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I have loved you in the coldest of snowstorms that winter has to offer,
Felt your warmth through the curve of your lips,
The music of soft fingertips. My body is your piano,
We write a different genre of music when we love.
There are warm rays of sunshine cast over our flesh
And the snow glistens with the light you shine in.
I’ve never felt safer, wrapped in the protection of your arms
During the loudest thunderstorm in the middle of spring;
When the skies are dark and grey, lightning shooting like swords
Against earth’s ceiling.
I’ve held your naked body against my own,
Drawing over the cliffs of your hip bones, the valley of your
Belly button and the mountain range of ribs,
The cage that protects your heart from the heat of the
Summer temperatures that I hold within me, your warm
Anatomy heating my body like the core of earth:
From the inside out.
I’ve ran my fingers through the sweet sweat resting over
Your back, like droplets of dew on a leaf in the early morning
Humidity of summer after a night of making love.
We watch the leaves change color ad stroll softly
To the ground in autumn.
The temperatures begin to drop and the branches are naked
And bare, like my skin in summer while we sleep.

I’ve loved you like the snow that grips the bark.
I am cold, but winter has always been your favorite.
Nathan Pival Aug 2015
I sold my soul
For a parking space
Mama told me not to
But I let it slip away

She died
Of the broken heart I gave her
Because I stopped calling
I stopped loving her

My love was for money
The quest to acquire
More
I live in a sea of amenities
Endless luxury and toys
But I don't know what fun is anymore

I climbed the stairs of success
Stepping on backs as I went
Leaving friends behind
Never looking back
I traded my best friend in
For a Lamborghini

Trophy wife
But I sleep with my secretary
Because she doesn't ask questions
Trophy children
But I've missed most of their birthdays
All they care about is money too
The shadow I cast shrouds their innocence
And one day
They will be me

I sold my soul for a parking space
Tina Marie Oct 2014
Death, sweet Death, beckons to me.
He is a lighthouse, warning most to avoid his realm
But He calls me by my name
He tells me to be dead is the greatest gift Life has to offer
And whispers of the secret joys of His hazy oblivion.

"Come my child and partake of my treasures," and
"Your troubles shall cease even as your spirit roams," are His entreaties.

At first His voice is as soft as the waves lapping at the shore
But as I ignore him his call becomes
louder
Louder
LOUDER
Than the squall of a maelstrom
Until He is all I hear

His voice dries up the Happiness fed by
Hope, who is a frightened dove.
And when Hope ceases to feed you in the morning and in the the evening, then
"Elijah, you are alone."

So

End Life to escape from Death.
Cast off your body and dwell with Him.
Death is the light in the lighthouse.
Choose that light
Choose darkness.
I wrote this way back in 97 or 98 for creative writing in high school. I had a lot of issues.
Lust For Life Vampire Love - Poem
(Part 1)

At dusk I heard a meadowlark
then saw you lurking in the dark.
I turned to dash and tried to flee
and failed to utter one last plea.

With piercing eyes you mesmerized
transfixed I lay there hypnotized
enraptured by the spell you cast
flashed images of life that passed.

You tasted blood and I outgrew
my need to live the life I knew.
As I lay limp my life force waned
while faint my heart the blood soon drained.

Confined to darkness of the night
I wander without feeling light.
You claim your thirst did justify
your lust for life was reason why

You took my life to be as one
then vanished like the setting sun.
I have no life and feel no pain
without a heart to love again.

What You Did Cannot Be Undone - Poem
(Part 2)

Alone I am now cursed to roam
What you did cannot be undone
I can not hope to have a home
or gaze upon the rising sun

You rashly chose to trade your life
for death not immortality
Still now I see your blood lust rife
as when you took the life from me

You say you cannot ever die
but fail to see you do not live
Your life through death is but a lie
That blinds you to the truth I give

Life is too short to care so much
for one that only hunts to ****
And though my heart you cannot touch
The memories may linger still

You thought that I should be as you
but I will not your folly make
to live your lie and think it true
so through my heart I drive a stake.
Elvis okumu Mar 2012
Why do I stay awake at night, though sleep sits there by my side and bacons to me. Why do I simply stay awake at night, when my bones ache from the wear and tear and only wish for a simple, silent sleep. Can I really tell you why, can I confide within you on this night, will you ears accept what I say, will you mind not fight the ideas I am about to put on display. No, no, no, don’t simply say yes, don’t nod your head because your neighbor does so. Don’t just be a simple sheep this lead by the nose, gripped by those ropes of social acceptance? Every day I hear, I hear the cries of wills thrown down, tossed away  simply because it is not cool enough to be yourself.  The grating sound of soo many mind cast down, dropped by the way side like some unknown unmentionable. Such that the body can mozy on down to join the herd. To be led to the slaughter. I hear them, screaming within their minds as they realize where they will end up. I hear them clawing and scratching to try to get away, to save themselves on this day. And yet it has become too late, for them to try and change their fate. This is the price, for that chance to cast those die. This is the price you, pay, to go on to play this game. No this is the price I see, but I cannot afford to pay.  Sometimes I wish I too could join, be led blissfully to my end, be easy and bend to the currents of the times. Look to see those who are outside me, to know what it is I am to do.

