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Jarel Allen Mar 2015
Have you ever dreamt of what's it's like to wake up knowing you left others to live their lives as your soul ventures on it's new journey, after death, but before Christ you will bend hand and knee letting Him know you believe and hope that you will fit through the narrow pathway into the gates of heaven not quite sure of what it will be, but sure enough of it being pure greatness. And in a split of a second all of your lifetime memories replay inside of your mind causing a neurological explosion of nostalgia to release and you remember...remember those you love living in the moment and feeling the pain of sorrow

Can you prove to me that it isn't a struggle to tell a young black boy that he will never experience the physical presence of his mother, because she was taken away from him when he was just a baby. A baby, who will grow and wonder why none of the familiar faces is the one he is in search for. A child, who will never have the benefit of being a mamas boy. A young man, victim of defaulted abandonment issues. Just another precious black son, who will be challenged as another statistic because he was deprived of the greatest love one can ever receive.

A mothers love is one of the greatest love there is, but a black mothers love is even more powerful. Because a black mothers love is built on back aches from working all day long to feed her children dinner ever night. Foundation so strong, Hercules himself would break a sweat. A black mothers love is shaped by the predetermined deck of cards she was dealt as a person of color ever since the beginning. Misused and hardly understood. Her worth, a beautiful black queen so devine, it shall endure until the end of time.

And still I ponder!

How can you tell a mother holding her newborn child that before she sees her last day, her sons body will leave this earth before her own? Giving her the knowledge that will cause hurricanes to reach shore. Changing her life for the worst, because she must raise a boy who may not make it into being a man, but he will always be a mamas boy. And she will do her ****** best to make sure his life was worthwhile and had meaning. Impacting more then just herself, but the world around.

I tell you, there is not a pain greater than a mother laying her son to rest, because  his days are ceased before her own. It's non-traditional, a bit unorthodox but is slowly making its way into a norm as the number of young black lives lost rises. Im just tired of seeing the numbers of my people drop slowly but surely  

So, still I ask when are black lives going to matter? How many more lives have to be stolen from us until we say enough is enough? How many more lives have to be stolen until we teach our young ones to love their skin, and every little thing that makes them them. Teach them, that black is beautiful and always has been. Maybe then we will find peace, And if not we will die trying.
Kire Oct 2017
The greatest demonstration of freedom in the history of the nation.

Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation.

A great beacon light of hope.

Seared in the flames of withering justice.

One hundred years later, the ***** still is not free.

We’ve come to our nation’s capital to cash a check.

This note was the promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white, men, would be guaranteed the unalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note insofar as her citizens of color are concerned.

Now is the time to make real promises of democracy.

Now is the time to make injustice a reality for all of God’s children.

There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the ***** is granted his citizen rights.

In the process of gaining our rightful place, we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds.

I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations.

You have been veterans of creative suffering.

Go back, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed.

I say to you today, even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream.

A deeply rooted american dream.

A dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.”

I have a dream where little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the context of their character.

I have a dream today!

That little black boys and girls, will be able to join hands with little white boys and girls as brothers and sisters.

I have a dream today!

The rough places will be plain and the crooked places will be made straight, “and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together."

This is our hope.

This is the faith I go back with.

With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood.

When we allow freedom to ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God’s children --- black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics --- will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old ***** spiritual, “Free at last. Free at last. Thank God Almighty, we are free at last.”
Found poems are where you take pieces of a work, and putting them together without changing anything. Also called blackout poetry. School project.
You've had all the queens
And i had all the kings
But we both defaulted.
We both reset.
We both launched.
It made us disperse.
Now we're stuck in ourselves
Mine isn't too bad
I am thankful.
I'm not sure about you.
How unfortunate.
JS CARIE Jun 2019
On the night of initiation,
curves of pale luster began to gleam unwrinkled from the darkened divots along the lunar surface
A perspective unseen for so long, it was viewed as a defaulted “wink” on the face of the moon
And therefore, forgotten, unmentioned, until it’s means were sought  

From days ‘fore, and long since now dust
Scribing authors, secrete beads of frenzy  into ink filled phial
Sending tremors down, into the quill tip
Filling scrolls for permanence in a preemptive defense against continuous unraveling thoughts would befall
this fluency into incoherent clutter  

Pioneers of preprint in a provoking tome,
would speak educated reasons why these areas of Moon had been locked under sealed dark punishment

since Empedocles mixed cosmic elements to breed an undeniable proving truth

Exhibiting the myth of danger
alongside
The established absolute and supervening fizzling sunset
proving the existence of love...

—————————————————-

“Since I have given you words from my within
like the ecliptic rising and burning massive,
Our mutual visibility of late is either one-sided
or
short lived
I’ll take a detour around the comforts of romance
And try to talk my way into your pants
By tossing at you, letters squeezed together,
for your minds transcription into the heart of my subliminal write  
In hopes you’ll feel a trickling gush
If I get really lucky these words will find you like a volcano erupts a ****
The same way water, beating against years of stone can fall
And crash through a dam with pouring force so insatiable it’s territory is marked in history
Palaver Feb 2015
A is for Austerity
To pay back the Bank
For the Collateral
On your defaulted Debt

That exploded Exponentially
Like the financial Fiasco
Of the Grecian Governments
Indebted to ******'s Homeland

Return to Investors
The rent on your Job
Capital is their Kingdom
The laborers are Landless
Misers enslaved to Misery

The N
Sa Sa Ra Dec 2012
Yes so much indeed of this need!!!
Love...

