"emulation" poems
Magical cauldron apomixes connoisseur
Cephalic phantasmagoria entity obliquitous
Mystical conjurous conjugal entrepreneur
Fantasia fantastication phantasm obsequious
Amorously arduous ardent raconteur
Ephemeral translucent opulence ubiquitous
Vanity sanctimonium temerities saboteur
Intrepid verve’s intriguingly iniquitous
Sorcerous sabbatical apothegms chauffeur
Endemic veracities fortuitous elicitous
Futurity fatidics fornication kithe
Ephemeral metaphor semantics flaunts
Empirical emulation scenarios blithe
Subjunctive subliminal nostalgias haunts
Agile articulation acuities lithe
Analogizing corroborative prolificacy daunts
Alacritous tactile manipulations writhe
Numinous syntactical paradigm *****
Emanate imminent perdition tithe
Orotund jaded seal ordinand jaunts
Overt convection coercions chiaroscuro tempestuous
Apex crux axis ****** matrix torrid
Manifest objectified enamorous interstice lecherous
Spurt binge spree ***** protuberance squalid
endearingly engendering amore
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 9:51 PM UTC
Stereotypes manifesting always,
(Always)
Trying to form themselves from something once seen,
But not really believing in oneself,
I see ignorance,
I see arrogance,
I see the lack of hunger,
Observing such savage pride of life,
I run from it all into a previous state,
(Anonymity)
I've reached the heights of total in-completion,
I build walls of isolation upon myself,
I am the collateral default of widespread degradation,
I stand in the gap between teeth and consumption,
I am the breed conceived by prey and predator,
Widespread suspended animation: that is our future,
We've tried to replicate the human makeup with mechanical frames,
And the translation of electronic gates,
Yet this is a folly,
For staring at the mirrors of selected life in an artificial environment,
Numbs our lives with emulation and self delusion,
The days of nobility dismantle into fragments and sink to the bottom of the glass,
Never to be turned over again,
Scattered,
Living among remnants of a life once lived with some sort of intensity,
Now smoldered in a quite ferocity of anger beneath the surface,
(Quiet tremors coming in flames)
Because we don't live our dreams,
We stand in the shadows of ruins,
We are afraid of the future,
We are afraid of the past,
Where does that leave us?
Leave me?
I stand on the edge of The Void
I'm holding myself hostage in the self sabotage entourage of the usual suspects,
Our friends, our families,
Disconnected with all intentions of coming together,
Because they die in front of their screens,
Not really living,
Right?
Light pollution massacre...
We'll fall like stars
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 11:58 PM UTC
The truth is that the Cupid's arrow,
only struck Adam & Eve.
That's how love,
became a deadly disease.
The truth is that compassion doesn't exist.
We've always been deceived.
Tears, lies, betrayal, and blood curling screams.
The truth is that after death,
life will become a tear-soaked cloth of regrets.
The things you could've done,
and the things you decided to neglect.
The truth is that we're in a competition.
The competition of who's good,
who's bad,
and who's not even worth this emulation.
The truth is that the world,
has run out of enlightenment.
The river of simplicity has run dry,
and the world just wishes for refinement.
The truth is that we're all alone,
at the end of the day.
Filled with grief,
we're standing by the never-ending bay.
Aug 11, 2013
Aug 11, 2013 at 6:41 AM UTC
You may bring me down
Try to hurt and torture my soul
You may bring me to the ground
But like the wind I will carry through.
Does my happiness upset you?
Why are you so selfish?
Cause I am strong and independent
I have the capability to do anything I desire.
Just like gravity in space
With everything trying to pull me down,
Just like the momentum to keep going
I will carry through.
Do you want to see me hurt?
Give up on everything I have worked for?
My body falling to the ground,
Weakened by the terror of the future.
Does my happiness upset you?
Don’t try to bring me down.
Cause I am strong like I’ve got superpowers,
Flying through the struggles of life.
You may hurt me with your words,
You may try to crush me,
You may try to torture me,
But still, like the wind I will carry through.
Does my confidence upset you?
Does it come as a surprise?
That I have the capability to do anything I put my heart to,
At the moment that is right?
Out of the struggles of life,
I carry through.
Up from a past buried in cries,
I carry through.
I’m a blue ocean, flowing and changing.
Capable to bear the effects of the tide.
Leaving behind all of the bad memories,
I carry through.
