"contrivance" poems
Distance traveled time spent's dynamic progressiveness, existentially transcendental's clairaudience clairvoyance. Metaphysical mystique’s evolutionally metamorphic futurity's fatidic incarnate. Due yesterday’s retrospectively retroactive. Protractive analyses' dimensional delineations. Enigma entity’s dexterously tactile acuity and coordinated agility on the identity crisis. Cerebral cortex’s ****** matrix to synaptic syntax semantics. Prospectus perplexity surreally sublime. Quagmire quandary’s poshly plush. Who am I to think I can conception of the infinite supply? Even the syntactics of eclectic synectics pale by compare to the atrociously impetuous impudence in pugnaciously audacious. Impromptu innuendo's juncture. Imagination’s immaturities are psychic clarity’s entelechy to evolutional tenants élan vital. Fiduciary principle's financially responsible fiscal policies. Mercenary mendacity's plenary plenipotentiary. Innocuous noumenal verity, mystic symbiotic’s chicanery dynamism fealties. Proximity parameter’s perimeter peripherals, vicinity victuals to vigilante villain, propinquity habitation’s harbingers of harangued. The question remains on the tribal: how can I stand next to the person I’m standing next to if I’m carrying on right through them. It’s the trajectory extant in spatiotemporal's telemetry tactician. Well graspy greedy on the stingy frugal to mingy minion and paw flaw laws claws on it. Get a glove, objectified manifest’s diminutive minutia iota’s of self-inductive interstitial extrapolation. Detinue perfective. Traveling down this obtusely overt contusion in my vehicular contrivance convection convolution. Nimbus nimiety exorcism’s aura roan to rainbow mare. Unicorn railway nails. Swarthy ******** swath swizzles on the sweaty swelter swerve to verve.
May 28, 2019
May 28, 2019 at 12:10 PM UTC
Distance traveled time spent's dynamic progressiveness, existentially transcendental's clairaudience clairvoyance. Metaphysical mystique’s evolutionally metamorphic futurity's fatidic incarnate. Due yesterday’s retrospectively retroactive. Protractive analysis' dimensional delineation. Enigma entity’s dexterously tactile acuity and coordinated agility on the identity crisis. Cerebral cortex’s ****** matrix to synaptic syntax semantics. Prospectus perplexity surreally sublime. Quagmire quandary’s poshly plush. Who am I to think I can conception of the infinite supply? Even the syntactics of eclectic synectics pale by compare to the atrociously impetuous impudence in pugnaciously audacious. Impromptu innuendo's juncture. Imagination’s immaturities are psychic clarity’s entelechy to evolutional tenants élan vital. Fiduciary principle's financially responsible fiscal policies. Mercenary mendacity's plenary plenipotentiary. Innocuous noumenal verity, mystic symbiotic’s chicanery dynamism fealties. Proximity parameter’s perimeter peripherals, vicinity victuals to vigilante villain, propinquity habitation’s harbingers of harangued. The question remains on the tribal: how can I stand next to the person I’m standing next to if I’m carrying on right through them. It’s the trajectory extant in spatiotemporal's telemetry tactician. Well graspy greedy on the stingy frugal to mingy minion and paw flaw laws claws on it. Get a glove, objectified manifest’s diminutive minutia iota’s of self-inductive interstitial extrapolation. Detinue perfective. Traveling down this obtusely overt contusion in my vehicular contrivance convection convolution. Nimbus nimiety exorcism’s aura roan to rainbow mare. Unicorn railway nails. Swarthy swastica swath swizzles on the sweaty swelter swerve to verve.
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 10:57 PM UTC
Intangibly, it cometh and goeth.
Substanceless it slips in transition from one immeasurable instant to the next. Equitable to infinite space, in terms of distance, infinite time is a concept quite alien to the finite human mind. There is no proof of existence, it is a human conception with no sensory component, an illusion and utterly immeasurable in real terms with only a human contrivance to calibrate it....(and poorly at that).
Time is the silken zephyr on which we lay our dreams and aspirations. It is the currency of deep religion and is regarded as the ultimate sword hand of God. Incorruptible and absolute it brooks no favour, seeks no fame. Irreversible in it's cold implacable, unquenchability it merely, unfeelingly.... proceeds.
M.
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 10:02 PM UTC
We strode together in another age, my love,
You, in your earthen gown and beautiful dark tresses.
