"awoken" poems
Late at night is when I think
And try to I clear my head
I often stay awake all night
Just laying in my bed
As soon as I get comfy
Thoughts start racing in
I start to question everything
and regret my every sin
At first the thoughts are gentle
Like what will I do tomorrow
But as time crawls by; they escalate
Till I'm drowning in my sorrow
I think of all my failures
Every detail of what I did wrong
After hours of reliving pain
I convince myself I don't belong
I suddenly feel isolated
and like the silence will never end
I feel like I will never escape
There's too much I just can't mend
I feel overpowered and worthless
Like I'll never do anything right
I hide till the world fades away
And I'm awoken by the light
I realize a new day has come
It's time to put on a brave face
I put those negative thoughts away
Until I return to this place
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 5:56 AM UTC
can not be found in the flesh
For as warm it may be
As soft to your fingers it is
It will lay soft and cold eventually
can not be found in gold
Yes, it never loses its luster
But many coins you need to muster
And no number will fill the gap in your soul
can not be found in others
For the laughs may distract
The facade will crack
And still you will be empty inside
ilusive as it may be
It follows you around
It never left
For within you she rest
Waiting to be awoken
And while the rest might feel great
They serve as nothing but crutches
On your own you must stand
If you are to revel
On the pleasures life offers...
To improve one self
To look on path troded
It´s essence
To know there is more
With hunger jump forth
It´s rushes
To balance the mind
With the desire of the heart
It´s key
And once held in hand
You will understand
That happiness flies like a bird
But behind she left
Tranquility
And the knowledge
That you can get it again...
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 12:03 AM UTC
They don't know how it feels
to awake every morning,
and all they can wonder is
why they had even awoken
They don't know how it feels
to pick up all of their pieces,
and put them back together
but still feel like they're broken
They don't know how it feels
to say all that they can say,
and still feel like there's more
but every word has been spoken
They don't know how it feels
to go to sleep every night,
and the only hope they have
is that their eyes will not open
©
Nov 24, 2015
Nov 24, 2015 at 3:37 PM UTC
Freedom comes
Not through choice!
Freedom comes
From having a voice.
Not to say,
Now I can choose!
But to say,
With choice I loose.
It's all the same -
You have not chosen.
It's all same -
You have awoken!
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 12:59 AM UTC
*Brittle dry earth beaming with longing,
For wet kisses from heavy heavens' door,
In soothing rain, finds the heart’s belonging,
Releasing the sweetest aroma...petrichor.*
***The mist of warm moist wafting playfully,
Kissing and engulfing in a subtle unworldly spin...
A feeling ensnared by the clutches of fond remembrance.
Like the cadence of your breaths upon my parched skin...***
*A taste of your last dance on my fervent lips,
Awoken with each drop, still makes me thirst,
I lift my head, entranced by memory’s grips,
Craving you, again to make my heart burst.*
***Here again...two drenched hearts encased in glass,
Latent spectres melded together as they did before,
Promises wrapped and bound to the gaits of the other,
In eternal dance, laced with everlasting redolent petrichor...***
Dajena M
rhymesmith
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 1:00 AM UTC
Freed from the blackness that fills my nights
Awoken from the nightmares plaguing my mind
For a short stretch only to receive a brief taste
Holding on for I know she must make haste
Like the foggy windows on a summers night
So have I felt the warmth of another
Never wanting to leave her comfort
Never wanting to see the light
Like roses at the peak of their bloom
Only to enjoy briefly till death ensues
Withered away and dying as they are
So am I breaking as we have to part
Joy is a bitter taste
For it never stays to long
You hold on until you are unable
Until it leaves you withdrawn
Am I but just another face
Another notch upon your bed
Scattered amongst the crowd
Overlooked and overdrawn
For if I know what is true
But I wish it were a lie
To face another second
As I feel my dreams die
On my own I must go
For you’ve taken to much
What I wish I would receive
I only gave to another
Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 10:10 AM UTC
My bad dreams won't leave me alone these thoughts keep circling my sub conscious.
They wait till I'm most vulnerable to attack I can't relax not for a second.
If I do they are there screaming at me over and over again taunting me till I'm awoken in a cold sweat with tear stained cheeks.
I can't go back its too frightening so I sit huddled trying my hardest to disappear.
Until the light shines through my widow and the screams soften slightly and I am forced to carry on till the next time I'm back in bed and the voices take over once again...
