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"enshrine" poems
I don't want to be perfect What an incorrect prospect I like my defect At least I'm not an object My eyes do not resemble suns My words are more like guns Aimed at your sons I've only just begun My hair is not soft and fine You simply cannot define Or enshrine Standby and do not whine My thoughts are not innocent and pure Nothing is secure But I am certainly not your saviour My behaviour brings danger I am not your entertainer My hands are not are not flowers I have different powers Which devours and towers Over your mouth as he cowers Nature is not just beautiful And neither am I How dare you belittle it with unsuitable lies Save your goodbyes I am not your demise, that would be unwise Do you not realise I have a disguise? I am not perfect Yet you could never recreate and resurrect my imperfections Save your affections I need to find my own directions, away from your infectious reflections
0
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 4:42 PM UTC
Imperfect
I see no other endless tomorrow than To lie face to face with you On a bed of lavenders and violets. The cool sun magnifies The verdant fields in your eyes And the radiant shadows of my hair. Morning breeze enshrouds our bodies Sustained by flames more eternal than Vesta’s. Here forever after In my ideal world. If I felt hunger it shall not last long, For there are nectars from the giant continent that is you. If you knew thirst it shall be quenched, Just drink from my hidden wells and fountains. But remember that I’m not like the ancient Eve And you can only be the Adam in our own accord. The butterflies or birds won’t shame me. The grasses or trees won’t complain. For loving you is the only truth In my ideal world. My hands are here to heal and amuse you, As long as your arms embrace me from harm. We own only the lips and ears Where sweet sounds pass by To lull as to dream or memorize We’ll not know starless night of horror, The way the moon becomes our constant watcher. We’ll fear no lightning or thunder of wrath For the rain will be our noble preserver. Come and stay In my ideal world. We don’t have to worry about Sunday Or think of God to pray. Nature is our divine link to the cosmos, And us the perpetual worship fleshed out. Celestial or earthly we need not know For this is the spot where boundaries depart. But all these remain as bright colors in my head Unless you key in yourself in my mind And enshrine me to your heart. Our story can be written by our breath On petals and foliage of existence to this place. Somewhere we can call ours, Come and take My ideal world.
0
Jun 25, 2010
Jun 25, 2010 at 2:16 AM UTC
In My Ideal World
I see no other endless tomorrow than To lie face to face with you On a bed of lavenders and violets. The cool sun magnifies The verdant fields in your eyes And the radiant shadows of my hair. Morning breeze enshrouds our bodies Sustained by flames more eternal than Vesta’s. Here forever after In my ideal world. If I felt hunger it shall not last long, For there are nectars from the giant continent that is you. If you knew thirst it shall be quenched, Just drink from my hidden wells and fountains. But remember that I’m not like the ancient Eve And you can only be the Adam in our own accord. The butterflies or birds won’t shame me. The grasses or trees won’t complain. For loving you is the only truth In my ideal world. My hands are here to heal and amuse you, As long as your arms embrace me from harm. We own only the lips and ears Where sweet sounds pass by To lull as to dream or memorize We’ll not know starless night of horror, The way the moon becomes our constant watcher. We’ll fear no lightning or thunder of wrath For the rain will be our noble preserver. Come and stay In my ideal world. We don’t have to worry about Sunday Or think of God to pray. Nature is our divine link to the cosmos, And us the perpetual worship fleshed out. Celestial or earthly we need not know For this is the spot where boundaries depart. But all these remain as bright colors in my head Unless you key in yourself in my mind And enshrine me to your heart. Our story can be written by our breath On petals and foliage of existence to this place. Somewhere we can call ours, Come and take My ideal world.
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45
I kneel kneecaps cracking, head bowed under the heavy breath of your adoration eyes ground into the dust each footstep rises I am dirt-blind but the crows can see, my ears bleed how they cry and scream, weep and admire - they enshrine him; I, unwilling, immortalise. I keep my eyesight clouded, looking down the soil is my church, inadequacy a mired crown.
