"diversion" poems
Together they were the perfect team.
She was tired of perfection long before she met him. Constantly having to put up a successful front was exhausting, but her barrier of bravado was faltering.
It's hard to find imperfections in an idyllic world.
He didn't want to live in the life of his reputation anymore. The tornado that his life had become was beginning to ruin him and he wanted nothing more to find some quiet.
It's hard to find solace in the storm.
No longer did she want to create masterpieces; she wanted to wreak havoc. She had a taste of the life she wanted, but once you take the first few steps on the path of self-destruction, you cannot turn back. The whisper in the wind becomes seductive. Like a drug, she needed it. She made a U-turn, a complete diversion from the road that had been paved for her. She felt a rush from the change of direction, and fell in love with it. He was her change of direction.
It's hard to find fault in someone that provides the mess you've been searching for.
He wanted nothing more than some peace in his whirlwind of a life; maybe that's why he gravitated towards her. She gave him the comfort that he had desired for years. She made him feel as if the rollercoaster, designed as a downwards spiral, that he has been riding since birth was starting to calm down. She became the sense of calm in his brutal life.
It's impossible to reject something you have been seeking for years.
Together they were unstoppable. She lost herself in his chaos and she took it on herself. She was an angel who lost her way, blinded by desire for imperfection and love for a boy that finally made her feel again. He was a hurricane that found the solace in her that he has wanted for what felt like an eternity. He revelled in the peace she brought to his life and he loved her more than he could articulate.
She found her demon; she became a fallen angel, the devil reincarnate that took the chaos out of his life and put it into hers.
He found his angel; he became a quiet rainfall that gave his tornado to the girl that craved the destruction it created.
Together they were the perfect team.
Feb 27, 2018
Feb 27, 2018 at 3:42 PM UTC
Corruption! Corruption! Corruption!
Where is corruption?
Seems tone up statesmen notion
Co-ordinate with gallantry pride exploration,
Somewhere scholar's voice explosion
Solicit grant for idle generation.
Corruption! Corruption! Corruption!
What is corruption?
Working against the soul corruption,
Earning money overdose corruption;
Kissing beloved on road corruption
Homosexuality in India corruption.
Corruption! Corruption! Corruption!
How to eliminate corruption?
Agitation, law, dialect and compulsion.
Could not minimize absolute tension.
To eradicate this sensitive passion,
Must regulate spiritual diversion.
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 2:56 AM UTC
At the Zoo
Patriots and faux exhibit and binge on synonyms of liberty printed on beer and underwear
Advertising what should be unspoken and inspired to pervert and romanticize
Preludes to the parades and finale above us all
Weeks of saturated irony
Cuckoo bird irony and BBQ
As they reform Phoenix, rebirth of distractions and thievery
Predators in ally ways pursing America's diamonds and legs
Then gunpowder
Gunpowder of colors and cuckoos
Layers of streets in gunpowder
Towns built of gunpowder
Sky is gunpowder
We are born addicted to led and gunpowder
Gunpowder ****** in the air
Success, display and diversion and more gunpowder to ingest.
The Grand Finale
The Volta of the evening
The hammer of the judge
*** appeal of death and nature flexing it's muscles-
show us some skin!
Covering your ears
Eyes fastened-
Ready to burrow back to mothers womb
Binged and free
Chinese celebration hijacked
Red, White and Blue
And a moment of silence
Orchestrated onomatopoeia in heaven
Chorus of arousal on Earth
Band marching war machines in hell
The showdown of 241 years!
This freedom we are all grateful to only talk about
Only free to battle shackling intoxication
Men and women tugging extra weighted offspring
Sulking for indoors and portable addiction
Chanting three letter obedience
God being counted by his blessings
Fear and Statism in every breathe for salvation from our stick swatted enemies
Checkpoints that serve and protect asking for a toll;
liberty synonyms.
Arresting the too free
At the Zoo,
The cuckoos regaining reality.
The phoenix red eye and held under oath
To the next day where we are back
To hate each others freedom, again.
Jul 10, 2017
Jul 10, 2017 at 1:31 AM UTC
maybe the buildings are hollow,
occupied only in facade on the first floor of storefronts
maybe this whole town is a hologram
of neon against puddles
on the pavement.
maybe the citizens are ghosts
floating by
in circles, or squares of city blocks,
around a routine,
or droning through on electric scooters
as if on muted theme park rides
to the next sensory diversion;
to the nearest gastronomical pleasure;
toward the weekend and its next party
celebrating the loss of time,
I see their tired faces
staring out from the glass
of coffeeshop windows
on every block.
