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"fazed" poems
Nan, I wrote this poem for you to keep As you lie peacefully asleep To share the stories you once told Sat in your chair growing peacefully old I will always remember those days When I sat up to the table studying the maze Of thousands of puzzle pieces in my gaze However I was never fazed Because you were always there to guide the way. I will always remember your trips out and about Although never adventurous I felt, McDonald's and M&s; without doubt, Were you favourite places to walkabout I will always remember your creative flare, Your knitting needles and you cross-stitch squares, how you could sit and chat, yet knit with care Always seemed so unfair But most of all, I wrote this poem to say thankyou Not just from me but from all the family too For the wisdom and knowledge you once shared For showing you loved us and that you cared I wrote this poem to say goodbye As you watch us from up high I remember all the fun times we had As my friend and as my Nan And I miss you more than words can say I hope we can meet again someday
0
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 5:37 PM UTC
Nan, may you rest in peace
They act like foolish mice lost in a maze, with heart eyes, who only admire and send praise; so blown away, and stuck in a dumb daze. It’s amusing they excuse your wicked ways, and you can gladly starve them all for days; while smiling madly, not even fazed. They’re dim and dull, you need entertained. You can’t help it, you think, but don’t dare say, to sustain your pointless little games; that you can’t ever seem to abstain. It’s the higher ground you need to gain. So lure them in enduring your demented cage. Provoke their wrath and force them to cave, spread your foul poison to their every vein. There’s no denying they’re enslaved, locked tight in your chains.
0
Feb 13, 2018
Feb 13, 2018 at 11:24 PM UTC
Chains
I feel like I'm walking on the seashore Some ground firm, some not anymore Reality's clear when I don't think of you But when my mind slips, I lose that good view. It seems that I wallow in sand to my knees When all I am doing is aiming to please But when I look to what God asks It's easier than struggling to fulfill my own tasks. I feel like I'm walking on the seashore And a lot of what fazed me can't anymore.
0
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 2:20 AM UTC
Seashore
the sophiatown i live in: is a place i call home is where i come to from work is a place riddled with crime is where i'm proud to be from is a place being renovated is where i'm not far from means is a place that gets frustrated by the westbury fiends the sophiatown i read about: is a place void of silence is where bra hugh got his trumpet is a place full of vibrance is where miriam caught hold of it is a place that was razed is where a new place was born is a place that couldn't be fazed by the lines that were drawn the sophiatown i love: is a place that i live in is where i've chosen to stay is a place that i read about is where that won't go away is a place that's still here is where apartheid escaped is a place made austere by the forces it shaped the sophiatown that inspires me: is very triumphant is very intact so what was your reason for doing that
0
Dec 8, 2015
Dec 8, 2015 at 6:26 PM UTC
sophiatown
the people whose job is to understand the multiverse can't figure this world out rid·dle                      ˈridl/noun: riddle; plural noun:   riddles 1.                                 | a question or statement intentionally           phrased so as to require ingenuity     in ascertaining its answer or meaning,                typically presented as a game; a person, event,   or fact that is difficult   to understand or explain. "the riddle of her death" [puz·zle ˈpəzəl/verb: puzzle; 3rd person present: puzzles; past tense: puzzled; past participle: puzzled; gerund or present participle:                                              puzzling 1.                          cause (someone) to feel confused because              they cannot understand or make sense of something: "one remark he made puzzled me" synonyms: perplex, confuse, bewilder,        bemuse, baffle, mystify, confound;         faze, stump, beat, discombobulate "her decision puzzled me" perplexed, confused, bewildered,        bemused, baffled, mystified, confounded,                              nonplussed, at a loss, at sea;              flummoxed, stumped, fazed, clueless,              discombobulated "a puzzled look on her face" baffling, perplexing, bewildering, confusing, complicated, unclear, mysterious, enigmatic, ambiguous, obscure, abstruse, unfathomable, incomprehensible, impenetrable, cryptic "his explanation was rather puzzling" antonyms: clear think hard about something difficult                    to understand or explain; "she was still puzzling over this problem                      when she reached the office"      | [      ] think hard about, mull over, muse over, ponder, contemplate,                                      meditate on, consider, deliberate on, chew over,                     wonder about "she puzzled over the problem"   solve or understand something by thinking hard; synonyms:                       work out, understand,    comprehend, sort out, reason out, solve, make sense of,    make head(s) or tail(s) of, unravel, decipher; informal:                figure out "she tried to puzzle out what he meant" noun: puzzle; plural noun: puzzles 1. [                 ], [           ] (                 ); a game, toy, or problem designed     to test ingenuity or knowledge; short for jigsaw puzzle                    (see jigsaw) a person or thing that is difficult to understand or explain; an enigma: "the meaning of this poem will always be a paradox" synonyms: enigma, mystery, paradox,        conundrum, poser, riddle, problem, quandary;                      "the poem has always been a puzzle"   late 16th century (as a verb): of unknown origin: synonyms: puzzle, conundrum, brainteaser, problem,       unsolved problem, question, poser, enigma,                        quandary; informal:       stumper "an answer to the riddle"                    verb/archaic verb: riddle; 3rd person present: riddles; past tense: riddled; past participle: riddled;          gerund or present participle: riddling 1.             speak in or pose riddles. "he who knows not how to riddle" solve or explain (a riddle) to (someone). "riddle me this then" Origin Old English rǣdels, rǣdelse ‘opinion, conjecture, riddle’;   related to Dutch raadsel,    German Rätsel,      to read