0
Apr 24, 2018
Apr 24, 2018 at 4:55 PM UTC
Cheers to us both.
Oh Darling, Oh Darling, I’m so sorry for this; I’ve done you wrong so many a time, Finally babe, it's my victimless crime. Oh Darling, Oh Darling, Need to apologize, Realize I’m mad and bound for decay, Need to tell you; the fleeting light of the day. Oh Darling, Oh Darling, I’ve lied, through these, my guilt, Kneel here repenting, hugging your hips. Start to break down, what was sobriety dips. Oh Darling, Oh Darling, I’ve done it all again; You’re already aware of my past, Your fears they will continued, here I relapse. Oh Darling, Oh Darling, I’m back to it, the past. These scars and old wounds fester again; I’m back in the dirt, like a dog in his chains. Oh Darling, Oh Darling, You’re forced to know this now; I fought, and I fight, it’s gotten bad. I broke, then killed a man, giving all I had. Oh Darling, Oh Darling, There was that look again! You my rock, my only salvation; Gone, apartment empty, at the bus station... Oh Darling, you’re no longer mine! I cry into a mirror, cursing my name; Sorrow turns to anger, these fists to blame. A crash, broken mirror, a home inflamed... Oh Darling gone, Oh Darling gone, I can only apologize with my life, A true sacrifice to never enshrine...
0
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 4:06 PM UTC
Darling?
Remember when I told you Not to force me? I meant that. Force me to love you And I will hate you. Force me to hate you And I will love you. Force me to stay And I will run, Force me away And I will never leave. I promise you this: I do not love you more than I need to be free. My freedom means I Do What I Choose. Not what you think is right, Not what you think is safe, Not what you think is Best. You cannot make me stop thinking of you- Months, Years, Decades, I will enshrine you Out of spite And throw away moments of every **** day Reconstructing your face in my mind Whether or not I ever see it again- I promise you this: I do not love myself more than I hate being Forced.
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Mar 30, 2014
Mar 30, 2014 at 11:21 PM UTC
Forced
Ethnic Raging in my face Everywhere I care to look Coptic Christians, brown and white Scream intolerance, forsook. Jew and anti Jew defile All good laws of rationale, In raw voraciousness of hate, In howling shred of faith’s morale. Blessed are the just for they Enshrine their plaque of rich noblesque, Blessed are the weak of will Who deeply sip from traitor’s breast. And blessed are the strong who hold At bay the laws of God’s restraint, In tandem with the rich who cower, White, behind their armoured gate. Ethnic raging everywhere I watch it through the children’s eyes, Led to purge the coloured flesh, To flay a difference ‘till it dies. Marshalg Recoiling from it all. Auckland NZ 11 October 2011
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Oct 11, 2011
Oct 11, 2011 at 12:17 AM UTC
Rage of the Ethnics
epitomize and optimize imitate and recalibrate streamline and recombine the evolutionary "line" fireflies and theorize circulate and gyrate guideline and divine the galaxy and the stars moonrise and clockwise death rate and procreate sunshine and lifeline laws of nature are defined maximize and re-size penetrate and migrate bloodline and decline the story of our world allies and despise prostate and dictate enshrine and benign generations throughout time endings and beginnings losing and winnings and everything in between is what we find
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Mar 4, 2010
Mar 4, 2010 at 4:44 PM UTC
timeline
No words can share the chaotic precision Of waves sweeping a sandy shore Clean of its filth, expired life, footprints Leaving the ground beneath supple and bare Find me the words to describe The confidence of a feisty crest As it approaches the shore so swiftly To pound without relent How the pinnacles raise A turbulent impasse Until another frothy height Follows its thin soapy tier And stacks its might like ***** keys Carrying them both to shore Tell me the poem that captures The layers and ripples dashing As countless and intermingled As the buttery layers of a croissant I wish I could find the words to hold This image deep within me To remember the blur of green and blue When I am far from their ruling roars I would enshrine their vivacity With a razor in my heart If I could keep their beauty A keepsake of nature’s art When the outside world is yelling I wish I could recall At will the rumble of undertow The thunder of admonished land The crashing sounds that kidnap you Forcing reality far behind For no mortal trouble is so large To ground you by the sea The only thing to consume a wave Is the crest rising in its wake
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Oct 23, 2020
Oct 23, 2020 at 2:42 PM UTC
Beach Waves
What have I planted today but the seeds of words in my mind's garden? would they germinate and grow would they beautify? and gladden the heart in verse and song? I'll not fail you my love, as it was you who gave me the seeds with your white tender hands which I kissed--your love I'll enshrine forever in my poetry.