LOVE IS ALREADY

Has always been and always,

Will Be
Willing to refill!!!
Only what We through this...
\                                                     ­                                  /  
Shared process have had, shut down, casting off out,
Have shut off through some,
'Big Squeeze's'

\      
Hugg's        /

   *We long for...

He-Art
Dream's Of...

  /          Lovingly...\
Waits Eternally On
    t'ill it be  
  
Of this re-filling;
He, S'he-Art's
Heart Mine
LOVE
Love
IS
ALL
THERE IS
'Understanding'
'Seeing'  'Hearing'
Acceptence...

/                                                                                         \
Turn of process in re-fulling internally till over fulling,
Spilling and pouring out 'All Over Within Her' this 'Him';
/                                                                 ­                                      \
Of which and by,
We Already,
Know Of!!!

Imperishable Spiritually
We are granted as much as the 'Dust',


STAR
Dusty Ones
Dusted
Star's

Light
Star Dust
All Known As
EMcSquared's too,

We know our ******
Existence depends what is,
It's interdependence upon,
So Too...


~Without Is
As Within...
~~~  

LOVE FROM:
Of Whereby She Sprung
'IS' Infinite' and too interdependent,
With this EMcSquared Domain...

<3
<3<3
<3<3<3
HE-ART
HEART HEART
HEART HEART HEART


Therefor it is 'He', 'more' 'so missing'!!!
She' is in Her Own Turmoil, with and for this,
Shaman Master J said 'not even 'He' knows when,
These inherent forces come to restored balance' or,
These things that 'must come to pass'!!


Nostradamus too understood so much within,
With and about these could find no conclusion,
Of otherwise what was self evident,
Certain kinds of trends predictable,

But a blank of 'time/space',
That went blank thereabouts by,
Nine Times Nine the 81st page,
'The Lost Book of Nostradamus',
Where it was left open...

IS... Us...

Knock Knock!!!
BLISS

You can become

'One' with this then 'Great Architect',
See, Understand A Midwife Be Need,


Then Also Completely That None Can Be Left Out Indeed!!!

How else could 'It Be'!!!

OUR X'Factor'S' IS,

Are Klear Like Krishna's,
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
That Flute Still Playing On,
In Such This Way Eternally...

This Such is the Spirit LOVE YES;
'Is Defaulted Upon Us'.

**** straight that is with Joy, Fun
'All Deep Connective Pleasure', BLISS'ED!!!


I myself am Overly Grateful for Every,

Each of 'All the Birdy's' Whom Still Shout 'even if'
We Are Only Hearing these as Whispers, Upon 'the whispering winds'!!

Re-Calling:
These X'Factors is Now Most Klear,
More On 'Cue',
Being more 'Key' to the...

'Always Open Door of ALL;

ALL WHOM SO MISS
KISSS'S OF THE BLISS'S;

'So Lonely Without X's of You';

On the Ever Imperishable River's In,
OUT OF THE INFINITE SEA OF LOVE,

SHE AND HE TOO ARE INTERDEPENDENT!!!!!


There are no dependents or independents,
outside beyond this first off and foremost;

Come Home All Returning!!!!*

~Sa Sa, Ra!!!~~
~Ty CA Eternally!!! Sa Sa Ra!!! <3<3:):)!!!R!!~~

~"just a space...to fill
love!"~~
CA Guilfoyle

"HEART TIME"

GOOD  Time
Bad Time

HEART

NO TIME

HEART

NO TIME
AT ALL

http://hellopoetry.com/poem/heart-time/
Jellyfish May 2013
I wake up, half past two,
late again, but dreamt of you.
Of all the things I wouldn't do?
Dream of you, a tortured tale.

Save past weeks you're new to me,
a shiny thing in endless sea,
but once too many have I believed,
then broken, lost, bereaved.

In my head you died, you see.
You couldn't have, he cheated she!
But yes, I know, it is, believe.
I didn't try, defaulted fail.

Soon won't pass
but in my head,
a thousand words
were never said,
an empty tale,
a soreful fail,
a broken, heartless, coward.
Shivani Lalan Apr 2016
In shaking verse
She writes down the gifts of his divinity.
Her trembling meter pays homage
To the ruby red circles seared onto her skin.
Every stuttering syllable is an offering
That she conjures as a devotee,
Who has defaulted on the repayment
Of words, now long overdue.

He demands epic proportions of gifted wisdom,
He asks for legendary lines in his honour.
He demands for glory to his name,
Written in red.

The patron saint of inspiration
Retains his light,
And casts gifted shadows over her,
As she struggles to her elbows,
Drowning in loud, blank papers.

The patron saint of inspiration
Waits at the altar of poetry,
Watching tributes flow in,
Mounted on her fragile skin
And faded rhymes.

The patron saint of inspiration
Inspects the fabric of the writer's soul,
And passes judgement
On the worth of her tears,
Ever smiling, ever watching.

The patron saint of inspiration
Lures her to the gates of Eden
Only to have her trace her words
In the eternal dust of the ephemeral
Gods that gathers beneath it.

His grace against her fatigue,
His divinity against her anguish.
His grand schemes against her hope
His knowledge against her intrigue.

The patron saint of inspiration
Watches her from the walls within.

The patron saint of inspiration
Encourages her divine sin.
a piece from the series of poetry for the NaPoWriMo.
Brent Kincaid Dec 2016
I have busted my ****, sliding down rainbows
And fell through many pink clouds on my ear.
I always whistle as I pass by graveyards
Threw hundreds in wishing wells, over the years.
I defaulted my rent on castles in the air.
I carefully avoided stepping on any cracks.
I walk endless miles not to walk under ladders.
I carefully avoid walking near any cat if it is black.

I totally buy that I am superstitious
And I wear that distinction like a hair shirt.
But I see problem in not taking chances;
