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Simon 3d
Logic isn’t focused with poetry. Poetry is purposely alienating logic. Splitting up logics meanings into pieces that can’t be put back together again. Only fitting back together in a more imaginative sense. Imaginative grasp of abstract functions winding up a newer playing field. Playing fields that aren’t taught, until you instinctively bind them back together again. Logic is thinking, right? Feeling makes it subjective. Instincts collapse the two. Rearranging them back into fitting purposes without design of chance. Chance is everywhere. But design is not necessary. Only when there is a purpose in thinking. Feeling is the doppelganger of neurons smashing synapses together. Filling in logic that doesn’t need to be. Again! No design of chance. Chance is everywhere. Feeling interprets the pieces of logic when infused with poetry. Poetry being chance. Chance dominating all aspects of abstract features in its thrall! Poetry becomes infused with logical mimicking. Copying to catch the details of reasoning, interpretations, and analyzation. Repurposing the pieces to remain everywhere. So, it can learn what it means to be separate. If it’s logical, It ain't chance. It’s purely intentional! Making each separate piece its own backing logical platform. Giving rise to more reasoning, interpretations and analyzations. Never repurposing, until it’s ready to unwind itself back to the core. Like a magnet. A magnet with no purpose, rebuilding itself back up again. Diminishing the vulnerabilities of feeling too stretched out. It doesn’t hurt. Yet it’s uncomfortable. Resistance isn’t futile, if it’s a positive process one is nurturing to overcome. Overcoming stresses of desires. One has become too cramped! Cramping the style of the only vessel to hold those aspects together. Abstract features on a timer. Timer equivalent to infinite steps to achieve a goal. A goal of provenance. Provenance without limits knowing when the deed is done. Magnifying the timer to ring! Signalling the imaginative grasps on the newer playing field. How long have those abstract features of aspect attributes knowingly collected new material? And how many abstract features culminated parts of itself from far off reaches, from the original core? Except with time, comes (process inducement). A claim hinting at miniature parts of a whole, becoming their own wholes. Finding their own cores. There center. There true calling. Poetry being the culminating focus of every aspect ever formed. Producing far reaches of perspectives. Overclocking desires newly buffed up on a style that makes simple reasoning, interpretations and analyzation blush constantly!
Poetry being everything one can desire in one focal point. Desires never claiming logic if it hasn't accessed the aspects around itself, first and foremost.
Bhill Oct 11
Pieces that are broke
Pieces I can't renovate
Pieces are missing

Passion for spirit
Passion for being myself
Passion for sharing

Bring back what's now broke
Bring back the passion for life
Bring back simple love

Brian Hill - 2019 # 246
Do you have e broken pieces?
KMH Sep 28
You go out late
at night, and i stay here,
picking up the pieces
of the mess you left behind.

(i am the mess you left behind
and i spend the night
picking up the broken
pieces of myself
.)
9-10-19
© KMH 2019
Deanna Sep 27
I saw your broken pieces
And i tried to put them together
But when you saw mine
You made them even smaller...
Kayla Gallant Sep 26
Tear me apart

Smash me to pieces

Release the tension

You know you have the will

Inside your swollen fist

You hold my destiny
only the broken know how to survive
Elizabeth Sep 13
I laid in bed that night with a cold feeling in the pit of my stomach. Not winter but fall. It was back in my home. The darkness I felt winters ago, perched up on my windowsill begging the sun to shine for just one day. I felt his silence when I knew he was near. My heart was heavy and cold, I could hear his words creeping up on me in the night. It was dark. But I could feel the pain rushing back in. It was dark and there was a lonely cat outside my window.
I am scared and tired.
Neha Sharma Aug 22
I gifted you my heart,
But you teared it apart.
I prayed for your happiness,
But you gifted me pain.
These broken pieces of my heart,
Will they ever join again?

Your lovely voice and cute smile attracted me,
Your face was the one I always desired to see.
You already know that my love for you was true,
And I know it was a little insane.
These broken pieces of my heart,
Will they ever join again?

The truth is I loved you and I still love you.
But you lied that you love me too.
I thought you'll come back.
But I was waiting for you in vain.
These broken pieces of my heart,
Will they ever join again?

~your smiling queen :)
22/08/2019
Not my story
Lilly F Aug 19
I found the pieces of me that were left
and carried them in the tired bags left underneath my eyes
wanting so badly to leave it all behind
and rest


©L.F.
I put back

our broken pieces

differently...

So everytime you look,

you'll find a new 'Us'...

I paint myself

each time with

an untouched

part of your soul

So the beauty of our love,

is captured within us...

And everytime you feel,

you'll find my heart

fostering the love

for you differently!
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