0
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 12:19 AM UTC
1. [Linear Z]
the people whose job is to understand the multiverse can't figure this world out rid·dle                      ˈridl/noun: riddle; plural noun:   riddles 1.                                 | a question or statement intentionally           phrased so as to require ingenuity     in ascertaining its answer or meaning,                typically presented as a game; a person, event,   or fact that is difficult   to understand or explain. "the riddle of her death" [puz·zle ˈpəzəl/verb: puzzle; 3rd person present: puzzles; past tense: puzzled; past participle: puzzled; gerund or present participle:                                              puzzling 1.                          cause (someone) to feel confused because              they cannot understand or make sense of something: "one remark he made puzzled me" synonyms: perplex, confuse, bewilder,        bemuse, baffle, mystify, confound;         faze, stump, beat, discombobulate "her decision puzzled me" perplexed, confused, bewildered,        bemused, baffled, mystified, confounded,                              nonplussed, at a loss, at sea;              flummoxed, stumped, fazed, clueless,              discombobulated "a puzzled look on her face" baffling, perplexing, bewildering, confusing, complicated, unclear, mysterious, enigmatic, ambiguous, obscure, abstruse, unfathomable, incomprehensible, impenetrable, cryptic "his explanation was rather puzzling" antonyms: clear think hard about something difficult                    to understand or explain; "she was still puzzling over this problem                      when she reached the office"      | [      ] think hard about, mull over, muse over, ponder, contemplate,                                      meditate on, consider, deliberate on, chew over,                     wonder about "she puzzled over the problem"   solve or understand something by thinking hard; synonyms:                       work out, understand,    comprehend, sort out, reason out, solve, make sense of,    make head(s) or tail(s) of, unravel, decipher; informal:                figure out "she tried to puzzle out what he meant" noun: puzzle; plural noun: puzzles 1. [                 ], [           ] (                 ); a game, toy, or problem designed     to test ingenuity or knowledge; short for jigsaw puzzle                    (see jigsaw) a person or thing that is difficult to understand or explain; an enigma: "the meaning of this poem will always be a paradox" synonyms: enigma, mystery, paradox,        conundrum, poser, riddle, problem, quandary;                      "the poem has always been a puzzle"   late 16th century (as a verb): of unknown origin: synonyms: puzzle, conundrum, brainteaser, problem,       unsolved problem, question, poser, enigma,                        quandary; informal:       stumper "an answer to the riddle"                    verb/archaic verb: riddle; 3rd person present: riddles; past tense: riddled; past participle: riddled;          gerund or present participle: riddling 1.             speak in or pose riddles. "he who knows not how to riddle" solve or explain (a riddle) to (someone). "riddle me this then" Origin Old English rǣdels, rǣdelse ‘opinion, conjecture, riddle’;   related to Dutch raadsel,    German Rätsel,      to read
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74
Graceful sweet scent, upon the evergreen The solitary life it must endure Illusive, two seasons hidden between A weathered, wounded heart it can not cure For it is secret love that it desires Passion brewing from a single, sole bud Inside embers, burning, stoking the fires Restless, the absence of peace, boiled blood Under the dim light it will not be fazed Lone in serenity, tranquil, it thrives An alluring site one has ever gazed Be still, in refuge and strength, it survives It’s time, let go of the gem so comely, Single, white harmony for my lovely
0
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 3:00 AM UTC
Gardenia- A Sonnet
. •my arms point to the sky• a gesture                            frozen in                 eter-                                  nity•un-                fazed as                                    the clouds                whisper a     lie•                 rumours of              rain that never               came quickly•           prickles protrude             menacingly            •threaten- ing all who          would stray         too close•       baseless            gossip that   masquerade     as pleasant-   ry•to deviate me from       the path i chose•still i stand             here...duelling the sun           •in a land scorched             barren•search-   ing for hope when there's  really none• here i stand... lonely and drought stricken• •••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••• •••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••• .
