-looma lung,
"Eight Owl City," was the original Sumerian name for Heliopolis in Egypt.
Reagan Cherry Jun 2014
III.
Kiss me goodbye with the sound of a drum
every beat resonating into the cavities of my lung

Will the coffin to close and seal my disconsolate contempt
and the pending air will allow one ***** to be exempt

Celebrate the song of my ironic demise-
but only if you remember, I'm not the one who dies

IV.
This lung has seen more shadows than reprise-
but abides by the silent cries of silhouettes' eyes

This lung has been ravaged time after time-
the story why its poison is long past its prime

This lung has tasted obscurities darker than your endeavor-
so raise it up to the sky and it will thrive forever

Take this lung into the palm of your hand-
and absolve it from death without a command
Mike West Aug 2012
Little lung oyster all slimy and green.
In my chest resting quietly you have been.
Peacefully sleeping in your abode.
Disturbed by my coughing and up you rode.
projectile now free ascending my throat.
And into my mouth my tongue you did coat.
With your viscouse body spread all around.
A salty Taste I now have found.
Your texture, creamy and kinda stringy.
With parts of you thick and kinda clingy.
With my teeth, I scrape you off.
And swish you around into a froth.
Through my lips I let you fall.
And **** you back up, bubbles and all.
Oh little lung oyster you're a funny little thing.
Kinda like a slimy string.
Three more times I stretch you out.
And **** back into my mouth.
I then gather you on my tongue.
"P-too-ee!" From my mouth you are flung.
You speed away out of sight.
But not so far as I thought you might.
Your stringyness catches on my front teeth.
And you make a mess on me. "Oh good grief!"
The mess is far larger than I thought.
That something your size could possibly wrought.
You cover my chin and the front of my shirt.
And drip on my shoe. Like that's gonna hurt?
I look like I was run over by a fifty pound snail.
Or splashed with snot from a two gallon pail.
So I wiped what I could off my shirt and my chin.
And swore never to play with lung oysters again.