I, the wearer of the long plaited, thong and sinew sandal.
You and I, we strode through quiet valleys of tall conifer
Where huge rock falls left monolithic edifices... as monuments to past largess.
Together we walked as one, in a world much simpler than the one we live in now.
In a time, without the inhibition of contrivance or sophistication.
We walked in clarity and drank from clear, clean waters.
We dallied in the honeyed light of a huge, summer moon.
A field of dandy lions in the warm April sunshine, was the byre in which we made love and produced our babies.
A love ... un-harried, unhurried and devoid of any preoccupation other than that of the beautiful desire
We felt for each other.
The love we feel now is the same as the love shared then;
But in this age it is diluted and complicated by the urgencies and imperatives of the day.
Then there was just time...given and taken.
Without cost or penalty, without blame or insinuation, without hurt or harm.
Time in that better age...was a friend.
A friend who augmented the beauty of today into the promise of tomorrow,
A friend who exchanged the serenity of yesterday for the excitement of the new day’s dawn.
This was our time, when the bond of eternity sealed our commitment to each other.
For however many lifetimes we may live in...
We shall be one.
Marshalg
For darling Janet
12 September 2011
Sep 12, 2011
Sep 12, 2011 at 3:14 PM UTC
I
am of
vulnerability
authenticity
empathy
fun and
assertion.
I
am of
devotion
humbleness
health
tolerance and
skill.
I
am of
perseverance
learning
pathology
deviance and
contrivance.
I
am of
purging
expanding
contracting
worth and
contrition.
I
am of
polity
deference
you
me and
verbosity.
I
am of
humour
kindness
kindred
kin and
Ki.
I
am of
the earth
the wind
the fire
the driving rain and
the glaciers crevasse.
Who am I?
I
am
one of your tribe and
I need you tonight.
Feb 16, 2019
Feb 16, 2019 at 2:13 PM UTC
Starlit nights bring a sense of tininess.
The vast soot-stained cloak of the sky,
pierced with so many tiny scintillating
spots of vim opalescent flares, is a heavy
intoxicant. It contains a thing most panache.
A girlish teetotaler beside me says,
"We're like those stars, distantly inflamed,
lost in a void of what we cannot know."
She is most apt in her contrivance.
I wish to be castellated, terraced
with Byzantine buttresses and towers-tops.
I want a portcullis for my portico that is
made mostly out of gold, an inner bailey
where the stars can sleep and the wine may flow.
I want the wine most metaphysical,
the type that flows and churns, perning
inside the inner sanctum of the mind.
Sep 28, 2012
Sep 28, 2012 at 2:04 PM UTC
in the end, I am declared
guilty
to be free from the chains of contrivance
to finally rely on noble companions
from facade to its truths
born flowers will bore fruit
to be requested release
and to forever deny its reprise
to be loved, and finally to love
and matters not that never mattered
past chains perish, and the future followed
as warm as the sun
forever cursed to bear the fervor
to be chained,
to be denied and drought
as I have done to he
as the moon without its sun
at the start, the only crime committed
was being me
Dec 8, 2023
Dec 8, 2023 at 11:05 AM UTC
Watch from your fancy TV screen -
Hypnotized
as your illusions of choice atrophy
A trophy, at your feet
Conceived in rage
From the place where miracles abound
The Eschaton will Immanentize
Dark energy entities
emanating from every corner all around
Hi - Def Surround Sound
Hide - Death Surrounds Hounds
It will bring you to your knees
When the Earth and all its Majesty
Crumble at the hands of the One-Eyed Messiah
The one I despise
You are all deceived
And to him they will scream
"Save Us"
Disenchantment following
Falling victim to his folly;
False exalted flesh reveres no seer
Neither those seared by his imprint
The prevelance of his contrivance
an resemblance of penance
for lack of repentance
And I'll cry to the sky
For the impending hour is nigh
And all things will seem unreal
Perchance a dream
When the duality is truly realized
The wailing and lament
of innumerable disembodied voices
will dually harmonize
The masses will chant
Praying for requiem
And then duly perish
Silhouettes
Pendulously suspended by strings
Oct 19, 2013
Oct 19, 2013 at 10:19 AM UTC
The churning *** keeps my family one
The fog of delight hides us from the sun
A taste of complacence to keep me compliant
Frames of despair keep the hallways’ alignment
This battleship lands in Australia for now
And burns its own flag along with sundown
The captain is weak, the crewmen have perished
The telescope frowns when it scans the cherished
The cook yells, “My, with the onions, I cry!”
