"compiling" poems
your ears were by far your best feature
they could deflect all my nervous trifles and absorb the jokes no one else got, the confessions I whispered through the phone, and the significance of being on the other end
(please remember)
I am not compiling a list of clichés with which to barricade the door when loneliness knocks
This is not a love song,
so please don’t use those ears to search for one
those ears were second only to your tongue
it possessed the unique ability to mold sound into exactly what I needed to believe
the confessions it sculpted
and glazed with calculated vulnerability fit so comfortably in my ear
that tongue was a love song and a mace rolled into one
(please remember)
not to use it to sing my praises, and I’ll grant you the same courtesy
your feet are so beautiful, too
the elegance with which they propelled you into someone else’s day dreams was inspired
with a screech, your tires left me reveling in exhaust
the fumes choking me, I never got a chance to say
that coffee from the place you used to-
we
used to like
is bitter now
it tastes the way goodbye did as it rolled off my tongue and chased your retreating back
I add more sugar
but the clinking of the spoon echoes the “I love yous” whispered to someone else
the sound fits in her ear the way your hand used to fit in mine
the spaces between my fingers now resemble apartments whose tenants have been evicted
the landlord hardened by rejection wears a coat sewn from the time and wears a mustache curled into the shape of desire
these lonely flats are plagued with shadows
(that’s what happens when the sun is so **** close you can taste it, but there’s something else in the way)
(please remember)
this is not a love story
(please remember)
I don’t want you back
I want coffee that won’t stain my smile
I want my favorite songs not to be harmonized by the sound of your breathing
I want my posture not to sing a Taylor Swift song and
I desperately want not to be the girl writing you poetry
(the kind that you would never listen to anyway)
your ears were by far your best feature
everything else is blurry to me now
I can’t picture your edges anymore, or differentiate where they separate from mine
Your ears were second only to your tongue
Your feet are so beautiful, too
With a screech, your tires left me reveling in exhaust
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 8:34 PM UTC
resuming textual trip
testing experimental procedures
visualizing model tsunami
augmenting facetious environment
catching abstract architecture
noticing rhythmic exchange
projecting subtextual database
airhorning reggae royalty
adding atypical party
resolving twitter question
noticing emotional mission
awaiting emotional dialect
installing metaphorical experiment
intensifying animated trip
displaying dynamic victory
programming abstract development
releasing emotional exchange
deriving fata morgana
glorifying referential sequence
intensifying facetious map
noticing harmonic trip
observing radical ratio
compiling nomadic message
predating google rebranding
reticulating facetious panda
using hyperreal feedback
exploring virtual panda
speculating graphic gallery
throwing mundane exception
targeting graphic experiment
replenishing emotional trap
localizing asemic animal
dropping rhythmic trip
propagating immortal experiment
displaying lowercase database
invading orange bubbles
crashing animated trip
running conceptual topography
remembering collapsed buildings
crashing hyperreal coverage
propagating hyperreal stipulation
finishing western library
envisioning neon tessellation
reciprocating network likes
processing animated device
releasing haptic quality
examining building seven
awaiting rhapsodical ratio
sampling death sauce
sensing lowercase clone
examining symbolic tour
processing potential development
encapsulating spatial lottery
displaying digital paragraph
reticulating theoretical source
perpetuating western paragraph
transmitting monochromatic structure
anticipating ambient quality
transmitting asemic environment
intensifying atomic quality
remastering history poem
keeping future light
hypothesizing eternal game
using future library
rearranging masonic language
transmitting masonic development
continuing ceremonial ritual
questioning party's legitimacy
deferring western coverage
finishing asemic hypertext
mollifying ostentatious presence
synthesizing allegorical icon
forming categorical unions
sketching app wireframe
programming immortal repository
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 6:52 PM UTC
Barking along the seething sea
Tethys sparkling
Sans Pellagrino
Bubbled up with volcanic
Albido
And it exposed the cragged shores
Of a incessantly compiling
Or
Completely snuffed
Mountain
Bored and drilled by time
Sharper than a dying dimond
Cooked and left to rest
A Dinar plate
To which an all you can eat
Buffet
Played out pleasently
From antiquity
To present
A gift to an aging child
To be which pure joy can behold.
Today it is home of the Croats
The ancient Frontier of a meiotic Rome
And over small-grain time
Made coats
Of arms and animal manes
To give a name
To the nameless
To give a place
To the missed
That old Tethys barks like a fish
Beyond the Odoacerean boot, Scylla and Charybdis
Where the whales float
And great souls
Stolen deep within
wishing to find god
Fumbling in the dark
Searching for Alexandria
The flame of life
Become great stories to be told
And nothing more.