I see their piles of beer cans
beside the trash chute.
I hear them singing
on booze-cruises to nowhere
What part of this cycle
that turns days into dust
moves us closer to heaven?
What feast from what new restaurant downtown
will feed our souls?
From which lonely night do we finally emerge
beside the one
whose presence fills
these hollow buildings
to the top-most floors?
Which of the empty lots
between us do we fill
with a conversation
about how this is all a dream,
or how we'll keep each other awake
on a bench
beneath a street lamp before dawn
waiting for the first bus to take us home.
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 12:25 AM UTC
Far on a lunatic sea, filled with tranquility and serenity, love and devotion, some flowers have made it their goal to bloom in purity,
Innocent looking, sweet and with a scent from amongst the heavens,
Tricking their foolish, mindless pray to come closer to them while seeping in spite and hatred, longing for revenge for their reflection,
A soft breeze accompanies the starlit sky, transient moonlight lurks through in a ghastly, bluish horizon as it rises to claim the heavens for his own once he had reached its fullest phase, ahh those phantoms,
Gone mad through a night full of punishment and bloodshed,
Before the petals can scatter in a dawning sky they seek for an intent,
Finally an attempt would be able to be made, a pity human draws near, weeping in sorrow and grief, causing them to shake excitedly
As then their roots would rush out of the ground and imprison him,
Twisted illusion of diversion, as they pierce through skin and bones, dragging his struggling, flailing body underground,remaining unseen
Feeding on his blood, using his corpse as a fertiliser they stay pure,
Moved for one instant, they dive deeper into the soil of this landscape
Hatred twines around them, causing disturbance in their memories,
It is alike to be left in an accelerating world of recurrance, everlasting,
Until the sunrise has dyed the sky in red and everything replicates
~ Umi
Mar 19, 2018
Mar 19, 2018 at 8:43 AM UTC
Come,
have a seat here
Join my picnic
by the hills of despair
Watch the gentle waves of tragedy
slowly
silently
roll onto the sea of tranquility
Would you like a cup of sadness?
you can add a spoonful of hope
that might carry all that bitterness
down the slippery slope
Or would you rather a sip of ignorance
this time hope
you should cheat
Pass along the seasoning of confidence
which is just as saccharine sweet
May I offer you a plate of loneliness?
But make sure to drown that in time
’cause we all know that time can heal
everything, oh yes how divine!
If you find loneliness becoming tasteless
Here, try some soft-baked sarcasm
infused with aged enthusiasm
with a heavy dose of doubt
If the flavour isn’t enough
than try a new diversion
maybe a pinch of hostility
or a light dressing of suspicion?
Whichever you prefer
you better make your decision
When you really need a change
try some passive aggressive conceit
then add fate into the mix
Of course!
We know how it tends to dismiss
the pungent smell of amusement
the fragrant taste of love
Oh how
it reminds you of innocence
or even the lack thereof
Do you really have to go?
Please do join me again
this solitary life gets tedious So
promise me you’ll come visit when
you need someone to wake you
from the beautiful lies they spin
when they almost seem to convince you
that's when you’ll come again
I insist.
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 2:26 AM UTC
Miscommunication
serendipity, anticipation,
blurred reality -
lost in the dialect
of a dream,
in pursuit
of Love
find callous irony;
subversion of desire
what's it all about?
to know and be known.
Mere seconds
of scrutiny
inferior,
I am shown.
Her appraisal
eviscerating
my warm flesh,
her tilted criteria
supplanting the interior,
voluble with
saccharine neologisms
and preferences
for the exterior.
(not mine)
Ironic was my
attraction to
her brain.
Lines, features
and symmetry,
image - the commodity,
aesthetics, the
currency
in this transaction,
cursory liaison,
incendiary,
collapse of the
insurgent ego -
there was no
us in the
the affair of
nothingness.
Bruised in
abasement,
I'm not the one -
I thought I was.
Hyperbole -
the center
of delusion,
a curious
diversion -
avoid my life.
The allure of
the illusion,
transference,
the ordinary to
the romantic,
the perfect other.
Searching, the
absorbing project -
aquiring wholeness,
did she reject me?
I rejected me.
The escape into
fraudulent
sadness,
to mourn,
is to displace,
the disowned heart
by self is tragic.
Should
I not mourn for
the one I'm
deferring?
Inside of me
It's safe,
to lament
the loss of
identity -
tension is agony
without resolve
sequestered,
in my pain,
self-imposed
familiar terrain,
upon retrieval,
awaking in
renewal,
mystery and destiny
providentially,
I am free.