The maid is convinced,by her use of lye,
That this is a happy crew of the sea
Where everyone’s something to puke except me
I stayed on the bridge with a knife in my eye
The pensive maiden disarms with a sigh
Here lies the painting of a family brew
The mirror, indifferent of me, is true
Metal footsteps of a boy led blind
The chef and the captain maintain their grind
And thrive in contrivance of a world kept stable
Where all the rules lie in the food of a table
The boy has been strung across the bridge, politely
And left to a tool of love, coded tightly
There is nothing in the night’s facade of blue
I’m a ***** to the smell of the ship-crew’s stew
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 2:17 PM UTC
I don't eat no beef
No **** no lamb no swine
Only on the verdurous etch
Doest I within my thine I dine
I don't eat Jellie and sauces slick with ill
Confounded with animal ****
Nor powders and honeys dripping and grime
Spent with the wretch of genocide's time
I don't hunt for game or trophy ****
I don't glorify **** or bile or swill
I don't bow to the customs and conventions of now
Now matter what serve of the demonic a sow
I don't **** my brother or sister for food
It's not blood on my hands that's reddened and hued
So why take the life of an innocent babe?
An animal born here of terrestrial habe?
What for the taste of delicious a flesh?
To accompany sauce Cantonese wan szech?
Or is it to sate gastronomy?
That bloodies the hands of you and me?
That forces the carnivore?
To act the ****** *****
And ***** an animal innocent and bright
Is this self deified act requite?
What do you proclaim to be?
To ****** an animal's right to be?
A god with insight and power so great?
To forsake your right to heaven with hate?
Or a devil or demon anon?
To justify your sleepy murderous throng?
Or merely a human who follows the lead?
Of our common culture's bane banal creed?
So what is it that drives you to the deed exact?
To cut the throat of creatures in act?
Are you saying that murders ok?
And you'd enact this upon your own whether or may?
If you could knock or whack a human for merely the taste of its flesh?
And not because their discord did not mesh?
With your idea of what justifies life?
And end a being forever of strife?
Is it ok for aliens to prey?
Upon our earthen developments stay?
And enslave our species to sate their gut?
To fawn and feed and slupper and glut?
Because they have a higher IQ?
Or more dextrous fingers with which to hew?
Are you sure you want to be an unthinking one?
Of the masses maraud and to the deed done?
As somnambulist reaching with a laden gun
And end life forthwith no winner or won
Unless you count dinner to the taste of your tongue
Trained since a child to sing the song sung
Of the glory of meat as to salivate and savour
As if bowing to the idea of what will crave ya
Haven't you ever heard of an acquired taste?
Well couldn't we now apply this with grace?
Apr 9, 2021
Apr 9, 2021 at 11:48 PM UTC
Can you settle for more or less if today was your last day
And what would be your retort if you were denied another chance?
How life introduces sobriety and the impending inevitability
The interstice and it’s ingress that encloses before your eyes
The demanding pouring of importune time
That soothing allaying sighs that evoke incalculable alleviation
If someone were to impart as they closed their eyes
As they died with a commital of happenings with not enough time
As to burden you with the impression of only one chance
It would seem and with the impending inevitability
Of your death which would subito compromise the day
A bearding contrivance plight of obligations engagement and commital no alleviation
An abecedarian dossier concealed for a long time
All this time the inevitable coinciding incident only for your eyes
The emotional habituation was of quotidian rendition each day
Of how trivial things take us on a dance with only one life one chance
With your attention and awareness on the answer the inevitability
Of what you are becoming with each passing second for each
Thought which transpires and no alleviation
Is there an epoch a replicating limn a depiction of our linear time
As we perpetrate and pursue progressively for our alleviation
Engaged to staying the course the day
Stirring closing in on our deliberate objective determined chance
Which remained for a terse duration from the inevitability
In which at the atrium of this erstwhile portage of a duvet to belabor
To stifle firsthand with your eyes
The variant from this domicile from this residence on a day
Is the vagabond to perish in yonder with no alleviation
Once man was a brute dullard or a curmudgeon spinster at a time
Which offers a mute disconnection ragged miscreant the inevi
Naivety or absent mindedness to somnambulist and its silhouette
Notwithstanding change
The quagmire and it’s nightmare the ingrate delighted with coined
Shunned eyes
Reputation with a flagrant obscene defilement galvanizing
The alleviation
At the heart of this lies another chance
A precocious inevitability
A man who lies to die another day
The annihilation in desperate want for from those argent eyes
To the starving newfangled optimism which in its sheen
Shines sunshine dulling the ocular orbs of time
Forwithal in befuddlement remain here
The time if infringement to comprehend the volatile vertigo
And the inevitability
The harrowing of hell
Glance at the shinning suns in her eyes intention considers change
After you heal and left are the cicatrix
Will you plunge further for alleviation
Or on the intent of regression once again
From long ago to another distant day.