Odysseus
Hug the shore
Follow the land of the mysterious Croats
Do not venture beyond the threshold
Or you will be consumed by time
And lost to her Circedean jealous pines
Do not anger the constant love of
Helios
No,
These Croats have never croaked
They know not of amphibiotes
And the sharpened clades of life
Made and tailored bespoke
Sowed
In the fractals
Of the quiet word of
Eloah.
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 2:41 PM UTC
*Spring is going to back
Silently dropping the purple petals
Bored noon,
The melancholy flute's of Shepherd
Seeking the missing spring
Roll up,
Roll around the idle noon
Random impulsive air
Bunch of dark clouds at the sky
Pensive
Seem illusion of that known
Pied crested Cuckoo
Beyond the horizon,
The eyes looking for
Sounds (Tip Tip) of the sudden drops of rain,
On the leaves of Quail,
Washing
Differentiation of mind
On the leaves of Arum,
Ever Keeps as the containers
Integrating
Concentrating
Compiling of soul
Weird one wrapped in mystery
Mind
Life
Seasons
Coming up the lyrics of rain
Fusion with thy mystic music
Afternoon has grown heavier
How my mind moves!
Chased away birds returning home
The heart is rapidly expanded
Rain continues to move around
Nature demands a new ground
Looping, hearing of the same song
Shadows filling with the feelings
Perhaps this change of thy
Bound to sketch
A new face of impression*
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 12:41 PM UTC
Lets look on upon unpopular stars when we are apart, and wish our hearts were heads, forgetting we ever met, as if meant to be, compiling our indoctrination unto ****** scent, and cold coffee, stale smoke, and years of therapy.
Feb 23, 2013
Feb 23, 2013 at 6:15 PM UTC
*Strip into segments the colours of life
At the birth of my sons, loving my wife,
Like the moment of truth when, whilst shivering clear,
I went eyeball to eyeball with that, which I fear.
Like the time when the engine went dead in the plane
And I ditched in the pines to confirm the insane.
When my Father collapsed and died in my arms
And childhood departed with God and his Psalms.
When I first kissed a girl’s soft velvety lips
And felt, with wild rapture, my hands on her hips.
Discovered ripe apricots fresh from the tree
Taste sweeter than nectar collected by bee.
Felt the presence of death compellingly near
Though the body was wracked, the thinking was fear.
Climbed impossible peaks that I dreamt I perceived
To weep the hot tears in a life’s goal achieved.
Laughed loud and long with the wind in my hair
Yet cried when an enemy lost to despair.
Pondered the mystery of what’s round the bend
Concluded beginnings are part of the end.
Compiling the rules to maintain my space
Lie in keeping the oddballs out of my face.
Clasping friends, so few, to my breast
Embracing the true and to hell with the rest.
Committing my time to my one darling wife
And thanking the Gods for this colourful life!*
Marshalg
Sitting in the long summer grasses
3 Decemeber 2012
Dec 2, 2012
Dec 2, 2012 at 9:34 PM UTC
clicking teeth
rattling breath
veins too small and cramped lungs
spindly ribs and spiderweb lips
you wake up
sunshine on your face
lazy smile lazy voice eyes squinted
why can't I be happy like you?
you taste like ozone and i have traced the knots on your ankles
and the hole in your chest
for hours
revising calculations
compiling a chart
mapping your unknown spaces to find the real distance from you to me
not in the light years from your mouth to mine
but thoughts
memories
four thousand six hundred fourty four instances without me
that void is infinite
your mouth is full of flies
your brain is a quasar with no light on the horizon
there is nothing left of you but bones
and a nest of veins and arteries with your heart stuck in the center like an egg
your wings are melting
you've flown too close to the sun again
wax tattoos you poppy red in drip
drip
drips
how could i forget you?
your parabolas
your rosy cheeks
and the weight of you
how could i forget?