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Nov 24, 2015
Nov 24, 2015 at 10:51 AM UTC
Drought Stricken
I chase the blazing sun on the wings of a gentle breeze With my soul, freely open and unconfined Listening to the rhythm of the harmony of trees Singing songs of release To all mankind I am never fazed by rain that pours in torrents When my skies are black as coal No fear does flashes of lightening warrant With this song I hear Kept in my soul I carry wisdom within my *****  found as I chase The blazing sun, on these gentle wings Holding inside the rhythm of a trees embrace In this melody To you, I softly sing No secrets do I hold inside of me, yet I cannot be held I am yours and still I am my own Chasing the blazing sun as I am so compelled Returning always To sing to you my song
0
Oct 18, 2010
Oct 18, 2010 at 9:41 PM UTC
Ours
Take my hand hold on through the quicksand of my expressed agony for I’m trying to bring us past the vanity and the demonic hailings I paint can as swiftly change to angels sailing past the hate my words can take you from a pearless white night with only the moon in sight then twist that light back to the sun’s beaming might surround you in a blizzard with imagery so vivid it cuts through the snow like a rock in a rivers flow bring you from the crumbles of earthly ruins to the humble pearly white gates of heavenly viewings invoke you in anger & apathy a firery rage bellowing until you hear a fazed echoeing pulling you from the depths of mind to the paradise I envisioned for mankind corrupt you with illness of doubtful hate then present a panacea of a hopeful fate I know I’m just a man, but take my hand and I’ll show to your there’s more to us than a monotonous plan
0
Dec 21, 2018
Dec 21, 2018 at 3:07 AM UTC
Vivid
To some she is a shining light A flash of hope amongst the dark An optimistic helping hand To pull you from the dark And cheer your sorrow To some she is a black hole Pulling the world down with sadness Reliving the past that broke her And stabbing others with the shards To some she is simple words plastered on a white canvas painting a picture. never more but never less To most she is unnoticeable A tiny footnote scribbled in the corner of a forgotten notebook A wall flower whose thorns push away all but those with the key to her locked heart. When you ask me what she is The answer is impossible Because I don't know But I can tell you what she's not She is not a beautiful face, to stop you in a crowd She is not a chatting girl to talk you into a date She is not a innocent flower Welcoming with open arms She is not a genius to create the next invention She is not a musician, an author, a designer, a star, a doctor, or a hero She is not a loving companion for you to hold, and remember your every need She is not a great friend, always there in a flash. She is not a friendly person, starting up the conversation She is not a good cook, making meals that are edible She is not an unscarred girl, unscathed by the past She is not a beautiful figure That draws your eyes She is not hilariously funny Ready for stand up comedy She is not someone to remember though she will remember you However she is not fazed by judges Changing ways to suit them She is not perfect She is not stopped by her imperfections, only pressed farther to become something more. And though I can not say who she is or what she will be. Here's what I can say To me she will always be the girl staring back in the mirror.
0
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 1:04 AM UTC
She Is...