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Jan 25, 2016
Jan 25, 2016 at 7:48 PM UTC
PLANTING
the dirt continues to grow and fester beneath my fingernails. but i don't stop groveling down to my knees, i don't stop to breathe; to rest. you, who bears god's love; whose love i could not know. you and your sin-stained palms continue to enshrine dilapidated ghost towns. i undo the stitches on my wounds and pick at the grisly scabs under your scrutiny, yet you chastise me for the pool of blood bespeckled on your feet. the darkness already dropped, the night hides me once more. the living sorrow, simmered, bitter, and fresh; everything remains.
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Aug 10, 2022
Aug 10, 2022 at 11:49 PM UTC
the wrath of grendel
Plastic artifact reminds me of her. Flesh and blood, she melts her own icon. My Goddess, I worship our craft, married in the Nth dimension. Our candles illuminate each hemisphere, synced red & blue, purple state. Pulp of war profits in arms, fisticuffs gerrymandered and rigged against us. We remember asunder, yet constellate in ways we cannot disconnect. Put us back together, again forever, to care for the always already poor. Rich boats raise all waters. Overboard, she fends for herself against all odds. Statuesque pin-up, femme ichthyologist of garb, gaggle *** sushi swim mate. Corners enshrine our meditation department network, transcendent yet in touch. Taste felt on tongue brings us closer together to see and hear what’s happening now. Hearts over matter, heads roll, eyes forward; brains make the most of a sticky situation. Sounds blend synethesiastically, our opposite angels harmonize to build twin passages. Wend our raft downriver, stroke unbound tandem wrists and ankles from spawn upstream. Our cocoon igloo ensconces like alien cavewomen thaw out their men, then mate on the spot. Through the delta, Venus beckons, her molten artifice pools our hull. To be baled out by Lucifer?
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Jul 2, 2013
Jul 2, 2013 at 2:32 AM UTC
HeartArtMatters
Sisters can be difficult creatures, The towels left transforms me into a preacher. They combine and plead that it wasn't either- of them, Defending that they are benign and not leavers. But I do not accept their lines, I rebut them and decline What they are feeding me and a desire to confine them- overwhelms. But instead of convulsing into a seizure or giving in to something malign and of a devious nature, My words become fiercer as I deliver my "bottom-line" To those rascally creatures that I wish to refine. Yet I can hear features of mine, in their voices, before I was their keeper and only nine, And it made me realize that I, too, once was a creature and not fully defined. Calming down I enshrine myself and become a wistful dreamer. To have things I've made stay made would be sublime, and so much cleaner. And so- in my confines dreaming of refined sisterly creatures, I recline. Alas, being a teacher makes me want to lie supine.