you have no solution
(i could help you find one)
Oct 7, 2013
Oct 7, 2013 at 9:55 PM UTC
babbling bard's borrowed blabberpolished performers jibber jabberpinching published stolen cultureverse of a cuckoo, parrot, or vulture thespian thrush corally crowspilfered produce of past masters proseperfect posture, prancing croondotty damsels sigh and swoon shakespearian showman strutting stagesobtaining material from dead poets pagesstudious stealer's theatrical thirstrapturous robber, magpie of verse wisely walter mundane mittypoetical poacher prancing prettyempty shallow pretentious crookcrafty criminal compiling book robber of rhyme from archival shelfcopy-cat crooner can't do it himselfrouted teeth spout from mouth like a troutaudience wonder, what is he on about any question's? the laurete quizzedyes said one,...do you know where the bog is? this is a true story, i was there. and the **** concerned is the editor of poetry wales magazine. who told me that i should study other peoples work for at least five years before i put pen to paper. i promptly answered, .... too late butty, i've already published 3 books, and sold the lot (only locally mind, but did'nt tell him that). he read other peoples poems that night, that were converted from english to welsh, and no one round here speaks or understands welsh.
Mar 2, 2010
Mar 2, 2010 at 12:36 PM UTC
About you
Inspired by you
You've never read them
I've considered compiling them
Hand-written, blue-lined notebook paper
Slipping them in manila folder
Handing it to you
On our last encounter
Yes, I wrote poems for you
And you broke my heart
Perhaps I wrote poems for you
Because I knew you'd be the one
To break my heart
And here you are
As you started
As you'd end
With me tangled in love
And ache and poetry
Mar 19, 2018
Mar 19, 2018 at 2:54 AM UTC
Your opinions doesn't matter, no matter the argument,
you could be right, you could be wrong, but we don't really care.
you're but one person out of the many, and your voice cannot be heard.
You are not a politition, nor a lawyer, nor in the government,
you can fight and rally all you wish, but you'll always end up in disappointment.
because your opinions doesn't matter.
You are not some prodigy that can rally a whole nation behind his back,
nor are you some great speechman that can touch another's heart.
You are but a common man, speaking out his own thought,
entertaining your own imagination, fighting other people,
debating over things you can't change, but anger you have brought.
but in the end that thought no one actually cares,
your opinions doesn't matter.
The world is not fully black or white, so why are you the judge?
is it prejudice, or sympathy, no ones really interested.
no matter how compiling your argument, there'll always be something you're missing,
there'll always be contradictions within your words, and someone will always find it.
but in the end it doesn't matter,
because your opinions doesn't matter.
But nor does mine, nor anyones, we're all just pieces of pawns,
controlled by the government, society, and big corporations.
it's best to sit back, enjoy your life, and sip a cup of water,
block out anything that does not concern you,
and live a happy life.
inside your happy little bubble, you'll always be the king,
because no one's opinion ever matters.
Oct 29, 2017
Oct 29, 2017 at 1:57 AM UTC
All our senses concatenate, building on each other
<>
this interplay is truly interplanetary,
for each of us a unique solar system,
our brains,
intricacy literally personified,
and our five senses, working
in
concatenation
our long range sensors, busy bees compiling inputs
by the nanosecond second, distilling, integrating.
blending and then reconstructing…into a whole!
*a gentle breeze ruffles the hair,
the tree swing rises and flows
of its own accord, no passported
passenger required, and a neighbor’s
American Flag, moves majestically &
impressively, whipping, dancing, yes, prancing
to a tune only it can hear,
the syncopated air currents providing
a rhythmic awesome inspiring beat…*
and the brain takes this all in, a momentary
second of a vista that is constantly flexing,
yet remains unchanged, a muscular view
of a real world, living but yet immutable,
and I utter thanks to my motor functions,
that bless me with the eyes to perceive,
the nostrils to smell sea salt flavored air,
the hearing ears that the know the imperceptible
orchestrations of silences by their absence
and their intrusion, and I touch my fingertips
to my tongue, wetted, and hyper sensitized
to that gentle breeze that decorates the
landscapes external,
*and the combinatory
addition of the all of it, into a single momentary
poem of recall, what I “knew” yesterday, & will
greet again this coming day, as an old unfamiliar
friend, who grasps me entire, and proclaims:
this is living…and the greatest satisfaction that
a speck of mortal can achieve, retain and
through impoverished words…share*
4:14am
Mon Jul 22
2 0 2 4
Jul 22, 2024
Jul 22, 2024 at 4:25 AM UTC
He could write only perhaps a page at a time so scarred was he of losing the brilliance that he had somehow found again. After a few minutes of writing he was haunted by introspection reading back on what he had just written he couldn't escape the notion his words had been penned by some greater man and if he were to continue, to add to it, he would only be lessening a beautiful portrait. The effect was that each page he wrote looked like a biography with each chapter recorded by a different writer giving his work the disjointed feeling of having many contributors all compiling their experiences to tell this one story. He had never bothered to understand Durkheim's theory of alienation, but he imagined it was something close to this – not recognising himself in every story he wrote, only knowing that it was somehow someone different each time and that they were all trapped somewhere deep inside him.
