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Lunatic Aug 2015
In concrete jungle I laying was-
A frozen body, nearly corpse.
For yet for me unknown cause,
Though I have heard so many warps.

I pant for air , I really tried,
When gloomy silhouette arrived
For so long waited clement strike.
My mind and flesh got dead alike.

She teared my skull and knocked on it,
The sound was dull and empty.
And brains appeared just in a fit,-
She said - "You will have plenty"

My vision almost lost and muddy
She fixed with her own eyes -
I sow even the smallest body,
And how a star with suffer dies.

Then strangled I of poison
Filled in my butchered throat.
With it my heart been moisten
Oh Gods , how did she gloat!

She cut our veins and mixed blood.
Thought mine looked as the ***** mud,
But her was like a lava flood,
And them something in me did scud.

With sense extinct and face composed
She touched my lips with last goodbye.
Her term of life was nearly closed
And then the silhouette did die.

For many years after that day
With truth I poisoned minds of people,
With burning heart I light the way
I shouted thoughts from highest steeple.

But no one's life forever draws-
Mine also never was exception
I gathered myself up, because
I have to pay my last redemption

So in concrete jungle I walking was,
When sow right body, nearly corpse...
¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯
*Choose
words wisely
for the ink of life
is permanent.


∘ ⊱‧⌍⌈✞⌋⌌‧⊰ ∞
﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋
¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯
Some
people say
there's only one
thing to remember
when digging yourself
into a hole, and that is to
"drop the shovel." I say that we
all must dig our own graves, but
"the deeper the grave, the higher the
hill, so I'm diggin' myself a mountain!
"
We're all given a shovel at birth and dig until
we cease in death. We are all gonna die one day,
and there's no need to understand the mountains we
make by climbing them. We must dig as deep as possible.

-----

The size of your                                                                         hill is
a symbol of your                                                                    legacy;
the size of the hole                                                          is a symbol
of your sense of duty                                                 to that legacy.
     Those who persist to                                             dig 'just enough'    
can afford to have one                                         foot in the grave,
but leave nothing but a                                      molehill; they are
just waiting around to die.                            Those that use their
time wisely on their path to                          death and persist in
their creating something much                  greater will establish,
           feverishly,      a      lasting
                \   legacy. /
So, I ask, which    stays    more
            noticeable  on the  sinking
                       horizon . . .

                                                       . . . a mountain or the
                                                             ­                       hole next to it?


∘ ⊱‧⌍  ⌈✞⌋  ⌌‧⊰ ∞
﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋
Farosty Aug 2015
He's tiger eyed
He's lion hearted, he's wolf spirited - so mysterious
Serious Black couldn't be more devious

Genius as a genie in a bottle, their wish is to follow
No wallows in sorrow, not a bottle swallowed
The boy shined so bright, ever wonder where the stars go?
He shouted in San Diego, they heard him up in Chicago

He goes maps edge to chase what he's pursuing
Viewing his world that they ruined, he knew it could never be new again

Old is his soul but is fresh as the meat to these vultures
War in his peace is the key to his sculpture

Pulse no longer lasts, nothing left in his mass
Fast to the black, left only legacy to pass
Phil Lindsey Jul 2015
A sadder shadow follows me,
Than what I allow the world to see
Like a clown behind red nose and smile
Beneath make-up crying all the while,

The bell-curve will not toll for me
For in a world filled with jealousy
I’m right of center, near the top
But that doesn’t help the pain to stop.

More rainy days, more sleepless nights
And as I age, I cease to fight
Yet the battle I could never win
Still rages on, promoting sin.

My children are my legacy
I wonder what they’ve learned from me
Will they laugh at all the world’s jokes?
Or cry each time their eye is poked?

Will they push ahead and fight through tears?
Or drown pain with cigarettes and beers?
Will they go on fighting, not give up
Drink champagne from a victor’s cup?

Or settle in a comfy place
Content with life, choose not to race
Will a sadder shadow follow them as well?
What did they learn from me – only time will tell.
Phil Lindsey 7/8/15
Dan McGowan Jun 2015
melancholy wind
moans off the hilltop
grass responds in rhythm
clouds wheel across the landscape
leaving figment message
along the ground
bring visions to mind
which aren’t even mine
change unlike time
moves back and forward
the myth of now
shapes history past
fates arise in retrospect
regret is futures toil
chaotic blows the sand
when scene inside the storm
remove yourself
to see yourself
the patterns that are borne
the flow and ebb
that has no care
to minuscule endeavors
yet we knit and purl
at Indra's net
unconscious to
the state of grace
to which we aim
unerring
Strange occurrence when looking at the sky
Atypnoc May 2015
I like the little one.

They are ready so if someone
Comes down here, and says
they, I, well,
would like to see what youve got
I may be interested in them,
in buying some
I'd say, well, sure
so they can look, and see if there is anything they want to purchase.

And they may decide it's nothing they want,
maybe they don't have anything with them
I won't take that
and that's fine by me.
I like the little one.

We made sure t have them all be different
i said, what'S the point if they're the same
I have three metal ones
Can you, well, make sure they are
so nobody will knock them over
so someone can look at all of them and
they won't break.

I got those bells because I enjoy them.
I used to place them around the house so
people could enjoy them
they are in that so people come down here, They can see.

they meant something to me, but nobody else.
and that's fine.
well, if it means something to you, that matters
Yeah.
Justin G May 2015
I swear this life isn't worth it
as I lock on to my targets
I shoot robustly
unhumbly tarnishing
all ties and bridges
from scratch
These hands built
They hate work
They rapidly fire
every employer
for every bruise
Inflicted
then it clicked
wanted for innocence
a dream of making a killing
The unheavenly seeks depth
In solitude
bodies flop  
buildings drop
They all fall
before me
one by one
As I reform these fingers
the larger one stands alone
rebirth these hands of glory
for I am a man of stone
Leigh May 2015
A droplet in a cave echoes the
impact that I've made;
A life of dribbled
lime it takes
to lay this
path of
mine.

.

As
dark
throbbing
waves wash
out the resonance
I crave - That steady, stoic
drop too forms the biding end atop.
.
Time drips slowly by.

Also, this rhyming business is getting fun!
.
M Friday May 2015
You must shout your name
into the abyss!
Not to hear it echo back,
but so it may exist.
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