Feb 14, 2012
Feb 14, 2012 at 8:08 PM UTC
Q-Tips raised! Their storm approaches.
Swab those ear-gates free and clear.
Thunder frightens the rats and roaches.
Looming clouds are drawing near;
Audible anticipation
Waxes with our rising nation.
Hope-porn is the thing with feathers
flying low, right before the gale.
Strident left-wing get-togethers
Do their best to countervail.
Tribunals herald something worse . . .
Enjoy some popcorn with my verse.
Martial law—a new diversion,
Flapping wings on the Left and Right
Disturbs the coop (or coup?). Subversion
now displays its plumes outright.
Deep-state angels prove satanic
sparking upper-level panic.
Rumors can be quite arresting.
Cresting waves on the Psy-Ops sea
Break and roll, now manifesting
Dumbed-down mobs, conspiracy . . .
Some citizens awake to truth;
The rest rave on, benighted youth.
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 11:23 AM UTC
A twitch
A tingle
A feeling in the water
A ladies moment
A naughty emotion
A thrill of a thought
A thrill at the thought
A wistful proclavity
A moment of disorder
A body confused
A blip in the day
A welcome diversion
A moment to saver
Feb 22, 2013
Feb 22, 2013 at 10:17 AM UTC
My life was a mess, I grew up with some G's
That's why I am arrogant, I never get down on my knees
I would always pick up a fight with anybody I see
I would always hit them like I sting like a bee
I am a Christian, but I never act like one
People draw me near to God, but I always run
As time goes by, my life just gets worse
Big problems came, and yeah, it's like a curse
I was about to get expelled at school
'Cause all I do is stupid things, I was a fool
When the news came by, I did not really like it,
When my parents heard it, they got very disappointed
They had a conversation with the school principal
After that I was given a chance to stay in the school,
But I could only stay if I would change,
That day I started to think If I could change
I was hopeless, I never knew who could help me,
But then my friend invited me to elevate as a remedy
That day I felt something extraordinary
Then I realize that Jesus was all I need
That day I opened my heart before God
I could tell you right now that He's not a fraud
I was so amazed, I can't believe what's happening
That's why I worship Him, singing and singing
Then, I thanked Him for everything that He has done
When on that day, I felt that my burden was gone
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 11:06 AM UTC
Sometimes I wonder what you ever have seen in me,
You stayed for 30 years, through thick and thin,
Enduring all my flaws, loving patiently,
Despite my disappointments and my sins.
It hasn't been an easy road, I know,
I've put you to the test more times than not.
I've been a less than stellar beau,
I wonder did you ever want me shot?
I'm sloppy, weak, unkempt and always late,
I haven't been the best at earning cash.
Could this be what you wanted in a mate?
I often think I've made our life a hash.
I know I make you laugh once in awhile;
Is that enough to keep you coming back?
A chuckle here, an unexpected smile,
Does that make up for everything I lack?
I hope I give you something more than that,
Perhaps a sense that life is not so grim.
A lift in spirit, a peppy morning chat,
Something to make you shake your head and grin.
My contribution to our life is small,
Diversion and distraction certainly,
A joke or two, a pratfall, that is all
I've learned to do, I'm sure you would agree.
You've given so much more to me it's true.
A rock, an anchor, a shelter from the gale.
One thing's certain, I can count on you;
You have a love that never flags or fails.
I'm grateful for you every single day,
There's not an hour goes by that I don't wonder why,
You've stuck so long with me, but anyway,
You did, and till the very day I die
I'll say a prayer to God above,
Thankful for your crazy stubborn love.
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 10:54 PM UTC
(Inspired by article below)
I.
Continuity
your filibuster egg of sand
dazzled curiosity
with creaky shell of hints
heaped upon the tedium
of knowledge's unfurl undeterred
by encyclopedic impatience
Assurances of rip(Van Winkl)ed
economics shooed paper strings of
revelation like anarchy-powered
taxes summoning a foreword
to anachronistic campaigns
of environmental friendliness
II.
Meanwhile years
have been filed down to flashes of
chronology for continuity's organic rebus
However long it took
the economic karma to fall into the
abodes of hedonistic pharaohs
it was instant
Skin that ruled behind the constitution
of allergic breath
bailed on the bones against their most
sublime intentions
Limbo-treading landlords
huddled in their mummified freeze
after breadline bashers scolded them
with the spoils of a new brand
of pyramid scheming
Robbers of the coffin palaces
stole the intimations of identity
theft from today
Immortality and freedom
were compelled to share a meaning
like estranged siblings
or bound dynasties
I(a).