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 3:38 AM UTC
Wake up pleasured, I feel it as you lick my
Stiffness awoken from sleep,
"ARRR,
Your tongue feels rough, but I like it woken
Pleasured from my sleep.
I open my eyes turn my head to the side
There you are still asleep, panic on a face,
As what is under the sheets still pleasuring
Me more, just one more minute, NO....
Under the sheets I do look woken by pleasure
But not any more.
There are two pussy's I see as I look under the
Sheets, one shaved, one hairy and its the hairy
One licking while looking at me.
I am pleasured, but animal style, this cat is out
The door. Violated am I, never to tell the woman
I love, that another ***** has pleasured me nearly
Releasing the milk that would have made it purr.
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 6:46 PM UTC
romanticize our problems
until they are colored in pink and purple hues
baby blue mornings filled with you
fantasize our perfect life together
what if reality is the fake
coffee, music, and solitude can be found
any Saturday safely in your arms
awoken by kisses soft and gentle
until clothes end up getting lost somewhere
dancing around the living room
in our pajamas, without masks on
I wish this was still true
but this is not reality, this is not truth
this is me romanticizing past loving
like dreaming of Paris in the rain
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 1:24 PM UTC
Sep 15
2 0 15
your poem read,
awoken by lightening flashes of
morning notifications arriving,
postmarked from
"I liked it"
but it does not
end there,
continues,
to a new ending
who and why,
who and why,
did this one find
their own
worthy in it
that was writ unknowingly
just for them
and
you look them up,
guessing
who and why,
rereading your hand's work,
which verse was it,
was it for a blessing or a
curse,
that touched them,
that made them
touch
you
each "like,"
a work in itself
re examined,
re searched,
re imagined
in the
light of
who they are
and
why they are
liking words I wrote
a single poem
bring hours of imagination,
each "like"
individually gift wrapped,
each human liking rapt,
each imagine a rapture,
each "like"
a new poem
about the who and why
each name a disguise to unravel,
each name a title
of a new different,
imagined poem,
who and why,
we
like
each other
~~~
6:53am
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 7:01 AM UTC
Upon the wings of doves it was pure
Their purest white Feathers
Glided,
Floated,
Nestled
Its clearness, Its symbolic touch
Upon my yet to be woken heart,
For this beauty showed what was
In front of my eyes,
Feathers did come down like snow
Not only touching mine,
Awoken,
Revived,
Vitality
Sprung forth, emotions were flowering
Everywhere,
My heart was touched
By a feather of purest love,
That is when our eyes meet, I saw a feather
Caress your loneliness and we
Were transformed from
Solitude,
Seclusion,
Sorrow
To hearts that were now awoken,
The true feeling stirred from inside,
To love at first sight,
We were like the feathers
Our hearts had taken flight,
We were in love as white feathers fell,
The symbol of love had opened our hearts
To what was always Within our now flourishing hearts.
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 3:07 AM UTC
Time is moving
In a stream of wonderous murderous intending, sacrificing sadness,
My ****** devotion, ought to shed blood in a distorted dark was but an perishable spring dream, looping without an end through nights,
On sleepless nights, the ghosts of the past gets stuck within a river of pure thoughts, a lake birthing memories in secret, subsconsciously,
Discard your common sense, sacrifice your sanity for just this second,
When the moon stands high in the sky, a bonfire seals the nights start
To its creeping shadows, they do not crackor sparkle under the twinkling stars of this celestial ceiling of pure majesty for nyctophiles,
Even our natural satelite agrees, dying itself into a lunatic scarlet red,
Darkness upon darkness, with layers of shadows overlapping one another as the light begins to dim, thanks to the disappearing moon,
An imaginated landscape, created from only pure rage and fury,
But whereabouts of the heart, are likely to be lost to the thought of love I carry within a broken chest of treasury, losing all emotions,
Even if my scarlet eyes were to be losing their ability yet to see,
I would be able to count on you to guide me, through the everlasting,
The dream I awoken from, was a moonlit night turning crimson, losing its radiance through the soft eclipse of the moon, gently, slowly
But you were there, within the far away landscape drawn in my heart
~ Umi
Mar 30, 2018
Mar 30, 2018 at 7:36 PM UTC
On a summer morning,
Monkey had awoken early,
His eyes all sleepy,
And his hair wildly curly.
Swoosh,
He opened the door,
He had to use his mouth,
Because his tail was way too sore.
Slam,
Monkey shut the door behind him,
His friend Panda,
Was called hungry, hungry Jim.
