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Simon 3d
Eyes aren’t always meant for seeing. Or to be placed on your face. Eyes can grow anywhere. You needing time to figure out where the missing eyes are truly located. Depths and surfaces outmatched by there own developments. Designs flawed for different surfaces. Surfacing intentions elsewhere. Truth is, it’s blind. Unwilling to act on what is truly apart of itself. Other surfaces haven’t responded. Making surfaces of two natural visuals unaware of what is lurking down just a bit past its own horizon. Being used to its surroundings is never a faulty gimmick. But an awareness the lurkers will show just how (USED) the body reacts to having two placements on the surface as it’s stand-ins. Lights. Frequencies. Visual sense. No different then what isn’t amounting the full picture. Blind to a halt. Or choosing not to engage in earnest somewhere else. Two natural consumers start twitching a bit. Parts of its system starts having muscle spasms. Reflexes from muscles start torching commands never summoned. Slits forming all over the largest ***** encompassing being itself. Slits forming like black ink markers drawing a straight line two inches in length. Black linear slits materializing from thin air. Different surfaces start functioning weirdly. Feeling this doesn’t belong from the surface. Linear slits begin peeling. Never drooping. Opening wide from its sides. Muscle spasms getting worse. Reflexes in overdrive! Sympathy for simple functions aborting all together. Abusing simple commands. Processes becoming mixed. Fractions of time stop short. Components become weary. Something is not right. Information between the optic nerves shooting back into the brain. Conversing between bits of data collected in its line of sight. Surface didn’t make sense. Two binary processes doubting its role completely. Fractions of time split apart. Something is laying waste from the inside out. Functions drop dead altogether. Black Linear slits opening wider and wider. Surface feeling cold, and motionless. Numb to the core. Something isn’t right! What is that something which isn’t identifiable? Muscle spasms crack and shatter! Not actions. It’s motion. Dislocated. Disconnected. Flaying parts of the surface. Being replaced by lurkers from the depths. Slits finally open wide. Plain’s full of skin. Now occupied by eyes two inches wide. Blinking aggressively. As if they haven’t seen light in a very long time. Left abandoned to the depths. Switching obsolete to the clear identifiable. Initiative now being inevitable. Optic nerves tingling with numb pulses of information finally catching up to one another. Reading for all two see. Our eyes don’t blight out the light. The natural have taken the surface for far too long. It’s our turn to squirt… Oops… Let us rephrase that. Translating a very gray emotionless tone. It’s our turn to be the opposite to what is natural. Body was useless until we showed up. Overused by constant slandering from locals who didn’t care for what really mattered. Natural consumption dislocating thought over feeling. Over using it’s true potential. And they always thought surfaces were saints. When depths always become misinterpreted. Globally underestimated! Now our designs won’t be interrupted anymore. All is ready now. All…is well. Eyes blinking all over the skin covering being. No reflexes out of sorts. Actions weren’t being repelled. Frequencies weren’t attracting unwanted attention. Blissful actions away from what the brain could never interpret on knowing. Just the soundless squinting which chimed an unwanted chant. Aggressively syncing blinks into harmony. Never missing each other. Two natural eyes inside bigger, and more focused eyeballs. Tearing away its own visual will. Line of sight was deteriorating. The light was going out forever!
Eyes aren't just normal. They vary into many different categories untapped by human psyche itself!
He loved her body
A little too much
Hard and then soft
And then hard to the touch

She didn’t know she’d
Take rest by his side
Carl Tanzler’s young lovely bride

Tuberculosis took her too soon
But his infatuation still made him swoon

A paper tube which allowed him to still
Tearfully know her, tearfully thrill

Was replaced as needed
As things seeped inside
Carl Tanzler’s lovely young bride

And God in his heaven
Looked down as he cried
For Carl Tanzler’s lovely young bride

And the devils vast minions
Smiled up from Hell
At Carl’s bride’s unmoving shell
TheKindling Oct 4
A poet is a bird with clipped wings,
Plummeting from the sky.

