"depletion" poems
I woke up this morning and I was tired.
what was I tired of....
I was tired of waste
hunger
greed
humiliation
global warming
ozone depletion
pollution
guns
deforestation
extinction
mining
disease
overpopulation
terrorism
selfishness
destruction
war
mining
green house gasses
religion
cruelty
I am so tired of being tired.
I am a planet that is tired,
it is time to rid myself...... of the human race.
I am the earth I am alive,
and the human race is a parasite.
Apr 19, 2013
Apr 19, 2013 at 10:13 PM UTC
We've become a
civilization of diseases
we build
monuments
statues
institutions
thinking death won't ever find
us here.
Our minds are scrambled
our bodies are damaged
our food is poisoned
our skies are toxic
our vices
are forces of processes
beyond our
control.
When we are not humbled
by nature's power
we inflict our wounds
upon ourselves in
the names of greed
and self protection
and no one knows
what it really means.
Fearful of the silence
we fill our skies with
endless noise
babbling on in endless
monotones, droning
while traffic stalls
at a hot stand still
idling engines
idling souls
depletion of every last glimpse
of the past.
Jam packed
in the stench
I am lost today
in
this vitriol
as anxiety, death and desperation
from every corner
screams my name.
That's why I came
to these woods
where the illusion of
peace remains
as
wild fires burn
just down the lane
as you know
as you say
its always been this way
when bodies hung
at every cross-roads
hunger, power, ignorance
and strength
all ran
the show.
I'm sick with
every disease I
know.
I float upon these tranquil
blue waters
and
we are reminded of the peace we all
really can know.
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 9:26 AM UTC
(Quote by Spike Milligan)
One very wise man sat and said
That, long before this world is dead
This planet’s problems won’t be solved
By reasoning which, though now evolved,
has got us, where we now do sit,
Afloat neck deep in mankind’s ****
There’s SARs, Ebola, AIDs, Bird flu
And in the woodwork, West Nile too,
Each replicating viral spat
To mutate, (at the drop of a hat),
To complicate enviro’s stew
Of global degredation’s brew.
Urban spread and over stocking
**** deforestation’s shocking,
Depletion of aquatic life
Intrinsically creating strife,
Industrial pollution’s goo
Ozone depletion... ALL FOR YOU!
*Environmental degradation
Means the world’s a weaker place,
Susceptible to malady
Wide spread across the human race.
Those animals in corn fed stalls
Who never get to see the sun
Or graze green grass where honey bees
Are vanquished by varroha’s fun.
Too late to save the Hector’s dolphin
Conservation’s lost it’s tools,
Rastafarian hootchie smokers,
Save the whales to **** the fools.
Governments sell the carbon credits
Everybody smells a rat
Restorations for the birds
And social conscience creamed the cat.
****** greenies own the airwaves
No one gives a flying ****
That good artesian water’s poisoned
By good farmer’s leached out muck.
CO2 in global warming
Sings it’s song of fast decline
Glacial retreat a-roaring
Bass relief in blood *****
I guess the little children’s future
Most depends on lady luck,
Humankind in mass denial
Most don’t give a flying ****
Marshalg
In retreat to Taranaki’s green haven in the gales of the equinox.
21 September 2011
Sep 21, 2011
Sep 21, 2011 at 2:09 AM UTC
(Quote by Spike Milligan)
One very wise man sat and said
That, long before this world is dead
This planet’s problems won’t be solved
By reasoning which, though now evolved,
has got us, where we now do sit,
Afloat neck deep in mankind’s ****
There’s SARs, Ebola, AIDs, Bird flu
And in the woodwork, West Nile too,
Each replicating viral spat
To mutate, (at the drop of a hat),
To complicate enviro’s stew
Of global degredation’s brew.
Urban spread and over stocking
**** deforestation’s shocking,
Depletion of aquatic life
Intrinsically creating strife,
Industrial pollution’s goo
Ozone depletion... ALL FOR YOU!
Environmental degradation
Means the world’s a weaker place,
Susceptible to malady
Wide spread across the human race.
Those animals in corn fed stalls
Who never get to see the sun
Or graze green grass where honey bees
Are vanquished by varroha’s fun.
Too late to save the Hector’s dolphin
Conservation’s lost it’s tools,
Rastafarian hootchie smokers,
Save the whales to **** the fools.