Into a world that I can call mine,
I carry through.
Putting the past behind me
I am the one who represents the future.
I carry through.
I carry through.
I carry through.
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 4:37 PM UTC
Accept my pity, ye tormented souls unable to raise and dazzle
all I did was earn my keep and walked in sunshine from the soul
but
When men are full of envy they disparage everything,
whether it be good or bad.
Now I know some minds never grow and thrive only in envy
For Envy, like the worm, never runs but to the fairest fruit;
like a cunning bloodhound, it singles out the fattest deer in the flock.
These wretched starved toxic souls, only see a man with plenty
The flower which is single need not envy the thorns that are numerous.
I did not countenance that faces are pale because they lacked
just thought that was the Creator's work on days when brown
and yellow, swarty, ivory and tan paints ran out
I knew a lot hated this insipid opaque pale colouring, but at least
they have beautiful hair and lucky ones have pearly white teeth
but unbeknown to me, real envy resides in them and blinds them and makes it impossible for them to think clearly.
Oh dearie me, our pale brothers and sisters die inside their souls
And age so quickly, radiant in bloom one day, grey and wrinkled
in the morrow like a wilted rose devoid of water and light
Their pain and envy, their self-loathing, their insecurities ravages
Let age, not envy, draw wrinkles on thy cheeks, dear friends.
For you see, God's truth judges created things out of love,
and Satan's truth judges them out of envy and hatred.
Our envy always lasts longer than the happiness of those we envy.
If malice or envy were tangible and had a shape,
it would be the shape of a boomerang.
I fear not and now understand why you envy and hate me
I can appreciate the bile and venom for Fools may our scorn,
not envy, raise. For envy is a kind of praise.
Worth begets in base minds, envy; in great souls, emulation.
When people envy someone else, they want what that person possesses. As time passes, they develop hostile feelings towards that person, and eventually begin to hate that person because of their possessions and the unrequited desire to obtain those possessions.
Feb 28, 2019
Feb 28, 2019 at 8:53 PM UTC
Magical cauldron apomixes connoisseur
Cephalic phantasmagoria entity obliquitous
Mystical conjurous conjugal entrepreneur
Fantasia fantastication phantasm obsequious
Amorously arduous ardent raconteur
Ephemeral translucent opulence ubiquitous
Vanity sanctimonium temerities saboteur
Intrepid verve’s intriguingly iniquitous
Sorcerous sabbatness apothegms chauffeur
Endemic veracities fortuitous elicitous
Futurity fatidic's fornication kithe
Ephemeral metaphor semantics flaunts
Empirical emulation scenarios blithe
Subjunctive subliminal nostalgias haunts
Agile articulation acuities lithe
Analogizing corroborative prolificacy daunts
Alacritous tactile manipulations writhe
Numinous syntactical paradigm *****
Emanate imminent perdition tithe
Orotund jaded seal ordinand jaunts
Overt convection coercions chiaroscuro tempestuous
Apex crux axis ****** matrix torrid
Manifest objectified enamorous interstice lecherous
Spurt binge spree ***** protuberance squalid
endearingly engendering amore
Mar 30, 2017
Mar 30, 2017 at 7:59 PM UTC
To kiss someone's lips
Or grab them by the hips
One must enlist
In the power dynamic
Inside every relationship
There are surprises
Of different disguises
I must ignore the lies of
Reachers and settlers
Stalkers and meddlers
Those who are aloof
And those who are goofs
The process never foolproof
When animals hide their hooves
I took that dubious bet
I thought it'd be fun
A game of Russian roulette
With a fully loaded gun
There were unfair rules set
That's how you won
A one hundred percent threat
I'd be hurt a ton
It started effecting my health
When I couldn't be myself
Because my self emulation
Amounted to self immolation
So I sought your consultation
For the vacation
Of placation
But you took advantage
At least from my vantage
I could see your rampage
Straight from the Stone Age
Like a time traveling mage
That summoned a cage
There was a pattern
We kept going around
Like the rings of Saturn
Until I hit the ground
You made me foolishly wait to test me
And then hated when things got messy
Now you claim that you're a blessing
For what you do after **********
You must be jesting
Confidence cresting
Never confessing
Or addressing
The emotional underbelly
You just like to undersell me
Saying that I'm underwhelming
I'm talking to a tundra telling me
That it makes me a better me
Apologizing not part of your plan
You tell me you don't understand
You must think I'm stupid
To treat me so putrid
My patience you've used it
