#tounge
tongue relishes steel
eyes dilate, euphoria
artistic cold heart.
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 8:34 AM UTC
Small but mighty is the tounge
It gets a lot of use
To us writers it's the PEN
And equal in abuse.
We have a bridle for a horse
Which can turn the beast around
A great ship has a rudder
Small, as it is found.
Thus can tounge and pen be made
The turn, the helm, ye scribes!
It can bless. It can destroy.
IT CAN RUIN LIVES!
What separates the poet
From those people who abuse
Their "God given right to free speech"
This should NOT be news
The difference is quite evident
When you take the facts apart
One uses pens to lacerate
*The true poet has a HEART.*
SoulSurvivor
(C) 2/24/2016
Feb 24, 2016
Feb 24, 2016 at 11:40 PM UTC
Honestly, I've never felt alone
My thoughts keep hitting a depressing tone
Light in life, keep it light
Fear the dark, keep it right
People make me lose my ****
I've long since had my finger on it
There's something to be said about solitude
Mental gymnist mindset feud
I've been fed too much too long
Now its all I can taste
Fall in line or fall apart
The choice; voicless restless ill never make
Structurally sound, yeah maybe so
The footing never lets me down
But walls I cannot abide
Living life or letting die
Can't have it both ways
Shameful
What a **** shame
So ungrateful
Sitting bankrupt, linen table
I won the world and still feel
Like someone somewhere owes me something
Take the second
Grasp it
Something you would have sooner wasted
Self reflect
Can you taste it?
It might not be up to you
But either way you get to choose
Apr 14, 2017
Apr 14, 2017 at 6:10 AM UTC
welcome to the life and times of a lost soul. We were born in error. We were never wanted, but we came anyway. We were left alone. We had siblings, but they were not the same as us. Except for the fact that we were all alone. How to feel happy, when the first sensations of feelings that come from others are those of regret? How then to feel after, when this is all that is felt by those who know us later in life? We were little like you, we were hungry like you. Why were we not fed? We learned to take. We learned to not need you. Even after learning how to take, we found that we would never have. We learned not to need.
Sorrow is a comforter that we snuggle into during the bed of night that keeps us. Death sings to us a lullaby. We sing along, knowing the chorus of voices that accompany us are not our own. They who remain unseen are our knowledge, when none thought that we should learn. They who are unseen tell us where to look and find the things that should be known not. Show us the secrets of everything under the sun, and also the truths of all that hides under the cloak of night. We cannot close our eyes; We have no eyelids.
We grow up in the same world as you, though your eyes look through us. We cry, we scream. We shout of things that you know nothing of. You tell the air where we are supposed to be that we are wrong. You do not see us or the things that we see. You do not hear our words. We have no tongue.
Aug 6, 2016
Aug 6, 2016 at 10:45 AM UTC
Wounds were never
afflicted with
repercussion of syllable lesions..
No quite the opposite,
Unfamiliar tastes on the
tongue, cleansed improper tastes.
Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 5:07 PM UTC