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Dereaux Oct 9
You already own
the route to my heart
so why not use it.
You already know
how I feel about you
open my hardened shutters.

Take an ax and smash the lock
into hundred thousand pieces.
You only own that power,
another will not succeed.

Nobody keeps watch
no dog still guarding here.
Leave Cupid's arrows out of sight,
you have already touched my heart.
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.
Life is a delusion of meaning,
We seek direction without seeing.
Death is deceived as the end,
For none accept it is meant.
The people will forever live a lie,
We're not meant to live, but die.

Infinite possibilities of history,
But one day it won't be me.
Ineffable beauty we all desire,
Nefarious cruelty we all will acquire.

The only greatness we will find,
Is that destiny is very unkind.
Cupid is ****** and love's a lie,
Another arrow, and I will die.

Let me feel love again,
To leave this world in pain.
I'm not a poet anymore,
But maybe I never were.

The words here, I have said,
Are the memories I have bled.
Heal me, but never take my scars,
Feel me, for I'll be amongst the stars.
For death is darkness right?
In space, there is no ligh.
Forever, I'll float into the abyss,
And maybe find something to miss.
Death might not be the end, it might actually be what we're meant for. What if you wake up again and you're in space. A star, or a planet. There are so many possibilities that some of us will make history, but I won't. We expect too much and receive the opposite. Love kills more that it creates, yet we desire it. I only speak of experience, a lot of other people have different lives, but too many share the same as I. Losing it all again, and again, and again. We only learn that we are irrelevant and family is the only love
Ainsley Jun 24
His awkwardness  Her innocence
Her tears  His shoulders
Her jokes   His laughs
Her anger  His smirks
Her smile  His eyes
His phone Her gallery
His guitar  Her songs
Her frame Their picture
Her hairbands  His sweatshirts
Her blushes  His kisses
Cupid wondered if he could've created a better than this...
Cupid would really wonder
Gaurded mind,
caged heart,
hit by cupid's dart,
and feelings unwind,
no matter how hard you try, sometimes, you can't help but fall in love
Archer Apr 16
Cupids aim has gone for ****
That little ****** ham strung me
Two inches left my ***
Whats wrong with you? Can't you see?
Crossed eye'd baby
If you ask me
I little lighter than normal today
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
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