To be cool, heh, to be hip, hop, to let go of the purity of speech and include things my mother would be ashamed to hear me say. To let my clothing follow the will of those whose only goal is to take the cash from my wallet. To go and spend the fruit of my labor on things, to be hedonistic to give in to that mystic force of a fad. I wish to enter into that closed room of everyday drama, to be included in that desperate race to no goal, and to heartbreak. But then I see, the needless effort spent on things that don’t really mean anything. I find that my time and mind have far too much to do, far too much to accomplish in this life time. Of which I will only get one, then that is it, done, finished, banished into the void the great unknown. So I can’t you see, I have a place I need to be. No my friend, I cannot bend, for I have something to send. Oh my dear, I musn’t I fear, I am allergic to beer. Really I can’t, I simply can’t.
My excuses pile up, like a mountain top, I am unable to go out and scream and shout. Have fun as they say, drink my sorrows away. For I fear the heavy lash that comes after being smashed. I wonder is the pleasure so great that it stops the pain that comes after its wake.  Is the price of a lung, a brain, a heart worth it just to sit there and say that you are baked. I feel that the stakes are too high, the breaks too painful, the lake too hot for me to even take a simple step. So I remain on the shore, staring longingly.
Whole fully discontent with the lot I have lent myself to.  Then I walk back to my bed wrap my hands behind my head, and stay awake wondering why it could be. What I am missing what the sights I should see. And sleep becons to me. But me I cannot let it lead just yet. For my thoughts have no answers met.
Now when they came to the ford of the full-flowing river Xanthus,
begotten of immortal Jove, Achilles cut their forces in two: one
half he chased over the plain towards the city by the same way that
the Achaeans had taken when flying panic-stricken on the preceding day
with Hector in full triumph; this way did they fly pell-mell, and Juno
sent down a thick mist in front of them to stay them. The other half
were hemmed in by the deep silver-eddying stream, and fell into it
with a great uproar. The waters resounded, and the banks rang again,
as they swam hither and thither with loud cries amid the whirling
eddies. As locusts flying to a river before the blast of a grass fire-
the flame comes on and on till at last it overtakes them and they
huddle into the water—even so was the eddying stream of Xanthus
filled with the uproar of men and horses, all struggling in
confusion before Achilles.
  Forthwith the hero left his spear upon the bank, leaning it
against a tamarisk bush, and plunged into the river like a god,
armed with his sword only. Fell was his purpose as he hewed the
Trojans down on every side. Their dying groans rose hideous as the
sword smote them, and the river ran red with blood. As when fish fly
scared before a huge dolphin, and fill every nook and corner of some
fair haven—for he is sure to eat all he can catch—even so did the
Trojans cower under the banks of the mighty river, and when
Achilles’ arms grew weary with killing them, he drew twelve youths
alive out of the water, to sacrifice in revenge for Patroclus son of
Menoetius. He drew them out like dazed fawns, bound their hands behind
them with the girdles of their own shirts, and gave them over to his
men to take back to the ships. Then he sprang into the river,
thirsting for still further blood.
  There he found Lycaon, son of Priam seed of Dardanus, as he was
escaping out of the water; he it was whom he had once taken prisoner
when he was in his father’s vineyard, having set upon him by night, as
he was cutting young shoots from a wild fig-tree to make the wicker
sides of a chariot. Achilles then caught him to his sorrow unawares,
and sent him by sea to Lemnos, where the son of Jason bought him.
But a guest-friend, Eetion of Imbros, freed him with a great sum,
and sent him to Arisbe, whence he had escaped and returned to his
father’s house. He had spent eleven days happily with his friends
after he had come from Lemnos, but on the twelfth heaven again
delivered him into the hands of Achilles, who was to send him to the
house of Hades sorely against his will. He was unarmed when Achilles
caught sight of him, and had neither helmet nor shield; nor yet had he
any spear, for he had thrown all his armour from him on to the bank,
and was sweating with his struggles to get out of the river, so that
his strength was now failing him.
  Then Achilles said to himself in his surprise, “What marvel do I see
here? If this man can come back alive after having been sold over into
Lemnos, I shall have the Trojans also whom I have slain rising from
the world below. Could not even the waters of the grey sea imprison
him, as they do many another whether he will or no? This time let
him ******* spear, that I may know for certain whether mother earth
who can keep even a strong man down, will be able to hold him, or
whether thence too he will return.”
  Thus did he pause and ponder. But Lycaon came up to him dazed and
trying hard to embrace his knees, for he would fain live, not die.
Achilles ****** at him with his spear, meaning to **** him, but Lycaon
ran crouching up to him and caught his knees, whereby the spear passed
over his back, and stuck in the ground, hungering though it was for
blood. With one hand he caught Achilles’ knees as he besought him, and
with the other he clutched the spear and would not let it go. Then
he said, “Achilles, have mercy upon me and spare me, for I am your
suppliant. It was in your tents that I first broke bread on the day
when you took me prisoner in the vineyard; after which you sold away
to Lemnos far from my father and my friends, and I brought you the
price of a hundred oxen. I have paid three times as much to gain my
freedom; it is but twelve days that I have come to Ilius after much
suffering, and now cruel fate has again thrown me into your hands.
Surely father Jove must hate me, that he has given me over to you a
second time. Short of life indeed did my mother Laothoe bear me,
daughter of aged Altes—of Altes who reigns over the warlike Lelegae
and holds steep Pedasus on the river Satnioeis. Priam married his
daughter along with many other women and two sons were born of her,
both of whom you will have slain. Your spear slew noble Polydorus as
he was fighting in the front ranks, and now evil will here befall
me, for I fear that I shall not escape you since heaven has delivered
me over to you. Furthermore I say, and lay my saying to your heart,
spare me, for I am not of the same womb as Hector who slew your
brave and noble comrade.”
  With such words did the princely son of Priam beseech Achilles;
but Achilles answered him sternly. “Idiot,” said he, “talk not to me
of ransom. Until Patroclus fell I preferred to give the Trojans
quarter, and sold beyond the sea many of those whom I had taken alive;
but now not a man shall live of those whom heaven delivers into my
hands before the city of Ilius—and of all Trojans it shall fare
hardest with the sons of Priam. Therefore, my friend, you too shall
die. Why should you whine in this way? Patroclus fell, and he was a
better man than you are. I too—see you not how I am great and goodly?
I am son to a noble father, and have a goddess for my mother, but
the hands of doom and death overshadow me all as surely. The day
will come, either at dawn or dark, or at the noontide, when one
shall take my life also in battle, either with his spear, or with an
arrow sped from his bow.”
  Thus did he speak, and Lycaon’s heart sank within him. He loosed his
hold of the spear, and held out both hands before him; but Achilles
drew his keen blade, and struck him by the collar-bone on his neck; he
plunged his two-edged sword into him to the very hilt, whereon he
lay at full length on the ground, with the dark blood welling from him
till the earth was soaked. Then Achilles caught him by the foot and
flung him into the river to go down stream, vaunting over him the
while, and saying, “Lie there among the fishes, who will lick the
blood from your wound and gloat over it; your mother shall not lay you
on any bier to mourn you, but the eddies of Scamander shall bear you
into the broad ***** of the sea. There shall the fishes feed on the
fat of Lycaon as they dart under the dark ripple of the waters—so
perish all of you till we reach the citadel of strong Ilius—you in
flight, and I following after to destroy you. The river with its broad
silver stream shall serve you in no stead, for all the bulls you
offered him and all the horses that you flung living into his
waters. None the less miserably shall you perish till there is not a
man of you but has paid in full for the death of Patroclus and the
havoc you wrought among the Achaeans whom you have slain while I
held aloof from battle.”
  So spoke Achilles, but the river grew more and more angry, and
