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Poetic T Aug 2014
We are more than the whole,
Are lives define our life
What we make,
What we create,
What we destroy
We are the janitors,
We create life
We take life,
What are we?
Are we gods?
Are we demons
Good,
Or
Evil,
Does it exist,
Are we the sum of our parts
Each different,
But together a whole
Do we change,
Are we meant to obey
Do we fight the power,
To fulfil our destiny.
We are the children of earth
But are we destined to be stars,
Can we survive are stupidity
To be better than we are
We are separate,
Are we one.
Can we evolve past the hate
We are kind,
We are not
Human,
But
Animal instinct,
Can still control us,
To conquer,
So much harm to another,
But we wish for peace so much
We are separate but we are one, never forget we are human.
H W Erellson Aug 2014
Christ, people
you're all an
utter ****** embarrassment.
you showed great promise,
in those early days,
crackign skulls with stone clubs,
howling at morning suns,
filthy and *******.

but you've only gone and lost the bleeding basics, haven't you?
you don't **** on your territory- what territory?
some big old boy called 'government' has been ******* all over you,
and you applaud like a foolish clown.

you clip your nails with metal, out of necessity,
because they're not being ground on rock
in the fling and throes of the hunt.

you've become terrified of dirt, and the possibilities of the body,
you can't even stomache your meat raw. pathetic.
meek and obsolete, wandering lost and lonely.
you've no pack instinct, and pander on and on and ******* ON

about 'love.' what a villaniously clean word,
not even a scratch of dirt, no delving in warm pink orifices,
filthy and *******

you may be top dog, but you've lost the dog, and are falling from the top.
oh to be an animal for a day
A
stirring
rendition
by orchestral
digestive specters,
little poltergeists wielding bows against heartstrings;
play on, little daemons! Make music that grinds
the brain to a halt, resolute and unyielding.
Sphere of Severity, for which one pillar
of the Tree of Life is named, burn!
Be the coal in my gut; I'll fan thy flame
to ashes - firm in my lust to speak against.
For in my years I have learned that it is suicide
to do aught but listen to my belly - who knoweth better
than I ever will - exactly
when it is the right
time for me
to say
no.
Thanks to Brandon Barnes, the formatting of whose excellent poem "Ode To Tom Waits" (http://hellopoetry.com/poem/ode-to-tom-waits/)  so reminded me of a hexagram and inspired this shapely piece.
David Bojay Jun 2014
I don't have to think about anything in particular when I write about you, I guess flattering you with words is an instinct

Like the leaves falling in autumn, my hand flows naturally while capturing photos of you in sentences.

Like a Christian mom prays for her children every night, and see the blessings the next day, you presence does the same without the help of a higher power


and it feels like you're the only sense I have.
there's 21 minutes left of class.
Mary-Elizabeth May 2014
I'd rather live a life
Full of 'Oh wells'
Than a life
Of 'What ifs'

In my life
I was taught
And I've finally managed
To follow my instincts

I know fake when
I see it
I know B.S when
I hear it

The most important thing
I've learned to this day
I can respect real when
*I feel it
Sorry about the abbreviations I thought it would be best not to use that word.
Julie Butler May 2014
I feel unleashed
like an animal
ready to sink my teeth
instinctively tearing your meat
& my eyes
focused only on the prize
exposed  b o n e s
and my nose runs with your blood
drowning my decency
cause
s e c r e t l y
the  frequency of your scream
clearly releases me
this sequence of release
greedily pleases me
i'm licking you clean
thinking how
eating never came so easily
Jvak Mar 2014
Skin is just tissue and tissue wrapped around body, keeping its contents from going this way and that. (It's also really painful to walk with no barrier between the Earth and the sinew and bones of your feet.) Think of when you see a woman, and your belly just yearns, and you feel like you are going to throw up, like something is actually thrashing inside of you, trying to find escape, or when you're with that women, and that thrashing subsides to manipulation, and organs begin to move of their own accord: lips upon lips, and hips upon hips; beasts ravaging and ravishing until they find escape.

— The End —