0
Feb 6, 2011
Feb 6, 2011 at 10:22 PM UTC
Sisters can be difficult creatures
contained within it glistens and is illuminated radiates from my teeth to my ocular orbs not the sun not the one that makes the ivy creep or the blossom open and become fragrant but its mistress the sphere of the night pounds light from beneath the chest cavity but this derivative compels all those like us in the dark to hold hands this is the moon my insides are worshiping one and one without and the one with in like our nearest star the love within me is only a reflection of the truth that one that you imbue hold true and fast towards the surface within me that is reflective my heart is the second moon moon two only as it speaks to me and me and me to you and you reflect upon me and i shine and enshrine my soul is made true
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Apr 9, 2013
Apr 9, 2013 at 11:49 PM UTC
two moons
Graceful, deft, the fingers dance, upon damp earth, cracked yet vast. Yet--will it bear fruit at last? Boundless harmony entwines, guiding softly through the night. In dim-lit hush, you swore it right. I shall tread though miles may call, you shall reach with art so fine. With the seed, I breathe anew, with the melody, you enshrine.
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Feb 13, 2025
Feb 13, 2025 at 12:03 PM UTC
Farm art
WE DON'T HAVE THE TIME FOR ASTRONAUTICAL ARCHAEOLOGY OR GEOLOGY! IN NAUTICAL TERMS COPERNICUS SAID THAT THERE'S NO EAST OR WEST WITHIN THE GEOMETRIC CONSTELLATION OF THE STARS... THERE IS NO ARCHAEOLOGY ON MARS THERE'S ONLY GEOLOGY - WE DON'T HAVE TIME FOR ASTRONAUTS PLAYING THE GIMMICK OF GEOLOGISTS... IF THERE'S NO ARCHAEOLOGY WORTH INSPECTING ON MARS, THEN ALL GEOLOGY WILL ONLY PROVIDE US A GEOLOGY we could easily find carbon dating on earth... mind you, didn't we like ******* too much? WE DON'T HAVE THE TIME - WE DON'T HAVE THE TIME - UNLESS YOU WANT IT TO BECOME A CINEMATIC PROPHESY OF THE RICHEST GET OFF FIRST AND BY BEING FIRST THE ONLY ONES TO GET OFF; THERE'S ABSOLUTELY NO ******* REASON TO FICTIONALISE OUR SITUATION; GET IT?! I GET IT... THERE'S ONE PANIC ATTACK PRIOR TO THE TSUNAMI, AND NO ONE MINDS... THEN THEY ARE KNEE-DEEP IN SEAWATER, THEN "SUDDENLY" EVERYONE REMEMBERS THE WEATHERMAN PROPHETIC ABOUT THE WEATHER ON MONDAY AND "CARING" WHETHER YOU TOOK OUT YOUR UMBRELLA OR NOT... AND YOU THINK... SHOULDN'T I'VE HAD A WASTED THOUGHT RATHER THAN WASTING TIME IN THE UNDERGROUND LABYRINTHS DURING THE BLITZ... WELL... A WASTED TIME, BUT HARDLY A WASTED SPACE, SINCE YOU'RE THERE, A SINE OR A COSINE CURVE OF CONTINUITY... AND NOT A TANGENTS CURVE OF: HERE ONE MINUTE / GONE THE NEXT... well, wouldn't we all like to enshrine our politics as the pinnacle, and our lack of co-operation as the dire foreseeable exclusion to mind the ecclesiastical Eden of our hopes ****** minding the flag of Wales prior to the unearthing of the fire-breathing lizard skeletons; at least we gave hope to the third and last world - who will lazily accept its fate as if a brightly lit room and the mammalian candle extinguished without a sadistic approach to industrialise the poll of death.
