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Chris Jun 2020
The more you say
About a problem
The worse
It becomes.

If you say nothing
And let it fade
It ceases
to exist
Hot take right? If you think I'm racist, think again. I don't know anything about the subject that people are complaining about again, but I know that in general, the more you talk about a problem, the more it exists, and the worse it becomes.
"If you talk about it, it exists." - Morgan Freeman. Happy birthday Morgan Freeman.
Jarrod A Freeman Nov 2019
My body is dead inside,
I can see darkness, but can see no light (Blinded)
My body has a soul that’s emptied,
I’m awake and trapped in a dream (please wake me)
WHAT IS THE PRICE OF LOVE,
when all I love just falls apart
(Just End me)

END ME, down like the bottle that  I drink,
END GAME, Just like the day we swore to never speak,
NOT ME, no soul is in me, that I can see, always drunk and empty.

Invocation of madness speech, Satan touch me and take away my wings (Lost salvation)
What’s the point of living forever if forever don’t exist,
My body is emptied out from all the alcohol that I drink,
Count the price of life of me and end it all.

PEOPLE, always get what they want;
NEVER, see the cup half full they just fill it up,
SEE THIS, the day Of judgment is on us,
HANDS SOAKED IN BLOOD FROM DEATH OF A SOVEREIGN.
ONE

I never had a mark of the beast,
My soul is a home and I know what’s inside of me,
Body aches and breaks of solidarity,

NO ONE, hears his words,
CAN SEE, That those don’t believe will burn,
JESUS, the one who is the son of god,
FALLEN, just like paradise lost fallen down crumbling like a falling star!

The pieces of invocation, our mind are set on survival, no one has been lost to the sight of the king, we all Turn our heads and walks away, to see the next best thing,

3.2.1 all hands are the devils playground, false prophets break us down, we all walk the path of life, some live while others die.

Invocation is and was
I came up with this idea when I was thinking about a small remote village that was about to be wiped out by a meteorite, a man saw with a vision, tried to tell people of the coming of the end but no one listens and they all die
R Arora Feb 2016
Too thrilled by the case,
Sherlock just disappears,
To begin with a chase,
John is let alone,
To get a cab, and go to Baker St. .
But wait- wherever he goes,
The telephone booth starts ringing!
He waits for somebody to pick up,
And continues to walk;
The third booth starts ringing,
The caller must be desperate to talk.
A black, shiny car,
Pulls over for John to ride,
The destination seemed far,
In this conversation-less hour.
"Anthea", answered the accompanying secretary,
When asked her name,
Fake it was,
Absolutely.

The anxiety was over,
John was confronted by a well-dressed man,
Who offered him money, to spy,
The guy, who deduced Watson's army background,
By his tan.
The "arch-enemy" of Sherlock,
As he introduced himself,
Told John about his psychosomatic disorder,
"You are back in the game,
You don't fear danger,
You've missed this lifestyle."
True it was,
Pretty much,
"Could be dangerous", wrote Sherlock,
And there he was dashing into 221B.


Sherlock was quite disappointed,
When he got to know about the declination,
Of that tempting offer,
"Pity, we could've split the fee",
He suggested John for the next time.
Isn't Mr. Holmes quite irksome,
Calling John from the other end of London,
Just to send a text?
No, this was not an ordinary text,
An SMS was just sent,
By Mr. Watson's phone,
To the murderer.

The murderer?
But why?!
Elementary for SH.
Found the case within an hour,
Which was now in front him.
His mind, is truly above par!
One thing missing from the suitcase:
Her organizer, her phone.
"Nah, she's is a clever woman,
A serial adulterer,
Would never leave her phone at hotel",
This Holmes said, backed by balance of probability.

They waited at a restaurant,
And the wait was long,
But worth it.
Had to chase a taxi,
which was done successfully,
Thanks to Sherlock's excellent memory.
Hence proved it was,
The psychosomatic limb of Doctor.

A drugs bust had occurred at their place,
Seriously, this man, a deduction ******, would have drugs?
"I'm not a psychopath Anderson,
I'm a high functioning sociopath,
Do your research!"
Snapped Mr. Punchline.
Just a couple of minutes later,
This brilliant sleuth realized-
"Rachel! Yes, Rachel!
This woman in pink, Jennifer,
Is clever,
And she's dead!",
much to Mr. Holmes's displeasure.
This is getting longer and longer...
R Arora Jan 2016
Sherlock is indebted, forever;
To Mike,
For he made it possible for Holmes,
To meet the (only) friend of his life.
Oh look at John,
How baffled he was,
For he had just met a man,
About him, who knew all.
The army doctor thing, the Afghanistan war,
And that his sibling was alcoholic,
About this Sherlock was sure.

Without a word about himself,
Just the name and address,
Holmes went away,
Leaving John, with many questions,
And their answers for him to guess.

A queer flat mate, he was, a bit rude
Sherlock, you know;
Mrs. Hudson was nicer,
But not their housekeeper!
Apparently, SH would play violin to think,
Knew it was DI Lestrade at the door,
And there was another ******,
Including this one, counting to four,
Without a hint.

The crime scene was sealed,
Under supervision of Donovan,
And according to Sherlock,
There was something going on,
Between her,
And Anderson.

A woman was dead,
Wore everything in pink,
Holmes deduced her marriage state,
Just by her ring!
He slammed the door at Anderson,
For he (SH) found him irritating.
Rache is not for revenge”, Holmes said,
“She was writing Rachel, obviously”.
Left-handed she was,
And was carrying a suitcase,
But as Lestrade said,
There was never a case.

Mr. Holmes was so excited then,
He teased others to be stupid,
Watson helped him make a point,
In order to find the criminal,
But Holmes believed,
The pink case was the cupid.
SH means Sherlock Holmes; I used it because he signs off that way.
Ah, this one is going to be very long... You see, I have covered only one-third of the episode, and it has already become so long. So, I have decided to write it in parts. Nobody likes to read long poems, eh?
Writing this, I realized when you write a poem without a planned idea, it is much easier than what you write when you are given the idea. You have to steer it that way. And to rhyme- that becomes sort of a challenge...
Laterzz!

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