"axel" poems - Hello Poetry

"axel" poems

Amid the verbose magicians Seeking kinships And sailing deep into their arduous mists Watching them peddle their afternoon To a handful of smiling children holding their breath Amazed in gentle body trick The older men of age Leaning deep into their creased chins Stroking the grizzled fat Blinding light of soul Staring down the barrel of life Striking the enemy one last time And yet smiling sober, Met of match, taking care of their kids. Then there's the cold-clocked dudes On the phone pushing buttons In a button-up raglan Lost indistinct the promised land The golden shores swept away by inconvenient time Left shopping in an auto mall "Won't you look at the time?" 7.07 APR Boy what a steal! And Steve maddened and screamed As the lines blurred instinctual between opposing teams And the oven dinged a great alabaster slant Leaning towards the new millenitants Rise up! ***** the wheel Turn the axel from pistons To alkaline metal And doubt with great monumental Quality That the machine borders all And we cannot retreat And while I sift bouyantly between the waves Searching the puzzle piece within the molecules Reconnecting with the things And representing dreams on a 66 hertz screen I call rather failing Towards a black rocked shore Towards the sweet Dorigen Of my dreams Finding an integral of time And space And calculating the intangible slope Of my desmise With the imaginary constiutent Of that lighted mind.

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Jul 30, 2018

Jul 30, 2018 at 4:24 PM UTC

Where are my shores

Amid the verbose magicians Seeking kinships And sailing deep into their arduous mists Watching them peddle their afternoon To a handful of smiling children holding their breath Amazed in gentle body trick The older men of age Leaning deep into their creased chins Stroking the grizzled fat Blinding light of soul Staring down the barrel of life Striking the enemy one last time And yet smiling sober, Met of match, taking care of their kids. Then there's the cold-clocked dudes On the phone pushing buttons In a button-up raglan Lost indistinct the promised land The golden shores swept away by inconvenient time Left shopping in an auto mall "Won't you look at the time?" 7.07 APR Boy what a steal! And Steve maddened and screamed As the lines blurred instinctual between opposing teams And the oven dinged a great alabaster slant Leaning towards the new millenitants Rise up! ***** the wheel Turn the axel from pistons To alkaline metal And doubt with great monumental Quality That the machine borders all And we cannot retreat And while I sift bouyantly between the waves Searching the puzzle piece within the molecules Reconnecting with the things And representing dreams on a 66 hertz screen I call rather failing Towards a black rocked shore Towards the sweet Dorigen Of my dreams Finding an integral of time And space And calculating the intangible slope Of my desmise With the imaginary constiutent Of that lighted mind.

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”good night, good travels, pitch black” depending on how one counts, cause size matters, do have I one small blessing though little do I get, more-less, in each twenty four measuring cup, when the sleep gas has come-for-inhaling, lidded heavy with greatful/tearful anticipation, it’s less than sixty seconds till dispatched to where all poems plead like unborn angels for good parentage the spoken good night ritual signaled and completed with a perfect half turn skating axel onto ones side, preceded by, a single solid smacking of an innocent but flaccid, equally tired pillow, then lost in pitch black galaxy travels with other sleep-drunk little princes instead of the wavering, singular word, a traditional goodnight, a parting and a haling simultaneous mumbling issuing, undebated and a wish shot to all within dream-shot, a title, “good travels” to places where ferment the aging words under the winemakers watchful caring eyes opening, names or titles, same difference, for the newborn babes

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Apr 29, 2018

Apr 29, 2018 at 11:31 AM UTC

pitch-black-god-8

good night, good travels, pitch black

”good night, good travels, pitch black” depending on how one counts, cause size matters, do have I one small blessing though little do I get, more-less, in each twenty four measuring cup, when the sleep gas has come-for-inhaling, lidded heavy with greatful/tearful anticipation, it’s less than sixty seconds till dispatched to where all poems plead like unborn angels for good parentage the spoken good night ritual signaled and completed with a perfect half turn skating axel onto ones side, preceded by, a single solid smacking of an innocent but flaccid, equally tired pillow, then lost in pitch black galaxy travels with other sleep-drunk little princes instead of the wavering, singular word, a traditional goodnight, a parting and a haling simultaneous mumbling issuing, undebated and a wish shot to all within dream-shot, a title, “good travels” to places where ferment the aging words under the winemakers watchful caring eyes opening, names or titles, same difference, for the newborn babes