pondered within himself how he should stay the hand of Achilles and
save the Trojans from disaster. Meanwhile the son of Peleus, spear
in hand, sprang upon Asteropaeus son of Pelegon to **** him. He was
son to the broad river Axius and Periboea eldest daughter of
Acessamenus; for the river had lain with her. Asteropaeus stood up out
of the water to face him with a spear in either hand, and Xanthus
filled him with courage, being angry for the death of the youths
whom Achilles was slaying ruthlessly within his waters. When they were
close up with one another Achilles was first to speak. “Who and whence
are you,” said he, “who dare to face me? Woe to the parents whose
son stands up against me.” And the son of Pelegon answered, “Great son
of Peleus, why should you ask my lineage. I am from the fertile land
of far Paeonia, captain of the Paeonians, and it is now eleven days
that I am at Ilius. I am of the blood of the river Axius—of Axius
that is the fairest of all rivers that run. He begot the famed warrior
Pelegon, whose son men call me. Let us now fight, Achilles.”
  Thus did he defy him, and Achilles raised his spear of Pelian ash.
Asteropaeus failed with both his spears, for he could use both hands
alike; with the one spear he struck Achilles’ shield, but did not
pierce it, for the layer of gold, gift of the god, stayed the point;
with the other spear he grazed the elbow of Achilles! right arm
drawing dark blood, but the spear itself went by him and fixed
itself in the ground, foiled of its ****** banquet. Then Achilles,
fain to **** him, hurled his spear at Asteropaeus, but failed to hit
him and struck the steep bank of the river, driving the spear half its
length into the earth. The son of Peleus then drew his sword and
sprang furiously upon him. Asteropaeus vainly tried to draw
Achilles’ spear out of the bank by main force; thrice did he tug at
it, trying with all his might to draw it out, and thrice he had to
leave off trying; the fourth time he tried to bend and break it, but
ere he could do so Achilles smote him with his sword and killed him.
He struck him in the belly near the navel, so that all his bowels came
gushing out on to the ground, and the darkness of death came over
him as he lay gasping. Then Achilles set his foot on his chest and
spoiled him of his armour, vaunting over him and saying, “Lie there-
begotten of a river though you be, it is hard for you to strive with
the offspring of Saturn’s son. You declare yourself sprung from the
blood of a broad river, but I am of the seed of mighty Jove. My father
is Peleus, son of Aeacus ruler over the many Myrmidons, and Aeacus was
the son of Jove. Therefore as Jove is mightier than any river that
flows into the sea, so are his children stronger than those of any
river whatsoever. Moreover you have a great river hard by if he can be
of any use to you, but there is no fighting against Jove the son of
Saturn, with whom not even King Achelous can compare, nor the mighty
stream of deep-flowing Oceanus, from whom all rivers and seas with all
springs and deep wells proceed; even Oceanus fears the lightnings of
great Jove, and his thunder that comes crashing out of heaven.”
  With this he drew his bronze spear out of the bank, and now that
he had killed Asteropaeus, he let him lie where he was on the sand,
with the dark water flowing over him and the eels and fishes busy
nibbling and gnawing the fat that was about his kidneys. Then he
went in chase of the Paeonians, who were flying along the bank of
the river in panic when they saw their leader slain by the hands of
the son of Peleus. Therein he slew Thersilochus, Mydon, Astypylus,
Mnesus, Thrasius, Oeneus, and Ophelestes, and he would have slain
yet others, had not the river in anger taken human form, and spoken to
him from out the deep waters saying, “Achilles, if you excel all in
strength, so do you also in wickedness, for the gods are ever with you
to protect you: if, then, the son of Saturn has vouchsafed it to you
to destroy all the Trojans, at any rate drive them out of my stream,
and do your grim work on land. My fair waters are now filled with
corpses, nor can I find any channel by which I may pour myself into
the sea for I am choked with dead, and yet you go on mercilessly
slaying. I am in despair, therefore, O captain of your host, trouble
me no further.”
  Achilles answered, “So be it, Scamander, Jove-descended; but I
will never cease dealing out death among the Trojans, till I have pent
them up in their city, and made trial of Hector face to face, that I
may learn whether he is to vanquish me, or I him.”
  As he spoke he set upon the Trojans with a fury like that of the
gods. But the river said to Apollo, “Surely, son of Jove, lord of
the silver bow, you are not obeying the commands of Jove who charged
you straitly that you should stand by the Trojans and defend them,
till twilight fades, and darkness is over an the earth.”
  Meanwhile Achilles sprang from the bank into mid-stream, whereon the
river raised a high wave and attacked him. He swelled his stream
into a torrent, and swept away the many dead whom Achilles had slain
and left within his waters. These he cast out on to the land,
bellowing like a bull the while, but the living he saved alive, hiding
them in his mighty eddies. The great and terrible wave gathered
about Achilles, falling upon him and beating on his shield, so that he
could not keep his feet; he caught hold of a great elm-tree, but it
came up by the roots, and tore away the bank, damming the stream
with its thick branches and bridging it all across; whereby Achilles
struggled out of the stream, and fled full speed over the plain, for
he was afraid.
  But the mighty god ceased not in his pursuit, and sprang upon him
with a dark-crested wave, to stay his hands and save the Trojans
from destruction. The son of Peleus darted away a spear’s throw from
him; swift as the swoop of a black hunter-eagle which is the strongest
and fleetest of all birds, even so did he spring forward, and the
armour rang loudly about his breast. He fled on in front, but the
river with a loud roar came tearing after. As one who would water
his garden leads a stream from some fountain over his plants, and
all his ground-***** in hand he clears away the dams to free the
channels, and the little stones run rolling round and round with the
water as it goes merrily down the bank faster than the man can follow-
even so did the river keep catching up with Achilles albeit he was a
fleet runner, for the gods are stronger than men. As often as he would
strive to stand his ground, and see whether or no all the gods in
heaven were in league against him, so often would the mighty wave come
beating down upon his shoulders, and be would have to keep flying on
and on in great dismay; for the angry flood was tiring him out as it
flowed past him and ate the ground from under his feet.
  Then the son of Peleus lifted up his voice to heaven saying, “Father
Jove, is there none of the gods who will take pity upon me, and save
me from the river? I do not care what may happen to me afterwards. I
blame none of the other dwellers on Olympus so severely as I do my
dear mother, who has beguiled and tricked me. She told me I was to
fall under the walls of Troy by the flying arrows of Apollo; would
that Hector, the best man among the Trojans, might there slay me; then
should I fall a hero by the hand of a hero; whereas now it seems
that I shall come to a most pitiable end, trapped in this river as
though I were some swineherd’s boy, who gets carried down a torrent
while trying to cross it during a storm.”
  As soon as he had spoken thus, Neptune and Minerva came up to him in
the likeness of two men, and took him by the hand to reassure him.
Neptune spoke first. “Son of Peleus,” said he, “be not so exceeding
fearful; we are two gods, come with Jove’s sanction to assist you,
I, and Pallas Minerva. It is not your fate to perish in this river; he
will abate presently as you will see; moreover we strongly advise you,
if you will be guided by us, not to stay your hand from fighting
till you have pent the Trojan host within the famed walls of Ilius—as
many of them as may escape. Then **** Hector and go back to the ships,
for we will vouchsafe you a triumph over him.”
  When they had so said they went back to the other immortals, but
Achilles strove onward over the plain, encouraged by the charge the
gods had laid upon him. All was now covered with the flood of
waters, and much goodly armour of the youths that had been slain was
rifting about, as also many corpses, but he forced his way against the
stream, speeding right onwards, nor could the broad waters stay him,
for Minerva had endowed him with great strength. Nevertheless
Scamander did not slacken in his pursuit, but was still more furious
with the son of Peleus. He lifted his waters into a high crest and
cried aloud to Simois saying, “Dear br
What might the heights of the minds eyes see while the spirit is in motion of the purest emotion of intent and expression of love?