Jan 23, 2019
Jan 23, 2019 at 9:20 PM UTC
By my own contrivance (or not)
Cloaked in some distant shroud obscure
There was a little fire (I thought)
Floating, phantom angler's lure
Will-o'-the-wisp on brittle ice
Beguiling in its sinuous prance
Waiting for lost souls to entice
With symphonies of fervent dance
With final breaths it doth abscond
An elemental Charon, gone
To the bottom of its frozen pond
And endless sleep without a yawn
Breathlessness of ebullient flight
Effervescent, long out of sight
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 11:06 AM UTC
I. Loathing
i would’ve torn you
a few new
if you knew
what i’d seen,
with eyes sewn
when i was shown
too soon.
II. Contrivance
The substance i walked through,
in dream this morning,
was most magnificent in composure:
crunching under one’s foot
like snow, or like sand,
but not cold to the touch,
nor did it stick when wet,
&& although the white tiny particles
poured out of the mountain,
on the side of it we walked,
holding your little hand.
I knew down the stretch was a beautiful beach,
where this substance,
met a glistening body of water.
Your animal was loving, just as you,
&& although your name surprised me,
i was in love to hear it nonetheless.
Your father had not yet arrived,
&& in your absence,
i left a tiny piece of my heart,
in your notebook.
The sign on the bus said “Omaha”,
and it seemed so familiar,
but my memoryscreamed
somewhere like Mqt, Ca.,
&& although i didn't acquaint with the other troublemakers
on the back of the bus, as i waited, i watched.
You came up to me, and our embrace
was so warm, your tiny ribs against mine,
beautiful brown hair in my face.
How strange it was, in this sun bathed dream,
when you should tell me your name,
i should not understand it at first,
&& asking again, focusing within your fortunate eyes,
you told me exactly what i should need to hear.
&& ponder i did, although
not without first telling you how lovely it was.
III. Realization
It seems you and i
have both fallen short
of our prospective places
in Babylon.
For i have not grown
into the man
you once dreamt
i should be,
and you are no longer
the lovely girl
i once thought
i would marry.
You and i are free to be
what we are; without
persecution or judgement
from one another,
but we both must understand
the waves we created
when our dreams and realities
did not actually coincide,
&& perhaps the dreams
that i have had, and still am having
are just ripples
from a past that didn’t happen.
IV. Peroration
You're no longer the dreamer
i fell in love with,
&& i am no longer the dream
you thought you once loved,
but please may we
free our hearts and release
all the contempt
we hold one another in?
It’s not your fault
you were everything i wanted,
and it wasn’t enough
to quell my soul.
please know though,
we need not hold knots,
and let our cold spots,
and ill thoughts rot; within.
it’s not my fault
you dreamt me so;
with weight unfelt in this world,
but i am only a feather.
We are free to be
if we only freed ourselves to be,
We are no different
if only we freed ourselves to be.
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 12:11 PM UTC
You must have skill of rope walker in order to walk on the periphery of the circle,
It's been years, you are stuck in the Zero,
Constantly revolving around,
From the window far far away, blinds are watching,
Blindness is not useful then,
Smokes are stretched between with heinous sounds,
you can project an arrow in the direction of the sound,
but it is noise every where,
Sound is not pure, like music
neighing can corrupt your ears,
fighting can corrupt your hands,
you have tied some gospels on your fingers,
it gives warmth in utter cold
in the mud pool of light besides,
you are dipping your arrow tip and aiming,
your hands are in mood of becoming a bowstring,
your speed must be hasty
and weight less than a thin air
then only you can penetrate those noises,
as soon as you enter in the dark matter,
slowly you fall into contrivance,
your delivery path is glowing like a glow warm,
at first you have to get **** in the end you can cover again,
hands, legs are constantly struggling,
No shields, Not even swords,
you are still involved in
Tumultuous war.