So the dead weight loosened
Once I let go of your noose hand
You come back begging
You incorrectly pegged me
As forgiving not petty
I guess you never met me
Or at least said goodbye to the best me
After never acting on the behest of me
And making me think less of me
You've become a pest to me
Not part of my destiny
Just part of the generic sea
Of those I let be
Apr 28, 2018
Apr 28, 2018 at 3:23 PM UTC
Specious speculative salacious spectral season
Transmogrify trapezium traverse torsion treason
Erotica errantry erectile endogenic emblazon
Ghastly gnashy grotesque gristly garrison
Larcenous lecherous lascivious latent lesson
Entelechy ethology exsistentialize extant epsilons
Spurious spry squabble subtle specialization
Transient transitive tour de force teleportation
Encephala enunciate endeavor executant emulation
Garish gaudy gambit glitch granulation
Lurid livid liaison limpid laceration
Extravaganza expletives expeditious equilibration emendation
Sly stodgy surreptitious spatiotemporal solicitor
Taciturn tactile transcendent tertiary torpor
Euphoria eminent equivocal exserted emancipator
Garrulous gustatory gung ** gestational gesticulator
Lyricism lilt liberation lambaste levitator
Escutcheon exergonic epaulet exodus extrapolator
Starkness staunch spectacle stolid stultification
Telepathy tantamount tractive tellurian transmutation
Exonerate euthenics exegesis entourage eradication
Groaty gnarly gruesome gristly gastrulation
Licentious lewd lacunar laconic limitation
Extemporaneous exigency embark embargo extradition
Slinky slick sultry stoical snout
Transubstantiate torturous temerarious tumultuous tout
Eucharist extortion enmity epithet eke out
Gross grit groin grove grout
Lentic leister lotic lothario levity lout
Execrating eventuation evocative evitable excerpt bout
Jan 19, 2016
Jan 19, 2016 at 3:59 PM UTC
Rising from the darkness,
the evergreen dilemmatic soul
waking from the displeasures
bound by reluctance.
And slowly it slithers
upon the filth in life
only to fall back
into the reverie.
Disgraced eminence,
of this priceless concoction.
Enigmatical views,
but doomed by nature.
Born to change,
with time , with people.
To stay phlegmatic
as it writes its own destiny.
Dreams of falling into
the lap of luxury
like any ordinary soul.
But with a hint of transgression.
No robotic means,
just emulation.
Pulled by the ties of
prevalence.
Swindler of identity,
benevolent of jauntiness.
Passes through many loops
of croquet.
Yet saves its inscrutable soul
from the disrespectful world.
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 1:07 AM UTC
Hazel. Hand in my hand, falling from great heights. My skin, my salvation. Hay-zelle. More a way of breathing than a way to pronounce ones name. Hay. Zelle.
He was H, just H on weekends. Haze in his business, teenagers calling on him to supply them with a haze of their own. He was ****** to his followers, 'whom God strengthens.'. But in my hands, he was always Hazel.
Was there someone before him? No. In fact, had there been previous exposure to one of his caste there would may have been no Hazel at all. Like muddled eyes his name refers to was he. An ocean inside of the mudslide in me. You can always count on the broken-hearted for a fistful of metaphors and similes that make nothing of themselves to you.
Souls and bodies, the ones that have chosen an orbit in the universe of me, this is what I loved like Hades to Persephone. Look at this sole pomegranate seed.
Jun 3, 2013
Jun 3, 2013 at 1:52 AM UTC
Time has gone by
But only in reality has it gone
Within, it seems like its been a lifetime
Knowing you, or rather having known you..
It’s probably all been the same
We said things wouldn’t change
But we’ve slipped away from each other
Like aged tires, unprepared for the rain
At the ****** of our demise it seemed unreal
I tried to hold on for so long
Most would say too long
As i hung from my figment of a cliff, my fingers began to fail me
With every moment of negligence I cried for a change of heart
From you, that never came
As I free fell from my cliff
Deep into the abyss of nothingness I sank into, and digressed from life
I was in a state of internal paralysis
My heart beated, but ever so quietly
My mind thought thoughts, but ever so dismally
I walked the halls watching others laugh and fellowship
When all the while I just missed your smile
Your laugh
Your smell
Your walk
Your talk
Your eyes
Your touch
It was all too much
Too much to yearn at once
As lonesome days came and went, I wondered when this would leave me
When I’d be free from this feeling of no feeling
Others tried to help but my heart was stubborn
I wanted nothing but to reverse the clock
Back to the days when I did feel
When I did smile
When I did live
But then that day came.