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What does it mean to be a Modern Man? In the way in the Renaissance you were a Renaissance Man? Knowing all there is to understand, and learning all the skills you’ll need with your hands. Fluent in English, American, and Ebonics. Part IT Guy to fix everyone’s electronics. Part Guru to share your health advice. Part Farmer because who can trust anything, you buy in the stores these days. Part Eagle Scout so you can impress everyone, because you “still get out to the woods once in a while.” Part Mechanic to work on your fuel efficient car, and your wife’s giant dual-axel turbo diesel truck. Part Biker, because Man was born to be free. Part Hippie, because EVERYONE WAS BORN TO BE FREE. Part Hill Billy because they’re doin’ it right. Part Libertarian, part Socialist, part Anarchist. Part Patriot, part Activist, part Terrorist. Part whatever the **** I want because I don’t give a **** Part of a government watch list. Part of a Humanitarian Project. Part of a Rebellion, Part of a Revolution, yet to come. Part of you, because our conscience, is the same. Part of the whole, because it is impossible not to be. Part of god, because by now you’ve realized, it is you, and there’s no turning back.

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Aug 2, 2013

Aug 2, 2013 at 1:04 AM UTC

What does it mean to be a Modern Man? In the way in the Renaissance you were a Renaissance Man? Knowing all there is to understand, and learning all the skills you’ll need with your hands. Fluent in English, American, and Ebonics. Part IT Guy to fix everyone’s electronics. Part Guru to share your health advice. Part Farmer because who can trust anything, you buy in the stores these days. Part Eagle Scout so you can impress everyone, because you “still get out to the woods once in a while.” Part Mechanic to work on your fuel efficient car, and your wife’s giant dual-axel turbo diesel truck. Part Biker, because Man was born to be free. Part Hippie, because EVERYONE WAS BORN TO BE FREE. Part Hill Billy because they’re doin’ it right. Part Libertarian, part Socialist, part Anarchist. Part Patriot, part Activist, part Terrorist. Part whatever the **** I want because I don’t give a **** Part of a government watch list. Part of a Humanitarian Project. Part of a Rebellion, Part of a Revolution, yet to come. Part of you, because our conscience, is the same. Part of the whole, because it is impossible not to be. Part of god, because by now you’ve realized, it is you, and there’s no turning back.

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it is difficult to write in a hammock not to find the words the words are children hiding desperate to be sought fickle wind jostles ecstatic chimes traffic sounds like the ocean if you listen and that smell fresh rain, grass a barbecue ignited this hammock holds my heart it is my lotus supporting me so that I may be in the world, yet not of it floating higher and higher— glimpse her now before she is but a speck in the sky swaying, yet somehow perfectly still tress rustle leaves spackling the air, don't miss a spot fill in the cracks a raindrop kisses my lip Welcome Home I've Missed You if it weren't for the chill in my back I'd stay here forever no one wants the hammock on this dreary afternoon— lavender ice clouds carved out with silver streaks, axel lift you see, hammocks are not just for sunny days in fact, you won't learn a **** thing from a hammock on a sunny day their secrets aren't safe in the sun

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Jan 20, 2012

Jan 20, 2012 at 12:25 AM UTC

it is difficult to write in a hammock not to find the words the words are children hiding desperate to be sought fickle wind jostles ecstatic chimes traffic sounds like the ocean if you listen and that smell fresh rain, grass a barbecue ignited this hammock holds my heart it is my lotus supporting me so that I may be in the world, yet not of it floating higher and higher— glimpse her now before she is but a speck in the sky swaying, yet somehow perfectly still tress rustle leaves spackling the air, don't miss a spot fill in the cracks a raindrop kisses my lip Welcome Home I've Missed You if it weren't for the chill in my back I'd stay here forever no one wants the hammock on this dreary afternoon— lavender ice clouds carved out with silver streaks, axel lift you see, hammocks are not just for sunny days in fact, you won't learn a **** thing from a hammock on a sunny day their secrets aren't safe in the sun