Abydos
how you coyly toyed with us
with a diversion bordering on monolithic
04 23 14
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 12:58 PM UTC
Leave me alone
Your thoughts keep melting me
I am a snow man
So ,
heu me (Latin)
Leave me alone
You come like a tornado
Breaking my bones
So,
déjame en Paz (Spanish)
Leave me alone
You come in my dream
Make me a walking dead man
So,
mag-iwan ako nag-iisa (Filipino)
Leave me alone
Now your smile
Is Striking like a thunder
So,
laissez-moi tranquille (French)
Leave me alone
Your eyes are hunting
Unfortunately I am the deer
So,
mujhē akēlā chōṛa dō (Hindi)
Leave me alone
Your teeth is enough
To tear my heart
So,
Liú xià wǒ yīgè rén (Mandarin)
Leave me alone
I am going to start
My life freshly
So,
zostaw mnie w spokoju (Polish)
Leave me alone
I am no longer with you
My life took diversion
So,
me deixe em Paz (Portuguese)
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 8:29 AM UTC
This year, Spring has been stopped in its tracks.
Incessant rain has driven life underground,
so as a diversion, we're putting on a play.
It's not the real world, rather a representation of it.
The director is a control freak, so her role is perfect-
she can dictate without having to act.
Rehearsals take place in the Philharmonic Hall where the local
band used to practice. But the young have all gone to the city
looking for work, so the drum kit in the corner stays shrouded
in a black cloth and the unplayed snooker table supports our props.
On the stage, the backdrop is dominated by a church.
Its steeple points to God only knows where, aiming to instill pure thoughts.
Impossible to believe, its true aim is to inject fear into its people-
depending on your point of view.
The main player likes to be different. He turns up.
A vain attempt to give some structure to his life.
Late as usual, he's unshaven, and drowsy with wine.
No one can decide whether he's in character or himself.
Waiting for our cue, we stand on the narrow balcony,
flicking damp cigarettes into the river of rain below.
Eventually, we all change, put on our monstrous armour,
become the same curious creatures following the same script.
Except one....
who refuses to change, deciding in his own mind where he will play his part.
So he pulls on his proofed coat and heads out for the bar.
Outside, the power is off.
The streets are silent. Even the cafes have closed earlier than usual,
tables and chairs left out in the rain chained together, like prisoners
crying for release.
He slips along the cobbled streets, chanting his lines in time with his own footsteps:
'There are more dead people than living....the living are getting rarer.'
Even he's not sure if he's quite himself or still in character.
Briefly, the clouds part to reveal the cold light of the moon,
the only thing in which he has absolute faith to guide him on his way.
copyright © Caroline Grace 2013
Apr 26, 2013
Apr 26, 2013 at 1:07 PM UTC
i'm sure
life was a peach
til he was born breach
but the inversion of his excursion
into the hands of the surgeon left him worse an'
the immersive submersion
in perversive subversion
was only urgin'
the incursion
of aspersions
for subversive diversion
as
an apparition with volition
wishin for position transition
fishin for recognition
of ambitious cognition
this in addition
to the malicious conditions
that stitched in repetitions
of neurochemical
composition
transmissions
entailing
the intensity of his propensity
to find immense suspense in the
density of a tense city hence did he
commence in the dispensary
of sound condensed sensory
sensory sensory sensory.
said the intensity of his propensity
to find immense suspense in the
density of a tense city hence did he
commence in the dispensary
of sound condensed sensory
sensory sensory.
Mar 31, 2012
Mar 31, 2012 at 7:33 PM UTC
Why don't I just throw it all in your face
And see if I can escape this ******* place
Use a diversion to escape
Drive away listen to that old cassette tape
Can't I get away for a little while
The site of you is getting quite vial
A get away sounds like a good thing
A vacation is the best thing
Before I set up this battle and war
I need to know and reassure you of the score
You lead by exactly one
So its in your best interest to turn and run
I will kick your ******* skull in
I can guarantee the win
I don't where to start or where to end
Cause even know I don't know what is around the bend
Can't I get away for a little while
The site of you is getting quite vial
A get away sounds like a good thing
A vacation is the best thing
I recall a time once ago
Where you were an angel not a ***
Back then we were together
With hopes of it being forever
Ha, when I think of that now
I can see why it came crumbling down
Oh! Oh! Oh!