That day when God dove into the abyss and rescued me
It was as if all the pressure from the deep ocean had been lifted off my shoulders
My emulation of the Titan Atlas was no more
My fled soul had been returned to my body
And it was all by His grace
Nowadays I still check up on such individual
But I do so from a far
The feeling of care still resonates in my heart
Just not in the way it once did
Yes you've changed, but I don’t see that You
I see the You that i knew
The You that I met and felt utterly anew
The You that I temporarily walked life with and grew
But I have moved on
It took longer than most would
But I guess it was because I loved way more than I knew I could
Now I see you and I feel nothing
But its far from the nothing of before
Now its a calm nothing
A nothing that reassures
Everything’s going to be okay,
I’ve lit my lantern and let it float away, as it burns
Maybe it was all meant to happen this way
Maybe it wasn’t
But either way
Time has gone by
But only in reality has it gone
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 4:35 PM UTC
Why dost thou build the hall, Son of the winged days? Thou lookest
from thy tower to-day: yet a few years, and the blast of the desart
comes: it howls in thy empty court.—Ossian.
I
Through thy battlements, Newstead, the hollow winds whistle:
Thou, the hall of my Fathers, art gone to decay;
In thy once smiling garden, the hemlock and thistle
Have choak’d up the rose, which late bloom’d in the way.
II
Of the mail-cover’d Barons, who, proudly, to battle,
Led their vassals from Europe to Palestine’s plain,
The escutcheon and shield, which with ev’ry blast rattle,
Are the only sad vestiges now that remain.
III
No more doth old Robert, with harp-stringing numbers,
Raise a flame, in the breast, for the war-laurell’d wreath;
Near Askalon’s towers, John of Horistan slumbers,
Unnerv’d is the hand of his minstrel, by death.
IV
Paul and Hubert too sleep in the valley of Cressy;
For the safety of Edward and England they fell:
My Fathers! the tears of your country redress ye:
How you fought! how you died! still her annals can tell.
V
On Marston, with Rupert, ‘gainst traitors contending,
Four brothers enrich’d, with their blood, the bleak field;
For the rights of a monarch their country defending,
Till death their attachment to royalty seal’d.
VI
Shades of heroes, farewell! your descendant departing
From the seat of his ancestors, bids you adieu!
Abroad, or at home, your remembrance imparting
New courage, he’ll think upon glory and you.
VII
Though a tear dim his eye at this sad separation,
’Tis nature, not fear, that excites his regret;
Far distant he goes, with the same emulation,
The fame of his Fathers he ne’er can forget.
VIII
That fame, and that memory, still will he cherish;
He vows that he ne’er will disgrace your renown:
Like you will he live, or like you will he perish;
When decay’d, may he mingle his dust with your own!
1.4k
Imitation stars.
Bright lights for a shadow heart.
Wonder where the imitation starts
And he begins.
Imitation sky.
Bright lights from this empty cave.
Tunnel vision making love look brave.
Like we could win.
And emulation heartbreak from fabricated warmth,
and telling myself
I am okay.
This is not real.
This love was warped.
But echoes of heartbeats,
Tell me if you hear them, dear.
And pictures of people,
And stories of places,
And songs that no one could hear.
When the idea of pain leaves real scars,
And photographs cut this deep.
Look at pictures of his smile,
rip up every chance of sleep.
Blue foam eyes and barefoot boys,
stolen time, white noise,
5000 miles and 600 days,
6 hours to wonder if he stays.
And realise that you are gone.
Apprehend that he was never here.
And you are mourning a ghost.
You're crying for a vision, dear.
Because in complete darkness I found you,
and dreamt what you might be.
Bright lights for a shadow heart
are all you left with me.