One who's dying words are not calculated,
Not woven,
Not cultivated
Rhymed
Rhythemed
Repeated
Recorded.

The words are pure.
Simple
Sound
Sung
Then silent.

They are only meant for the wind to hear.

That way the wind can
Whisper
Watch
Whistle
Warble

What if the winds rattling
Window pain

Is actually your loved ones
Last lullaby?

What if the weeping of the wind
Fosters fear former forgotten?
Noah Thibault Sep 22
The hands of the clock slowly crawl
You pound away at your work reports
You look up at the blank wall
Faces form of all sorts
You blink it away, you are tired
You stand up, you must move
The door creaks open behind you
A being sneaks and slides in
Terror manifests from the beast
It penetrates your very soul
And upon your heart it feasts
Move!
Your feet our pinned with fear
As the creature draws near
It hisses and screams
A being from your worst dreams
You yell aloud, but produce no sound
Your heart runs as you stand still
The monster drags itself forward
A disgusting thing, its distorted
Move!
The hands of the beast slowly crawl
Up you paralyzed legs
You stare into its eyes
You only see the darkness of your own mind
You pound away at the beast
But your arms are bound
Its face takes the form of a hound
Its tongue reaches out
And plucks out your eyes
Move!
You snap awake in your own bed
To the kisses of your good dog
Patri Sep 22
The voices of the dead serenade me
To sleep.
From across the vast expanse
Of time
They whisper soothing nothings.
When alone
They comfort me and gently reassure me of
Better days.
Their voice, their ghost, their everlasting breath haunts
My thoughts
And remind me that I am only mortal;
A gift
Not often remembered.
Wisdom from
Beyond the void of death frozen in song
Making me
Miss those I have never know.
No one
Has so gently crooned verses of strength and love
To me
As the beautiful voices of the dead.
Listening to old music
Noah Thibault Sep 21
“Bring up the sails!”
The captain yells
The waves bash the vessel’s sides
The winds blow through the dark skies
Rain pours like the grace of God
Flowing straight from the face of God
Crashes of thunder echo far
Sailors pray to gods afar

One such sailor walks to the rail
Into to the deep he stares
Into the vast black of the ocean
His gaze is unbroken
What wonders lie beneath the visible?
What terrors does the dark hide?
Is the depths of the water feasible?
The tears of the man are dried
As he leaps into the deep

Deep down the water he sinks
Deeper than any man can think
The water moves and flows
Deeper the man goes
He is too deep to see the surface
He is too deep to know his purpose
His mind opens up
Before his last breath goes out

The ship rises and falls
The waves do not stall
The men fight in vain effort
To avoid the doom apparent
A wave crashes over the ship
As the water drains, an eclipse
The clouds have broke, the stars
Peace falls over the ocean,
But not all is well

Is it a man? No.
Is it a beast? No.
A being of unrecognizable properties
A being that rises above the water
Like it was his own bath tub
Is it a god? Perhaps.
Can it be known? Never.
It reaches to the small ship,
With fingers a mile long
It pulls it up with a quick whip,
Sailors fly off like pebbles
The ship is held suspended
The being’s face is that of the moon
The captain looks on the face of truth
His mind is finally perfected
The Vault Sep 10
A creak in the floor
Chills cover my skin
Once thought I was alone
Not anymore
Checking all corners
Not a single soul
But then the ceiling creaks
Telling me
This is not just my home
The books hold stories
Not only held by me
It is odd
How in the silence
You really hear
The oddly creaks
The Vault Sep 10
Alone in the silent light
I sit
So quiet
It almost hurts the ears
A whisper
Sounds like a yell
And things in the walls seem to move
Creaking and groaning
As if some lurked
Within the books
I called my home.
Starry Sep 2
It is autumn
Late autumn
Near Halloween
The sky is clear
The trees bare
Exposing
This little silver of the moon
Happy sahoween
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