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Axel, who never had a rocking horse, once rode a bright blue tricycle. He called it his ‘Athenian Rhapsody’. He loved to play the tuba in bed, and when he was feeling particularly happy, would sit on the loo in the outside shed, pants around his ankles oompa-pa’ing till the cows came home. That was quite a while ago; the tuba and the tricycle have gone, yet he can still hear the triangle sound the bell made on his tricycle, and still remembers the scraping of the old keys on the ancient tuba. Axel listens to old sounds very well (all the time): he loves Bach, Mendelssohn and Donovan. He loves to eat crumpets with honey and drink a large white mug of milky tea; it reminds him of summer fishing trips to Lake Eucumbine, mushrooms and gnats in the full-sun morning air, (he loves to talk fishing when he’s playing chess with Carl the orderly, often quoting from his favourite magazine, ‘Modern Fly Fishing’). Axel was once an expert at fly fishing; tying the ‘super moonshadow’ to perfection (he named the fly after what he thought was a Donovan song, written by Cat Stevens). When the hospital staff remember to buy him a new box, Axel loves to drink Lady Grey tea made from tea bags, he prefers tea bags, he feels that somehow they bring clearer definition to tea making. Axel thinks a lot about definition, noting how the edges of his bed are very clearly defined by the clean-blue hospital blankets that drop suddenly to the ocean of the grey linoleum floor. He likes the smell of cleanblue, it’s somehow a new sea to sail and sometimes the feel of his favourite jumper when he was a boy: a definite edge of beginning and end. He knows that soon he’ll cross the floor-grey ocean, sailing under a white sheet. But this is not a thing Axel dwells on for very long, he prefers to think of such things as his next chess move and flirting with Miriam the night nurse. — Axel has just beaten Carl in a game of chess. He’s said goodnight to Miriam, a long quiet goodnight, a good long, good night. He won’t wake again, he senses this – and is peaceful. When his last breath comes he hears; a faint scraping sound and a single precious note from a triangle bell on a bright blue tricycle. They’re good sounds. They are old sounds. They bring him…

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Sep 11, 2014

Sep 11, 2014 at 8:10 AM UTC

Axel, who never had a rocking horse, once rode a bright blue tricycle. He called it his ‘Athenian Rhapsody’. He loved to play the tuba in bed, and when he was feeling particularly happy, would sit on the loo in the outside shed, pants around his ankles oompa-pa’ing till the cows came home. That was quite a while ago; the tuba and the tricycle have gone, yet he can still hear the triangle sound the bell made on his tricycle, and still remembers the scraping of the old keys on the ancient tuba. Axel listens to old sounds very well (all the time): he loves Bach, Mendelssohn and Donovan. He loves to eat crumpets with honey and drink a large white mug of milky tea; it reminds him of summer fishing trips to Lake Eucumbine, mushrooms and gnats in the full-sun morning air, (he loves to talk fishing when he’s playing chess with Carl the orderly, often quoting from his favourite magazine, ‘Modern Fly Fishing’). Axel was once an expert at fly fishing; tying the ‘super moonshadow’ to perfection (he named the fly after what he thought was a Donovan song, written by Cat Stevens). When the hospital staff remember to buy him a new box, Axel loves to drink Lady Grey tea made from tea bags, he prefers tea bags, he feels that somehow they bring clearer definition to tea making. Axel thinks a lot about definition, noting how the edges of his bed are very clearly defined by the clean-blue hospital blankets that drop suddenly to the ocean of the grey linoleum floor. He likes the smell of cleanblue, it’s somehow a new sea to sail and sometimes the feel of his favourite jumper when he was a boy: a definite edge of beginning and end. He knows that soon he’ll cross the floor-grey ocean, sailing under a white sheet. But this is not a thing Axel dwells on for very long, he prefers to think of such things as his next chess move and flirting with Miriam the night nurse. — Axel has just beaten Carl in a game of chess. He’s said goodnight to Miriam, a long quiet goodnight, a good long, good night. He won’t wake again, he senses this – and is peaceful. When his last breath comes he hears; a faint scraping sound and a single precious note from a triangle bell on a bright blue tricycle. They’re good sounds. They are old sounds. They bring him…

