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ibkreator Oct 17
a truth in tune
knocks everything that isn't out
Chris Feb 12
Tuning my thoughts
To match my words

Tied into knots
Of broken lies

Defeating smile
The ten yard mark

Saw from a mile
All bite, no bark.

Bottled sadness
Soon to explode

Constant madness
A fading light

Dimming darkness,
That stole my fight

My will to live
My only right

It's been reversed
Flipped on its head

Reverse of what's not.
Wish I was dead.
Enjoy.
A Simillacrum Aug 2019
all this time, i've yet to come to terms with certain words
for instance, design, and all of its nuance
how do i design in true
when i am a shard of
azure experience in the
endlessness of midnight blue?

all this time, i've yet to call my good form to return
for instance, my designs, and all the nuances --
the water drains, shallow now,
from my composition,
as if i'm the desert, when once,
i was my own oasis.

reflection is a given. still,
how can i reflect this ill
in good faith, when the
poisonous sick saw my
leg up ascend into ruins?
I write until I tune my head
with my heart.
Words,
are the knobs
that twist my heart strings to the right
tune.
This is how I feel when I feel inspiration but don't know what to say about it
Grame Rabbit Mar 2015
Attentive student of the songs of birds,
    No beakèd beast hath e'er more sweetly trill'd
A pair of notes or call'd in major thirds
    Or minor with musicality more skill'd.
Adaptive linguist, practic'd in the tongue  
    Of wingèd feather'd creatures, thou hast writ
Into "The Birdsong Songbook" songs unsung
    By birds which yet harmoniously fit.
And though the book began in higher throats
    Diversely tun'd by Nature's artful hand
Ere measur'd were the times and tones of notes,
    (Which often rest them now upon a stand),
Its finest lines (o'er which I now do rave)
Witness thy penmanship on every stave.

^ ^
Ky Blackstar Dec 2014
My heart is never valid in the presence of panic
yet I will still take a pen and drag it along paper
as if it were a stamp of my own approval
I will stay up late trying to make my screams sound like poetry
tuning every octave of my pain into a rhyme

— The End —