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I will speak interms of confusing metaphors and allegorical descriptors
for You will never know what I mean,
and I will never know what I mean,
all You and I will ever know is what is said

Beyond that thou art which is not
Who I am and what I am is anybody's guess,
Where I am is in poetry,
when I am is poetry
How and why I am is a poet.
an artist chosen by this art

A puppet of words that string me along,
That dangle my reflection on the scene.

and What's this scene?
The dream of this stage, an age to redeem this day, this momentary cage of sound and phonetics, playing on the morphemes, that sort these informants into proteins that fire the works of this neural chemistry.

A cosmic tapestry... And I've lost the plot of this pointless exercise in passing the time as I pass this chime down to the last rhyme.
With no point but a line, a single continuous line that's only sometimes audible.
With no beginning and no end but always a middle.
A halfway mark between now and then

Half and half all the way to infinity,
Trapped in this trinity plus one.
The subject, the object and the verb plus all the fillers in between,
Adding the jective into obviously obnoxious obstancy.

Abstracting words from subtracting the colors of birds...
Man I really don't know when to stop.
Nor does he, when he spots the plot that keeps the inserting eye from searching the skys to admiring this fly.
Zipping in and out of space, never able to pin it down between his chopsticks.
So maybe I should stop this
Right here, left now and take flight,
Tata bye.
These are my words,
That is all I have,
My words,
There's nothing much I can do with them beyond,
The fact that they are my words,
Words in every which way and direction
But they are only just words,
I can't say more than, that these are my words,
It's like saying these are my *****,
That's all there is,
Cats in the kitchen,
Dogs in the den,
And words in my pen,
Is all the words I have.

I will go on about words,
And word a worded string of wordy words,
Pointing to more words, about the words
In Sen ten sing the moment.
With only more wording,
Wording my way around the tongue twisting,
Rugged rocks,
Around which I ran these words.

Death in these words I find,
Of words that fly in rhyme,
For the well organized mind,
said Dumbledore,
Death is the next great adventure.

So death of time,
A moment in time,
As the charcoal crumbles,
In embers of the fire place,
To lace up those shoes,
And dry up your face,
As you try in this race,
Foot toe and land,
Arches and soles in arcs untold,
Tales of old,
For they unfold,
To behold, the mold of a worn out idea,
Scrambling around ikea,
More furniture than choice can bear,

You there, you stare facing the fact that these are words,
They're just words wording their way a long
In formation,
Formed in the foundation,
Of the crustacean,
Serotonergic endocrine **** sapien.  

You were warned,
Wordy words, like thirsty birds that sing by the pond,
Or squawk at the wondering herd,
A floundering scourge,
Casting the turn of the word,
Spelling a wizards wand in firm,
Hands that squirm.

Wands carved from the branches of falling words,
As they tunnel through the synapse,
Into the time lapse,
words that take up time and space,
Without the forethought for time and place,
Or rhyme and grace. just the chase,
The chase of words tailing words.

Hold your marks,
Get set ready,
And they're off, racing dogs out the gates,
High tailing it down the tracks,
Number four nudging ahead of the pack,
A smooth burst of sprinting acceleration,
Like sprouting leaves, of spring growing trees,
Time lapsed for precision contrast comparison.

Across the horizon and into the fly zone,
Switching direction at the swipe of a hand,
Key board hopping digital indexing,

Words that take the flip side of walking upright hips

You will see here, that.
Word over there,
This words over here,
Words from way back then,
Or words from in the now.
Maybe words to become.

Infinite motion in a limited space with experiential time at speeds of grace.
A child's smile
A cup of tea
A walk in the woods
A fleeting sense of serenity
An eruption of joy
A magic moment
in the labyrinth
of our existence
Erik Luo Oct 15
I often wonder
The realness of reality
Like a spiral
Into the endless dream

Old blood darkens
As it leaves my body
From what source
May I speak to you

All the voices
Singing along

Dancing people
Holding hands
Drinking wines

Speaking verses
Of self-reiterated
Of the same story
Again and again

I often wonder
At the beauty of such a view
Of nothing apart from you
Yet to be apart to see you

Voicelessly these thoughts
Perpetually spinning
Talking about

Then again
What am I to judge
For they are a part of me
Repeating what I see

I just feel your existence
In bliss...

you are so beautiful
Erik Luo Oct 14
The universe in you
Is speaking to you
With the rhythm
of your heartbeat

Without deception
or trickery
Like a knowing
or feeling

of where you are going
Falling into place
Singing away
Your existence
Listen to it
Erik Luo Oct 14
It's like a fire in your heart
warm, but doesn't burn
It's like an ocean on your skin
soft, but doesn't hurt

It's the way moonlight touch your face
And how the sun caresses your head
It's the taste of the wind
And the sound of the rain

It's in the green and yellow
of the leaves and grass
It's the blue and purple
of the sky and clouds

It's in the sound of your breath
Almost too quiet to hear
Yet ever-present
Beating away

I often wonder
At the proof of my existence
And then I just sit
In love
Spicy Digits Jun 21
And so it rebelliously expands
Contrary to bespeckled pros
Redshifts and penumbrae smiles
Continue to baffle the old men.

Hellishly heated, the entirety
Combusts to life.
Dark energy and axion matter
Gently caress the growing universe
like a nursing mother.

And here I lay, wine in hand
Never feeling more small
But perfect in my insignificance.

Unseen protectors of cataclysm
Whip for us that blood orange
That purple flame
Spin for us
Pose for us
And show us your heavens of glass
Cerulean brother
Cinnamon sister
There is still dust in my eyes
and ringing in my ears;
the serpent coiled in the bottom
of my pack counts coup each
time I reach in.
I've known of its presence
for years now—
ever since I began
my walks with Death—
but I let it have the satisfaction
of its Killer's game. Why not?
It is an easy kindness.
Dante Rocío Oct 12
The inclination
Towards domestic superiority
Does not refund
Ideals lost at discarded gambles.
Stygian kin browser,
Rest abode,
No lark made your path.
Leave the tie bloodshed
At the desk
(Once) home
A short cordial yet coolish prompt on a business noir photo as white collars break and have no foundance anymore inside the sight
Empire Oct 12
Why does everything decay and fade?
Time touches everything,
A great destructive force
We exist to wither and watch everything fall
Bringing close to our hearts that which will die
We try so hard to create as much life as is lost
But once it is lost, it will not again be found
So we cry and ache and scream out
With a hope that maybe something will hear
And tell us why it is that we must live
Just to watch the world decay
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