It may not work, but it couldn’t hurt.

I’ve cramps in my fingers from them being crossed.
I would never break any kind of mirror, of course .
And I still have salt sprinkled on my shoulders.
Wishing on many stars, I have made myself hoarse.
I always look away when a funeral goes by.
I spit in my palm when I hear something spooky.
I drop coins into the bowls of all beggars
Even though most of my friends think me kooky.

It’s not like I go broke on soothsayers
And buy all the amulets I see on TV.
But It makes little sense to take a moment
To avoid the omens anyone can see.

Yes I buy copper bracelets to save me
From arthritis or rheumatism of my knee.
I never wear clothing the color of blood,
That only makes common sense to me.
Some think I’m a few boards short of a fence
Be that as it may, and all well and good
My guess is you all have looked around
To find something so you could knock on wood.

I totally buy that I am superstitious
And I wear that distinction like a hair shirt.
But I see problem in not taking chances;
It may not work, but it couldn’t hurt.
Atypnoc Apr 2015
I found out there was fire lingering beneath this skin,
but it isn't of desire and I don't want to begin
accepting death because a pressure expects breath because of flesh.
I need a cure that isn't time for expiration of the fresh.

For incessant insecure impressions,
For obscure convalescent depression.
For when the most unsure become expected to procure
From those defaulted most demure, the idolatry sense of pure(ity)

[Pure] (it evil answer idol along and so sure)
purity villains were right all along and so sure
maybe for eternity despite killing wrong I'm insecure.
'twas thought was sure
Now wrought hot fur-(y)
(Fur)[y motion] from the prime upon itself,
[Emotion]
To where the very notion of good health,
fuels firey devotion to destroy myself.

I found out there was fire lingering beneath this skin,
but it isn't of desire and I don't want to begin
accepting death because a pressure expects breath because of flesh.
I need a cure that isn't time for expiration of the fresh.

I'm where the very notion of good health,
fuels firey devotion to destroy myself.
Written about last month's serotonin syndrome, spurned by doctors who don't care to listen, and offer only, "what we are doing is the best that can be done."
About the suffocation of depression at the idea of THIS being the BEST WE CAN DO.

This isn't living.

For the growing hatred for myself. Unknowing the line that defines what is within my control and that which is not (neurological), the issues I am having and resulting inability to leave the house become attributed to lack of character. And i hate myself for losing tome, I hate myself for sleeping,  I hate myself for staying up. I hate myself for avoiding and I hate myself for isolating.

Thank God for the appointment on the 12th in Seattle with a neurologist and narcolepsy specialist.
No eres absoluto
You are not absolute
Like Porfirio’s power
Like the laws of physics
Like defaulted theories

No eres absoluto
Ni en lo diminuto de tus besos grises,
Tus brazos astutos,
No existen en luto.

I resist the words that will burst out of my lips
For I know my tongue
Usually lies out of mercy
And compassion

Truth is there’s no passion
Can’t live out of rations
I am not in dire need of love
I can live without the absolute emptiness you cause me

I can definitely breathe without you
No eres absoluto
Y de noche un brujo me cuenta que mientes
Mientes entre dientes
Cuando dices “tiempo” cuando insinúas “siento”  
Hoy ya no me tienes
Dejo el fondo abierto
Y de lejos sueño con las alas rotas
Para que no puedas volver a montarlas
Ni meterlas en tu maleta azul
Ni echártelas por la espalda

I await in silence, like one waits for judgment
I look at the ceiling
And I imagine how it looked when I didn’t know you…
I’ve become so familiar with the ceiling, looking at it every night as if it had answers for them never-ending questions…
Where is he?
Why can’t he see me?
Yet the insensitive ceiling remains motionless, static and monotonous: absolute.
Edward Coles Nov 2013
Winter passes with little consequence,
ourselves barricaded in these four walls;
heat folded in, embraced from daylight’s woes,
an entire generation is numb.

The universities are flooded, rinsed,
it’s a uniformal fashion parade;
homogenous clones, vacant discussions,
future fears, present greed, our apathy.

These are the faces of tomorrow’s world,
they are clothed in dime-a-dozen sweatshirts;
“choose your pigeon-hole, circle your answer,
tick appropriate box, sign and print name.”

The bars are overloaded, fluorescent
with lack of change, cheap *****, social decay;
stories are ornaments now, not lived in,
but tried on for size, disposable quest.

Memories born in pixels, never felt,
the out-of-focus lens of our daydreams
is no match for high-definition;
screens play out all eventualities.

The youth on borrowed time, defaulted loans
of goodwill. We drink only to stand our ground;
we will toast our tomorrows, welcome them
with cynical tongues and steeled spirits.
Chris Chronister Sep 2018
Fairness dances away elusively
The brightest lights flicker, then turn dark
You are now an idea we cannot see
Limited by time, you still made your mark

Betrayal against boyish colored blue
Tragically, evil controlled the helms
When everyone you trusted has failed you
The sadness in your story overwhelms

Left without vision of who you will be
Abandonment of care was defaulted
When counting stops at merely twenty-three
Earthly justice appears to have halted

Where does real adjudication derive