Governments sell the carbon credits
Everybody smells a rat
Restorations for the birds
And social conscience creamed the cat.
****** greenies own the airwaves
No one gives a flying ****
That good artesian water’s poisoned
By good farmer’s leached out muck.
CO2 in global warming
Sings it’s song of fast decline
Glacial retreat a-roaring
Bass relief in blood *****
I guess the little children’s future
Most depends on lady luck,
Humankind in mass denial
Most don’t give a flying ****
Marshalg
In retreat to Taranaki’s green haven in the gales of the equinox.
21 September 2011
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 3:14 AM UTC
Dear, let me tenderize you like meat slap the silliness from heat bubbling bubbling bubbling to a boil.
Dear, let me technically arouse you by letting each word escape like exasperation, a depletion of the senses as every finger or pressure point examines your body from head-to-toe.
Dear, let me be no longer ashamed to touch or hold you close, let our breathing and beating submerge into higher thinking.
Incinerating flames that lick the grate.
Dear, let me dive deep into the crevice of your brain, all mushy grey matter, all the same.
Dear, let me slice it open and **** out all the juices, licking licking licking each curve and crevice,
My supple pink snake-like tongue reaching deeper deeper deeper into your mind.
Dear, let me sink into your reality, bit by bit, and piece by piece until cohesiveness lays its eggs inside the deep hole within you.
Dear, let me scratch the surface, trading dimes for dust and pecs for fluff.
Let me swim in the depths of your hectic personality.
Let me get to know you and all your originality.
Let me breathe in your values and slurp up your mature decisions.
Let me caress your life like two bulbous lights that hang from the existence of time.
Let me illuminate you, serenade you, quiz you while ********* your sense of self-esteem.
Dear, let me dream your dreams.
Dear, let me sink my ***** mind games into your wet social brain.
Don’t let the pressure get to you.
Passion may play a key part in the sway!
Let me suckle your sweet thoughts, play with your deriving initiatives.
Let me hold your ideas in the sweat of my thighs, burning with desire to see myself through cobalt eyes.
Let me feel the hot ***** of your ethical intentions and clear apparitions.
Let me analyze your prerogatives and **** with your distribution methods.
Dear, let me fiddle with your political views, (in the “other room”) and tickle your soft solutions on creating a world of doom.
Let me ****** your sustainability, flirt with your progressive mindset, and squeeze your plump ambitions until they burst!
Dear, let me push gently on your sensitive issues with your parents until they become less apparent.
Let me stroke your disagreements with foreign policy until they shriek with mercy!
Let me take you further and touch your blind senses to a pink paranoia of retentive defensive pretenses.
Let me cuddle and snuggle your sense of self-worth and pleasure your brain with mind-bending words.
Dear, let me dance with your intelligence
until we sink into oblivious mind-sex bliss…….
Nov 7, 2015
Nov 7, 2015 at 11:31 AM UTC
complexity
is your beauty
simplicity
your mystery
interdependence
sustains you
once upon a time
we dipped bowls
into your waters
and brought up
draughts of life
now
Skipjacks go
fathoms deep
into endless
depletion
charting
entangled
dead zones
broadening
into a sea of
inertness
your delicate
eco-essence tips
toward oblivion
effluvia farmers
layer mechanized
blankets of
nitrates on your
sunset shores
weaving
green tendrils
of algae blooms
strangling the
entanglements
of all links in
your miraculous
food chain
the EPA
proscribes
a Jenny Craig
pollution diet
to halt the
slaughter in
oxygen
challenged
dead zones
where rockfish
are garroted,
oysters get drilled
by screwworms
and azure tinted
soft shell *****
dance soft
shoe taps
lifting a tinny
chorus of sad
Piedmont Blues
the flat-lining
watersheds
voiceless
warnings
tremble
rocking the
purged nests of
screaming ospreys
in vocal protest
of a sinking
Tangier Isle
anointing it’s
tombstones
of unvisited
cemeteries with
multicolored
guano
fitting
alkaline
tributes
to the lost
inhabitants
and forgotten
languages
sinking into the
brine of gray
brackish tides
Delmarva’s fine
intra-continental
balance skewed
by the oozing
industrial swill
of Frank Perdue
chicken farms
ruling the roost of
sanctioned sustainability
tinging clear watersheds
of finger lakes
set in splints to
repair dislocations
and complex
compound fractures
that may never heal
again
Music Selection:
Taj Mahal: Fishin Blues
jbm
Oakland
6/7/12
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 8:36 AM UTC
In a world where salvation and restoration swaps my darkness to light,
there the grace to glory in praise and grace l will embrace.