Is it such a state where false has awards and evening gowns picked out for the awards show?

Is it so fake that one might find it difficult to understand real from false?

Or might the fact that when a human being can truly  walk the line of life with grace and demanding ******* while gently caressing the absolutely overwhelming truth that love has ravaged the soul ,

Ravaged this soul,

*****, held, ravaged, run through, righted and scorned in the deepest of waters a soul has yet to express to the world for two thousand years, and all while  the captive ....... Soul,         is critiqued on the devastation wrot in such completeness that is is even to this day savoured as a prized  fetish even unto the sad would self.

Dare I ask simple a question of wondering curious eyes of windowed souls to cast a view into the dew of the greatness of being of truth and grace while respecting the very heart from which such torture pours from?

dare a truth be asked that such a human being be of a dignity in company with the child timid in him self torn, dashed , bruised, named and bolder than the soul that resides in you?

Dare a tasked truth be ever revealed of contemptuous  acts of ***** souls and privacy of ones tiny castles in the  oh so damaged and bitter sands. Of the wombs of mind that we all venture to frontier the very limit of the souls endurance, prestige while being undignified by the raw violence of the act of continued ****, or is a dared truth to harsh a fact for timidness of my self to have swallowed whole as the soul of mine self and mine eyes and mine teeth from which the vengeance did pour a pounding to seek, all to be driving back by the broken and horrorably disfigured child of me that many find more womanly.   For this Ugly Boy of me, this sad sot silly and ***** smaller to the vastness of the fridgidness of ******* through lies and manipulations while taking in the raw ******* of the common God's child , virus this not what we all are the now newly in question not so rarely ***** and sold like ****** in a new church for the dastardly and bastarded ******* that we have come to call complacency of decency?  

Any, how foolish, yes my dear friend , you are indeed a wiser worrier  wafareing wondering wizard of vast skills and frightful  ways and means to tame the beast of such hateful things , so costic as to reach deep into them and quiver their tiny tethers and frail feathers all a mockingly  to the tones and notes left after we vacated the dead crypts of self deprivation and hate as we all found the truth of the emotion as it poured through us when realizing this damaged, torn and frightened child , a man holding the depth of winter killing fields at bay, a man kindly swaying the stars to play a tune so as to grace all who broke his heart a stay of pain for each and every attempted and timidly bold and brazen sway and slanted ****** love or raw truth and powerful motions from which we all find the fancy to ****** the  tool as the goofiest  **** **** as hell fool we all choose to allowed the absolute grace and magesty to ******* Rule our Hearts for even just a fraction of a moment in this prayer of endless time, yet hold with the dared scary and walking naked and alone into the lions den while the wolfs and beasts all gathered their finest clothes, weapons and gold, silver, trinkites and shiny of the shiniest of the things they boldly and brashly slash all with as to command the fear to reside in the human spirit.

As this silly little hill Billy with a **** nice *** *****, were wolf feet and all called out to the proudest and loudest of the tiny little spouts and softly said " what is all you foolish fuss about?"
"Have you lost you most precious toys, only to find victim the Dickson of my sorry and sad state of dieing from the oath and lashing of what you helped  rip from what can only be many peoples and communities and even many families?"

Dare a truth to truth this dare my dearest cud of a bear for a true beast of welcome verosity I be all the while giggling and prancing all about like a happy *** skipping fairy, and of this I most truly rather be for don't you know? , did no one tell you the news?  The horror is scaring but the truth is so amazing, turns out scar gardens are the softest things God has ever created, scar gardens are the hardest element that break far stronger , bold creatures of far fasters tested , cleeted, bust a mother up than most man has ever know to exist.
Scar gardens are the very  spouts from which the truth and grace of the living love of God pours fourth into this majestic ******, animal ,spiritual ,sacred, holy and magnificent place , a place that the very bashing of the flowers that dance you delight even in the pity, plight, laughter , and slight  has done nothing but cast us all from it loving embrace, yet, dear cub of a Billy bad *** nub of a cubbed couger in the final leaps to catch this timid and playful prey of me that you so think you will devour you see,  we, the ones whom truly felt and opened and dare that **** scary *** chance to dance with this devil in the pale moon light have found that they no longer must live in fright, that this very garden is theirs and none to own but to flourish and grow, thrive if you must, but lest get nasty for a real minute, animal to animal ,it ma thrive , sure but it will **** , love ,fight, rise , Smit , right the wrongs that have tortured us far to ******* long and in that moment of exstacy the human race may just finally realize ***, love, caring, kindness and truth of self are the face of God starting through your eyes experiencing all f his loving songs creations and getting ******* goose bumps and he'll yes this Billy Jack goofy *** bad  kat all **** knuckled with bad habits and a lust for loving full ******* spectrum and a lesbian trapped in this fugly *** mans body all crazy *** triple run *** marks the spot moon shine devil of mine were wolf feet and all does truth and whole love the Real Girl and is ,,,,, and most mother ******* who are real and real down with the truth that God is love and loves even your silly but as God loves mine silly *** and the rest of this star studded cast of human **** ups simply attempting to pass and go the **** home at the end of the school bell.


