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Tim Eichhorn Aug 2020
All snowflakes are the same
It may be a wonder while
You’re walking within a
wait... stop the alliteration

Literally you can see me
Plant the seed that
Won’t grow
Who knows?

Slippery substances
Have never been my
Forte as I foray
Through life

Like those snowflakes
That all stay the same
Weather you agree
Or not, they al-
Ways come this

Tim Eichhorn Aug 2020
The fabric of gods and men
Blend so sweetly, so softly

Slowly, as I touch the next barricade
Made by those who were once hemmed

Stemmed from who knows now?
Cowardice? Probably not.

Thoughts on this matter?
Battered, bruised, and tattered
By our legacy of the blood splattered
Tim Eichhorn Aug 2020
Insinuating silhouettes
For the next

That “they” can sustain
Subtle nuances within
Preconceived notions of
Social contract theory

Motions of grandeur
Like a rambler
That still believes
In a pure
Tim Eichhorn Jun 2016
The rusted belt is tight
in our hometown city.
Black smoke masks the lights
In one gaseous setting;
the permenant fitting
Of our hometown city

Trees exchange steel
In our hometown city.
You’ve never seen the wheels
churn and the deals burnt
In the factories that take pity
On the nitty-gritty of our
Own hometown city.

The last laughs with us
In our hometown city
We don’t’ ride the Cali bus,
But yea, I'd say we are witty,
cause al'the prettiest girls
Live in our hometown city.

The river’s been burnt
In our hometown city.
Yea we’ve learned a lot
From our own ad(e)missions;
And now, clinics fill prescriptions
in ourown hometown city

In my own hometown city
We’re slicker than you,
Even though our York’s isn’t new…
Why? Watch my city revive in
Front of your eyes- then ask me;
Why is this your hometown city?
Tim Eichhorn Apr 2015
Across the purple mountain majesties,
flowing fields, and amber waves of grain.
The eagle flaunts wings of liberty,
she is focused, gazing without refrain.
Even intrusive when one is snowed in,
the eagle watches and "protects" us all,
but the masses refuse to be smitten.
The once omnipresent eye exists galled.
Indecision, haunting the eagle's eye
whilst law favors liberty's wing - A moot
adjourns amongst her eye and our disguise.
Expanding wisdom laments her eye - left shrewd.
But now, why at all be concerned?
Now, the eye's chances fall under one-third.
Tim Eichhorn Apr 2015
Whispering winds whip the lake's eastern shore.
The towers above stand still,
gazing upon the infinite individuals below,
within the concrete maze; this city speaks to me.
It utters thousand of voices simultaneously.
Some unfamiliar to me,
all keep the labyrinth in mind.
Each voice different,
each voice similar in its journey
to conquer the labyrinth.
I too share the same goal,
but in the labyrinth, most don't know what I know.

The river twines around towers
creating the famous "loop."
The river's end irradiated for man,
until we flipped the flow in
labyrinth's past to avert windy shores.
The once river's end, now a beginning.

The labyrinth's bourgeois lie due north,
It's extravagance exemplified by magnificent miles
where whimsy wanderers flaunt status
and to the west and south,
an eternal siren's call resonates for all voices to listen;
urban decay haunts the once prosperous.

For only collectively can the labrinth be tamed
and imminent ends for those unworthy.
The lake, the river, its towers and people
shall never be neglected.
For only collectively can the labyrinth be tamed
and this labyrinth is all that I know;
this labyrinth is Chicago.
Tim Eichhorn Apr 2015
I walked lines and drew them
I wrote lines and snorted them.
I don't know, maybe my brain
was hemmed by a stem in my
gene pool. We reamed these fools,

for that one day we can say, hey
like Willie Mays' catch in 1952.
Unless you were finely dined by
these lines. I am nothing, but grit
and broke. Hopefully the smoke
will rise... through these lines.
poems, poetry, love, poems, about poetry
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