Monkey was off to work,
His tail dragging on the floor,
He was sure to be back in time,
To feed his family of four.
Although monkey was guilty,
He missed work twice,
Monkey was confidently sure,
His boss would be all nice.
Monkey had walked to the glass,
It said no dogs allowed,
For sure he was a monkey,
He walked in and proudly bowed.
His boss said he had to leave,
For he was not a monkey,
But monkey had explained,
He was very chunky.
The boss escorted his out,
Angry as could be,
For sure he was a monkey,
Can’t his work boss see?
He decided to go food shopping,
At the nearest grocery store,
He wanted to get home quickly,
So his family wouldn’t be that poor.
Monkey walked to the grocery store,
His feet were aching,
It was 10 miles away,
This was a big risk that he was taking.
Monkey got there very fast,
Quick as in running,
It said only monkeys allowed,
Wow that sign was stunning!
Monkey had barged in,
All the monkeys were looking at him,
He was told to get out,
So then he visited his old friend,
Hungry, hungry Jim.
When monkey had arrived,
Jim had told him he was a dog,
So Monkey left ashamed,
In the new deep fog.
Monkey had decided to go home,
And Comfort his 3 young ones,
He’d see his wife,
Oh, he loved them all a ton.
Hungry, Hungry Jim smiled,
As if he was really, really bad,
He decided not to eat him today,
He saw him so sad.
Monkey’s house
Was just around the corner,
It was a pretty color white,
But most of the time,
There was not much light.
He had opened his house door,
So lonely and ashamed,
He was a monkey,
He had claimed.
Monkey flickered on the light,
Nobody was there,
His wife and kids left him a note,
“You are a dog, we could not bear”.
Monkey was so depressed now,
He walked to hungry, hungry Jim’s house
He had tiptoed in,
And was as quiet as a mouse.
Jim had caught him,
And asked why he was not home,
Monkey had explained,
His house is just a comb.
Monkey said his family had left him,
Because he was a dog,
They think I don’t belong,
And am just a plain old hog.
All of a sudden,
The panda ate him whole,
And the only thing that was left,
Was his sad little soul.
Jun 17, 2013
Jun 17, 2013 at 10:26 AM UTC
The only home I have
Is the one I build inside myself
The roof is cracked
The doors are broken
The electricity goes out
And ghosts awoken
Although rats scurry
And the AC is dead
It is my own home
Nonetheless
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 12:00 AM UTC
The snow drifts were
quite high, piling up into the
northern sky, burying
towns and trees and the poor souls who
had fallen asleep on the grass
and had awoken with shivers as snowflakes
left little kisses on their eyelids.
Except that, it was never grass. There was never any grass to begin with. There was no grass
or spring
or sun
or summer
or birds.
There was only winter and snow.
And the blinding, white terrain had become both a place of desolation and
s a n c t u a r y.
The Aroura Borealis danced like a beautiful blue fire across the night sky. Stars blinked in and out of existence.
And somehow, the halls always remained.
The blue halls.
Imagine, if you will, the Colosseum cut into halves and shaped like an elbow macaroni. Drop it out in the middle of an arctic wasteland and wash it in the blue glow of the northern, night sky.
A bright yellow light poured out of the windows and onto the snow, but no one was ever inside.
Some say it's the doorway to heaven.
Others say it's the gates of hell.
And then there are the strangers. Strangers who wear their lavender, silk headscarves and avoid the rumors of such an exquisite and eclectic piece of architecture.
Others like myself.
"If there is no one inside, then where is the music coming from?" He asked me, his blue eyes shining as blue as the heavenly hues against the midnight clouds.
" The halls will hum if the wind passes through them just so."
We listened to them once more. A low and ancient hum emanated from the structure. It was an old sound that resonated within me-unnerved me.
The mysterious blue halls were not a simple door to some glorious silver city or the passageway to a fiery lake.
The halls were the most beautiful and interesting instrument the universe has even known.
"It's the harmonica of the gods!"
Perhaps one of them
dropped it.
Perhaps it was a flaw in design.
Perhaps it was meant to be silent and with one teensy miscalculation, an entire orchestra of notes were born by the wind.
Perhaps it is telling me to tell you that you should look not towards all that makes you perfect, but the imperfections because that is where true beauty rests.
And you are so beautiful. The kind of beauty that doesn't know it's own beauty. Like when you are sleeping, and the moon washes over your face. I like when you are sleeping, for you are so beautiful, yet so unaware.