In twenty-three months of being alive

© Christopher Chronister,  09/18/2018
I wrote this after reading about a 23 month old boy who was tragically killed by his mother's boyfriend.
Mouth Piece Dec 2013
The homeless are blind to My unseen blessings for it is not the lack of dollars and cents. Their heart has gone bankrupt…defaulted on Hope……But I the Lord exalt the poor and meek for they are humbled and pure to be filled. But why aren’t the rich or comfortable exalted?
This is because their titles, comforts, degrees, accolades, possessions, beauty, and jobs become their identity. You say God is good but your faith is a phantom! Woe to you and your worldly masks that trick you into a faith dependant on your self, proclaimed in My name. I can’t fill you because your full of the world!” They are the hands of hope, empty and ready to be filled …..Distribute your wealth but I say distribute my Spirit for then they will see My light and I will anoint them in blood and from these ashes they will become Kings that will come to your rescue when the tribulation burns your masks to dust.
Patrick Diaz Jan 2015
She is street lights and I am walking
She is medication and I am allergic reaction
She is Christmas eve and I am Monday
She is first in line and I am defaulted
She is mosh pit and I am a ghost town
She is antique furnitures and I am an old man
She is every note and I am guitar strings
She is art and I am a hand
She is used to be and I am toxic
She is 5 minutes ago and I am so late
She is family tree and I am a wall
She is rescue team and I am a soccer ball
She is winter and I am a nagger
She is happening and I am never
Izlecan Oct 2017
I am defaulted,
For I seek congruity
Of heinous hums that stifle my scream;
At night when the gloom falls under my pillows,
Crawling beneath to cloister itself around the iridescence
From a light, it never shone
I am defeated
By those shall be bound to defy;
Shall see the hues of tomorrow, the cues of a spectrum merged within itself.
Darkness quaffs down the chaos sleeping on the tip of my tongue,
Attenuating a minute of clarity:
Privy to those whose scream echoes within tangled sheets and stuffed mats:
Screeches, as if a knell,behind the murmur of the room..
Cat Fiske May 2016
Born into this world free,
at our starts,
we've been made equal,

as we grow like a flower from a seed,
our nature leads us to break away,
at the beauty that it holds so dearly,

and once we are free'd,
we have also handed over our self control,
as we start to journey into the unknown.

we join into our society,
create our communities,
as we are made one with the residents of our territories,

tallying up our ballots
to determine the majority,
and voice our opinions as one,

but what becomes of the controversy?
the Runner up to the majority?
and who has the right to cast the ballot?

only men,
only those of white skin,
only those of a prosperous breed.

Those whom are never controlled,
but wish to take the repelled as there property,
as the pursue of others seem to end in only their benefits,

imported men bound to nonnative men,
by those whom forgotten their own native skins,
Forgotten they also traveled across the sea,

and back as they force imported men over sea,
as shiploads roll in,
with the contents of labor bearing men,

The Fixed majority binds those of minority,
Women, Children and Imported men,
to their fateful aftermath,

Eventually as we grow,
The Majority begin to release their control.
The minority stands up to the ******* they with held.

They fight for their rights,
and they last for their life,
The nightmare more pleasant to handle.

They don't hold back their pressing manners,
They don't fall two steps back to only move forward one.
They don't back down to those out to damage them.

The compromise is far from completion.
as the lack of freedoms still create more conflicts,
thus having to re-compromise again,

Those bound to religion and other establishments,
creates the fear of change for men,
the resistance leads to hate,

Hate towards people who must judge on face value,
rather than seeing a person past their appearance.
to the point of formation of organizations to patronize these people more.

those who suffer from these acts,
are still stuck inside the past,
they can't be happy for something they barely have.

They suffer silently,
hopping their dreams will one day come true,
to be equal without the needs for laws to make you to,

To feel actual equality
without the labels they have been given from society,
to feel their birth given rights in effect.

Some who suffer say it's worthless to keep trying,
even though their moment ended with people dying,
The cause is worth the fulfillment of those who suffered back then,

And back then the rolls were set in stone,
where women couldn't hold their own,
but now we face men and women trying to change.

The rolls will stay the same,
and they will flip flop and duplicate,
where everyone gets a ballot to voice their say,

Where dreams that reach from sea to shining sea,
will one day be able to breathe and shine through,
But dreams don't shine through,

not all are free from their marginalization.
not all are free to make their accusations,
not all people are born into the rights of freedoms.

Our nation has defaulted and defamed their citizens,
unless inside an arms race, then we are free to die next to each other,
before attending a meal together,

our nation is built by those who ran away from oppression,
those whom tried to grant their families a new beginning,
those whom have now moved away from their old traditions,

we are trying to make room for the change,