HUA,    I do love the Real artist  you speak of, she knows it, and may just know that I know she is not the one laying **** the silly hill Billy with a rather bad *** wi,,,,,,,, um sorry.     Where were we. Oh yes. Um. Only those who care to let go and allow the truest of flows and are true to self and the love that one finds in the being of anothers breath, thoughts , actions , decisions, and mistakes and graces to right ones self after horrors that tear us and embarrass us, these know the truth ,and my dear friend i love you too, but not like the love i expressed to you in hopes you to feel the love i share to her with out pushing it on her, so that what is rightfully hers to reject or except i gave it all away to all even those whom used it to fuel hate in mine own shape , form and name.  And i have done all of this and a dillion years of pouring stars into the hearts of that goofy *** girl by way of dancing crying and **** it dieing through the very core of you,  yes i got you high, horney, got you off, many times , i gave you memories of sparks you know, i gave you worlds of wonder and ways to flurish and grow, i gave you what you , well many of you , did not even deserve for it was truy meant to be for her, but i felt that the most good it could do and the best love i could show her is i can love all of you and even rock hear heart all the very same ways i moved you , and not loose one silly little drop of the tears in her pain, yet sip them and drip them into her so she may choose to live again, as she has done for me.....do you now see? For I C C I said this goofy eyed going man who has done all this in his true and real names,  For I Love You So.


And didn't even eat my wheaties wink , smile I a not mad at ya, just being me, and some times we all have a tax bit of  werewolfand badger **** in us , sorry to offend, smile in the end, we all just might be ,,,,, sort f friends..
#moon
A Thomas Hawkins Jul 2010
for every choice we make in life
there could be a different way
for every word we utter
there's twice as many we don't say

for every word that makes the page
theres plenty cast aside
and for every door we close
there's others left open wide

its an unbalanced equation
where x is joy and y is strife
its how you do the transposition
that sets your quality of life
Benjamin Dixon Jul 2015
They can't break me.
I will face each and every assault
as if standing knee deep in the surf
As a wave crashes against my body
trying to knock me down with full force
And I will remain standing
As the water drips off of me into the ocean
And evaporates into the air
The only effort I make
Is to brush the residual salt off my skin
And cast it to the winds.
Alan W Jankowski Nov 2011
Thinking about the loves of the past,
All the loves that didn’t last.
All my loves of yesterday,
I wonder where they are today,
The close moments that we shared,
The loving words that said we cared.
I think about the ones that slipped on by,
I sit by myself and I wonder why,
One day they‘re here and next they‘re gone,
I understand that life goes on,
But still I wonder if it was meant to be,
Are they happier without me?

And if we ever meet again,
Could the passion be the same?
Would the old fires start to burn?
Could loving thoughts ever return?
Or are unspoken words left unsaid,
Should the past be left for dead?
Are they happier in their new life,
Watching the kids, being a wife?
I have to realize the die is cast,
Nothing can ever change the past,
But still I wonder if it was meant to be,
Are they happier without me?

10-01-09.
ajit peter Aug 2015
Fog of pain veils the path
Burning bridges of enmity and wrath
Unknown destination unknown path
Searched the way in the heart

The compass of life misguided past
The sign board of destination die cast
Know not the end as pains last
Searched the way in the heart

Road ahead to ride ahead
Sign board to ride ahead
Road ahead to ride ahead
Paths to find road ahead
Angie Christine Oct 2018
I began the year in a familiar yet increasingly desolate place and am closing it in a new, yet somewhat beautifully familiar place both literally and metaphorically.
The center photo sums up my year in a rather cliché yet accurate manner.
I started the year with the mindset I would rid myself of all negativity.
I ended last year the same.
It all began in my mind.
I had to choose to let go.
I had to accept that  my desire to change had skyrocketed above my desire to remain the same emotionally, mentally, or physically.
I was trapped inside a chrysalis I wish had the strength to break out of 20 years ago.
However, if I had fought it I wouldn’t have crash landed at the feet of all my hopes and dreams completely and utterly incapable of fighting it any longer.
I’ve always performed as the supporting actress of my own life.
I was more hungry for acceptance by my former cast members than I was to satiate my ravenous hunger for (that once dreaded word)
C H A N G E .
In one moment , what began as a dream became a CHOICE followed by an ACTION.
Yes.
I said, “Yes.”
And just like that, everything changed.
I felt sun on my once withered wings .
I’ve always been a child of the moon.
In that moment, just a moment of sun had me fighting, kicking, and screaming to break free of the bonds which once held me captive to their mental slavery.
I can’t explain this without metaphors and analogies because this year I have experienced LIFE in a way I never have and I don’t have words to describe it.
I had never allowed myself to live free .
Do we know we are free once our bonds are undone?
I didn’t.
I didn’t know until someone told me I was free.
I had struggled beneath the weight of the burdens of the girl I was told I was supposed to be.
Set yourselves and one another free.
I’m so grateful I did.
Written 12/31/17 at 11:54am
The Unspoken Nov 2015
Place: Balcony, Home
Time: 6am

Its a busy neighborhood. Everyone is carrying on their lives, some jogging around, buses hooting, busy people heading to work. Important stuff you know.
But Leila, without feeling contrite, holds her last glass of wine, its almost done. Am sure she lost count after her first glass. She was up by the first bird, way before the darkest of the hours. It looks chilly but she was on nothing but The t shirt, her favourite one with the words printed DEVOUR ME IF YOU DARE. Her nerves somehow went numb a while back, the only part that seemed to play its role in her system was her brain.

Why was she out here?
See, she didnt don't know.
But last thing she remember, she was on their couch. She'd  just prepared dinner waiting on her person to come. It had been a rough three weeks, but she was willing to try you know.


The door bell rang, and she rushed to open to welcome "bae", atleast take the coat or scarf...it was always warm but this time.

She was met a flying bag on her face that sent her sprawling on the coffee table. At that point you'd ask what went through her mind? NOTHING.
She just lay there, like a paralysis spell was cast on her.
"You will know who I am today" "bae" said

"...Wh..."she stuttered ...no word could come out of her mouth.

The worst thing ever is to be caught off guard by a situation and your defense knowledge shuts down with your brain. No  ***** at that point is willing to co-ordinate with the other body part to defend itself. You are just a log for a moment.

"So now you just hop into people's cars when you leave the house in the morning" "bae" screamt as the heaviest slap ever received, landed on Leila's face.
It got all echo-ey...she placed both her hands on her face as blows rained on her till she finally  managed to push "bae" away and try run out the house, it was locked.

She couldn't scream, this was the first time.

She hadn't  the slightest of ideas of what "bae" was talking about. She just held tightly onto the balcony bars.
For A second, she wanted to jump off. She wished to.

They lived at the 2nd floor, so it wasn't so far off the ground. She was pulled back and dropped to the floor  like some shoe.

She wailed for her mother who she hadn't seen in months.
She recalled wishing to live on the streets than the torture she went through that night.
One side of her face, let's say would need a tone of concealer the following morning when she went to work,because that morning, she had to call in sick. I mean, she couldn't use the "yeah right" statement of "I hit a window or door", c'mon, who you kidding sis!