Feb 23, 2021
Feb 23, 2021 at 9:45 PM UTC
in the year 2462 those with nails protruding from their palms
will talk in ancient tongues
& sway the tribes of men to eternal love,
& endless ammunition
of the soul.
spiritus.
kin, galactic
& the golden fire.
throb the saga of man,
into hip ****** illusions and combustive color schematas.
we bury our dead in flower clippings
or skull bits.
[skateboarding rises as the highest form of intellectual sport]
thrum and plum-bum the sewers of electric babylon.
hive city reaching past gasp and wasteland,
her lips ruinous.
cement slabs and coils of fault with
vast artistic possibilities.
these skate-lords from their heaps, their clans, augmenting
& rattling bone masks
grinding themselves into meat-bit heroics
& death.
their teeth are yellowy awoken.
this is all seen globally,
via tele-cast-com-core-mind-warp-tech.
or video.
dreams impact reality
impact dreams
in such
that the cathode cortex filter, invented circa 2222,
evolves into a demi-god, a solar charged demon of unlimited knowledge.
& it mutates the psychosphere of our mainstream public mind
with countless projected memories.
[streamed alternate realities]
fills the belly and the brain,
but all those unhooked are skating.
sweet meat market.
ghost harddrives.
poor leftovers called children of the once-was-men
& their poolside parties.
they leap the rubble of centuries old plastic icons,
their boards, their weapons, their seeds and spit.
they hang chains from their necks
& spew black flame from their sunshaded boot-click
lickings.
they drink from large bottlesof elixer distilled
on old flowers
& worship archaic cassettes.
cults of cyborg women with gem-tipped-blade-additions
carve wooden planks from
groves of great oaks.
great oaken powers.
their creators chew gummies and bend time
to uphold
a proposed history of perfection.
they master pong from their crystalline towers,
& hire mathematicians to write
conceptual skate-deck algorithms,
solely for fun.
non-profit.
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 5:49 AM UTC
On a summer morning,
Monkey had awoken early,
His eyes all sleepy,
And his hair wildly curly.
Swoosh,
He opened the door,
He had to use his mouth,
Because his tail was way too sore.
Slam,
Monkey shut the door behind him,
His friend Panda,
Was called hungry, hungry Jim.
Monkey was off to work,
His tail dragging on the floor,
He was sure to be back in time,
To feed his family of four.
Although monkey was guilty,
He missed work twice,
Monkey was confidently sure,
His boss would be all nice.
Monkey had walked to the glass,
It said no dogs allowed,
For sure he was a monkey,
He walked in and proudly bowed.
His boss said he had to leave,
For he was not a monkey,
But monkey had explained,
He was very chunky.
The boss escorted his out,
Angry as could be,
For sure he was a monkey,
Can’t his work boss see?
He decided to go food shopping,
At the nearest grocery store,
He wanted to get home quickly,
So his family wouldn’t be that poor.
Monkey walked to the grocery store,
His feet were aching,
It was 10 miles away,
This was a big risk that he was taking.
Monkey got there very fast,
Quick as in running,
It said only monkeys allowed,
Wow that sign was stunning!
Monkey had barged in,
All the monkeys were looking at him,
He was told to get out,
So then he visited his old friend,
Hungry, hungry Jim.
When monkey had arrived,
Jim had told him he was a dog,
So Monkey left ashamed,
In the new deep fog.
Monkey had decided to go home,
And Comfort his 3 young ones,
He’d see his wife,
Oh, he loved them all a ton.
Hungry, Hungry Jim smiled,
As if he was really, really bad,
He decided not to eat him today,
He saw him so sad.
Monkey’s house
Was just around the corner,
It was a pretty color white,
But most of the time,
There was not much light.
He had opened his house door,
So lonely and ashamed,
He was a monkey,
He had claimed.
Monkey flickered on the light,
Nobody was there,
His wife and kids left him a note,
“You are a dog, we could not bear”.
Monkey was so depressed now,
He walked to hungry, hungry Jim’s house
He had tiptoed in,
And was as quiet as a mouse.
Jim had caught him,
And asked why he was not home,
Monkey had explained,
His house is just a comb.
Monkey said his family had left him,
Because he was a dog,
They think I don’t belong,
And am just a plain old hog.
All of a sudden,
The panda ate him whole,
And the only thing that was left,
Was his sad little soul.
Feb 18, 2013
Feb 18, 2013 at 1:16 PM UTC
You were born on a cusp.
friends on the other side
couldn't decide,
Scorpio or Libra.