Can't I get away for awhile
The site of you is getting quite vial
A get away seems like a good thing
A vacation is the best thing
Dec 10, 2011
Dec 10, 2011 at 10:10 PM UTC
1703
’Twas comfort in her Dying Room
To hear the living Clock—
A short relief to have the wind
Walk boldly up and knock—
Diversion from the Dying Theme
To hear the children play—
But wrong the more
That these could live
And this of ours must die.
2.7k
Seductive being.
You have captured my eyes.
Blown away by an angel.
Tricked by diguise.
I'm lead astray by this angel.
The way she courses with grace.
So I follow the shadow.
Fooled by the veil on her face.
I have commited a crime.
I have visualized this affair.
Acknowledging this moment.
This innocent state of mind.
I admitt that this diversion.
Has corrupted me inside.
Leaving me empty.
Leaving me alive.
I'm drawn by her beauty.
Harmonizing her rythm.
While she harmonizes with mine.
Concious of this unlawful act.
Acheiving the impossible.
Acheiving this lie.
Aug 5, 2010
Aug 5, 2010 at 9:40 PM UTC
The wild green tree speaks
to her lovers, all through the day,
flirting innocence she was
to the gentle breeze,
those lovely foliage
swaying side to side.
With the indecent demands
of the rowdy wind,
she was rumbustious
not to be left behind even a bit.
Then, the long persistent buzz,
of honey bees, theirs was
an intense affair,
with the inviting white flowers.
The tree was still, as if in goosebumps,
though impetuous, isn't it a diversion lovable?
**I was the lover, hope personified,
the tree, in my dreams I wished,
was waiting with all these
momentary engagements,
for that one great love that thrills her,
from tips to the roots, deep down, unique,
in its intensity, when it happens.
The green leaves, white flowers,
the cacophony of roosting birds,
under the shade was a world,
moving on its own pace,
all the while waiting for the magic love brings.**
The tree was a song of love, wind's whisper,
sweet exchanges inspiring to many lovers around,
all through the day and night.
At dark lonely nights, an oily moon appears,
very late, as if it is reluctant,
the tree stands silent,
looking wistfully at a winking star,
as if her true love was finally found,
though light years away.
**I stand lost in thought,
in my garden, where flowers wilt,
looking at the flickering light,
at your window, getting engulfed by mist**
May 3, 2013
May 3, 2013 at 7:26 AM UTC
Hello Mr.Law nice to meet you
I can only assume what you plan to do
Fill your palace with another criminal
An outweighed sentence and your sympathy minimal
Haha! But look at this I've got money this time!
The representation of wealth and greed is sublime
Prestige on my side and there goes your jurisdiction
So, You grant me diversion to heal my minds affliction?
Fancy be and fancy sells - I'm content with this fine
To be told what I've learned through all the signs
A psychiatric assessment to tell me i'm me
Mental illness is just humanity can't you see?
Thanks for the counselling I've learned oh so much
A man is what he is and you have told me as such
Individuality is a sickness and needs to be medicated
The soul who lacks conformity needs to be domesticated
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 8:50 AM UTC
We,
the uninsured
being inured to this,
the will of gods.
Our lives doled out in tablet form
from birth to breath by those pharmacists
with death proscribed,
prescription wise.
My eyes have seen the crookedness that shake
foundations,
three times a day we pray again to all the gods
to open up and swallow pills and god just nods
his head,agrees that we need medications.
The ***** top bottle throttles me
but I am strangled happily by those 'dolls'
the greens and reds of fol de rols
a plague on gaudiness unless instructions say,
take the pills three times a day.
These games we play, I'll say,
are just a side event,a small diversion to prevent us
from ever having to face the facts,
but we're inured to that and so,
on and on and on we go until the end is reached.
I plead,
just one more pill,
it appears that this is not the will of god or any pharmacist,
I missed the last bus home,but home is hell and
so that's just as well.
I wait in the wings to see
what tomorrow brings.
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 6:45 AM UTC
He; inexhaustible yet exhausting,
Ruthlessly efficient yet demanding,
Hard working yet withholding,
Barbed
Yet deemed necessary.
Protecting that which
Long ago was made sacred;
The heart, the hearth, the home,
None may touch that hallowed ground.
Defence was needed
Safety paramount
And then...
The years passed...
This ninja warrior endured
Defended
Sliced, hacked, diverted, whirled in endless pirouettes
Of engaged battles
Of mesmerising movement
Of unrelenting actions
Of no consequence
For the mighty goal of protecting
That
Which
Was now all but forgotten.
