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"devestate" poems
Heartbreak is an instrument everybody had played before me. A melody struck to dazzle mind and words struck to parrallze one. I swore off to never play a tune or a similar one. I stood true and only ever stepped close to the instrument. So, when i trace my fingers upon the one playing it i halt. Occasionally i would gasp or clap yet all i ever do is to just stare. Stare at the person dying in front of me. I read their lips, their fingers, the way they let their emotions flow. Only to be found, ever so slightly tuning in the music. The music of all the things that shouldn't occur. I've watched them drown and evaporate Rise and devestate yet I flicker my eyes to this person and I wonder how it must tremble the person for it to just splash around in agony as they are scared to go inside of it. I might just walk away because a heart break not worth living again for the art is an art not worth of heart break.
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Sep 12, 2025
Sep 12, 2025 at 3:48 AM UTC
Heartbreak's worth
There was a time when it served me well to forget the times When they were fresh to devestate Hard times, mean times, time to forget but the memories wouldn't stay buried For too long It took a long time to keep them from escaping the soul-locked box I stuffed them in Hoping, they would rot inside Losing, with the passage of time, the power they weilded What damage had been done would eventually be credited to other foes But that's not quite what happened ****** There is a soul-locked box sits in the center of all I know With no labels or any way to guess what might be inside Be it wonderful or wicked Light as a feather Stinking, moldy air? Ashes, fine powder weightless? A black hole vacuum just waiting for me to open it For to be ****** down and in to the times for which it was spawned I don't know what's inside but this I do know: It's something important A missing piece of a huge jigsaw puzzle that covered my grandmother's coffee table An instinctive aversion to Thursday nights at 9:00 o'clock A resolution to never again defend the Bible to bullies A plastic bag filled with flour, snorted like ******* I don't know what's inside, but I do know this: It's something important A casual observer forced to take sides to help a weak man win A look in the eye only noticed through hateful glaring and if eyes are truly the window to the soul... A new meaning to the phrase "looks that **** A wet pillowcase still warm from muffled curses I don't know what's inside, but this I do know: I'm afraid of knowing Because I think I DO know and now I don't want to I remember pain and disappointment, fear and contempt A loathing for someone who may or may not have deserved it Someone with a set of excuses every bit as valid/worthless as mine I'm afraid of the possibility ithat those excuses don't amount to anything That forgiveness somehow got lost in the shuffle and someone went to heaven without mine And I can only pray that there was a time he repented and forgave me in his own mind Because I have a strong suspicion That forgiveness is the key to the soul-locked box In the Spirit, let the breeze dissolve the molding, rotten air Let the Wind, which no man knows which way it comes or which way it goes, dissolve ashes into ether I long to find out the times, torn from the fabric of time Memories alive but unconsciously ignored You tell me you can tear down those walls I say Ignorance is Bliss
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May 2, 2012
May 2, 2012 at 10:02 AM UTC
repression
There was a time when it served me well to forget the times When they were fresh to devestate Hard times, mean times, time to forget but the memories wouldn't stay buried For too long It took a long time to keep them from escaping the soul-locked box I stuffed them in Hoping, they would rot inside Losing, with the passage of time, the power they weilded What damage had been done would eventually be credited to other foes But that's not quite what happened ****** There is a soul-locked box sits in the center of all I know With no labels or any way to guess what might be inside Be it wonderful or wicked Light as a feather Stinking, moldy air? Ashes, fine powder weightless? A black hole vacuum just waiting for me to open it For to be ****** down and in to the times for which it was spawned I don't know what's inside but this I do know: It's something important A missing piece of a huge jigsaw puzzle that covered my grandmother's coffee table An instinctive aversion to Thursday nights at 9:00 o'clock A resolution to never again defend the Bible to bullies A plastic bag filled with flour, snorted like ******* I don't know what's inside, but I do know this: It's something important A casual observer forced to take sides to help a weak man win A look in the eye only noticed through hateful glaring and if eyes are truly the window to the soul... A new meaning to the phrase "looks that **** A wet pillowcase still warm from muffled curses I don't know what's inside, but this I do know: I'm afraid of knowing Because I think I DO know and now I don't want to I remember pain and disappointment, fear and contempt A loathing for someone who may or may not have deserved it Someone with a set of excuses every bit as valid/worthless as mine I'm afraid of the possibility ithat those excuses don't amount to anything That forgiveness somehow got lost in the shuffle and someone went to heaven without mine And I can only pray that there was a time he repented and forgave me in his own mind Because I have a strong suspicion That forgiveness is the key to the soul-locked box In the Spirit, let the breeze dissolve the molding, rotten air Let the Wind, which no man knows which way it comes or which way it goes, dissolve ashes into ether I long to find out the times, torn from the fabric of time Memories alive but unconsciously ignored You tell me you can tear down those walls I say Ignorance is Bliss
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47
*A storm was coming, She knew it was close and it would devestate her Her mentors urging her to depart She could've left , She should've left. Yet, she stayed back at great cost Alienated and pitied, For the innocent souls who depended on her She could've left, She should've left. The storm is now her world, But her children live in sunshine She lays beside the beast each night, Whilst her angels play with sun rays She could've left, She should've left. But she didn't For she isn't a martyr , she is a mother*
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Jan 30, 2016
Jan 30, 2016 at 12:21 PM UTC
Untitled
Destroyed and devastated yet filled with joy. Take risks with my heart— a delicate toy.
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Mar 4, 2012
Mar 4, 2012 at 12:15 PM UTC
Devestate Risk