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And we, as children of the hostile
  mind,
Will follow our gods into that unreal
  light
Where all becomes formless and
  resigned-
No longer calling forth into the
  writhing night.

And your wants will atrophy, a
  painless decay-
Flowing between fingers and
  sensation.
Leaves fall in a predetermined way-
Impassively traveling the course to
  ruination.

Some voices will rise up out of the
  breach,
Just gasps in the attentive void.
The light bids long rest to all and each,
Some were museful, and some were
  overjoyed.

And death will come like the turning
  of day,
And death will come like a plague of
  silence,
And death will come with malice, or so
  they say,
And death will tempt us into a warm
  sleep.

And from the veil of the unreal light
Death echos its innumerable keep.
Every firey avenue in Babylon
Looks the same from every view,
Where the shapes met an orange light,
That's where the strangers and I grew.

Did my shadow convince yours
Of our existence?
Do my many revolving doors
Offer you subsistence?
May the worn hills carry me
Or am I firmly bound?
Does Morning come secretly
To see what night has found?

Drifting to an unknown place-
To see if you'd be there, I suppose-
In the glow, I found a new face
And a new set of curling toes.
I go before the daylight knows-
I go before the daylight knows.
This is a song I wrote last night. I've been feeling much better recently. I'm gonna have another poem out soon.
The board of directors
were bored of directing
and went for a walk in the park

The moon told the sun,
hey come have some fun
and hang out with me in the dark

Perry

While counting some sheep,
wake said to the sleep
"Come here, I'm ready"

Sheila Sharpe

It's a terrible shame
it's the sea that's to blame
it keeps washing me out it's so petty

Ceida Uilyc

And if I stopped writing,
All the rights in the world
Would write itself wrong

Yellowpotato

And the teacher stopped teaching
Cause she decided to do some learning
What else is there to know for someone who teaches everything?

James Khan

The clowns settled down
For a night on the town
In a car with a lemonade engine,

And the cat with the tonic
Drinks gin and smokes chronic
But **** it! - he's still worth a mention.

Lewis Hyden

Then the cat wandered home
After her evening roam
And snuggled up on the dog's lap;

So the dog shut the door
Of their little bookstore
And together they shared a cat-nap.

Jeff Gaines

The Moon reached out its arms
and hugged the Earth
Loving it, absolutely.

Then Venus said to Mars:
"Let's hang out with the Stars"
And they left the solar system completely

DrippingWatercolors

The hand in the sky,
Plucked a tear from your eye
and then it became a star.
-
When the sun gave a sneeze,
and exclaimed, "pardon me!"
the light fell upon us like rain.
-
and the cat gave a smirk
for his duties he did shirk
as he strolled his way down the lane
---
Oh a poet like me,
has very few priorities,
but I enjoy writing a quick verse

M-E

It’s pretty to see
Verses as dances of the bee
So harmonious. Unfortunately without me. :)

Darrell Landstrom

A callused finger
Pinches out the gleaming flame
And the moths that did linger
Found themselves without aim.

The streetlights spoke
And we wandered all the same.

Emily

He founded the foundry, while
She laundered the laundry.

They cobbled the cobbler, and
Then baked the baker.

But no one ferried the lean farrier,
Across the nonsensical barrier.
Thank you Perry, Sheila Sharpe, Ceida Uilyc, Yellowpotato, James Khan, Lewis Hyden, Jeff Gaines, DrippingWatercolors, M-E, Darrell Landstrom and Emily for your help with my little poetic experiment. I really enjoyed the verses you provided.
The waters twisted, fell and suddenly conjoined
While the sun made the carrion into an arid shell.
Blistered feet are wrapped tightly, caked in pestled earth.
The light falls elsewhere- a rippling supper bell.

Kicking up clouds of dust goes tattered silk robes,
And away goes the ancient, crusted skin-
Wading and flaunting about, unsullied and *****-
Small forms devoid of our animate sin.

Exiles, threshed by being, with a steadfast obstinacy
Found in anguish, ennui, and museful song.
How they crooned of sacred hills, rolling into nothing,
And how the orange sun conversed long.

And they sang joyously of the endless cadavers,
Beneath those rolling hills and foaming, affixing waters-
And how the decaying scents in all prospects
Would grow and fester in our sons and daughters.

The song laid dormant in a starry sky-
Conjured in rousing bodies and secret gestures-

How their song rambled far and sowed itself in piercing quiet,
And scathed many ages with well-hidden despair.
And how their verses guide me toward an abyssal sleep
Delivered through the indifferent gateway of my chair.

-A suspended bell chimes on in unknowing.
Since the beginning of this year, my mental health has been on a bit of a downward *****. I'm not trying to worry any of you, but writing, as well as many other things,  has become increasingly difficult due to a severe lack of motivation. I'm trying my best though- it's all I can do.
Beneath the trees shrouded with moss,
Weeping all of yesterday's rain,
The sun beckons as it comes across
My hobbled soul, sickly and lame.
On a frozen wind came your sound,
And bid my knuckles to a pale white.
The familiar flakes fluttering around,
I know them all- they **** my sight.

A light! A light from his unanimous face!

A sweeping light, a sweeping voice,
Cast down into the cold briars.
A sleeping life, ****** by choice,
Dead grew the night and away went the fires.

Our garden bears a morbid fruit;
Father caught us eating amongst the cold briars-
And our eyes hung like holes in the absolute.
Our tongues rang out in resplendent violence,
Building- growing- recondite choirs-
Where the light engages the unified silence.
This started as a song but became a full poem out of boredom.
1.  Minds are heightened or subdued through the same phenomenon: the destruction of truths and falsities.
2. Disappointment is reality deviating from your illusions.
3. It is always hardest to convince or console oneself. One who does neither will be forever lost.
4. Those who surrender themselves to a lifestyle of failure loathe those who do the same.
5. Denial of the improbable is the denial of the future and the acceptance of an absurd existence where all is random. Existence is a confusion structured of probability and constants.
6. Life relies on our ability to form compromises with our illusions.
Not sure what to call these... Maxims? Aphorisms? Observations?
I've been in a bit of a creative slump recently so it's kind of hard to write... or do anything for that matter.
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