You yourself,
as constant as the tides.
A tenth sign ram
was blessed to cross
your lovely path
and the ram learned:
Short curly hair
pinned back reveal
asiatic eyes.
As you pass by and by
Time and time hearts race
Chicken salad sandwich,
its moist mayonnaise
is never as delicious
without a pickle.
Grubhub.
No, Scrubhub.
Too content to leave the room.
Yummy Rummy,
food in our tummy.
forever.
Broth, cheese and wine.
Mushrooms and time.
If ever I tasted love,
it was shared with me,
in a recipe.
Sound opinion in scores.
Royal, like the Tenenbaums.
Bill Murray fantastic.
Pink Moon over and over and over.
Divide that by nine.
And now I know,
almost as well as you,
how good Goodfellas is,
even after the tenth time.
Early morning awakenings or
snooze again and again and again.
Paralyzed in a dream or
awoken with a scream,
we tried a routine:
Once parts of a team,
a memory faster than it seemed.
Ran for miles.
A boy and girl in the hall,
amongst the boys and girls
in the hall.
Digital regulars in ecstasy.
Wake next to you a daydreamer.
So, when life gets hard,
and you're feeling down,
don't be so glum,
ignore your doubts,
don't feel left out,
I'll be there for you,
when you need me to.
Nov 6, 2012
Nov 6, 2012 at 5:48 PM UTC
Today's world is not as it seems,
Cancer now comes in packs of twenty
And our idea of food is a burger with twenty-percent meat,
And NO-ONE cares or thinks for themself
Ones worth is measured only in wealth
The children are hungry,
Our veterans ignored
Hunger for money and lust for oil brought us war,
Ukraine in "crisis" and MH370 missing,
The C.I.A. funded Isis we just won't believe it,
So put down the phone and open your eyes,
Realize
Real Eyes
Real Lies
It shouldn't take a genius to see this
So I will not forgive,
I'll NEVER forget,
about 9/11 or Israel's daily blank check
Because we fund their wars with Gaza and more
We bomb the Mosques,hospitals and more
We've been deceived,shammed,tricked and lied to,
So ask yourself,who am I?
Who are you?
We're the awoken ones with SO much left to do
Open your eyes and simply wake
Wake the **** up for our children's sake
Sometimes I just think about things,
What will our children's future bring?
Will there be one at all or won't it exist?
Open your eyes
Realize
And think about it
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 6:32 PM UTC
I was awoken from a dreamless sleep
By a boy with short brown hair,
Who, with an urgent stare,
Told me to head to the showers!
As my eyes creaked open to recognize,
The orange glow of this unfamiliar room’s lighting,
In front of me, in handwritten writing,
A page on the wall showed three in the morning.
When I glanced around a room of shared bunks,
I saw all sorts of people and things,
Running around with things to bring
To these showers I had yet to see.
In a winding line down a high ceiling’d hall,
I stood with so many,
Who like me, hadn’t any
Idea what was going on.
With a whirlwind flurry of commotion
Steam crawled from the showers and water sprayed,
As we were told in a big disarray,
To wash off the place from whence we came.
In a neat little stack, I was handed my clothes
A tunic, with a sash
And a captivating mask
To “celebrate our exciting return home.”
Down dark rustic stairways, I watched like a child
The vibrant light and affinity,
Radiating with enchanting divinity,
From the otherworldly people and creatures below.
Through that noisy, jolly crowd,
We were led as a group
And the boy said with a whoop
That we were all to stand up and dance.
His eyes glinting with excitement,
The brown haired boy explained
That our spirits would be ordained
Through a celebration of our inner light.
Onto the stage I was led
As I stood with my class,
Nervous amongst the mass
Of silent, numerous spirits before us.
As the boy hit the music
I felt something from deep inside
Rush out like a tide
And through tears of joy, I danced.
It was at that gleeful moment
That my friends and I,
Realizing we'd died,
Knew we'd returned to the forest.
Sep 24, 2018
Sep 24, 2018 at 10:59 AM UTC
A cold October morning,
Treated just like the rest,
The boy awoke nauseous,
With a pain in his chest.
A longing for something,
Far out of his reach,
He settled for darkness,
Brushed red in between.
The pain became pale,
followed next by his skin,
Respiring so slowly,
The lights going dim.
Adrift into nothing,
What feels like a dream,
Is death coming slowly,
A dying brain's final feed.