Jul 12, 2012
Jul 12, 2012 at 3:24 AM UTC
With every utterance that leaves my lips
Exist a thousand more my tongue have missed
Frustration causes problems compiling my statements
I try to recapitulate my day, but failure hides in my shadow
My mind leads me and I follow
Complex formulas and conundrums are riddle across my brain
Monday through Sunday overthinking regulates my plane
I soar through the sky in thought,
Though in reality I haven’t left yet
Though I consciously monitor my next step
Because I’m on plan E and I think F’s next
Entrapped by the scent of,
The woman that lies beside me
My soul watches her as she sleep
I lay awake thinking of the rising sun
The things to come with the next day
I’ve learned a lot mainly that patience pays
That vexation puts me in my place, kicks sand in my face
Obscures my way, to humble my spirit
Arrogance ravages my actions
But frustration deflates my ego
With every utterance that leaves my lips
Exist a thousand more my tongue have missed
Mar 4, 2013
Mar 4, 2013 at 5:45 AM UTC
So frivolous that this exists within a
Lack of being,
The ebb and flow of Death influx,
The cause of void in pulse, but,
Nonetheless,
Life hosts in essence, in absence,
In ephemeral disguises compiling like
Waves in the ocean,
Like pomegranate seeds in hands,
Like the letter C in the mind,
[A comedy]
.Perpetual.
And yet we are,
And yet I am,
And yet you is,
[A complex]
The "primordial" surrogate of truth:
The sun in a raisin,
Shriveled and compacted because
The grape was in the son of
Woman and man
[A tragedy]
But still, with her eyes on horizons,
The blue woman remains in essence
While the red man remains in absence:
*Lack of sunrises
Lack of sunsets
Lack of quiet nights*
But the ebb and flow
as parables
as memoirs
Appease the quiet war between the
Quiet soul's erosion and the
Ancestral swig of heresy, tonics that
Drip sporadic hesitation,
An emotion
[A concoction]
.Purple.
This is my body
Information becomes info
This is my blood
Influence the chaos
With ripened moons and fluorescent suns
The poetry as Mother Tongue
As Mother Nature
As existence
As a lack of dark meaning
[A feeling]
["Give them what they lacked"]
The songs of ecclesiastics
Everything is meaningless
Until
My hands
My hands
My hands
Are
Reincarnated within the Auroras of Autumn,
Within the auras of Winter,
Within
Within
The Ebb and Flow of Death bearing the new.
[A time][A place]
Father's Time
Father's End
As anecdotes
As joyful mysteries
.
Suppose the mirror reflects it all
As found and "uncharred"
Dec 2, 2015
Dec 2, 2015 at 1:05 AM UTC
BE GRATIFIED!
BE SATISFIED!
FOR NOT ALL WHO HAVE THEIR EYES
COULD EVER SEE
JUST LIKE ALL THOSE WHO HAVE THEIR EARS
WHOM CAN ONLY LISTEN
BUT THEY HAVEN'T HEARD
BECAUSE THE MOST BEAUTIFUL THINGS IN LIFE
ARE NOT SEEN AND CAN'T HEAR BUT FELT BY THE HEART!
SPECIALLY IN THE HEART'S OF...
PERSON WITH DISABILITY (PWD)
:BLIND, DEAF, MUTE
AND THOSE PEOPLE PLAYING IT OFF...
ENHANCING TENDENCY CHEERFULLY (ETC)
*SUCH AS : SPEAKING NASALLY, AUTISM, *******
INSIGHT AND OUT, THEY ARE THE GIFTED ONE
ONE WHO ENJOYS THE PRESENTS OF CRIES
CRIES THAT FILLED THEIR LIVES FULL OF TRIES
TRIES CONSIDERING THAT THEY ARE ALSO ONE OF US
ONE OF US WHOM ALSO STILL SEEKING LIFE'S QUERY
QUERY COMPILING EVERY SINGLE WORD OF MYSTERIES
MYSTERIES ANSWERED THE SIGNIFICANCE OF ESSENCE
Jan 1, 2016
Jan 1, 2016 at 10:19 PM UTC
Feeling like a waste of human life
seems to be disgustingly more and more
familiar to me each day.
With every breath I take,
I can’t help but to feel it is misplaced.