Mar 24, 2012
Mar 24, 2012 at 7:47 PM UTC
O Lord, it’s morning; I’m here,
seeking Your face and guidance;
hear the echoing words of my heart;
they’re not some human contrivance
to guilt You into honoring Your Word;
I know that you’re not a lying Man,
with false, hollow promises that tease.
Living my life with these empty hands
raised unto You alone, I ache and yearn
for the sound, of Your quiet voice-
that gently soothes my Christian soul.
Despite today’s harshness, I rejoice…
knowing that the battle belongs to You.
Therefore, I continue to be still-
basking in Your Presence once more,
waiting for You to reveal Your Will…
that’s been individually crafted for me.
.
.
.
Author Notes
Inspired by:
Psa 46; Exo 14:14
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2015, All rights reserved.
Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 1:39 PM UTC
The clock on my tablet has struck twelve
And I wonder what it is I can easily delve
Into on a night as wondrous as this one is
Back home the witching hour has come
And I am sixty-seven and feeling calm
Here in the queen’s realm I still am sixty-six
I watch the cloudy skies for a sign, any sign
Dawn is a reticent traveller and by design
In the home country we’d be up and about
What a lark when finally it’s daybreak here
And there’s none of the fabled English bird songs
To serenade my day, just the sulky silence and drizzle
Who needs contrivance when family is here and warm?
My day is made when finally at table we sit and are merry
Counting my blessings and dreaming of something spectacular.
Oct 1, 2016
Oct 1, 2016 at 10:45 AM UTC
How much liquid must collect
in one space before we call it a flood?
Cause the current's picking up
on me & no one seems to notice
Have you ever felt
your ribs shifting
around inside of you?
No pain,
just an acute awareness
that you are in fact
nothing more than
a contrivance of instruments
working together to exist,
To live,
To stay
That's kinda how it feels when
you're trying to catch your breath
but the oxygen can't find your lungs...
It feels like
Knowing
Knowing
that you are
Fragile
And there's fear
but it's quiet---
muffled like
your wheezing
When he left that morning
I actually felt his absence,
In my hands-
The emptiness was tangible
For the first time-
I reached for the back of his shirt
and he shook me away before
I could pull him into me
His cheap detergent
left a starchy film
on my finger tips
And I knew
that was the last time
Like when the faucet runs cold
Before you're finished bathing
- You feel ***** all day
I felt ***** all day
I just want to know
Less
I don't want to be so
Full of all of this
He smells like
salt water
He smells like
cherry incense
He smells like
soft cologne
And
a lit cigarette
He smells like
fresh winter air-
His skin is warm
But his kiss is cold
I couldn't
Stop
The drifting
I couldn't
Stop
The wandering
I couldn't
Stop
The leaving
He was never
Going to
Stay
Why am I like this,
Still to this day?
Jul 19, 2016
Jul 19, 2016 at 12:17 PM UTC
"You're no stray feline,
you're a lady," they will say.
As I trim myself to the pattern they made,
adjure me to learn the dance of their stick.
Turn a blind-knowing stare in a contrivance
of my tragedies, war, and my five inches feet.
"You're no stray feline,
you're a lady," they say.
Fettering my hopes to brew lies in my entrails,
for I have no value without a bind on my step.
Endowed with no shield nor shaft for fight that I was trained,
must cower behind closed doors with a conflict in my chest.
I am no stray feline,
I am a lady, they told me.
Churning and wobbling under their commanding breathe
to flaunt I am more than a dancing bone in a vessel.
But why would they bury my lust for helm and sword away,
and exhort me to put these 3-inch shoes of hell?
Jan 11, 2019
Jan 11, 2019 at 11:49 PM UTC
sam i yam not,
nor will this 'lo bot go away
cuz, every coordinate in cyber space allows,
enables and provides
an opportunity to bray,
and thence get access
to each excel lent power full point
one among the beguiling bajillion,
thus this ming boggling concept proffers
(even the generic mom and pop hacker
tubby in her/his element field gloating
as if they won
the Irish Sweepstakes that day
despite neither could claim
direct lineage, sans Emerald Eire
analogous to Celtic temptress,
whose grand geography
beckons toward entranceway,
where sensory, levity,
and ecstasy punctuate foray
boot that diverges one hundred
and eighty degrees asper gateway
onrush of spam enters electronic hatchway
spilling forth like
offal horrific bilge interlay
sloshing violently, revoltingly,
and nauseatingly, witnessing a jay
bird donning mask (yule hating)
beak coming contrivance fashioned keyway.
force full brainstorm to firewall
to place on indefinite layaway
inundation of spam midway
between now and eternity,
essentially noway
no more, and if necessary
hermetically seal myself
stationing a pal in drone willingly overpay!