0
Apr 17, 2016
Apr 17, 2016 at 9:52 PM UTC
WE DON'T HAVE THE TIME
WE DON'T HAVE THE TIME FOR ASTRONAUTICAL ARCHAEOLOGY OR GEOLOGY! IN NAUTICAL TERMS COPERNICUS SAID THAT THERE'S NO EAST OR WEST WITHIN THE GEOMETRIC CONSTELLATION OF THE STARS... THERE IS NO ARCHAEOLOGY ON MARS THERE'S ONLY GEOLOGY - WE DON'T HAVE TIME FOR ASTRONAUTS PLAYING THE GIMMICK OF GEOLOGISTS... IF THERE'S NO ARCHAEOLOGY WORTH INSPECTING ON MARS, THEN ALL GEOLOGY WILL ONLY PROVIDE US A GEOLOGY we could easily find carbon dating on earth... mind you, didn't we like ******* too much? WE DON'T HAVE THE TIME - WE DON'T HAVE THE TIME - UNLESS YOU WANT IT TO BECOME A CINEMATIC PROPHESY OF THE RICHEST GET OFF FIRST AND BY BEING FIRST THE ONLY ONES TO GET OFF; THERE'S ABSOLUTELY NO ******* REASON TO FICTIONALISE OUR SITUATION; GET IT?! I GET IT... THERE'S ONE PANIC ATTACK PRIOR TO THE TSUNAMI, AND NO ONE MINDS... THEN THEY ARE KNEE-DEEP IN SEAWATER, THEN "SUDDENLY" EVERYONE REMEMBERS THE WEATHERMAN PROPHETIC ABOUT THE WEATHER ON MONDAY AND "CARING" WHETHER YOU TOOK OUT YOUR UMBRELLA OR NOT... AND YOU THINK... SHOULDN'T I'VE HAD A WASTED THOUGHT RATHER THAN WASTING TIME IN THE UNDERGROUND LABYRINTHS DURING THE BLITZ... WELL... A WASTED TIME, BUT HARDLY A WASTED SPACE, SINCE YOU'RE THERE, A SINE OR A COSINE CURVE OF CONTINUITY... AND NOT A TANGENTS CURVE OF: HERE ONE MINUTE / GONE THE NEXT... well, wouldn't we all like to enshrine our politics as the pinnacle, and our lack of co-operation as the dire foreseeable exclusion to mind the ecclesiastical Eden of our hopes ****** minding the flag of Wales prior to the unearthing of the fire-breathing lizard skeletons; at least we gave hope to the third and last world - who will lazily accept its fate as if a brightly lit room and the mammalian candle extinguished without a sadistic approach to industrialise the poll of death.
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55
I am made of water I first learnt it when, at age 13 I dropped a glass of it And it trickled through my veins As my father told me he didn’t know why he loved me After that, every day I was kissed by sunlight I shimmered Like a pond lost in a forest of Thought that no one visited I used to look at my hands and wonder Why I could see right through The sinew And bone Into translucent fluid bubbling Where blood red should be But whenever someone deigned to hold My shaking digits, I felt the cold Of my insides freezing us both Eventually, when they could no longer hold My icy arms, They let go On their way to greener pastures Then I would melt Seek the sun, Weep for joy at the torrents inside me That flowed again You cannot touch this liquid life Unless your fingers are blessed by a burning Unlike anything before or after you, I long to simmer in a scalding embrace, You whom I have yet to meet, You who will boil my insides until One day, I disappear Like a pond dried up in summer, Its filaments caressing the sun, Lost forever to the world below Until after years, I will rain again on gardens That men will worship And whose beauty, (Nourished by a love that no one knows), Will enshrine our embrace for generations
0
Feb 26, 2017
Feb 26, 2017 at 7:01 AM UTC
Untitled
[Humorous Intervention] The seagull rendered sculpture of discarded fast-food containers, (early, Sunday morning leftovers from Saturday night’s punctured remains) the locus of which gives the value of a ****** good night out. It is left to the curator of found objects to enshrine their cultural worth.
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May 15, 2015
May 15, 2015 at 2:21 PM UTC
All the World's Futures
Last thing I remember was falling through the dark No longer was I troubled if whether I'd make a mark No fear, no sadness, no emotions at all In doubt whether I should stand, sit or crawl This new world around me is so vague Wondering what to do with nothing at stake I feel a wild wind but I have no mood to fly a kite Is there any use eating when I no longer have an appetite? But the troubles and miseries have all gone away Come to think of it, nothing actually did stay My body's lying somewhere now completely rotten The person who I was is now completely forgotten There's an emptiness within, which I can't define No God to pray to so who should I enshrine? The emptiness I feel has replaced the stress Everything I have ever learned is now rendered useless No expectations to live up to, no hearts to win All emotions and manners are as good as in the dustbin For this feeling is something I've never felt before It's something like content; I'm not sure All the worries of life I have left behind No more waking up to life's everyday grind My mind may be locked but I don't wonder about the keys For now, I can finally rest in peace...