we are trying to make room for our voices,
we have been trying to make room for our dreams,

but somewhere along they way,
our dreams have started to fade away,
as our pride as an american is declining at the fastest rate,

their are too many dreams trying to take place,
when we change this and change that,
we forget to change ourselves,

we forget our morals and views,
we have forgotten the golden rule,
we need to treat others like we would treat ourselves,

roll of child, women, man, aside,
difference of Skin, Hair, or even Eyes,
difference of heritage gender and age too,

what I do to you,
should be taken with meaning,
and If I can't respect you.

should you respect me?
The core of our problems have a trace,
attitude is desire for the outcome.

America is never going to stay the same,
day by day America and its people constantly change,
And there's no escape.
For my English final
Robert McKinlay Sep 2015
Life's greatest failures
set to classical music
flares of modern
tears and laughter fluid
within reverb,
called out on an antiquated device
lol not read well
nor did you understand
It remains
background echoes
chase dreams
blue monstrosities
flow from open wounds
invite ingestion
now must, or sweat
terror of reigns
classical rhythm
defaulted
change station
left muted suspicion
right mastered
joint of sorts
wicked blue monstrosities
wherein lies fault.
RatQueen Nov 2019
Admittedly,  

I thought commitment
would be nothing but a figment
but instead of growing distant
I analyzed each pigment

holding onto hips
as well as every instance
biting lips at the thought of fingertips
heart eclipses

juxtapose
wrapped under the blanket from nose to toes
apposing clothes
disrobing
no need for them here I suppose
Crowned Bell of the ball
without a dress or even lingerie
Found a menagerie of reasons
that I'm at last able to feel this way

it's faultless
these pictures that my mind take are defaulted
on my mind most of the time
every freeze-frame simply flawless
I swear I never saw this coming
whether inches away or miles apart
distance plays no role
when it comes to matters of the heart

At last
demolition of walls constructed from my past
recognition of it all
wrapped and bandaged up my callused hands
Created by delusions
no tools of the trade
Put up an illusion
mercury in retrograde

I was afraid of moving backwards
but it’s simply not the truth
standing still upon my axis
time just stops when I’m with you
Never felt so blessed in deliquesce
I’m melting where I stand
watch chaotic messes decompress
each time I take your hand

locks tangled
curls are mangled
climbing
intertwined
can’t make out where yours begin
or which are even mine

I’m lost in it
the thought of it is nothing short of bliss
not even scorpius’ bright collection
could shine as bright as this

Lull to sleep in seconds
breathless
before it took me hours
I tried every single method
excepting magic powers
magician you must be
tricks that mesmerize
I’ll be your assistant
if it means I’m by your side
Rebecca Smith Mar 2016
Tell me have you had your fill?
Was I your cheap thrill?

Lie to me, tell me I'm the one,
Have you had your fun?

Throw me in the trash,
Where you keep your stash.

I'll join all the rest,
Since I failed your test.

Do you feel proud?
Do you see me, now?

You left me broken,
With the others, unspoken.

No, I won't shed a tear,
Now, all is clear.

You think you're a man,
But you'll never understand.

You'll never know love,
Nothing to speak of.

Now I'm the one who's sane,
Since I defaulted on your game.
Georgia parry Jun 2018
How do I word this
There were complications
Not at the start
I felt it kick
I watched it grow
I bonded with something I’d never seen
And I cleaned up the mess
With bleach and scouring
I removed most of the blood
Off the now off coloured concrete
I watched out for the ambulance
Helped them through the door
I also was left alone at home
Not knowing how bad it was
Parts of me still don’t fully understand
But I’d never make any demand
That even my worst enemy would endure
The pain of a labour that defaulted
A life that was meaninglessly tore away
A last chance at indefinitely
But I still don’t know how too word it
But I’ll try
Rest in peace my little sibling
I didn’t even say goodbye
- too all the people that understand this I’m sorry x
Tyler Grazia Jan 2018
What's the point of keeping your breath if no one is trying to take it?
And what's the reason behind smiling if you always have to fake it?
You deserve better, you’ve heard it all before
Yet your natural reaction is defaulted to ignore
Forget the advice, they don’t know what you go through
Life would just be easier if you had somebody with you
mike merrifield May 2018
Search distaste. Unwanted feeling replaced.
Download spiraling playing of my inner self quickly.
disputant in my freedom and dignity destroying  and decaying
came all that's worth saving.  
relinquishing dis-soothing this uncontrolled desire?
Displeasing my soul with infected virus.
Controlling my thoughts into deviant acts.
Not heard normal, form factor total 180.
Complexion secrets possessed. I'm trying not to get mind ******.
will it?
His behavior is hidden away with no known cure attainable just yet.
destroying self will out of its power restricted movement,
deniable motives, take place for all that is now defaulted elsewhere in the hands of the anonymous intruder
intrusive Voices
Brian McDonagh Apr 2018
Prayer, meditation, etc. of the like
Can take place in any way, actively or passively,
Without the clasped-hand protocol.
Of course, I defaulted to that outward praying indicator