"Is this what it feels like to be dead, I think I like this feeling"
Awoken abruptly,
Surrounded by fear,
Who are all these people,
and how'd he get here.
Looking up from his back,
A tear falls from her eye,
"Relieved" does her no justice,
For not having to say...
Goodbye..
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 5:00 PM UTC
I am awoken by the rain.
The sound of it drumming against my window
And water hitting water as it splashes into puddles.
As my senses awake, I recognize the fuzzy feeling in my mouth;
Time to brush my teeth.
I get ready for the day and head outside
Where it is still raining.
I close my eyes as I step beneath the clouds.
I feel the coolness of water droplets land on my sleepy, warm skin
I take a deep breath and let the scent of everything fill my nose.
The lilacs and tulips in the yard
Mixed with the soft smell of dirt and the grass
And the air and the rain
That cool, refreshing smell
Like starting over.
Then I open my eyes
The clouds I see
Are a bittersweet gray
The same shade of his eyes at dusk.
The grass is the deepest shade of green I've ever seen it
Being highlighted by the dark light from the sky
It all was beautiful.
I take another look
And another deep breath
And head off for the day.
Aug 16, 2011
Aug 16, 2011 at 1:40 AM UTC
On a summer morning,
Monkey had awoken early,
His eyes all sleepy,
And his hair wildly curly.
Swoosh,
He opened the door,
He had to use his mouth,
Because his tail was way too sore.
Slam,
Monkey shut the door behind him,
His friend Panda,
Was called hungry, hungry Jim.
Monkey was off to work,
His tail dragging on the floor,
He was sure to be back in time,
To feed his family of four.
Although monkey was guilty,
He missed work twice,
Monkey was confidently sure,
His boss would be all nice.
Monkey had walked to the glass,
It said no dogs allowed,
For sure he was a monkey,
He walked in and proudly bowed.
His boss said he had to leave,
For he was not a monkey,
But monkey had explained,
He was very chunky.
The boss escorted his out,
Angry as could be,
For sure he was a monkey,
Can’t his work boss see?
He decided to go food shopping,
At the nearest grocery store,
He wanted to get home quickly,
So his family wouldn’t be that poor.
Monkey walked to the grocery store,
His feet were aching,
It was 10 miles away,
This was a big risk that he was taking.
Monkey got there very fast,
Quick as in running,
It said only monkeys allowed,
Wow that sign was stunning!
Monkey had barged in,
All the monkeys were looking at him,
He was told to get out,
So then he visited his old friend,
Hungry, hungry Jim.
When monkey had arrived,
Jim had told him he was a dog,
So Monkey left ashamed,
In the new deep fog.
Monkey had decided to go home,
And Comfort his 3 young ones,
He’d see his wife,
Oh, he loved them all a ton.
Hungry, Hungry Jim smiled,
As if he was really, really bad,
He decided not to eat him today,
He saw him so sad.
Monkey’s house
Was just around the corner,
It was a pretty color white,
But most of the time,
There was not much light.
He had opened his house door,
So lonely and ashamed,
He was a monkey,
He had claimed.
Monkey flickered on the light,
Nobody was there,
His wife and kids left him a note,
“You are a dog, we could not bear”.
Monkey was so depressed now,
He walked to hungry, hungry Jim’s house
He had tiptoed in,
And was as quiet as a mouse.
Jim had caught him,
And asked why he was not home,
Monkey had explained,
His house is just a comb.
Monkey said his family had left him,
Because he was a dog,
They think I don’t belong,
And am just a plain old hog.
All of a sudden,
The panda ate him whole,
And the only thing that was left,
Was his sad little soul.
Mar 16, 2013
Mar 16, 2013 at 2:51 PM UTC
A funeral for a Great King
Mourning
Ageing
Descendants carve their paths
Glory
Heorot
A Demonic mood-killer
Lonely
Grendel
A hero answers the call
Distant
Majestic
A vow of aid
Impressive
Doubtful
Claims become realized
Death
Celebration
Danger revisits
Vengeance
Maternal
A journey to the marsh
Darkness
Fiends
An underwater duel
Headless
Reward
The hero departs
Sadness
Homecoming
A joyous return
Stories
Changes
A death in the family
Sadness
Inheritance
50 years prospers the Hero-King
Greatness
Theft
A beast is awoken
Ancient
Furious
The people suffer
Dust
Ashes
An old king rebels
Victory
Grief
A funeral for a Great King
Jan 4, 2013
Jan 4, 2013 at 10:54 AM UTC