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Tourists touring temples taking #selfies, body’s there but souls not, like Techno Ghosts back from the future, not here to save the world just here to take a few shots, but my body is my only temple, and true enlightenment comes from the absence of Self, so selfies seem silly to me, in the same way as trying to wear pants 2 sizes to big without a belt, or I guess a better analogy would be, trying to wear a heavy belt without a buckle, and that thought’s deep better yet heavy, like Axel Rose those thoughts are heavy metal, which makes sense especially if you’re an alchemist, and believe what the Kyballion says about how everything’s metal, yeah that’s heavy, heavy as Heavy Metal rock, being played by the US Army, in Baghdad with the volume all the way up, all the while spraying heavy metals, in order to weigh down moral, but what does any of this have to do with #selfies you ask, well listen and I’ll tell you, narcissist egos created this mess, force used to push an agenda, because when we’re too focused on our “selfs”, we lose sight of the big picture, like taking #selfies at temples, and not seeing the beauty around you, like drowning out the sounds of nature, with the playlist on your iTunes, it’s all kinda ironic isn’t it, it’s tough having morals when complicit in any empire, so I try and escape to exotic landscapes, like Malagasy rainforests or Tibetan Temples, but when I get there I find, to my disappointing surprise, a bunch of tourists on their phones, only remotely living their lives… ∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆

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Nov 28, 2017

Nov 28, 2017 at 4:03 AM UTC

∆ Selfie Absorbed ∆

Tourists touring temples taking #selfies, body’s there but souls not, like Techno Ghosts back from the future, not here to save the world just here to take a few shots, but my body is my only temple, and true enlightenment comes from the absence of Self, so selfies seem silly to me, in the same way as trying to wear pants 2 sizes to big without a belt, or I guess a better analogy would be, trying to wear a heavy belt without a buckle, and that thought’s deep better yet heavy, like Axel Rose those thoughts are heavy metal, which makes sense especially if you’re an alchemist, and believe what the Kyballion says about how everything’s metal, yeah that’s heavy, heavy as Heavy Metal rock, being played by the US Army, in Baghdad with the volume all the way up, all the while spraying heavy metals, in order to weigh down moral, but what does any of this have to do with #selfies you ask, well listen and I’ll tell you, narcissist egos created this mess, force used to push an agenda, because when we’re too focused on our “selfs”, we lose sight of the big picture, like taking #selfies at temples, and not seeing the beauty around you, like drowning out the sounds of nature, with the playlist on your iTunes, it’s all kinda ironic isn’t it, it’s tough having morals when complicit in any empire, so I try and escape to exotic landscapes, like Malagasy rainforests or Tibetan Temples, but when I get there I find, to my disappointing surprise, a bunch of tourists on their phones, only remotely living their lives… ∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆

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My summer sweats bloom from a grass rag, Scratch another hardly blasting out a calibrate, Can I break, strap out hacker doozy bluemoors, Caught from an out sound, an out frowned Blackening the coffin sweet cough lubricate, Shackle high tops on pipe dream loft shakers, Clover feelers, four hitter on lucky seven collar, Depth sin protector, **** I ain't wrath looter, Nor do poppa sizes on some puke lips locker, Key switch for gates hellish donor, back loner, Course you see, I seek seep suckled ***** Not some subtle soul (gap in skirt) poker, Forever reaching lines, bust knuckle lifters, Cracked rage like Nile is flooding wealths curlers, Jewel duplicate for ruby cuts on roofless lust, Symbolise another and I'll grabble force an honour, Sober up soppy crotch rummage coper, Scan cell prison ament Scholar's "repent!" Mace battle X axel swop blunt round passel, Cost more on pepper rubber rock relation, Patient prep operation, cramp dilation, Dial engage **** sudden blocked injection. Cast nocturnals ominous above monuments, Men fall like weak's race for joy's division, Attend pro's vision, pure as skies probations, Pack pampers protection tracks premonition, Flat lines before lap times, clenching half rhymes, Hop hotter than blues croft in dusks knots,