I feel like drowning,-
just compiling all this hate,
all my fears, my repressed anger,
my feelings of loss, and self loathing,
and taking them-
and letting em' eat away at my pores-
letting em' impregnate my lungs-
as I wither,
until nothing more but a hollow shell remains.
I feel like setting fire to this face.
Taking that cheap molten metal,
and instead of to my wrist,
applying it to my brain;
letting it simmer and burn until there is no more pain.
I choose to wallow, dwell, and hold onto this rage
for reasons we call,
"insane".
I constantly, consistently,
no matter the consequence,
or the grief I may bring,
sabotage anything I could possibly EVER have going for me.
I am my own worst enemy.
I feel like I am screaming.
Like every fight we ever had,
I was blatantly clear of what it is I fear,
but I am wrong,
I didn’t tell you once what was REALLY going on.
Not once did I say I just feel useless today.
I miss my brother and his familiar face.
I think about him with every heart beat,
living in a tent, fighting this war of greed,
just counting down until he can finally be-
returned home to his loving new family.
I hold him very close to my heart,
and his absence is quite frankly,
TEARING me apart.
I wish He could have been here for our Father in his time of need.
I know Dad wishes that too.
I wish I knew how to deal with loss better.
I only feel guilt, and bitterness.
I feel like in the years I have been alive,
that I should have DONE MORE!
I should have gotten to know my grandfather before-
it was too late.
What a selfish, putrid being
I have grown to be.
I wish my brother could see
our beautiful Mother finally
get the wedding she always dreamed.
Instead….
He will only see pictures.
He will only be with us in our hearts,
and on paper,
and on Anthony’s tux.
I hope Momma takes it well.
It will be an ever bittersweet memory.
What irony.
I have been thinking about using again.
As often as I blink,
I fight this demon inside of me,
just pleading to be set free,
yet instead,
I allow it to consume me.
Falling, flitting, failing, quitting.
A ****** battle that I just can’t seem to win,
silent, yet shrieking
from this prison we call-
“within”.
Aug 7, 2010
Aug 7, 2010 at 3:43 PM UTC
With small colonies
Of rain water
When brushed form together
And make a fountain
When hung from the neck
On wooden coat racks
Wobbling from the storm
Outiside, compiling a lake
On the white **** rug
Hopefully your aunt doesn't mind
The newfound guests of water
And mud
And myself, quiet as this farmhouse
And the land it shepherds
Let the raincoats stack
One on top of the other
And let the puddle grow into
A sea of collective belonging
Because behind these walls
And a way from the thunder
Our family can stay soggy
Together, despite being
A funeral for uncle earl
We're just droplets.
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 11:19 PM UTC
Swoosh!
Uh! Why, thank you!
You may know by now
I am weightless so
I'll help you
levitate, too, okay? and
Ommmm...meditate!
(and I'll kiss you like so, too)
Hooray!
Boy and girl paper dolls in
3-dimensions!
I can't point to which ears
heard which stampeding rumbles
from minimal eye gazes,
my vigilantly mind plotting on a chess board,
six moves ahead,
rooks to rookies,
overtly naive to trump
Freudian slips
(here's where Forer will see his effect),
a density practiced since
crushin' La Rosa,
an unfurling heroine,
compiling names to
ever-growing lists,
I pushed it to the test,
immersed in
metacourse
and passed in
supernova bursts of
spiralling colours!
Mr. Movie sends his waves asking,
Alice killed the Jabberwock with a purple sword, didn't she?
And making his request,
Make sure the hyenas get rid of Scar so that he Never! Comes!...Back!
As well as his warnings,
(Captain Gutt will threaten)
*I will destroy him and everything he LO-OVES!
You destroyed everything I had!
I'm just returning the favour!*
Reassuring,
*No, he won't.
Uh uh.*
But I wouldn't know anything about that.
I live in the post-post-postmodern age.
Apr 4, 2014
Apr 4, 2014 at 9:06 AM UTC
Those few calming songs,
Running in the background of your deepest thoughts,
Realizing you've become happier,
Something you thought you had forgot,
You roam in your thoughts,
Keeping in mind what keeps you smiling,
Keeping in mind what makes you smile,
Every little thought you had compiling,
Smile, live life,
Enjoy all the little things,
You won't regret what you've done,
Even if those thoughts sting,
Definite happiness,
It's finally here,
And you better believe,
It's nothing to fear.
Feb 20, 2011
Feb 20, 2011 at 6:15 AM UTC
Always remind me of where it all started,
Was it the way you touched me as I trembled?