To some she is a shining light A flash of hope amongst the dark An optimistic helping hand To pull you from the dark And cheer your sorrow To some she is a black hole Pulling the world down with sadness Reliving the past that broke her And stabbing others with the shards To some she is simple words plastered on a white canvas painting a picture. never more but never less To most she is unnoticeable A tiny footnote scribbled in the corner of a forgotten notebook A wall flower whose thorns push away all but those with the key to her locked heart. When you ask me what she is The answer is impossible Because I don't know But I can tell you what she's not She is not a beautiful face, to stop you in a crowd She is not a chatting girl to talk you into a date She is not a innocent flower Welcoming with open arms She is not a genius to create the next invention She is not a musician, an author, a designer, a star, a doctor, or a hero She is not a loving companion for you to hold, and remember your every need She is not a great friend, always there in a flash. She is not a friendly person, starting up the conversation She is not a good cook, making meals that are edible She is not an unscarred girl, unscathed by the past She is not a beautiful figure That draws your eyes She is not hilariously funny Ready for stand up comedy She is not someone to remember though she will remember you However she is not fazed by judges Changing ways to suit them She is not perfect She is not stopped by her imperfections, only pressed farther to become something more. And though I can not say who she is or what she will be. Here's what I can say To me she will always be the girl staring back in the mirror.
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42
We had a color you and I. You were a tantalizing white, vibrant yet subtle. You had the power to magnify everything because of that silent manifestation you comprise when a drop of any other shade was splattered on you, making it incredibly vivid. You were what poets used as muse for there was nothing purer than the flawless white of that glorious spirit yet you were neither dumbfounded nor disappointed by it. I was a disaster-prone black, ill-fated yet beautiful. I made the light seem brighter, more picturesque; a comparison for better accomplishment. I came out at night to walk the terrors of the hours of darkness, untouched because of this gloomy soul. I was what the holly book prohibits to touch, to indulge all sensations because to drink from me was to imbibe a gallon of sin. Sadly, beauty and unpleasant have a curious way of finding each other. I don’t remember which of us found the other first; if it was I who saw you shine from miles away or if it was you who found me huddled in a corner. We were gods you and I. we created a love that transversed worlds. We shamed Orpheus and Eurydice. We disgraced Torin and Keelycael. There was nothing more powerful than the passion we twisted and at the same time nothing was more potent. We came from different places, you from the havens and I from the shallow depths of hell; and everything we made became a freak of nature.     We created the color gray. We created the color gray from our undefeated essences. We made an unremarkable and unloved color from our insurmountable selves for the reason that we were too prideful to give up each other and at the same time ourselves. We made an abhorred thing because we were never meant for each other. I realized when I saw you walk away, that last dreadful night, the white in you was somewhat fazed and I looked in the mirror that same night to see the darkness in me leaking. There was a little bit of gray in both of us. That was when I realized we stole pieces of each other. Yes, my love, we made a color gray.
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Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 8:03 AM UTC
We had a color, you and I
We had a color you and I. You were a tantalizing white, vibrant yet subtle. You had the power to magnify everything because of that silent manifestation you comprise when a drop of any other shade was splattered on you, making it incredibly vivid. You were what poets used as muse for there was nothing purer than the flawless white of that glorious spirit yet you were neither dumbfounded nor disappointed by it. I was a disaster-prone black, ill-fated yet beautiful. I made the light seem brighter, more picturesque; a comparison for better accomplishment. I came out at night to walk the terrors of the hours of darkness, untouched because of this gloomy soul. I was what the holly book prohibits to touch, to indulge all sensations because to drink from me was to imbibe a gallon of sin. Sadly, beauty and unpleasant have a curious way of finding each other. I don’t remember which of us found the other first; if it was I who saw you shine from miles away or if it was you who found me huddled in a corner. We were gods you and I. we created a love that transversed worlds. We shamed Orpheus and Eurydice. We disgraced Torin and Keelycael. There was nothing more powerful than the passion we twisted and at the same time nothing was more potent. We came from different places, you from the havens and I from the shallow depths of hell; and everything we made became a freak of nature.     We created the color gray. We created the color gray from our undefeated essences. We made an unremarkable and unloved color from our insurmountable selves for the reason that we were too prideful to give up each other and at the same time ourselves. We made an abhorred thing because we were never meant for each other. I realized when I saw you walk away, that last dreadful night, the white in you was somewhat fazed and I looked in the mirror that same night to see the darkness in me leaking. There was a little bit of gray in both of us. That was when I realized we stole pieces of each other. Yes, my love, we made a color gray.
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9
feet first                                             into the treat of the night the teating streets                                      the neighbours pool drunken fools the pair of uz                 dunked in unruly lust drunk as fruit flies                                               for the science we list about                                                                            and stumble               fumbling lyrics                                       in our dripping clothes laughing like art gone temple            a mentally unstable template     that'll be fazed by the sunrise         .