So she left at night while "bae was asleep. That was after she cried a river plus all its tributaries and "bae" felt "remorse" of some sort, held her and begged her to stop crying offering to hold her through the night, but fell asleep barely 10 minutes after.

Leila crept outside the house at our balcony, with the bottle of wine that she had bought for them to have the previous night and decided to numb her pain by drowning myself in it.
She couldn't account for the hours she stayed out in the dark and the cold and getting drunk at the balcony...but the darkness felt like comfort...at that point heaven, the cold floor was her street of gold.


...This, was the first time.

©TheUnspoken
This is a true account of a healing journey for a particular soul.
Marshal Gebbie Jun 2023
I strolled, awhile, down by that bog
Through thick, astringent, swirling fog....
Perchance, perhaps, in circumstance
I fancied that the reeds did dance,
Swayed in time to pulsing beat
Expanding in round ripples, neat,
To radiate across the pond
In league with moss of ferny frond.
Causing spider webs to sway
Through which the dewdrops came to play
In iridescent beams of light
Illuminating shards of night
Which cast a most unearthly glow
That only frogs in bogs, would know.....
And know they did from ancient time
Where bullfrogs ruled in slippery slime
When incandescence filled the glade
Whilst time stood still and mayflies played.

Dancing in the fantasy of Patty's Pond.
With love M.
Playful poetic response to patty m's fantasy poem "The Talking Frog"
I lay on this floor

Waiting for a soul to cast brightness on the darkness.

Here we go..Another message sent in hopelessness.

You only came along when you were in need.

Did you notice?

Did you notice as I cried as I sit here and bleed?

My soul lie drained. A shell of a soul.

Trapped in a messed up body.

I tried to be somebody.

Every time I try to rise up..

I was beat down and forced to close up.

You taunted and you teased.

As you fell, at first, I felt pleased.

I helped. Even though I was down.

Here I am. The foolish clown.
Marisol Quiroz Jun 2018
we all have shadows, for you see a shadow cannot exist on its own, it cannot live without a source to feed. so it attaches to those bright and full of love and it steals through toxic tongue and tainted touch every inch of light and every ounce of love it can, and it eats and it eats and it eats.

and it never ends.

the cycle goes on for years, for days, for weeks. sometimes one attachment is not enough to satisfy its hunger, and the shadow finds another, sneaking behind backs and through unlit back streets, slipping beneath bodies under messy white sheets.

until it finds what it needs.

it eats to feed an unsatisfiable hunger that’s seeded deep in its very soul. you see, a shadow is utterly empty. a shell of those around them cast upon pre-fixed forms, void of kindness and empathy, full of lies and false sympathy. only fictitious constructions of conned complex personality.

you may be convinced at first, you see, shadows are very well-versed with words, their honey-dipped hells and counterfeit kindness are nearly believable and you might even feel warmth for awhile. but shadows love to play tricks, manipulate your mind and play mischief on your eyes. dancing in the dark of the night in the darkest of hours, when the false is most easily believed, it’s not until daylight often we see the falsity revealed that we’ve been forced to perceive. turning pain into poetic verse, a shadow will twist and contort even the sweetest of words into a sweet mirage of manipulation to force you to see the lie they’ve created in the image of innocence.

they’ll feed off your good of heart and affection so sweet, and drink from the pools of light that you seep. and they’ll eat and they’ll eat and they’ll eat, until there’s nothing left and you’re completely empty. they’ll drain your soul and drop your heart and move on to the next, but keep your name for later use. because when love grows back and you feel full once more, a shadow will return again to reclaim its host and restart this game it’s since provoked. but then a shadow will slither and slip away, retreating to cobweb corners and feigning false pain, always finding someone else― you ―to blame.
but a shadow will never admit to its own darkness, for it’s convinced it’s awash in light, the epitome of kindness and love, that it could never be anything but the victim.

but it’s afraid.

because it knows if it takes one real look at who they are and what they’ve done, their self-conceived, perfect being will wither away and melt to no one.


― calling you a ghost would be wrong, for you see, even ghosts eventually go away.
this is one of the longest prose poetry pieces i've ever written, and it is probably one of my favorites
Light melts across the gilded field
sunbeams through holes in a cloud
silently across your face, rays yield
shadows cast off their shroud

A dewy kiss warms morning thoughts
of a lover's raw embrace
desires twisted up in knots
yearnings will unlace

Lay me down on a clover sea
and a honeysuckle bed
gentle breezes wash over me
flowing like water instead

Wet lips entwined with hunger
gives way to beating hearts
our fingertips do linger
panting breaths depart

So lay with me on this bed of gold
blowing kisses in my ear
a golden field for my love to hold
darling, let's stay right here
Public Diary Jan 2015
I love you

You're the one that makes me feel whole, the one who sheds light on my tired soul.

Push your lips to mine. Hold me and tell me everything will be fine. Tell me our dreams will come true, tell me "I can't live without you"

Tell me I'm the core of your heart like you are for mine, say *I love you

And plant flowers in my mind.

My mind was destroyed by the pain of the past, shrouded in darkness, broken needing a cast. Say I love you and erase the dark. Say I love you and leave your love's mark.

Plant flowers in the wickedest parts of my soul, where darkness continues to take its toll. Say I love you and leave your love's mark.
*Claim my heart as yours and say it does not belong to the dark
I haven't had a rhyming poem in a while so
Erin Little Jun 2010
Tell me I’m brilliant

For the fibers and threads of my mind have recently tattered themselves
Leaving an array of unfinished thoughts and suppressed emotion
Piling up until my worth has been completely displaced
A tower such as I needn’t have limits such as these
However, I have recently become accustomed to the cruel realities of the world
Where everything exists as a number, high or low
Acquiring these numbers prompts man to do back flips, cart wheels, until he knows all he can possibly know
I stand with man on a platter of judgment
Look at me through the glass and assess how transparent my eccentricity is
Whosoever fabricates their lives should be cast out, but how often is this really done?
I stand with a number possibly too small and maybe too outreaching
It all depends on what the powers are teaching
The numbers leave no room for speech or rhythm or character
This is why I choose word as my craft, in hope that everyone can stand on that judgment pillar and feel light upon their shoulders
And breathe slowly into their souls
And say that the world will oblige me, whatever number I hold in my hands

I have not been put in this world to give into such demands.
PJ Poesy May 2016
Stars jostling whatever wishes
Nets cast upon heedless fishes
To do or not to do the dishes
Just is what is all this show biz

Putting flowers in a vase
Something that might give you pause
All that is and ever was
Much to much such harm caused

To be still and to never utter
Chrysalis' desire to ever flutter
Simple wanting and none the other
Bind a dream and watch it smother

How should Spring be so cruel?
Fledgling discarded as a fool
Not all adhere to golden rule
Who'll you'll find inferior saccule?
ryn Dec 2024
Grant him this night
For he longs for the cold embrace

As he lays haphazardly
In a universe seemingly displaced

Swallow whole
And serve nothingness like you once did

Cast the black
For he’s all ready and intrepid
Leo Nov 2017
I am an angel in the rise

I am angelic in the fall

I am I Am at rest

And awake to such a tall

Man – shaggy hair rising in plaits
Form – immaculate sans
In pitch black etched across his chest

“Shall my hands afford ash?”