When praying with family,
To have some routine in prayer.

There have been many occasions
Where I had a mental layout of the posture,
Speech, and their timing.

Nothing compares to the times, though,
Where I would get “in-over-my-head”
In trying to “ace” prayer.

There was a time
Where my mother and us three siblings
Gathered for the Rosary in the family room.
All of a sudden, I emotionally broke down during the recitation,
Hiding my tears in the bathroom.
What caused my crying episode, you may ask?
The harmonious sincerity of the other three voices
Made me question my own voice’s worth
In that moment of spiritual practice.

Another emotional occasion, which would recur more often,
Would stir in me during praying the Divine Mercy Chaplet;
Only for this prayer, I’d stow away my feelings about how others pray
Or the nerve-tingling, almost surreal sincerity I’d aurally interpret,
Considering I matured somewhat by the time I started partaking in this chaplet
With family.

Even when I wanted to pull away from praying around 3 p.m.,
I persisted anyway,
Not just because I felt “it was the right thing to do,”
But because the Divine Mercy is my mom’s favorite devotion,
And I wanted to have something to share that my mom and I did
Later into the future of life.

Talking about my feelings, well,
Released my feelings from the inner confines of my focus,
But nothing necessarily “changed,”
Nor did I want change,
I only addressed that’s where my focus had been derailing
And why prayer seemed to scare me.

No doubt, this was [and, without mindful consideration, still is]
My own problem.

I have split from wordy meditation
To adopt and adapt to reflection and silence more.
But I cannot help but wonder:
Am I really prying spiritually now?
C’mon, I am and know I am better than that.
I know there are far worse scenarios, but it's a simpler part of life, and
I'd like to be respectful of anyone else's time just as much,
whether prayer or any other means of inner rejuvenation.
Ken Pepiton Feb 2022
2022 2:04

the VA Webex conference
future, bogus billable hours, a job,
and something to use old sad men for,

measuring, me re assuring, my more
aggressive conserver of self-will,
trained to lead, since learning to read, DID
that not occur, in each boy's life

dread of the cobalt bomb,
constancy of light speed and pituitary assisted
thought speed,
pinging pong responding, thinking we may
think
along similar lines, so, I
decided,

to find a reason to bring to any reasonings,
I recross, as many of my first reasons
are in a framed loom, with four corners,

that bronze on the map coordinates,
marks nothing, four lines dividing states,
grants given the takers and tamers of the land,

whose sons have gone on to inherit this wind.
Imagine that.
Millions of letters aligned in code to readers
of ascii nada mas this exists in a series of events

solid backups, foolproof, we say CFO proof,
in the pre-Y2K IT game, geek veteran deaf,
high-demand HR,

so much so, mucho mucho, skip the queue
step right up
look achew

gotta tale or a story, is that your's that
you're eating?

Oh, my camera is still on I'm talking to me,
in my perifery
a mete-able bit of time delay,

the in, the way, das sein, dime a time

slip on through, think we may
as well
as any, I'd agree, and off we'd go

wild blue yonder, but that,
was no longer than this two weeks,

less, far less, threaded through now,
the real me in this chair,

in the back ground, one of the service's
perks, choose from these the background,
set and setting, photo director's call

Art's call, talent is a tool, shut up,
Intuit, tweak. Test… fo' won't you shut up see

that's me. On TV, in my easy chair,
on a Federally mandated budgeted service,
to me, that allows me eight easy
pseudo-greenscreens sets, one,
defaulted to my subconscious profile,
I'll assume,
that's me. On TV, in my easy chair,
rocking in floor lit wonder in front of
Gobekli Tepi,

and nobody says a word.
Convergence foreseen in the nineties,
has occurred,
much of this sub-mit-sci-o-usly con meat
mind excuses for war,

well, long ago, it became this game,
few lived so long as to need to know
the patience going gives a slow belly
and a liar.

Dancing at the door of the iliad within,
feel free to think, that me.

The camera is on, in text, seeing me
seeing me glance down, my fingers,
pointing from the mirror, not in the mirror

my face me face, same effect, not mirrored
neurons, my neurons, feeding back

way too late to care, no coda queue for me
that is no monkey in that mirror, that is me.

Tvme offers me his right as I offer mine,
omagod that's me. On TV, in my easy chair,

this never gets old, this phase on one of these
fridays, I can do one of these groups.
with some pretty sad sacks, when seen on TV,
I fit right in, with
Gobekli Tepi, floorlit, pre-roof

Real as can be imagined, this world
common old men, commonly share
live talking head time, everybit as
trustworthy as Kronkite spelled with a c.

The c at the center of we in time where u
find sounds form some things that seem ok
if a crow caw does mean something, only that
I heard you, ok, did you hear me I don't know.

That may be life's most enjoyable time
for any idle thought poured into a word,
there, breathe, you have it, I read, read
I said, I can.

I can tell you, partly, how I came to know
I can read:

We lived behind the courthouse
with the machine gun from world war one
and absolutely olympish champs from
army navy and marines, over there
over there,
across my street, is the lawn I play on,
over there,
over there, is the jail for drunk injuns
over there is where I learned the audience