In a time where invitation and visitation from above sweeps my groan(bondage) to grace to glory(freedom),
there the grace to glory in salvation and restoration from sin l will embrace.
In a season where manifestation and expectation becomes my hunger and thirst,
there the grace to glory in meditation and supplication l will embrace.
In a period where the gifts and fruits of the Holy Spirit becomes my meal and meat,
there the grace to glory in repentance and independence from sin l will embrace.
In a moment where revelation becomes my feast and vision of heaven my yeast,
there the grace to glory in salvation and ressurection from death l will embrace.
At the throne of grace, there the grace to glory in my salvation and restoration from ******* l will embrace.
At the shone of salvation, there the grace to glory in my happiness and forgiveness from sin l will embrace.
At the stem of restoration, there the grace to glory in my freedom and depletion from sorrow l will embrace.
At the realm of freedom, there the grace to glory in my redemption and petition from shame l will embrace.
In the day when my feet is lifted up above the sky and my eyes groomed in white robes,
there the grace to glory in salvation and restoration l will embrace.
Twitter:
@ValentineMbagu
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 4:20 PM UTC
In the Boondocks of the Ozarks
Salty caramel smelt of August
Swathes stench of rotten trailer parks
Imprisons barren mid-west dust
Feral fevered kids a hunting
For to cool; shoot up, or drink
Arthritic railroad; tie and shunting
Ferrous old town wretched on the brink
Since the cease of mine and logging
Depletion of iron lead and zinc
Nag horse too dead for flogging
Folks futures draining down the sink
Some respite in the summer heat
RV’s; tourists and campers for trails
Like blackfly plague pick off the meat
Fly fast; escape as another harvest fails
Dark currents pepper darker mood
Intolerance grinds in the daily way
Resentment bread as only food
At someone’s door the blame shall lay
In the graveyard of the Ozarks
Rednecks dance on industry tombs
Burn brown smoke spice. Moonshine sparks
Oblivion; no life. Back to mothers' womb
©pofacedpoetry (Billy Reynard-Bowness 2018 – All rights reserved)
Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 8:06 AM UTC
The dream haunts me
often, far too often, building
in intensity but is initially
disguised in absurdity and the
nonsense of a young man's lusts
with an old man's deficits.
This woman-like entity,
ill-defined at first but forming
voluptuously, emerges from
swelling curtains. She moves, more
levitates, toward my bed, buoyed
by what I don't know, but angelic-like
it would seem. Or perhaps
an Aphrodite reincarnate?
Oh this goddess, what pale
skin, as Parian marble, full bosomed,
jutting ******* ***** that
beckon, nearly drool, and pursed
red lips beaded with sweet
juice stolen from the wild cherry
tree beneath my window.
Far too much clarity for a simple
dream. But such a dream! And what
seething testosterone I feel!
I am become a hedonist, raging,
pulsing spermatozoa, renewed
of time and youthful energies.
Nerve into nerve we join, ecstacy
compounding ecstacy, bodies wantonly
impaling the other on this love bed
to the result that each cell of our
individualities melds. We are indistinct,
yes - as one, and any ****** impulse
between us is shared to the point of
utter exhaustion, depletion. I am
nearly drained of life, it would seem.
Then, as it always must,
the scene changes, Act II.
Inexplicably, shedding a ******
serpentine-like skin, she slings it away
and drops limply upon me - entirely
skeletal, dry cartilage, sinew, lifeless,
sexless, motionless. The horror
of a diabolical hollowness
stares through me, and I am
suspended, fully terrorized, in
this paralysis. So, this is
succumbing to the Succubus?
God, my dear God, that I should
never dream again!
