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Bob Horton Apr 2013
The man who put bullet holes in the fabric of time waiting for you
Who scrawled lunacy all over the pages of history
Who started all the wars, murdered all the prophets, burned down empires
Who laughed “Apocalypse” at a billion futures
But let every opportunity slide by

The man who wrote your name on all the maps for hope of finding you
Who dammed up the rivers he had made so you wouldn’t see his tears
Who peered between saplings in forests he had planted to see if you were hiding there
Who sat by fires in newly opened taverns, telling tales of his search for you
But didn’t cross the road to knock on your door

The man who locked you in a tower to be the princess in his fairytales
Who cast himself as the dragon guarding you forever
Who lived off a diet of slow roasted questing knights, tall handsome features charred at the edges
Who antagonised himself in the kingdom of his own story
But never looked through the window to tell you why

The man who wrote his rulebook with the blood of his closest friends
Who proudly swore never to break Number One
Who even wrote a riddle to protect it from your words
Who drove himself insane with all the times that he stuck to it
But never realised it kept you from him

The man who made himself a crown of thorns from the dozen red roses he tried to send you
Who crucified himself with dreams of you
The man who was content to write you a love poem
But couldn’t tell you he loved you in person
Marshal Gebbie Aug 2017
Out across the high terrain through avenues of sky
Flashing by clear rivers swum perhaps, by you and I.
Crossing cloistered cities clogged by tepid rotten air
Whilst  crucified by temperamental knotting of the hair.
Howling at disparity in scowling at the way
We all reacted differently to what they had to say.
Globalising gigabytes of hurt and hate and spite
Despite diverse distention when day obscured to night,
Black and white and brindle mixing hot beneath a moon
Confusing you who rationalise disharmony’s cold tune….
Pause to catch the nuance lost twixt shades of grey and green
Then riot for the kewpie doll to wear the crass obscene.
Raging fields of fire in a world of spleen awash
Antagonised at variance in chosing knife or cosh,
Antagonised disastrously across this sphere of man
Leaving sad distraught, discerning weeping blood into the sand.

M.
16 August 2017
Across the vast spectrum of man, shades of hue, sweet and sour, rich and poor...The commonality is contention. Judgments, points of view, opinions ...All differ as vastly as the grains of sand on the beach. How long to cultivate a true and trusted friend? How long to make an enemy?
What chance, I ask you, have we of achieving global harmony in this circumstance?
M.
Ignatius Hosiana Jul 2016
I have walked till there's no more distance
persisted till there's no more resistance
I have cried till there are no more tears
matured till there are no more years
I have held on till there's no more strength
to a rope of hope so feeble and short a length
I have sung till there are no melodies to sing
written till I can hardly write a thing
an antagonised bee that'll never cease to sting
you're but I still love you with my everything*
There's no one else, baby it's only you
I have said this over and over until it sounds untrue
Steph Portuguez Jan 2020
She persuaded the curvature of the seam. A dressmaking utterly agonizing, to reach the smoothness one must perceive, it has a regret with the difficulty of repetition of a trend.

Her foul purport carbonated the clear intent. But an impecable illustration did provide them with the warmth they intend.
The cycle lacked precision but their pliancy was a treasure so **** filled with her preciousness.


Velveted silk portrait embraces and confines a cause within a retrospective, a muse divides with a major uproar, one with the furor of nature uncontrolled.

The spell of glamor enchanted the failed dorks. They daydreamed fuzzy temptations to achieve their doomed ******. Of their antagonised exchange was born an incurable rage. The vexed source became cursedly recruitable for their loveable tremors, she had no knowledge of their cultivated adoration.

This will be our temple to our redemption and acceleration. It has consumed us all, encased conscious with translucent locked up doors.

The excitation has endure the incommensurable, the deluge did occur in the future. The scorn we throw to each other is acceptable if I desire to engorge her, it'll wear off your vile will, it'll grant me her savoury thrill.

Velveted silk portrait I beg you not to demise and ascend. We'll ravage the essence of your pure command, although, our adoration is the realest love spell.

I was snarling when I saw you embosom him, it felt like you were entering something delightful and never ******* ending. What was behind the blinds it wasn't supposed to be appreciated, we were always stood in a horizontal line and pulling harsh, all acts performed were a praying for your preference.

Velveted silk portrait, we encouraged you to revoke your beauteous den, to an addictive merriment. We'll howl with devotion to this new founding arts, her paint sparkled in the now dusky lane. A palace never menacing to our welcoming, an unfair entrance to the terribly but tender embodiment.

The gladness finally dragged us to our unfair refinement.
Messages are read, all their ticks are blue
an "I love you," comes double-ticked…
maybe it’s not you.

Love’s built for two, their reasons too
a fake kind of love still tries to play true…
maybe it wasn’t you.

No, I won’t cry, still stuck up without glue
a sympathetic protagonist, antagonised by
their own heart, and yes… this much is true:

Perhaps I was never meant
to fall in love with you.

— The End —