Read to a roar of laughter

1000
100
Only us

“Who are you?”

Cut short by a roar of laughter

100
10
Only us

“They call me Cain, brother, and I can only show you ‘what’.”

And what, indeed, amidst fiery chariots and divine palaces suddenly surging from ocean chasms had my thoughts sought to comprehend?

Here I am amidst a dream

A neon second scene

But where is the Word when

Awake, and to multitudes.

The morning sun rises to bring light on a blackened church. There, at a vandalized oaken pulpit I give my sermon. My Bibles were lost in the arsons committed on my home, my church, and the corner shop refuge that once provided living space for local destitute. I am unprepared this Sunday, but the Word flows freely. He ‘Is’ is speaking through me. I look down to my notes and revel in their order. Clean lines, a steady hand stroke on every letter composing a glorious sight amidst the seemingly ceaseless chaos of this life. The times have changed, and so I write these words hoping that they may bring Light to times darker than these.

I am a fool in the rise

I am foolish to fall

I am I Am at rest

And awake to such a bright
Light – refracting subaquatic from
Towers – streaming ribbons with the current
Whilst star-light chariots permeate disorder

“She made ham from ash”

A thought recited to a piercing silence
Singularity while

10
100
Observe

“Where am I?”

A thought recited to a low hum
Singularity while

100
1000
Consider

One – stepping forward from light
Form – immaculate sans
A wild, pulsing eye

“I am here to show you ‘what’.”

Expressionless

“Are you able?”

A smile

A light

“No, come.”

And so, with caution, I proceeded down Atlantean waterways buzzing with preternatural light and rhythm. Amidst this shimmering ocean scene there was beauty and awe which words to comprehend could only paint pictures of madness. And so, I came upon my home.

Here I am a king at sea

With neon throne and queen

But where is my Hand when

Awake, and to multitudes

The morning sun rises to bring light upon a blackened church, home away from home. The attacks grow fiercer by the week, and I have not managed to procure a Bible for today’s sermon. The turnout is better than ever, and the Word flows freely from my tongue. He ‘Is” is speaking through me. The people are queued from pew to door, from street to corner. They seek, en masse, refuge from daily struggles; refuge not found within these Holy walls. Yet, they come. Their order is glorious! Such a wondrous sight amidst the seemingly ceaseless chaos of this life has never before been seen. I write these words in hopes that they may bring Light to times darker than these.

I am sacred in the rise

I am sacramental in the fall

I am I Am at rest

And awake to such insurmountable

Sounds – reverberating
Grounds – quivering
Towers – streaming
Chariots – quickening

“Oh, what a beauteous scene I have come unto! Thank the Highest, thank the Highest! These neon lights, though manifest in form I dread, do not belie the Supreme! Nay, unto him I deem fit all creation! Do not these streams paint your name?! Have not these seams sewn your claim!? I am free among these dreams, and from You have all I need!”

Sang to all who would listen

“Could these hands afford ash, the embers of eternal flame would brand the holy flock! Could I make ham from ash, the maw of sheep would ne’er seek to be sated!”

Sang to all who could hear

“And ye had better listen who doubt the name!”

“But who are you who are such a tall”

Man – shaggy hair rising in plaits
Form – immaculate sans
Opaque lettering across his waist

“Shem HaMephorash”

Read to a crescendo of laughter

Only I
10
100

“Why am I here?”

Cut short by a crescendo of laughter

Only I
100
1000

And why, indeed, had such beauty been shown to one who could not comprehend? Why, indeed, had I been brought to the depths, to revel in that which I have been cast from?

“To pyre, to pyre!”

And so, all the oceans were torn asunder. The final baptism before

10
100
1000
Years


There I was

The second scene

Of all I have conceived, but a dream

But a dream

For here I Am

Amidst the seams

Of all the paths I weave

The morning sun rises to bring light upon a blackened church. It is not Sunday, yet the patrons are queued to the street corner again. These people have come to hear the Word flow, yet the Word for me today is woe. The final sermon: Whole and hearted.

“You are here for me, as I am here for you!
There is but one truth, one way, one mind!
It lies not within one, but within two!
The Singular Multitude!”
An old poem i wrote that i stumbled across
The night holds no surprises
for the darkness-embracers,
the captains of ships of fools.
They cast away light
as they seek to find themselves
in the mangled branches
of a fig tree
as it envelops them.
They find holes in the bark
and dare to reach inside,
fearless of the serrated teeth
they hope to find within.

The trees devour them.






Their dead hands reach for dirt,
clawing themselves from the roots.
They scream from stitched mouths,
muffled and agonising.
Rigor mortis of the eyelids




seeing you for what you are.




I can feel your hand creep into mine.
Your grip is tight
and palms sweaty,
a shaky embrace,
fear rising in goosebumps
or is it the cold?,
or the fear of growing old
that terrifies you so.


I am here for you,

treading wearily
into the gaping maw
of a

very dark place.
christhamF Sep 2009
Imagine an empty tower block,
High on hill, taking stock.
Watching us meandering by
Through each and every uncaring glass eye.
It knows that its usefulness has past
And a higher tower will be cast.
All that's left is fate worse than death
But wait, could this be new living breath ?
No, just a stay of execution
That alone is no solution.
After this and every fight
They daub their messages clear and bright.
When the demolition proper does begin
There is one hope to which we cling,
When we have reached our three score years and ten
There’ll be no one to degrade us then !
Butch Decatoria Apr 2016

Poor Mrs. Sincere Lee
Stares longingly at a frame
Gilded gold and empty
On her wall
Once a portrait of her younger face
If only her wane and fading
Mind beneath her thin crown
Of silver white
Could remember
Nimbly
If she could only
Brush stroke memory

Back to life
When thoughts have drowned
In misty loss
Her youth and summers
A distant shore
In a regretful ocean of
Salvatore Dali clocks
Her emotions turned against her
Enemies at the door

Draining the vivid Now
Most recollections are merely sewn
Waves of ups and downs
Cast away in an album of
Forlorn

She recalls her demure lil curtsy
She was loyal as a pet rock,
Still she stares at the blank canvas
Rather than the dawn on the dock
Frozen in the lack
Of having known nor found
Someone
More than this
Silent dame of down
With more to her than some
Husband's name
Mrs. Sincere Lee in her pink
Bath robe
Can only stare at the yellow frame

With a thinning crown
Of silver white
Of wish of need of crave
The days without an empty canvas
Or her sentence
of self blame
Time is leaving her
Frozen In such hollow
Shame.