reaction to a Hualapai child, being
evangelized, he was in a mob of snot nose,
rez kids, in the nineties, eh, think about it,

this kid in the crowd looks at me,
and my stunningly ebullient zealous wife,
he says,
my grandpa has never been in jail,
and I think
my grandkids won't be proud of that.

And I'm kinda proud to think of that,
as a test, love your neighbor as clause…

that part you work out, some days amaze,
some days,
right back in the maze,
picking up fragments of prayers we made
effective,

sort of, means, sorting idle words for worth,
is what sorting any thing is for, what it's worth,
or what its worth, that difference,

a breath equivalent,' force of mind to think,
after one another then and now, the
whole life on earth is better 2020 wide,

on the layer where nothing we learn is new,
we passed that so long ago in terms of
jellotime and bulletspeed and thought
godspeed in biblical time

using the stacking of the stories for effect,
the honor to the scribes taken from the brite
sons of the weavers and spinners of yarns,
tenders of tavern, need not apply,

ah, but when the Hans were in, we could test,
life was to be examined, prepare to enter

the gate, and wait for results,
life is that test, still
smallest yes voice says.
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2017
i can verily appreciate my initial frustration
barely a day ago,
       or at least a day a nibble of today's
contentment at:
    (a) drinking beer on a very sour,
wet atypically english afternoon -
      reigned over by who else if not
earl grey... and...
   (b) autumnal cuisine, planning dinner,
roasted vegetables,
       parsnip, peppers, courgettes,
onions, potatoes, carrots, mushrooms,
glazed in oil balsamic vinegar and some honey...
hell, when they said: 5 a day -
a nurse told me: it's good that
   1. you don't run on pavement and instead
allow 5 miles become deserving of
your tread - longshanks -
and 2. the 5 a day implies veg, not fruit...
younger? sure, fruits, but as i got older
it was the timidity of vegetables -
their sweetness, but also lack of
acidity -
             no **** sherlock -
          a combination of fruit acidity and
sugar is probably just as bad as chocolate...
  hence my championing of winter...
sure, in the spring it might be warmer outside,
but during autumn it's much warmer
inside...
              due to the food...
          but i can only see with lucidy
my initial frustration, as to why only a day
or so ago (with a nibble of today) came
the realisation... frustration at a lack of
the usual writing impetus...
      i had to (on purpose) force myself to
solve two súdokū puzzles -
  having failed both of them...
     but it was never about solving these puzzles...
what was actually happening was nothing
short of a transition period...
    unlike your typical bestseller page turners,
i was stuck with a book for at least... god...
       almost half a year?
                that's the problem when you give
too much thought to a book,
  well, a "problem" -
                              but deep-reading does that
to you, in that you have to burn off
any memory of what you spent investing
all that time in...
  and how better than by puzzling number games?
it's the mere focus on numbers,
an overly strained focus on them,
an exhaustion due to focusing on them
that can only allow you to detach your from
the book you've just finished,
        and the next book you picked up...
   after all, the books can't be more parallel -
notably since one predates the others
  (1670 - 1931) - with the latter citing no
influence of the former...
       let's face it, having just finished a nationalist
socialist philosopher's musings...
  and then picking up benedict spinoza's work?
that's almost like having read stephen king,
and then picking up hans christian andersen...
obviously it had to take drastic measures,
sheer mental exhaustion having concentrated
on numbers, and then a sleepless night
watching movies to bury one book
  in my library, to subsequently take a new one
out... unlike binge reading on twilight trilogy
(e.g.).
                  besides, i managed to re-watch
good will hunting...
                                     and it struck me:
     there's that scene were a father busting his
*** on a construction site for his son's education...
hmm...
                 and how good education this
and good education that...
                          zdrowie na budowie -
health in construction -
         couldn't agree more -
          plus an art form / trade being perfected
to absolute efficiency -
                 if only i was born a bit later,
at the time when tuition fees went up to
   9 grand per annum for a degree at university,
if only! even when they started hovering
above 3 grand i dropped out from doing
a second degree...
                      busting his *** my **** -
   my university cost my father one week's
worth of wages, back when it was just over a grand...
but that's the reality,
     trades pay good, esp. industrial scale roofing,
a hard graft, but i have to say: fun to do -
it puts going to the gym out of the equation,
for sure...
              and roofers? i know that i'll never
manage to visit the maldives... 'e did...
         mexico and kenya and jamaica and...
      i've got a degree in chemistry and the best
offer of work outside of university was:
   stacking shelves in a supermarket.
                     plus, i've taught myself more
than i was taught in these institutions...
                     and i really recommend this:
stop your formal education in language at