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Feb 26, 2014

Feb 26, 2014 at 2:21 PM UTC

My summer sweats bloom from a grass rag, Scratch another hardly blasting out a calibrate, Can I break, strap out hacker doozy bluemoors, Caught from an out sound, an out frowned Blackening the coffin sweet cough lubricate, Shackle high tops on pipe dream loft shakers, Clover feelers, four hitter on lucky seven collar, Depth sin protector, **** I ain't wrath looter, Nor do poppa sizes on some puke lips locker, Key switch for gates hellish donor, back loner, Course you see, I seek seep suckled ***** Not some subtle soul (gap in skirt) poker, Forever reaching lines, bust knuckle lifters, Cracked rage like Nile is flooding wealths curlers, Jewel duplicate for ruby cuts on roofless lust, Symbolise another and I'll grabble force an honour, Sober up soppy crotch rummage coper, Scan cell prison ament Scholar's "repent!" Mace battle X axel swop blunt round passel, Cost more on pepper rubber rock relation, Patient prep operation, cramp dilation, Dial engage **** sudden blocked injection. Cast nocturnals ominous above monuments, Men fall like weak's race for joy's division, Attend pro's vision, pure as skies probations, Pack pampers protection tracks premonition, Flat lines before lap times, clenching half rhymes, Hop hotter than blues croft in dusks knots,

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a Norwegian fjord did cut their axel's hairpin in the row of tundra that Lapland was their arcane balloon on Aegean shore if Barents Sea burgeoned dialect herd yelp in Mike Pence with accord.

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Feb 16, 2018

Feb 16, 2018 at 10:22 AM UTC

This Christiania

a Norwegian fjord did cut their axel's hairpin in the row of tundra that Lapland was their arcane balloon on Aegean shore if Barents Sea burgeoned dialect herd yelp in Mike Pence with accord.

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Winter snow solstic shows us when cold slows bones to ice stones and muscles chilled, while blood thickens blurry vision from frozen retnas tissue senseless cause our sences suspend us from the inevatable light tunnel the funnel, the big sun dail exiled, buried deep in a snow pile is the there a another ice age, awaiting back stage? Ready to turn the page to a beautiful new fase of this planet, our only lfe cage Osilating axel, balanced in the void of a spiraling dust cloud of penatrating noise Beings adapted to stellar propeller through the dimentional divide, alone in this realm we hide so close to cold and certain death our sun gives us life for the oxygen of our breathe

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Dec 17, 2011

Dec 17, 2011 at 12:23 PM UTC

jeffrey-p-mothersill

Winter snow solstic shows us when cold slows bones to ice stones and muscles chilled, while blood thickens blurry vision from frozen retnas tissue senseless cause our sences suspend us from the inevatable light tunnel the funnel, the big sun dail exiled, buried deep in a snow pile is the there a another ice age, awaiting back stage? Ready to turn the page to a beautiful new fase of this planet, our only lfe cage Osilating axel, balanced in the void of a spiraling dust cloud of penatrating noise Beings adapted to stellar propeller through the dimentional divide, alone in this realm we hide so close to cold and certain death our sun gives us life for the oxygen of our breathe

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Two weeks ago I met the most perfect boy. I decided to shoot my shot, and I made my ball in. Im not ready to truly say I love him, but I already know I do. I know because his cologne lingers in my hair, I know because I can ask him anything without feeling ashamed. I know because I don't even feel jealous. From the day that I saw him, I knew we had a connection. From the day that I saw him, I knew something had begun.

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Jan 28, 2025

Jan 28, 2025 at 12:39 AM UTC

Two weeks ago I met the most perfect boy. I decided to shoot my shot, and I made my ball in. Im not ready to truly say I love him, but I already know I do. I know because his cologne lingers in my hair, I know because I can ask him anything without feeling ashamed. I know because I don't even feel jealous. From the day that I saw him, I knew we had a connection. From the day that I saw him, I knew something had begun.

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Dear Aurora, I still remember the first time we met, In black and red You were gorgeous (And you still are) You were full of surprise And the only precious piece my soul recognized; Unknowingly Your sight soothed my eyes, As crazy as it'll sound I was beginning to think that you were some enchantress in disguise; And now after a lot of difficulties We got together Just know if you're by my side Nothing else would matter; Even how much annoying your pranks are And how much bad your cooking gets, You'll always be the Aurora, the miraculous light to my darkness forever....... Yours Only Axel

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Jan 19, 2020

Jan 19, 2020 at 12:21 AM UTC

Dear Aurora, I still remember the first time we met, In black and red You were gorgeous (And you still are) You were full of surprise And the only precious piece my soul recognized; Unknowingly Your sight soothed my eyes, As crazy as it'll sound I was beginning to think that you were some enchantress in disguise; And now after a lot of difficulties We got together Just know if you're by my side Nothing else would matter; Even how much annoying your pranks are And how much bad your cooking gets, You'll always be the Aurora, the miraculous light to my darkness forever....... Yours Only Axel