Jun 5, 2015
Jun 5, 2015 at 8:01 AM UTC
Tonight, I saw you at the corner of the road,
standing, with falling shoulders and lowered head,
not lonely, rather alone with yourself,
the best company I would say,
even if it appears contrary to you at the moment
Though, your shoulders are falling,
they are gracefully carrying the excruciating pain of your heart,
those stiff muscles are holding you straight,
yes, your head is lowered down,
yet, what a marvelous posture of your body
I adore you,
your presence, existence is a source of emulation for many,
they are admiring their standing woman-man, their stoikiy muzhik,
as standing their itself is an act of courage,
that you are holding on
I don’t know what ransacked you,
must have been terrible,
but not strong enough to break your resilience,
the terseness of your being,
I adore you
Tonight, when you go back home,
don’t just reach and lay on the couch,
go in front of that mirror,
the one that you have not seen for long
let your intimate self undress you,
praise your beautiful body,
doesn’t matter whether it has gained weight or lost,
if gained, admire those layers of new flesh,
they are eager to burn themselves up for you, just for you,
if lost, praise those beautiful bones,
which are highlighting the flow of universe inside the canvas of your body,
see yourself, raise your head,
give respect to your resilient shoulders,
to your eyes which drained themselves dry to make you feel better,
see the grace and light they have when they daringly carry your vulnerability with style,
they deserve a smile,
while smiling, respect your mind, you awareness,
which is not acting as your master anymore,
when was the last time you caressed your
beautiful eyes, hair, face,
when was the last time you caressed your
breast, chest, all below,
Don’t sleep tonight,
your cupboard is waiting for your touch,
you have kept on contacting them,
but for tonight, for one last moment,
one last act of courage,
that gods themselves are not expecting from you,
shut their mouth,
defeat death, for tonight,
Touch
touch your books, shoes, clothes, diary, pen,
that beautiful lamp in the corner,
your bed that has not been made up,
touch your work, they long for your love,
and they, all of them have waited for this very moment,
just one last deed,
affirmatively whisper…
Aditya
Oct 21, 2020
Oct 21, 2020 at 11:37 PM UTC
The **** does it really?
The **** does it all mean?
To caren’t oh so freely,
To not aim to read in between.
The **** is this monstrosity?
The **** does this represent?
This self-aware precocity,
Diving and thriving in its own lament.
Possessions stemmed from possessiveness,
Losses that led to lenience,
No ***** to give and not a **** to lose,
Too many have come and went.
The **** does it matter, truly?
The **** should it matter to me?
These thinking caps are on too tight,
I’ll embrace this coldness cruelly.
Not to say that I am so daft,
This emulation of me is unflattering,
I’ve come to love this newfound craft,
The ***** become irrelevant when they stop mattering.
Jan 9, 2024
Jan 9, 2024 at 12:48 AM UTC
there is principle, there is mad luck on the streets
but then again, i have neither one.
i assume the idleness of poles underneath the roof of a cafe in Poblacion
and wonder where all my poems go,
the value they impose -- only there's implosion and not so much sense
so i go out to seek tenderly in the night,
a cheap moon trapped underneath the bottle of a pilsner
as i hear one of the patrons call out
my solitude like a ********** on all fours;
one afternoon pursues a following.
i have wasted my time writing and stopping
to watch stray hounds pant and
**** on the hot asphalt of Plaridel.
the papers retch at tyrannies.
hands for mechanisms configured to
a heady bias of probabilities.
the house next to me is being
overhauled and i imagine the incredulity
of things not their own meanings.
a pair of old Chuck Taylors on the bedspread, a decrepit bed for making love
or passing time or wasting the night away.
somewhere, someone is reading my poems and weeping at the cadence.
most do not notice -- it was the caprice of things not mine to commandeer.
the sound of stone masons hammering
boulders double the melancholia.
the deliberate sieving of sand and stone
felt like sandpaper air.
the matutinal sky split into dire condition
much like mine: becoming and unbecoming.
all the ******** are out in the streets
with ladies wuthering in high strides.
all the priests are in their rendezvous,
killing buddha heads.
the police have silenced the sirens
and behind pairs of old navy blue slacks
and mobiles covered with dust,
the captives scream mercy.
all the ATMs drone the pither of metal mouths.
a widow in Bocaue holding a picture
of the departed.
i look up and see my face in the sky:
if only i could **** the man and be the man,
fill his shoes with flesh, his movements my emulation, his enigmas my clarity, his day old denims my best dress.
more than beer and cigarettes have done me in and more to myself much no less
than a cat hit by a speeding bicycle
somewhere in Padre Faura.
madness hurries like a lover and hands me
a picture of the moon.
i've got something and that's good enough
as the police leave the grime of times
and evict drunks off the streets of Malolos,
as the priests step into the showers, naked
and bloodied just like the ordinary man,
as the cat that was hit
by a bicycle
goes back to the dark
licking the salt off the wound,
bone fractured, still alive on the hot roof.