0
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 1:25 PM UTC
Peace
O prim harrow/      ******* gomorrah/slashed fists- raised eyes/joy conjured as alchemic kiss of wood/machine       I am the child's unfastened bow        The diamond bible lay in a meadow formed      with fragility             (frame of mind as honey & cream & Ubud in June/do not suffer for the Monarch is nearly free from its own funeral, repeating)               Pygmalion & worshipper Iris ribbon/expander/deceiver            Midnight smoking in backdrop of Lalibela           Lalibela Opus            Your thigh burned with Mystic sand your past of perhapses & sitting on the flashing rug      where we listened to flowers speak the Animal language roots imitate Atlas grasping at our lungs our earth/ the wrath of flesh    like a youthful mirror    I escape the pavement,   you fold the Sun into Origami          swallowing it/a bird in it's irrational nest      (I enshrine you with skylines)                   we try at last             for a place of eternal windmills & baskets which     entomb the ocean I tilled for our drowning
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May 26, 2017
May 26, 2017 at 9:05 PM UTC
Pygmalion & Worshipper
Six months is all it took to find my love, a beauty that I never dreamed I'd find. who knew our wayward paths would be entwined, My love, you're my whole life or part thereof. I like to think of all the reasons why, the true, unbroken love I feel for you, brought swiftly peace to pain and impromptu, gave life anew to what had gone awry. With life I'd long since given up the fight, to find the life for which I had so longed. What will you found in me you have prolonged, and given me a bright and guiding light. For years to come we'll watch the sunrise shine. Each day with you our love will long enshrine.
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Mar 23, 2018
Mar 23, 2018 at 4:15 PM UTC
Six Months is All it Took
within a dark wood, no sound could be heard, no rustle or leaf, nor chorus of bird. though through thickets of thorn, and tangle of vine, a traveller long lost, settled down by a pine. it was then that the trees, and brambles beneath, twisted their branches and made him his wreath. a crown of late thorns, to place on his head, by the exact moment, in which he was dead. the traveller had wandered, for days through this grove, mistook it for where there'd been buried a trove. many had done so, the young and the old, naïve in their search, for fairy-tale gold. asleep on the fallen, both leaves and past men, our traveller breathed once, then no more than ten. his lungs filled with scarlet, his blood running thick, from poisons and toxins of berries he'd picked. as night came to banish, the warmth of the sun, his corpse slowly stiffened, decay then begun. what of his soul, his spirit, you wonder? encased by his bones, shall never float yonder. no other remembers, this story I've told, long lost in myth and legends of old. his death was not pleasant, nor lacking in strife, it felt oh so sweet, to steal that man's life. for I was the wood, that he'd set eyes upon, to plunder and pillage, and lay his hands on. but blind from desire, for coffers of gold, the man did not witness, his follies unfold. my treasure's not buried, but strewn all around, if only one glances, to see nature abound. the man had such fortune, in the palm of his hand, but thought nothing of it, of cherished wood-land. although he still lies here, enveloped in moss, his death is not tragic, don't mourn for this loss. a traveller he was, perhaps you are too, but his soul was crook'd, his values askew. oh yes he was selfish, and now he is mine, his body 's held tight, for my roots to enshrine. the lesson dear reader, I ask you to heed, is that misfortune awaits, all men filled with greed.