--
Oct 12, 2011
Oct 12, 2011 at 10:25 AM UTC
at the end of the pier
no one is fishing
a couple from Jersey
leans out over the
rail looking down into
the brown swill
rolling under the
weathered boards
The wife remarked
“Belmar's water
is much nicer.”
on the Gulf’s edge
unhappy gulls convene,
plaintively gazing
over gray waves
ebbing at their feet
Brown Pelican crews
fly in long
ordered formations
incessantly circling
in widening rounds
seemingly reluctant to
plunge into the
endless depletion
of this aquatic
dead zone
I speak with a
Jefferson Parish employee
working a shovel
to regrade disturbed sand
boasting a consistency
of moist drying cement
“How did the Gulf oil spill
affect this place?” I ask
“It took evarding.” she said
With a slight Cajun accent,
“dig down a foot or two in da sand
you hit earl. It nevar goes away. Nevar.
“I live down bay side
near forty years.
Had’nt been in de water fer
twenty five. The ******
******** took evarding.
They should go back
to Englund”
She went back to
tilling the sand.
Deepwater Horizon
yet festers a short
forty miles out to sea
is now covered by
an advancing storm
swelling in the Gulf
standing at the end
of the long pier
my hands grasp the
sun bleached lumber
straining my eyes
peering into a
dark avalanche
the serenade
of bird songs
have been replaced
by the motorized drone
of tenders servicing
offshore rigs
sounding
a constant refrain
filling my ears
with a disquieting
seaside symphony
the taste of
light sweet crude
dances on my tongue
the pungent sting
of disbursements
climbs into nostrils
rends my face
prickles my eyes
grandeur is a
conditional state
never permanent
forever temporary
Music Selection:
Cajun Music:
Hippy To-Yo
Grand Isle
2/20/17
jbm
Mar 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017 at 5:52 PM UTC
I've always been somewhat Autistic,
ADHD
too
More than a little manic
and
OCD
I've had the fever
Occupying me
I've heard the murderous rage
And it was me
I have had my periods of Schizophrenia
Paranoia
Psychic warfare
in the ether
He's looking at me
I keep looking at him
Wondering why he's looking at me
I've got that DID
Going into trances
The poet he writes these tomes,
Waking up in strange places
That PTSD
Get startled very easily
Anxiety and depression
Are you kidding?
What's a day without 'em?
The vice is nice
Abundance to depletion,
The parking lot walk
Polysubstance abuse
has had it's use
Fetishes phillias
Electric brain all light up
Run amok
Decades of misery
Decades of mastery
Had them all
A walking DSM
That would be me
Everything which is human inside you is inside me
Hanging out with
the human condition
my old friend and me
Trying one more time
to figure it all out,
one more time.
Nov 1, 2018
Nov 1, 2018 at 8:54 PM UTC
Across the street,
Live the community of the old.
a network of inbreeding
left the branches of the family tree
entwined like a pipeline of too many years
that swim through the convoluted paths
forever,
sealing in the contents,
preserving the past.
Long bedraggled tresses
brush close to the latticework ground
Not a comb has come close
To break the wild knots that weave.
Nets buoy their authenticity
Forever wild,
Even though,
the world survives
on bowls brimmed with metal screws
The phantoms of depletion rise,
They are weightless, until
Pulverized
and they tumble,
Like hostages
They get caught between
The wisps of eternity.
Backlit sunset,
Illuminates the evergreen leaves,
The bulky necklace of frozen memories
Decorate my stiff neck
I am a victim of too many days spent
Watching screen protected versions of nature
that I forgot how thin skinned leaves really are
How the nervous system of enigmatic veins
hold DNA of their ancestors
Now, bathed in evening light
When heat from the stars erode from the sky
They are nothing but silhouettes of the past
Faceless, like torn out pages of a history book
shunned for its omniscient wisdom
so that the ashes can be planted
burying the past in the ground
standing still in the present
but reminding me,
the future is always as high as the sky.
Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 10:31 AM UTC
the vastness of an empty soul
demystifies the Grand Canyon
and shrinks the universe
to microscopic molecules
barely able to manipulate energy
matter that doesn’t matter
madder than a hare in March
balance skewed
undue pressure
seasonal disfunction disorder
ordering medication
naturalization
seeking citizenship
in an isolation township
serving only self-pity
to the self-destructive –
squatting, gargoyle
surveyor on the job
soaking in the loathing
basking in the glow
caused by the discontent of others
opioid android locked in the void
unemployed
laughing at misery
in mercy centers
meticulously mimicking the miscreants
impersonating pain
seeking to blend –
ostracized miser in designer jeans
obscene in drag queen regalia
“whiskers from under his pancake make-up”
wake-up Godiva, locate the paraphernalia
mammalian musculature
hide the heart of a snake
as she slithers across the floor
searching for the perfect surfactant
….her scaly skin itches, uncomfortably
tearing my lip skin
in the din
of her poorly lit closet –
together in terror, the admission seems worth the cost
lost in the sweet melody
of sobbing children
and clattering dishes
shattered visions
misgivings
estrangement entangled with commitment
obligations
oblivion and orange peals
appealing to a higher power
unanswered questions hover inconsequential
adding to the ozone depletion
and altered climate
owning blame
for all the world and her problems
I sit with shoulders slumped –
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 12:23 PM UTC
The obnoxious wind whispers,
“There is no civility in liberation.”