Ennui.
The trenchant ocean
Burns with out a flame.
Mark Steigerwald Jan 2015
A shroud
of
pain

A cloud
of
darkness

A myriad
of
suffering

An endless ocean
swallowing me whole.

Kept captive

Made slave

Forced
into
*******

Dragged away.

Chained by fear

Forgotten by all

I lay in the aftermath
beaten,
broke.

The mountains
hear my voice and turn their backs
The forests
see my anguish and do nothing
The oceans
know my pain, and yet continue to ignore me
The winds
carry my cries into the void where no one will hear
The rain
snuffs out my air choking me
The thunder
booms overhead mocking my misery
The birds
fall silent
The shadows
creep over my head
The sun
covers its face in mist and shroud
The moon
refusing to come
My fate
sealed by the cruelty of nature
My destiny
a hopeless cause.

I am a wanderer
forgotten and lost.
Shifting in between the vast pages of time

Fallen from grace
cast out from eternity.

My voice carries no weight
my eyes see only darkness
my ears hear only my weightless screams
my legs are useless
my arms wont move

I am trapped
in a bottomless abyss

Free falling forever.
Black Swan Mar 2010
Right about when eternity starts to become old and weary and
Time has begun to lose its elasticity just as it has finally come around to reach
Its end and found its beginning;
The uncountable fragments that make the vast cosmos will congeal to form again
That we may be made whole once more;
Matter will become ultra-dense,
Compressed almost to the very brink of oblivion until critical mass is finally attained then
With unimaginable heat, fury, and eruption,
We will be violently expelled and propelled into a cold, desolate, and expanding unknown;
Scattered and dispersed to become the pieces of a ****** firmament;
Cast without mercy into the black void, we will be forced to restart a journey along
The long and circuitous route that has been called forever.
The structured laws of random chaos will dictate when it is that
We reach the first stage of a cycle that has neither origin nor finality;
There reorganized particles will germinate and initiate the process of renewal
Creating entities that will manifest in myriad ways;
Each nascent reality holding within itself the same promise of creation
That is as natural as dying and rebirth, as constant as motion and change and
As normal as the universe’s transformation from being the composite of all things
To becoming the totality of absolute nothingness.
Black Swan © 2004
Eunice Aug 2016
In mid-September,
when I grow old and cannot remember,
when the leaves fall from trees,
when my soul cannot seem to flee,

A never-ending story I will tell,
on the world I cast a spell,
to the sea I surrender,
to you I promise a forever,

Time has a way to time,
to trick you for a lifetime,
to age and age along the way,
to lie and lie to call it a day,

An end must come and I will die,
Offer me flowers and the pain will subside,
Hush little baby please do not cry,
Hush little baby please do not cry.
Eachmilidh Jul 2015
White face, alabaster pale
Tilted to the skies
Moonlight bathes, the black consumes

Shadows cast on sleeping ground

Twinkling lights
Wink back at her

Luminous communication
As patterns are traced
Through lights and constellations
Until-
High in the inky void
It draws her eye

The North Star

He told her she shined brighter

Arched neck, still outstretched
Skin alive with the ghost of his kisses
Crystal tears pool in glassy orbs
Droplets pave routes down gentle features

Remembering, gaze dropped

Stars remain unchanged by time
Unlike those who live under them

Connections can break
Yet constellations remain
Passion's fire may be quenched
Yet the stars stay alight

A body turned away
Knowing she is but another ex character

Exiting stage left from his life
A misty shadow all but forgotten


Yet, crossing the miles
Two eyes framed by a window
Search the sky for the North Star
And the girl who shined brighter
Mystic Ink Plus Nov 2022
Many times
I have tried to embrace you
In my ink
As you keep on evolving
Over time
I lost for words
Yet I'm still trying
To write about you
Without any filter, let me reveal

I regard you as
A wandering soul
Beautiful incarnate
Evolving metaphor
A breathing canvas
A prototype of artistry

With that omnipresence elegance
An epitome of decency
And phenomenal smile
You make the world worth living

Stirred by those musing ripples
I submit to you
Let me bathe my imagination
Cast you into vivid hues
Search you in the unknown
In between the recesses of the mind
And found every time
As my share of moon

Thanks for being
Genre: Experimental
Theme: This much to say
Annamaria Gagno Feb 2013
Letting those Random over our Actions
to why
we are human as they are

what makes them better then those
who are different

kindness is the will power
if they only see the believe
life has became so strange
to what we may see

knowing what we have to do
voice out what we see

seeing the wrong in people
why do they judge
on the week
if we all feel the loss of our own minds

perhaps letting those random us
by placing a judgment call

to pray over other illness
we try no to think that
but yet
humans remind us every day
what we have
seeing us like if were
stupid
dumb
not knowing
how to
spell write
wow whoop i

can't those act the random
by helping teaching
those who can achieve
not just those who fell
they are normal

letting those random over our actions
you think we are to blame
no
we been rejected by whom
parents
families
friends
peers at school
employee's
no matter we are

we seem to be rejected
talk if we don't know
talk if we don't make sense
talk if we cannot make any word come out

no one will sit and listen
no one will be there when you come home

all we hear every day at home
screaming yelling horror stories
of
cruelty of their own actions
they take upon those

does anyone out there realize
the actions
random to those with an illness

we are random to there own eye's
believe in yourself
doesn't hurt
to help show wonder why
these illness of everyone
around world

become ill
depression is the random of a pie
a whole pie
describes which illness we all have

look in the mirror to those who
are normal
tell yourself
in the darkness of your inner side

do you have an illness
to scare to speak
someone may out cast you
out

feelings inside is cruel
many out there
suffer with depress a whole pie
to those
who fight every day battle of a challenge

letting those random over our actions
when it's they
who have the actions of an attitude
they cannot control

letting those random over our actions
when they are reason and purpose
of our actions
to fear and to gain courage to be out there
in the world
that seems to capture us in the corner
looking down not straight

letting those random over our actions
is them
who act on themselves and take onto us

— The End —