Mar 24, 2018
Mar 24, 2018 at 1:22 AM UTC
Tumble into dream, you’ll sleep easier now,
You bid the empty room.
Slipping away, if I ever grasped you,
Except in my shame and your appetites.
Tumbling in circles as you ease to sleep
But still my trick begs your deliverance
Twisting my ear
Your breathing levels and my trick grapples,
For a detail missed, an overlooked sign
Sweating, shivering in my own contrivance
Lost to me and nothing to you
We do not touch
My trick does not leave me as I open the door,
The grating of your laugh and the dancing in your eyes
It narrows the darkness into the thinnest strip,
I am once more in the light,
The synthetic stripes
Dec 16, 2012
Dec 16, 2012 at 11:35 PM UTC
Am I living from a place of
blind fear or abundant love?
What messages are coming through-
from the endless Kingdom above?
Daily I endeavor to live,
the life I have imagined;
will my dreams be realized?
Will my future be fashioned?
Is my faith more than
an illusional contrivance?
What am I doing wrong,
since I’m wanting guidance?
The infinity of my soul
continues to slowly unfold;
will the value of my being,
be weighed as purified gold?
Bridge
Am I afraid of failure or
the possibilities of success?
Can I overcome the fear
of not passing Life’s test?
Tapestries of my life are
based on choices I’ve made;
yet successes only occurred-
after taking time to pray.
Chorus
I desire quantum moments
that give meaning to me;
what else can I really do,
so I may now… clearly see?
Author Notes:
Loosely based on:
On a Dr. Wayne Dyer program called: ‘I Can See Clearly Now’.
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2014, All rights reserved.
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 12:03 PM UTC
Wherein didst man go asunder?
Plagued and plundered by his own stupor and turnings from god,
Forgetful con's!!!
Wherein didst man go astray?
Made queens as slaves,
Traded love for hate, and affectionate soulmateism for lust?
They stoked the crust!!!
Where didst thou meander?
Thy terrace thou had made starved,
Thy hearts hast gone emptied,
Cheaters of bars!!!
Doth thy drink not dilute thou?
Innocent babies thou hast turned to war
Thou gaveth no love
On foreign shore
Pornographic icon's thou hast made galore
As thyself worship's its every temptation!!!
Thou made bombs thine settled truth
Thou hast let technology becometh thy own comfy noose,
Thou art hooked on electrical tablets
Made religion vain
Thou art becoming maggots!!!
Thyself thou calleth a king
Thou giveth no soul to thy desolate queens
Thou art just a stove
Of dumbed down things
As doth thou get thy kicks off the many men and women thou mayest talk to?
Cut down trees,
And built thy filth,
Made castle mansions
Of diamond nilch,
Is thy wealth thy life thou may lead?
Thou gave disease
And tanks for fun
Thou art a lost
And lonesome one,
Still addicted to new age worldliness!!!!
What didst thou miss?
Oh beasting man,
Thou art clever
To make thy plans
But didst thou not know that thy own contrivance will be halted??????
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 8:49 AM UTC
At the door, random severance:
Like a telemarketer on steroids,
This quasi-divine contrivance
Not any substance or fleeing could quell:
Here we dance, zomboid grievance,
Mere mortals could not work around.
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 8:40 PM UTC
I'm feeling trapped
A box of my own contrivance
The feelings I forced
I can't push away
So I guess
It's one step at a time
Either towards
Or away
Still I come
Oppressed by my golden carriage
I feel my shame
But I will reach an end
I want to love you
I don't know that I do
But at least I know
What I feel
It's one foot
In front of the other
What I aim for
I know we'll be
Still I know
It's one step at a time
In the right direction
Better late than never
Still I come
Still I go
Either towards
Or away
In my golden carriage
Nov 16, 2015
Nov 16, 2015 at 2:05 AM UTC