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Luna Sep 15
some say the moon is full of illusions
but i've come to learn that isnt all true
The sun
doesn't always fill you with kisses
he throws
darts and arrows
too
The sun is the moons shadow
and the shadow is
the moon's Sun
As an arrow flies throughout the sky,
it remembers its journey.
How it was
crafted,
Stored,
readied,
and launched.
He remembers the days where all he did was sit and think,
where he wished to be free.
Now that he is free he realizes that all is not how he dreamed.
He was heading towards a target,
one that he did not ever dream about.
He was going too fast.
All he cared for was life as it was,
but now as he flies through the sky,
breaking the air,
he realizes he wasn’t ready.
Bardo Jul 24
Out of a **** he made Great Art
It was no ordinary **** no!
It was straight from the heart, that
   ****
It had lain too long in the dark
Now was it's time to start
To make its bid for freedom... and for stardom.

It flew like a dart that **** from the
   heart
Like an arrow strung from Cupids
   bow
Little did it know how luminous it'd
   glow
Becoming one of the Greats in the
   Farting Canon.

It was probably the greatest **** poem
   ever written
In my own humble opinion
It was very daring and it smelt of
   onion
It was certainly the fairest fartiest
   poem I ever seen
If it was one of the three Musketeers
It would have to have been
   D'artagoine.

It inflated like a balloon, blew up like
   a great glass bubble
Then it popped and headed off
   toward England
Flying further afield than any ****
   had ever flown
It touched people's hearts, bewitched
   every nation
Resounded around the world
Yea! was heard in every Kingdom.

It flew long, it rounded the Horn
Like a Lark, that ****, it soared and
   sung
It was no boring old ****
It was far fartier and fruiter than that
It was a King of Farts
Way above the fartiest of farters and
   all the farting Arthurs
It was the real King Arthur
The King Arthur of all farts and
   Farters.

A real Belter was that **** that came
   from the heart
That had all the Angels singing in
   their cloisters,
A real work of Art just like Mozart
Or remember... remember your
   Shakespeare
"Hark! A ****, a ****! Whereforth art ?
    Thou ****"
It played its part, that ****, yea! it
   wielded its Excalibur.

O! there's nothing I'd rather do than lie here blowing sweet bubbles next
   to you
You! on your little flutey flute flute and
   Me! on my big Bass Trombone.
This is the sequel to my other **** poem "Music a la Toilette". A bit of silliness/ fun.
Haley Apr 26
There's an immense amount of pain surrounding me.
Too late, nobody’s here to save me.
Curled in a ball,
To sit here to weep.
And in my hollow heart,
I fell the **** apart.

I was too naive,
It was a ******* fever dream.
So now i sit here alone, questioning
“What’s wrong with me?”

It's like an arrow, but with thorns.
That ache in my heart,
Still there to mourn,
Don't know how to act,
Don't know what to say.
But what i do know is;

One day, my life will be filed with great passion
One day, I will be free.
One day, i will meet the love of my life,
That in every which way, is like me.

But for now, i must go,
And weep my heart away
For the arrow in my heart,
Needs somewhere else to stay.
Lilly F Apr 16
shielding emotion with every arrow that slips through my chest
i would rather pull it from its fletching,
ripping through my arteries and ventricles,
as my blood waters the seeds you tried to plant for us,
before i lose control again
and trust me, i'm dying inside
but my face holds a smile as cherry red trickles from my mouth
because at least i didn't fall in love with you

©L.F.
Pointed Art
by Michael R. Burch

The point of art is that
there is no point.
(A grinning, quick-dissolving cat
from Cheshire
must have told you that.)

The point of art is this—
the hiss
of Cupid’s bright bolt, should it miss,
is bliss
compared to Truth’s neurotic kiss.

Keywords: art, Cheshire, cat, grin, vanishing, dissolving, Cupid, arrow, truth, kiss, bliss
Pointed Art
by Michael R. Burch

The point of art is that
there is no point.
(A grinning, quick-dissolving cat
from Cheshire
must have told you that.)

The point of art is this—
the hiss
of Cupid’s bright bolt, should it miss,
is bliss
compared to Truth’s neurotic kiss.

Keywords: art, Cheshire, cat, grin, vanishing, dissolving, Cupid, arrow, truth, kiss, bliss
Lili Mar 1
her wings were pierced.
though cupid never shot her,
she longed for love.
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