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I truly must shut down my right-brain from seeking more meaning from my partial left-brain understanding,
or else I'll lose sight of any lesson except the utmost whole.
auto-learn

https://www.quora.com/What-part-of-your-brain-is-responsible-for-logic-or-complex-thinking?share=1
My Dear Poet Apr 28
I fell in love with a blind poet
I fell in love with her eyes
they were as pretty as words
Oh, the light, she would write
while reciting every line
though blind and couldn’t see
between the verse and the rhyme
I swear,
she’d see right through me
Norman Crane Apr 27
this is light she said
opening the curtains of her mind
i gazed
illuminously blind
Diljeev Apr 12
this beautiful heist
of each other's soul,
blind to what she stole,
oblivious to her core.

Yet it was her own being,
that helped me in fleeing
each day,
but we never crossed paths
since the dawn of may.

The blind mademoiselle,
there's no way she could tell,
it was she who gave me eyes,
reason to wander in the world
looking for her
as each waking minute dies.
The wise have no place or value in an expendable workforce .

Our rulers have always had two mouths and one ear!
Just do as you're told and stop talking!
Theanm Ankh Apr 6
His lover has the saddest eyes
A misty grey under a heavy blue
And he’ll see her again at sunrise.

Their love some seem to despise
Thinking of it as a ****** taboo
His lover has the saddest eyes

Though no one seems to empathize
No one’s aware of their little rendezvous
And he’ll see her again at sunrise.

He knows she’ll be hidden under a clever disguise
But he won’t confuse her with just another heart’s statue
His lover has the saddest eyes.

You couldn't convince him of your lies
Of his leman his desire you could not subdue
And he’ll see her again at sunrise.

Love her until their hellos become goodbyes
From the moment he’d set eyes on her to his final adieu
His lover has the saddest eyes
And see her again at sunrise
I got a B-, it was too long.
He cannot hear
I just now realized
He's deaf to it, it's all disguised
Everything, all of it, is crystal unclear
What's up is down and what's far is near

The radio boils
The microwave sings
The telephone listens, while his ear rings
But he hasn't noticed, his ignorance is loyal
To his strange world of backwards turmoil

His eyes tear up
At the toasters dull ding
Oblivious though, to orchestral strings
Crescendoing, divinus, in joyous buildup
An Ode only heard as a course hiccup

Puts books to his ear
But hears no voice
Thumbs through jibberish, but his hands hold Joyce
The steak tastes like spam and the wine of beer
He's deaf to it, all of it, everything I fear

He runs in squares
And lounges in circles
Tears down hopes, and builds up hurdles
Will flail in shallow water and fall up stairs
Then write love letters to hate-affairs

Has two left feet
And no right moves
His rhythm and soul have lost their groove
It's tragic, greek, a heart that offbeat
Might mistake victory and chance for fate and defeat.

He's wrong. What's more?
He's oxymoronic
His light-hearted prose are mostly sardonic
Wouldn't know an apple from an adonic core
Or discordant beats from euphonic score.

He's deaf to it,
Yes ears and all.
Despite what words I might here scrawl.
It will never get through to that dumb misfit
He's deaf and blind and full of ****.
The ending is a work in progress
jenna Apr 6
i’m not sure
what the statistical probability of me
getting into some terrible accident
that causes me to go deaf and blind would be,
and i’m not sure how to research into it.

so my hypothesis remains,
that it’s probably a very small percent.
maybe it’s bigger than i think it is,
i’m not sure.
i never claimed
to be good at numbers.

but in this possibly
very small or very big percentage
of this reality coming true,
i want to make sure that i have, in advance,
memorized every inch,
every crack,
every hidden part
of you.

i want to touch your hands for hours and remember every curve and dip of your fingerprints,

and i want to kiss your lips for days to ingrain in me their taste and the feeling of your breaths.

i want to lay in the crevice of your neck for weeks, to make sure i have studied your scent,

and i want to rub my fingers through your curls for months, so much so that i could recite this poem, even in the after-death.

i want to feel your cheek against mine for years, so that i am able to describe the warmth of it through nothing but colors and love,

and i hope that i can just spend my whole life with you, learning more everyday that not everything is meant to fall.
just incase.
They said: You don't look like someone who could be feeling miserable.

And they were miserably wrong.
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