Oppression is not of human nature,
But of human creation
The ache for passion, the lust for change
A lush forest, serene after the rain.
But the man in the sky needs your money
And the wars are lacking funds
Smothered by fresh air, life is at your throat.
Hominid ruthlessness
Debt and despair
Depletion
Extinction
The free conform
Wild mocks civilization
Brisk air, the branches dance
Vines climb walls like silent snakes
A cold hiss,
“Everything you know is wrong.”
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 11:34 PM UTC
Crossing the Limits: An Unforging Wasteland
Boom goes the economy
Blooming a shade darker every full moon
Ragged wires and broken tires
All we ever did was try to sustain
The pain of a million pesticides
In our food, in our dreams, in our sleep
Open your eyes and realize
The harm of every arm cut up and torn apart
Trapped in corrupted media
Brainwashed by subliminal messaging
Lend an eye for an ear and save our economy
A foreseeable wasteland near to come
Once true to youth
As with the endangered animals
Prone to extinction
And breeding babies to come
Rising with hysteria
Completion for resources, affluence, sanity
An ecological disturbance hard to ignore
Deterioration
Depletion
Destruction
Truly, the origin of the storm.
Mar 4, 2016
Mar 4, 2016 at 10:37 AM UTC
A blue sun beats down from
An electrically charged sky
I step into chaos an exodus
Towards the wastelands of
Fragmentation and depletion where
Fictions are invented daily and all
Images change where the shadows
Of life disappear in desperation
Where blood drips from eyes
Into a cataclysm that waits
Strung out in the black void
Clock hands attach themselves
To my mind piercing sentiments
Of shame
They elucidate the journey from
The external world seeking sanctuary
For visions that have been thrown
Dashed against bare brick walls
The ultimate realisation of imaginative
Truth shatters in torment falling sprinkling
To a festering ground proclaiming the
Dominance of emptiness
The conscious ambiguity of betrayal
That deforms corroboration creating
Untruth/ the derangement of qualification
A dialogue with the unknown gives
Birth to fictional facts of unsuitable
Confrontations of displacement
Back to imaginative reality that
Feasts on the trivial the banal
The ordinary and the mundane normal
I take steps into the space others
Fear to occupy become inside
The incantation of a new dimension
An actuality they brand as madness
Yet I am ecstatic in its awareness
This shall be my retribution
For who shall be judged
Ha, illumination is timeless
Has no master they can only
Speculate about the unknown
Its infinity
It is all the imaginations I possess
That shaky bridge between worlds
Where I take my heels my mind
Cannot be redistributed
I have lived through a disturbing night
Now move into an equally disturbing day
It is here I know I will die
Apr 5, 2012
Apr 5, 2012 at 11:33 AM UTC
Within the air, defined with moss and lichen, and casualties of wet rotting wood-depletion on the dregs of the summit, is a flicker of reality. Here, no naked cedars or fair-weather friends are bent and leaning along the sturdy, unadorned spines of rifle green spruces. The stone-crushed trail takes above the haze of tree lines, founding a path by and beyond the fickle trustworthiness of rocks, and the wind carries all of fog and cloud away, and whispers like one thousand ghosts, and deceives the shrouded mountain’s inclines, unfolding above unto the soft clarity of dew and silence. The only reality is a place where the neck can ease its craned crooked coils to view the now-seemingly distant and muted pale orb of a star. And nothing here cannot breathed with. And nothing that can’t be understood is here amongst the scarred-ancient black cliffs and fissions of olden earth-crust and time. And nothing scales above the lonely, opening a prayer in the sky and the space.