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Picture a Rubix Cube. Boxes fixed on an axel Colored stickers plastered on each one. If you are missing a piece, The whole cube will fall apart. The Cube will collapse. Did you know? In your mind, I bet the cube Was shaped in a perfect box. Symmetrical sides, 90 degree angels. Maybe the colors in order, maybe not. Either way, all parts in tact. Picture a Rubix Cube. Each box apart of me, All Connected, with near infinite combinations. Every side says something. What can I show you next... Is all in clarifying the question. Why don't you just ask? I am a Rubix Cube And you will never solve me. If you want to try All you need to do is ask. Just ask for the answer key!

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Nov 14, 2018

Nov 14, 2018 at 10:16 PM UTC

Picture a Rubix Cube. Boxes fixed on an axel Colored stickers plastered on each one. If you are missing a piece, The whole cube will fall apart. The Cube will collapse. Did you know? In your mind, I bet the cube Was shaped in a perfect box. Symmetrical sides, 90 degree angels. Maybe the colors in order, maybe not. Either way, all parts in tact. Picture a Rubix Cube. Each box apart of me, All Connected, with near infinite combinations. Every side says something. What can I show you next... Is all in clarifying the question. Why don't you just ask? I am a Rubix Cube And you will never solve me. If you want to try All you need to do is ask. Just ask for the answer key!

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I haven't fallen off the wagon, But its been dragging me behind it. The rope from which I am attached, Is fixated like a noose around my neck. And the thought of being happy and fully on that wagon once again, is killing me. But hopefully I can make it a slow death, So I can enjoy the ride.

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Dec 13, 2016

Dec 13, 2016 at 2:05 AM UTC

I haven't fallen off the wagon, But its been dragging me behind it. The rope from which I am attached, Is fixated like a noose around my neck. And the thought of being happy and fully on that wagon once again, is killing me. But hopefully I can make it a slow death, So I can enjoy the ride.

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a million goose eggs her first toe loop and axel suddenly a swan Logan Robertson 5/01/2019

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May 1, 2019

May 1, 2019 at 2:42 PM UTC

logan-robertson

suddenly a swan

a million goose eggs her first toe loop and axel suddenly a swan Logan Robertson 5/01/2019

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...time to loose... "This" time... upon your very own endangered world. an ice skater's triple axel...with no round of applause.

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Dec 8, 2013

Dec 8, 2013 at 2:48 AM UTC

Ice Skater's Triple Axel

...time to loose... "This" time... upon your very own endangered world. an ice skater's triple axel...with no round of applause.

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The music is playing. All eyes are on me. The arena is silent. My choreography is my enemy. I begin my prep, For something I’ve never done. The Axel The Axel It’s the only one. I shiver and I shudder. It is oh so cold. I really need to do this, To win the Olympic Gold My toe-pick hits the ice And makes a loud Chk. I go up and rotate, Then I come back down and stick. I did it! It was awesome! I take a pose. The crowd erupts. I froze. I looked up at the scoreboard. I looked at my coaches so bold. And I found out, That I had won the Olympic Gold.

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Feb 5, 2021

Feb 5, 2021 at 5:14 PM UTC

The Olympic Gold

The music is playing. All eyes are on me. The arena is silent. My choreography is my enemy. I begin my prep, For something I’ve never done. The Axel The Axel It’s the only one. I shiver and I shudder. It is oh so cold. I really need to do this, To win the Olympic Gold My toe-pick hits the ice And makes a loud Chk. I go up and rotate, Then I come back down and stick. I did it! It was awesome! I take a pose. The crowd erupts. I froze. I looked up at the scoreboard. I looked at my coaches so bold. And I found out, That I had won the Olympic Gold.

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spiked crimson flames of passion, deep pools of emerald green , a glistening smile of delicious delight, and fiery compulsion that never leaves the mind's eye. How sweet your wonderful forbidden love is, that you have kept it in so deep that you don't let others see how it pangs u to have undying tenderness for another. clasping deep into your kingdom heart.