0
May 3, 2018
May 3, 2018 at 9:12 AM UTC
Within a dark wood
within a dark wood, no sound could be heard, no rustle or leaf, nor chorus of bird. though through thickets of thorn, and tangle of vine, a traveller long lost, settled down by a pine. it was then that the trees, and brambles beneath, twisted their branches and made him his wreath. a crown of late thorns, to place on his head, by the exact moment, in which he was dead. the traveller had wandered, for days through this grove, mistook it for where there'd been buried a trove. many had done so, the young and the old, naïve in their search, for fairy-tale gold. asleep on the fallen, both leaves and past men, our traveller breathed once, then no more than ten. his lungs filled with scarlet, his blood running thick, from poisons and toxins of berries he'd picked. as night came to banish, the warmth of the sun, his corpse slowly stiffened, decay then begun. what of his soul, his spirit, you wonder? encased by his bones, shall never float yonder. no other remembers, this story I've told, long lost in myth and legends of old. his death was not pleasant, nor lacking in strife, it felt oh so sweet, to steal that man's life. for I was the wood, that he'd set eyes upon, to plunder and pillage, and lay his hands on. but blind from desire, for coffers of gold, the man did not witness, his follies unfold. my treasure's not buried, but strewn all around, if only one glances, to see nature abound. the man had such fortune, in the palm of his hand, but thought nothing of it, of cherished wood-land. although he still lies here, enveloped in moss, his death is not tragic, don't mourn for this loss. a traveller he was, perhaps you are too, but his soul was crook'd, his values askew. oh yes he was selfish, and now he is mine, his body 's held tight, for my roots to enshrine. the lesson dear reader, I ask you to heed, is that misfortune awaits, all men filled with greed.
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40
Believe, obey, fight- Tow the party line! It's a quick battle, One waged against your own interest; It's a sad case, To watch men spit in their own face. It's family, God, & country And no room for the self. Don't you care about your race? How will you protect it? What about your religion? Enshrine it, defend it, spread it? Of your state- Bolster, boast, expansion? Your God? Your country? Your family?
0
Jun 20, 2024
Jun 20, 2024 at 3:42 PM UTC
La Roux
Seeping into the twilight sky Each hue seen, my love thumping shy But what color must I enshrine To embrace thy hand in mine? A breeze whispers cryptic to me Words of thirst my heart need decree But what promise must I consign To embrace thy hand in mine? The loneliness surrounding us A deep-blue question to discuss But what person must I design To embrace thy hand in mine? Ladylove, speak to me thy heart! Before my spirit does depart My soul to live, it gives high sign To embrace thy hand in mine!
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Jun 12, 2016
Jun 12, 2016 at 11:53 AM UTC
Withering Rose
lift up your face let your radiance like the sun shine fill up this space with your sapience (i) wish i could enshrine
0
Jul 13, 2018
Jul 13, 2018 at 12:54 PM UTC
Majesty
I have always discerned not only my pieces But all prose As art Literary, amorphous, atmospheric art My reason being the way we consume and admire it Paintings and sculptures are admired by the eyes Put on display to observe Music By the ears Played loud or quietly to feel its effects Culinary By the mouth To share and reward But only prose is absorbed through the soul and our consciousness There are no novels painted onto sides of buildings Or poems playing from car speakers Prose requires a deeper awareness to appreciate And the rareness of that depth is what causes me to feel this way about it The inspiration that concieves my pieces are birthed during spiritual acmes of various dispositions My style is more prose-like than poetic And intertwines elements regarding the Universe, spirituality, Buddhism, and Mother Earth All that I compose is felt as the flesh of my soul Although I have been writing for as long as I can recall It wasn't until the age of 15 that I began composing complete solid pieces of prose Though it hasn't been very many years since then I have witnessed my eloquence emanate fairly quickly and beautifully Translating my soul into language is the core of what I do It is a challenge at times Others A breeze I hope to compile my pieces into something tangible some day Releasing my auric energies into the world for everyone who pleases to read and feel from me
0
Aug 6, 2014
Aug 6, 2014 at 6:23 PM UTC
Enshrine