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Man Nov 2020
the voyage of innumerable miles
furnished strength, of a thousand sails
guiding each yonder the reach
off to a boundless expanse
of the new tomorrow

in countenance
with arms outstretched
to tolerate contentment
to acclimate to the average
and want for far less
Illya Oz May 2018
The crunching sound of glass under the sole of my shoe.
The gentle bend as the metal frames twisted unrecognisably.
Fragments littering the cement around me.
For what purpose did I need them.

Walking away.
Dread and edrenaline mix together.
Jumping at my own shadow.
Yet no longer having to look at the world.

No longer having to see it.
But still stuck inside it.
Standing behind the retina.
Behind the same distorted lenses.

I actually purposefully stepped on my glasses once. It was one of the worst days of my life, that I almost never talk about. I was depressed anxious and desperate to escape my life so without any thought or planning I ran out my house. Somewhere along the way my brain through it would be a brilliant idea of crush my glasses to pieces. Lets just say that by the end of that night i ended up in the hospital and i learnt what shame truly is.
*note - Myopia is the technical name for being short sighted*
james nordlund Mar 2018
In a land where convenience furthers
Not perseverance, and 'ignorance is bliss',
Is amiss, as it's far more than "Godliness",
It being, "All", and n'er is perceived,
The universe of a grain of sand, as it,
Like love, grasped, Just falls from their hand,

Even the hollow of belief
Is an unattainable goal,
For the path less traveled
Is more travailed, n'er sold.  
In their opine,
Their best, "skol".

An instant twig of poetree in retort to a quixotic naivate.
Tatiana Dec 2017
My eyes can trace the next steps
carefully caress the footprints
As they're within several feet
and at the distance
My vision can't be beat.

But the steps seem to travel further
Wuthering winds blow dust over them
and my vision becomes blurry
I'll lose sight of them soon
If I don't hurry.

Myopia is so commonplace
Commenting on its existence
seems silly to me
But I'm a slave to my glasses
Without them, I can't really see.
© Tatiana
Mic Mar 2016
It is suffocating
to have to see the world through a glass
through a glass
She glories in how projected her butts are but forgets how minute her brain works.
The length of her fingers and nails gives her confidence but she doesn't see how short her life is.
She gallops from door to door wherever wealthy men dwell but never bothered to get the the key to the door leading to the life after here.
She pities the churchy lady for not catching fun, but deep down her, she has no joy herself.
The fragrance of her perfume still could not conceal the odour her character produces.
She is wise at getting all she can now but never thinks of securing the future after life here.
Her elegant physique and graceful skin is her choice asset.
Walking with straight neck and wobbling **** to lure her preys, she forgets the day she would need a walking stick.
She indeed is myopic in her thoughts.
She flouts the morals of her society just to please herself.
She constructs a world she can't sustain.
Like a missionary sepulchre, her outward beauty glows but within her are the wiles the wisest of men can't resist.
She trades herĀ  beauty for pennies.
She's a *******!

— The End —