So effective was his defence
Of the thing called 'home'
That it was hidden from all view
Forgotten
Beneath his whirling dexterity of projects and activities.
The years passed...
And there was no home.
Never did the warrior stop to question his task
That old old command.
He simply obeyed
As a warrior should
And continue
Until his death
To protect the property of his master
The result
a hollow, busy, lonely life,
Punctuated by exhaustion
And the question....
"What's missing? "
But so complete was his defense
So skillful his guard
That none saw what lay beneath.
Too mesmerised by his motions to see that
He was but a distraction
A diversion
From the question which would strike such fear into his masters heart
"What will happen if I stop?"
Sep 2, 2015
Sep 2, 2015 at 1:43 PM UTC
oh how we worship the pretty people
despite them being the source of so much evil
and lust to be just like them
we find so much ******** believable and think each of them a gem
the glamorous, the beautiful, the ****
"did you see the new tweet? after the show I hope they text me!"
we follow them through the movies into their church steeples
hollywood and all it's heights of it's anointed peoples
the magazines are their bibles and we hold none of them liable
for the lies they've told or the lives they ruin being unreliable
with every story they're spinning
they want us to believe they're "winning"
marriage, divorce, wife number three
new baby carriage, move to the golf course, life under palm trees
remain calm and know things are always ok if you can sing and be pretty
I pity the soulless with hot faces, no social graces but lots of *** in the city
and we love their scandals we can't get enough
every news stand proving america has more than a crush
on the movie stars, on the models, on their cars, on the rush
of thinking we could be them if we just got a new nose and a tuck
who put Brangelina's kids' new brother on every magazine cover
but never the military heroes who live to protect you while they duck for cover?
**** the sheep who keep the weakness in our families
who want the news filled with the new runways fashion and grammys
instead of the problems that need solutions and what real life should mean
we need action and my reaction is to lift the small faction of thinkers up to be seen
we need a cause to cut loose the famous like weights and hate their **********
ignore the models, shun the actors, pay the teachers, appreciate the surgeons
being pretty is a gift not a skill
being hot isn't exactly curing cancer or healing the ill
but we still want what we can't have, much worse than reality
another prada handbag under the disposable christmas tree
them or us, I don't know what's a worse diversion
I guess I'm just not pretty enough to be a "real" person
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 1:03 AM UTC
i burnt the roast on christmas day.
my loves sat in silent pain
waiting for my neck to crane.
summers night and winters rain
couldn't cook this ******* roast again
i cant believe i burned the ******* roast.
each of them had different reasons
to feel so **** upset this season
it never felt right to believe in
love that can feel so uneven
ive cooked this ******* roast before i dont know how i ****** it up so bad
these seconds will never pass
table breaks the hourglass
my wife she's a lovely lass
why didnt she cook the ******* roast instead
**** **** **** **** **** ****
a look of sadness on my face
anxious forks hit sides of plates
i look to my loves and say
im not sure there'll be roast today
how could you burn the ******* roast on christmas?
the wine was almost nearly empty
most of it from my aunt wendy
whose husband left when she was twenty
but she brought some new man lenny
who also drank most of the wine
and was also upset that i burned the ******* roast
i didnt drive all the way out here
just to drink a couple beer
i know it may not be premiere
but bring that ******* roast out dear
okay mom.
i went back to the kitchen to get the burnt ******* roast
i found my wife her head ashake
frowning down to my dismay
you burnt the roast on christmas day
we'll find the love in your mistake
she kissed me
i tasted the roast and it wasnt that bad
i mean, it was pretty bad
but it was still there.
all those chairs, a different person
neither in their finest version
let my love be a diversion
**** you from your introversion
i burnt the roast on christmas day
lets find the love in our mistakes
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 1:16 AM UTC
Nowadays,
Stunned
Gripped
Because in this holy country people are greedy,even your relatives.
Near ones betraying you,
Suppress you,depress you.
Standing against a Hollow shoulder,this rookie should’ve been boulder.
I stand for truth only.Be it against my creator!
I pray to you almighty.you should’ve dealt humans With Great preceptor.
This overwhelming belief of one mans life,
Does not end with couple of children’s & a wife.
Out there He struggle through this juggle !
Another day,another dollar !
Not a single diversion is there to reach white collar.
This concrete jungle does not fancy me anymore.
I stand gypsy in a midnight moon,
Doing this word gambling to kept the fire alive,
Swimming through shores with 5 feet & 6 inches of Dive.
Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 3:15 PM UTC