Or how you went into this wholehearted?
I'll never forget the moment your soft, alluring lips passionately kissed me.
As we both felt the sparks that ignited between us, what more was there to do?
You worked your hands all over my body, making me feel like a masterpiece.
Your gentle, calming hands descended farther down my spine and past my protruding hips,
I can hear our breathing getting louder and heavier,
Our perpetual moans fill the empty room.
As I start to crave the way your body perfectly curved with mine, I could feel the warmth that penetrated off your body onto mine, but that also wasn't the only thing to penetrate me either.
All of this happened in the blink of an eye and before I knew that the chaos that started compiling in my mind,
I knew that I needed you to stay with me.
May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 8:24 PM UTC
One of the basic concepts of art
Is that within every creation lies
Fundamental shapes shepherd by an
Organic compiling of lights and darks
Bending to formulate shadowed tales.
Stories. Myths. Epics.
Triangles and circles rest undisturbed
Scattered rhythmically like smooth curves
Contouring to the whims of the dance...
Yet, when infusing detail into mapped
Shapes, the stories are no longer the same.
Haunted and forsaken.
But still, such a delicate face hearkens my
Pencil to life.
My fingers, to smudge these fine lines
Drawn into the organic creation that is you:
A lovely imperfection.
However, I never seem to get this line correctly.
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 2:49 PM UTC
endless drip-drop-plopping pling-pop puddles pooling over
their self-constructed boundaries,
spilling into rainbow chem-drip paintings on the darkened pavement,
melting into unseen hues of wetness.
the super-saturated ground continues to collect the leaking of the sky,
compiling samples of the potions spilling from clouds who gathered too much magic to hold onto by themselves.
bustling busy-bodies cower under fabric roofs,
only to be barraged by rising tidal waves rolling at their feet,
sneaky splattering from dirt sick of being stomped upon.
under the cover of brick and mortar
searching eyes are stuck staring out blurred window-panes,
hypnotized by the water-works and
feeling nostalgia for a time when they lived under the sea,
evolutionary longing for ancestral roots that escape understanding.
entranced by the suspended flight and splendid crash landing of
parachute droplets sent through a long descent as singular entities
to dissolve back into a homogenous being at the end of the journey -
separating and reconvening, reforming and dissipating.
drip-drop drip-drop all the same,
everything as everything else under the guise of arbitrary names,
dripping-drop plopping in watery refrain,
I am the same as you are the same as we are the same as the drip-dropping rain.
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 2:37 PM UTC
The cracked corners of her spoken too many times mouth bent just far enough upward to be called a smile
Teeth yellow from a coping mechanism you can't quite understand yet
Holding back each breathe just enough
For it it were not for the power in her lungs I wouldn't be here
She says "Boy you just don't understand"
Four years later,
This jigsaw puzzle is slowly compiling itself into a fading picture
54 years of back breaking uphill climbs
Two children who are still on a search to become men
Zero men that deserved her heart
A single mother conquering the branded arms of poverty
Days weaving together begging for refuge
Finding empty responses
She is the shore being abused by the ocean
Never once asked consent for what the body of water has taken
Her framework eroding from view
She has given too much too fast and it will not be given back
Cancer has a funny way of taking something that does not belong to it
Ending stories before they are finished
Cutting to the credits earlier than expected
We are powerless power lines being controlled by the wind
Four year later I hear her saying
"Boy you just don't understand"
You are right mother
I still do not understand
Why you are not here
Feb 23, 2017
Feb 23, 2017 at 3:30 PM UTC
I reside of the dark side of the internet
Wisely compiling knowledge
On how Mother Earth is being taken hostage,
On numerous projects that’s create statistics,
Promises of peace that seems far from realistic.
Numbers that count every human life
Without putting any real value on a humans’ life
You tell me, what life & its’ people have
Done to you…Well….
It's done the same to me too
Along with many others
But don't give up
My sisters & brothers
Look out for one another
This doesn't make sense
To fight & belittle ourselves
Don't you know?
That we originate from wealth,
Why must we endanger our health?
Be Labeled at risk….
When already
We're the number 1 target
On their list
I didn't come here… “To preach”
Leave that jazz to the bishop
“I Came To Teach…...”
This infection of deception that’s going viral
How do I know? Look in your bible
Read up on the world
Don’t sit or stand idle
Your life is in your hands
To survive you must understand survival
Is life worth freedom or freedom worth life?
Is it worth the pain the tears and the sacrifice?
Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 1:54 PM UTC