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Feb 22, 2017

Feb 22, 2017 at 10:42 AM UTC

spiked crimson flames of passion, deep pools of emerald green , a glistening smile of delicious delight, and fiery compulsion that never leaves the mind's eye. How sweet your wonderful forbidden love is, that you have kept it in so deep that you don't let others see how it pangs u to have undying tenderness for another. clasping deep into your kingdom heart.

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"Tap on my window, knock on my door, I Want to make you feel beautiful I know I tend to get so insecure It doesn't matter anymore" you sang me these lyrics as the car slide ice skater triple axel fumbled landing the trees became massive bigger and bigger screams blurring my vision i didn't know i could make the noise of an animal in agony but he was silent like he had already gripped the reality of what was about to happen hurtling backwards now his eyes haven't moved from straight ahead like a trance had taken him away his spirit already gone the car didn't make it neither did he he spent years in the pouring rain just trying to make me feel beautiful and i did when he looked at me but i always belonged to someone else and before i could come knocking on his door in the pouring rain he was gone

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Jul 4, 2016

Jul 4, 2016 at 3:55 PM UTC

"Tap on my window, knock on my door, I Want to make you feel beautiful I know I tend to get so insecure It doesn't matter anymore" you sang me these lyrics as the car slide ice skater triple axel fumbled landing the trees became massive bigger and bigger screams blurring my vision i didn't know i could make the noise of an animal in agony but he was silent like he had already gripped the reality of what was about to happen hurtling backwards now his eyes haven't moved from straight ahead like a trance had taken him away his spirit already gone the car didn't make it neither did he he spent years in the pouring rain just trying to make me feel beautiful and i did when he looked at me but i always belonged to someone else and before i could come knocking on his door in the pouring rain he was gone

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hang futile objects and applaud the bursting of their vessels nod with approval their reddening eyes as life is drained and colour destroyed clear blue or jade now messed up and strained burst screaming out of the skull commend the death of things that we, the sitters of chariots the masters of dogs the burners of oil have no use for that we, who redesigned nature can not benefit from we, who for ourselves exist and conduct the orchestra of an axel´s turn

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Feb 17, 2019

Feb 17, 2019 at 6:16 PM UTC

hang futile objects

hang futile objects and applaud the bursting of their vessels nod with approval their reddening eyes as life is drained and colour destroyed clear blue or jade now messed up and strained burst screaming out of the skull commend the death of things that we, the sitters of chariots the masters of dogs the burners of oil have no use for that we, who redesigned nature can not benefit from we, who for ourselves exist and conduct the orchestra of an axel´s turn

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Tied to you by gravitational force Bound together soaring through outer space Your core the axel of my spinning course Your darkness brightened by my sunlit face Ever close by as we journey through time Yet out of my reach so I feel alone Your surface a vision ever sublime The life you hold makes my barren land groan Ever close, ever distant, never stilled My path keeps only half of me on view The face you see lit leaves another chilled Dark mysterious face hidden from you This part of me you shall not ever see And so you shall never have all of me I long to know your hidden mystery My deep blue oceans ever yearn for you Entwined we wrote all of our history And all the while this deep desire grew In perfect harmony we ever glide I will forever pull you in my love You stay away from me, we can’t collide Or else destroy all you see from above From there you see life, abundance and grace Closeness would reveal darker things unknown Distance protects me from shameful disgrace On my lands fear and foul hatred are grown To you I shall always appear unmarred You’ll only ever know my fake facade

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Apr 2, 2018

Apr 2, 2018 at 7:05 PM UTC

Tied to you by gravitational force Bound together soaring through outer space Your core the axel of my spinning course Your darkness brightened by my sunlit face Ever close by as we journey through time Yet out of my reach so I feel alone Your surface a vision ever sublime The life you hold makes my barren land groan Ever close, ever distant, never stilled My path keeps only half of me on view The face you see lit leaves another chilled Dark mysterious face hidden from you This part of me you shall not ever see And so you shall never have all of me I long to know your hidden mystery My deep blue oceans ever yearn for you Entwined we wrote all of our history And all the while this deep desire grew In perfect harmony we ever glide I will forever pull you in my love You stay away from me, we can’t collide Or else destroy all you see from above From there you see life, abundance and grace Closeness would reveal darker things unknown Distance protects me from shameful disgrace On my lands fear and foul hatred are grown To you I shall always appear unmarred You’ll only ever know my fake facade

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