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triztessa Dec 2017
Something in the universe
pulled me to hold your hand but
maybe in another timeline.
CrookedMantis Dec 2017
A sign, it reads “Push”.
I pull, cause I’m a rebel.
Great, now I’m stuck here.
High athwart global sphere
planet Earth doth app pear
tubby totally tubular as a mere
twinkling gem devoid of lesions from hare
brained schemes to exploit near
Gaea, where

legions of self aggrandizement tear
ring into all four corners  
   of terrestrial firmae orb queer
hull us wreaking indiscriminate havoc,

   yet blithe dismissal mare
ring greedily inducing
   brass knuckle sandwich lobbed punches
   punctuating each pugilisitc
   jude dee ish us punch with denunciatory jeer

accompanied in situ with a malicious glare
destroying staunch
   eco-friendly advocates tabulated violations
   kept under lock and key  
  within a filing cabinet dossier
to hell rants Donald Trump and his miscreants
   in reference viz those “FAKE” defiant, hippo critical
   defenders of Earth, wind, fire, and air

subject to rampant wanton (soup per) discrediting  
   substantiated scientifically airtight conclusion,
   sans irrefutable linkedin cause and effect
   against human perpetrators
   rampant environmental abuse

pegged since that first Margarita
   signaled industrial age crowdsourcing,
   crowing, crowning deuce
ex machina leveling landscape until
   scoured bowels of oblate spheroid glacis loose
to wring and extract sought after mineral wealth
   essentially wrenching, hammering, nailing cinch,
   which global gem analogous

   to affixing a polarized noose
specific metals deemed precious
   justifying reckless ramifications thin as gruel excuse
whereat said esteemed Mother Nature privy ledges
   sheared to extract vis a vis akin to a sluice

industrial machinations insyc –
   dynamited, sheared, sound blasted to rob
   (point blank with no criminal sentence),
   especially when conglomerate
   conspiratorial corporations
   violated most every truce

boot at bottom, any vow to tender flora and fauna,
   a dead letter steeped in violations ruse
vitiate prior drafted conservation pacts signed, sealed
   and delivered with “faux” obeissance

uttering lame excuse
in an effort to squeeze and seize
   (by aggressive means if necessary), the goose
that laid golden eggs intended to line deep purple pockets –
   brushing aside accusations with VAMOOSE,

particularly to marginilized Native Americans
   already a shadow of their former glory,
   but production even at the expense of
   slo-mo genocide annihilation a road block
   to sought after mineral deposits juiced

waiting for opportunity to rake landscape bare
   as the Moon (with a eh “No big deal attitude)”
indiscriminately sowing seeds of bleakness
   via uprooting, scraping,

   and pulverizing plants and animals
such as Bull Winkle the moose
and crown such egregious destruction
   claimed as righteousness purportedly pinpointed

   within religious texts to render unto haven
   of innocent creatures, and other organic life,
   the God sent email to reduce
once resplendent oblate spheroid,
   now nothing but a wasteland
   even a nightmare to Doctor Zeus!
Britney Lyn Sep 2017
I'm so tired of fighting the demons in my head, but how long will it take before I realize you're controlling them.
Poetic T Sep 2017
Ligaments are folly for the static movements
that I tender on the world around me.
I'm a puppet that has had its strings severed.

No longer will I stand before a crowd admiring
the swag of free motivation. Now I'm but a flawed
puppet with my useless severed strings lingering.

Once upon a time I was  a puppet and I pulled all
my own strings... But now I'm gathering
dust in my self  pity, and my strings are now cut.

But even though they are severed, and no longer
dance to my own tunes. I'm no weaker than before!
I'm stronger within myself, I may have fallen but got up.

"We are stronger than we think,
"We just have to pick ourselves up.
           *"For we are our own weight, that only we can pick up.
Arcassin B Aug 2017
By Arcassin Burnham


Let me tell you what it is,
We empty bottles with this energy for emptying our memories
With tragedies that haunt us even when we don't rarely have demons
But they hide to wait for us to **** up day and night like we don't have more
Things going on our lives to carry burdens like the Dickens in our churches where
The warlocks hide and wait for daily service , do you get it now?
Love and hate from critism is just jealousy like pull me under.
Love and hate from critism is just jealousy like pull me under.

Rushing noted writes to get out all the feelings working hard to make a living in a
Hateful town in a corrupted country and the city full of dummies thinking
What they have is in anyway remotely better for everyone else so they follow them,
I don't get it.

/

Don't serve false prophets,
So get up off it,
You so have lost it,
You need to stop it.

Your heart is just as cold as space.
If you plan to die a million ways.
On the floor with my head to a grave.
If death is what I merely crave.

Don't pull me under,
I'm just a messenger,
Life's getting lesser,
Than people prefer,
From all the fakers,
The truth is deeper,
Don't be a sleeper,
To what lies under,
These days we suffer,
More than another,
Sisters and brothers,
Pray to the beyonder..
©abpoetry2017
https://arcassin.blogspot.com/2017/08/pulling-me-under.html
Zero Nine Jul 2017
Universal
You know the bandage pull
And how they say you should
Remove in one yank?
Oh, for comfort, true.
I've got the addiction
Just like you.
Meet me on the carpet crisscross
And we can slowly tug the
Adhesive for the pain we need
Over days. Better yet, stay.
We can hide ourselves for years.
Randy Ray Price Mar 2017
The anchor weighs down the boat like a weary and uncertain heart. Aching and rusted, these chains increasingly weak as each roaring wave strains it more and more. The wooden sides of the boat are at maximum capacity, the mast already torn from the storm’s massive winds. Tears of god flood the deck as the storm grows nearer.

From inside the cabin sits a wise man upon an uncomfortable rusted chair. He no longer looks outside for signs of damage to the boat, as the boat is all he has left and he cannot handle worrying about it any longer. The cabin floor sways out to the open sea from the undertow, almost as if a magnet is pulling it away from the safety of the shore.

In just a few hours, the strongest force of the storm will be here. In anticipation, the man simply sits and waits in the vessel, fully prepared to go down with it, still clinging on to a clouded hope that his home will withstand its toughest test.

The man asks himself just one thing as he waits … “Will my heavy heart stay grounded through the toughest of times, or will the winds pull me drifting into the lonely sea? Time will tell. ”
K G Nov 2016
As the clock hit twelve, they came in
The poets whistle and hum a seducing tune
We'd sloom to the guns choking the highway
Or the flooding of limerence burying us
As the clock hit twelve, they passed on
The shifting lights from the odd passing car
Gives a prim reflection of us pulling our weight
Peaking over the farthest stretch of earth
For our last slim moments thoughts thicken
Great homesickness that cannot be shaken off
Begins to sink in with the stolidness
As we hover over the horizon
With our backs arched against angst
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