the age of 16... after 16? teach yourself...
                         i took the foundation in history
from 16 through to 20...
              a canvas of essay writing...
   butch-ed-up writing history essays...
    i wouldn't trust anyone to teach me this
language after 16...
                          that said,
we really were sold a lie about the mantra
of education education education...
       frightfully, if not merely thankfully
the lie was cheap, cheap cheap cheap,
  thankfully it was cheap at the time -
otherwise the majority of us would have
probably left school at 16 and learned a trade...
point being...
     in poland it's clear cut...
         because you have polytechnics -
  and i'll tell you how they look like:
    schools for boys, hardly any girls...
                  let's say: no girls...
        and then there are the schools with
*****-whipping material guys who study
  the arts, languages, literature etc. etc. -
       if only england had established firm roots
in polytechnics - almost all men would have
defaulted - and so much rests on how things
are worded -
                      they call it apprenticeships...
  as if you have to be a victorian slave labour
of a child...
                       forced into work straight at 16?
how about a few more years in a polytechnic?
so you can at least learn more theories and ideas,
create a technical base, before you enter
an apprenticeship at, say, 18 or 19?
                     is the ******* house burning down
that you have to be forced into a technical trade
at 16?
              no! it's not fair on the guys who have
aren't given the luxury of those 2 to 3 years
of joking in the playground, playing footie &
all that...
                    if a polytechnic network of schools,
we'd know that at least a plumber would
come out the other end,
   rather than upon leaving university -
a chemist becomes a supermarket cashier...
why? it's a choking joke that these university
lecturers are doctor in their field and what they
really want to do is to focus on their research...
  understandably...
  which is why all university lectures should
be conducted by post-graduates...
   seems simple enough...
   post-graduate students and professors -
  those old geezers who are almost retired and
have the same capacity for wisdom as
  a grandfather has to a grandson,
  which a father will never have to his son.
Leechle Mar 2018
Am abnormal to unleash
My Deepest darkest
secrets on a piece of paper?

I'm only trying to protect
my feelings in order
for me to escape.

I'm only trying to unleash
what's known to be harmful
or simply true.

Pardon me
For my method of escape
But this is the only way.

Pardon me
If I'm too much of a metaphoric
being that's trying to be herself.

I turn to escape in the right place ,
in the right time ,
on the right paper to express myself.

Pardon me
From too much of me
trying to escape from the real
world and be me.

Sadly, I won't apologize for being me
in the real world trying to scribble something
on a piece of paper to escape
my majestic or defaulted ways.

Pardon me
But isn't this magical?

Written by: Leechle
Renard Jackson Nov 2021
Inspiration, worship, venerate
To me you are more than words can implicate
Docile, pull me away just don't lead me astray
I chose happy over horrid, to cherish over destroy it
Miles between us I tend to ignore it, cause there isn't anywhere I'll go or come to and see my feeling for you flourish
If it's an open road I'll floor it
Unfamiliar places exploited
Casting more than a net to catch this dream
Appalled by past situation defaulted her meen
I do what I say and say what I mean
A chance taken for a risk given
Reasoning for the "why" am I living
I adore you I get it....
Accept what is, life is short
Word Trumps Sword

The word is mightier than sword
they say then slit our angry throats.
Listen to me people I speak truth.
Soldiers come wearing red coats.
Bankers come calling with due notes.
Farms defaulted with police escorts.
Filthy rich bought all the courts.
Voice of the people is silenced.
KV Srikanth Mar 2022
Heart pounding faster
Or skipping a beat
Forcing to retreat
Overcoming it a feat

Willing to forego
Defaulted rent to be paid
An uninvited guest
Manipulating the rest

Threat of imminent
Pain and danger
Lurking in the corner
State of emotion called fear

A paralysing state
Leaves a bad taste
Driving force behind
Decision making alligned

Alarm called anxiety
State of dismay and worry
Fret stress and distress
Mind paralysed with no hope in sight

Born with Scare
Foundation of values
Defined by the terror
Fear the river that runs through personality and character

Real or unreal
Does not matter
Ability to tell the difference
Now a tall order

Cowardice the capital
Of the state of fear
Inability to pursue
Timidity the injury to endure

Fear tests my strength
Cripples me trying to attempt
Breaking my spirit from within
Creating illusions from nothing

People and issues
Alone and the dark
A frenzied mob
Fear for the sake of fear

Mistakes made add up
Pushes down to the nadir
Ray of hope under the veil
Searching for the veil life's only deal

Guilt and lies
Feed the fear like Nuclear
Making it tougher
Than it already is

Dreams and desires
Lay by the wayside
Inability to conquer
Plunging into depths deeper

Mind bending substances
Drinking and drugs for example
Feeds the terror hungry for more
Sanity hanging in balance knocking on psychosis

Not a psychiatric condition
Just plain old world state of mind
Shadow to the coward
Freezed at every turn statues built in remembrance

— The End —