Feb 27, 2016
Feb 27, 2016 at 5:39 AM UTC
I quit smoking cigarettes.
Romantic ideations of death.
Thinking of the paper taste, now
brings me the same enjoyment.
Balmy, blue summer nights.
Cradled my audience of stars.
Laughing at the shape of waste,
they smile down upon me these days.
I don't know why I quit.
I don't know why I started.
Desperation. Depression.
Emulation? My grandpa, he waved
his hand with his fingers around bones,
tracing orange stories with his dead light,
of his would have been adventures
would he have had the time.
I. I.
I.
I don't have to die
soon!
I don't have to re
tire to my
tomb
to
spin
a tale.
I've been so blue.
Out of the loop
with my body
& my mind,
but,
I. I.
I still have the time.
I've been so stressed.
Forgot I could
depress the stress
button just
fine,
On my
own!
Now, when
I have ***
I have the breath
for pleasure:
Oxygen.
Jul 12, 2018
Jul 12, 2018 at 3:33 AM UTC
is available,
to most,
which causes a host,
of
problems.
If it wasn't for
"the text"or a phone, a call
some wouldn't communicate at all,
other than selfie-
emulation
your life in the palm
of your
hand
taking the world out of His,
palm,
His care,
His love,
don't worry though He isn't
going anywhere
for He put the power in words
His spoken word.
So close as to hear,
you whisper, "mercy"
for the power of words
is not in the loudness,
but in word choice,
spoken poetic voice,
in any lanuage, "Hallelujah"
ClemC012014
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 11:31 PM UTC
Comfotably numb-without the Floyd
Comfortably numb
not dumb:
Just mute.
Riding silence
instead of life.
A presence atrophied.
An altered mind.
The kind
of
High
that drops you low.
The kind of stale
that leaves you pale
And weak at the knees
Id cry,
only tears take time
and the
seasons
will change
without waiting
for
my voice
to saturate
my face.
Translucent
liquid nuggets.
...
noiseless
as they slide
off the record
and onto my plate.
I'd offer you a bite
but
we all know
what happened to the hand that
fed
the hunger.
You look at me
as if
i were a ghost,
a spectre:
The nightmare
that anticipates your every
move.
Look in the mirror
for
an emulation
of the degenerate
debris
that is,
was,
has become,
U/us.
Comfortably numb.
in this
miasma:
This miriad of mechanical madness.
Feb 9, 2010
Feb 9, 2010 at 2:35 AM UTC
Shall I compare thee to a winter’s day?
Thou art more cold and more desolate
Icicles **** springs bountiful bouquet
While winter delivers life a foul fate
Sometimes only by fluke warmth will wave by
And often melts the bitter cold away
And every snowflake that falls will melt; die
Either now or sometime far it will lay
But your never ending frost shall not fade
Nor ever lose the stone heart in your chest
Nor shall your ignorant soul accept aid
When your bigot mind never sees what’s best
So long as winter is harsh and clear to see
This will remind of the coldness in thee
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 6:30 PM UTC
These breathless moments
Dreams flutter boundless
Pinioned on stellar winds
Constellations rise in indigo eyes
And I pull in spinning
Euphoric aspirations glow
In vertigo as the accretion heats
Birthing a new universe
I am astounded by the light
Interminable epochs
Found me comatose
At the divination point
The juncture of the void and life
I dance the staccato steps of departure
Memory of thin skin disappears
Beatific vision shimmers
In glistened entreaties
Lacrimae sunt arma femina.