Nov 21, 2011
Nov 21, 2011 at 1:02 PM UTC
I see fields of grey metal grass suspended on columns so one can walk underneath
This metal grass is blown by a slight green breeze and sways to and fro
Sharp growing swords, sabre sharp, spike from its gray clay
A blue sun beats down from an electrically charged sky
Now I feel, I must, compelled by the most insatiable of urges
Step into a chaos an exodus
Towards the wastelands of fragmentation and depletion
Where fictions are invented daily and all images change
Where the shadows of life disappear in desperation.
Mar 6, 2012
Mar 6, 2012 at 3:46 PM UTC
The collocation in relation .
The delineation of misplacement .
The inhabitants of Kismet , the third .
The depletion of mortality .
The marauder of consumption .
The lamentation of Raul , the bird .
The offing of defence .
The pardon too myriad .
The submission to Pentateuch , the word .
The agrarian underground war .
The capricious rule of super-cities .
The ebb of vulgarity is heard .
Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 11:56 PM UTC
Delightfully force thyself to a cheap coat
Frayed winter shelter
Sworn fre-nemy of millennial style
Who kills itself in gale
While the master keeps cozy within your skin
Wonder if you’ll ever be so disloyal to dare ask for a bath
Then, in irony,
Loved and wanted by the living freezed
And the envy of the proletarian blanket
, shining in its absence-Your presence.
Under the carless hands of the master
Buttons drop and thread spills as solid blood
Doomed to fulfill the unchosen goal
Depletion will not be salvation
Just a mute shriek
living decomposition
Hope thy ist warm.
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 10:39 PM UTC
Deformity of rationale’s depletion of reserve
Cast derelict to the wind,
A vacant stare’s indifference states
A reluctance to rescind.
For terms spat forth in anger’s heat
Have cut the issues thrice,
So reconciliation’s overtures
Just cannot cut the ice.
To bake the cake of spleen so vile
Has soured the very meal,
And words of curt contrition
Now, seem trite and quite unreal.
Retraction treads a hopeless path
Offended ears refuse
And apology’s bland excess
Just infuriates to abuse.
The battle ground awaits you
As the bright red poppies sway,
Do you gird yourself for bloodshed
Or turn and walk away?
Remember, there’s tomorrow
Where a day just could well rise,
To promise reappraisal’s hopes
…Forgiveness and surprise?
To hell with it Methuselah
Let Trumpets scream their din,
I long to sate revenge’s thirst
Make Anger’s War begin!
Marshalg
Approaching the ragged end of anger.
9 May 2013
© 2013 Marshal Gebbie
May 9, 2013
May 9, 2013 at 3:25 AM UTC
it must be in my composition
composing lines of opposition
opposing the forces of inhibition
inhibiting me, and my mission
maybe the reason for my creation
creating lines of aspiration
aspiring to give my own translation
translating thoughts into formulation
=========thesis of completion============
i was made from the pavement of places
where faces are vacant of any translation
i interlace traces of those wasted cases
as a way of portraying their lost salvation
i speak from the streets of broken pieces
where the weak sleep in the heat of depletion
i seek to find some peace in my thesis
where these creatures reek of completion
Oct 31, 2015
Oct 31, 2015 at 10:44 AM UTC
Leaves scattered across pavement playgrounds
Like divided school children at recess
The whistle sounds for harsh horizons
As the fallen tree treasures crinkle up
Screaming for promises of amber skylines and sparkling sunlight
But destiny decides their fate far too hastily
As white teardrops cascade the crisp atmosphere
Naked trees huddle together around former campfires
Telling remarkable tales of fallen heroes
To pass time during burial hours
Because nothing defines depletion better than barren branches at midnight
Reminiscing before the tundra tolls
The trees stand proud- but silently
Absorbing the autumn air in its frozen fury
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 2:30 AM UTC
A burning desire for change;
A lack of courage or will
A loathing for what revolves the world;
A face printed on a pine green bill
A fixed way of life;
A reoccurring depression
A longing for something nonexistent;
An evolving experience to teach a lesson
A loss of interest;
A depletion of confidence
A slew of captivating faces;
An overactive conscience
A bond lost to dishonesty;
An end to faith in humanity
A new outlook, new perspective;
A bundle of positive thoughts collected
Sep 6, 2011
Sep 6, 2011 at 11:31 PM UTC