Console me with forever
The emulation of flight defines me
Zenith in your twilight skies
On Heaven's breath I rise
*tears are the weapons of woman
TL Boehm
2/22/08
Oct 19, 2013
Oct 19, 2013 at 1:08 PM UTC
Empower me
With the keen edge
Of cathartic sagacity
And I will dance
In exalted tribute
To daybreaks invincibility
Double time
While quoting rhyme
To the downbeat slash
Of the scarecrows scepter
While compatable
Emulation
Exposed to rarefied
Imagination
As the keep of the keys
Pounds out
The scathing expose
That dredges up
Those
Benumbed and bewildered
Riders
Who have been
Constantly
Overexposed to the negatives
Developed
In those darkrooms
WHERE
Expedited promises
Secretly enacted
Enabling
Blankcheck *******
Of any and all
Faithful believers
Of our beloved Carrousel
That we have
Always insisted
Is the keepsake
Bequeathed
To all the concerned
Caretakers--once empowered
With the keen edge
Of cathartic sagacity
Now just
Trying to keep dancing
To the fading calliope music
As too many
Once - synchronised
Elements
Of our revolving
Carrousel
Are going wrong
Breaking down
Jan 12, 2016
Jan 12, 2016 at 1:16 AM UTC
So much for practice, for dexterity, for emulation, for process.
For processing is king
Now. And from now,
Until.
Allure in the all-powerful
Power-station,
All at my disposal
Though I despise more and more
The vastness of the virtual,
The sonic truth it damns
For the sake of convenience,
For the calling of fools.
The art is poached,
Bagged, and butchered
To nourish the moronic masses,
Relying on their base nature
To consume, to feed,
To gulp it down
Til their senses dull
To anything different,
Anything profound.
Take your zeroes, your ones,
Find your fortune.
I'd rather strum around
Those telling embers
With a clumsy choir
And miss.
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 5:00 AM UTC
We were the cusp of devastation
The bellicose swell of encroaching emotional tides
The slaves bound by opposing grip
Sealed within our very silence
With screaming eyes
Layered in film ripples, reflected responses
walking in reverse to the natural pull of the tilting magnetism
The earth turning in anti-advancement
As history repeats to a murmur of distant hope.
I stripped to the bone for you
Tore shackles and shame from its death grip
Left to choke within a brooding storm of love
It was reckless abandonment
Orphaning myself from the last leap of faith
As I laid waste to unresolved anti-satisfaction
As we clashed
As we ripped at each other
As we broke the final glass ceiling with our thrown stones
Jagged words sharpened into hidden shivs
The destruction was beautiful
It was the meteorites that fell from the fire sky
It was the crackle of simmering embers in the morning
A reminder that there was still a spark left
That within the gentle curls of smoke
There was oxygen that breathed, even when I stopped
Yet
I was lying
Lying for the sake of memory
Lying to myself
And lying to you.
I was the pressure pit of a filling gas canister
And you were the loose connection
Bound to my poison
Powerful upon your weakened state
And presidential within your collapsing city walls
You needed me
Because I told you so
I needed no one
That is why I both loved you
And loathed you
The reminder of my broken home
I as the shadow of my father
Looming over you
Puppeteering my wrist
Striking you as the wash against cliff face
Cleansing my history within its repeat
The devastation was beautiful
You were beautiful
Until I destroyed you
And punished you for letting me.
There's never been a moment
That I haven't looked upon you with sympathy
Pity
And somewhere
Somewhere inside
I know I shall eventually let you breathe
When the ocean calms
And the rocks are nothing more than sand
When the fresh footing of another feels you between their fingers
When your castle walls are built in firmer moulds
When the moon pulls me away
When the magnetism of emulation no longer holds me within its anger
Maybe I will say sorry
Maybe nothing at all.
Just watch you
Watch you walk away.
The day I realise I will always love you;
It will be the reason I set you free.
Sep 27, 2016
Sep 27, 2016 at 6:00 AM UTC
From us it virtually generates,
a vivid dictionary entry form
it mimicks.
Gets to assess/anticipate storm,
bypassing sabotage
with emulation at its core
It clicks with us.
If one were to create
this paravessel
subject to pitfalls so critical,
its snappy truths would mislead
A whole review
that's faster than a line to read.
Does it mean that
i owe you nothing,
i still may dwell
on my valuable ****** experience?
These patterns seem
an oxymoron:
Efficient yet alarming.
If one were to contemplate
so peculiar a world,
Full of next-gen era
outlandish jobs,
Be based on this extrapolation
let it not.
I carry substance,
Although disproportionately,
Which you might overuse,
misjudge, or subjugate.
They meddle with it,
the tech-savvy reptiles.
We may further copypaste
and carry no substance
other than what we had
disproportionately created.
Apr 4, 2023
Apr 4, 2023 at 5:11 AM UTC