0
Dec 5, 2022
Dec 5, 2022 at 9:49 PM UTC
[treat]
WOMEN I cast you out for pandering your *** WOMEN You are shameful On you I gift this hex: *If you need to be the object of manly gratification If you have no interest in the freedom or the liberation Then your life will now be governed by the exploitation A vessel pure and simple for man’s *********** WOMEN You are worthless **** upon my shoe Read between the lines my friend Figure out the clue For it is in here somewhere Deep within this write Nothing's ever as it seems Nothing's black and white WOMEN Does a bloke walk round? With his ***** hanging out? Does he emphasize his testicles? Does he bandy it about? I think you know the answer Just stop and use that brain Then maybe in the future Equality will rightly be reclaimed But all the time you flaunt your **** ****** you ***** in their face You, my friend To the sisterhood **Are a ******* skanky **** disgrace** Wake up and smell the Costa For conditioning is wrong You need to understand You cause The Cause to be prolonged This is my stand I hold my own I’m never fazed By stick nor stone For I know deep within my heart The value of my worth I will never sell my principles For merriment or mirth **So … please …. just take a moment To digest The words within this write Unharness faux benevolent blinkers Because this is our absolute pre-emptive right**
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Feb 3, 2011
Feb 3, 2011 at 4:31 AM UTC
WOMEN
A white rose, a gold casket, and a field were all you'd let yourself take in. It was the fourth of October, 2008, And you had stopped crying. You were surrounded by those dressed in black, you yourself wearing a nice dress and his necklace. Your brain was on high alert and yet you were calm, almost as if nothing fazed you. Not the smell of the ground, Freshly dug up in the cool, hard Earth of the autumn time, Nor the sound of your own mother crying, Allowing the tears to flow down her cheeks while she says a few words about her husband; now widowed. A white rose, a gold casket, and a field were all you'd let yourself see, The rest just a blur of movement and scenery. You sensed the touch of your uncle's hands on your shoulders, And could hear him sniffling, Mourning the loss of his brother. His grip was tight, almost as if he was afraid to lose you too; almost as if you were the only thing he had left of his dearly beloved brother. You could taste the bitterness of the words your mom had said to you the day after he died: "daddy died", those words being repeated over and over again in your mind, An infestation of thoughts and language. A white rose, a gold casket, and a field, The rose you were holding in your small, fragile hands; The rose you were gripping so tight blood started pouring from your skin as the thorn punctured your tiny little fingers; You did not notice, you did not choose to notice. You threw the rose onto the casket as it was being lowered six feet under. The casket with him in it. His hair was brushed back, his black and white suit on, and his eyes firmly shut...forever. It's done. He's buried. The field he's now buried in is covered in a thick fog, similar to that surrounding your mind. And as the car arrives to take you back home, You can almost hear the wind whispering for you to come back and visit and although you've finally left the scene, All you can picture are a white rose, a gold casket, and a large, foggy field.
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Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 7:24 PM UTC
A White Rose, Gold Casket, & Field
A white rose, a gold casket, and a field were all you'd let yourself take in. It was the fourth of October, 2008, And you had stopped crying. You were surrounded by those dressed in black, you yourself wearing a nice dress and his necklace. Your brain was on high alert and yet you were calm, almost as if nothing fazed you. Not the smell of the ground, Freshly dug up in the cool, hard Earth of the autumn time, Nor the sound of your own mother crying, Allowing the tears to flow down her cheeks while she says a few words about her husband; now widowed. A white rose, a gold casket, and a field were all you'd let yourself see, The rest just a blur of movement and scenery. You sensed the touch of your uncle's hands on your shoulders, And could hear him sniffling, Mourning the loss of his brother. His grip was tight, almost as if he was afraid to lose you too; almost as if you were the only thing he had left of his dearly beloved brother. You could taste the bitterness of the words your mom had said to you the day after he died: "daddy died", those words being repeated over and over again in your mind, An infestation of thoughts and language. A white rose, a gold casket, and a field, The rose you were holding in your small, fragile hands; The rose you were gripping so tight blood started pouring from your skin as the thorn punctured your tiny little fingers; You did not notice, you did not choose to notice. You threw the rose onto the casket as it was being lowered six feet under. The casket with him in it. His hair was brushed back, his black and white suit on, and his eyes firmly shut...forever. It's done. He's buried. The field he's now buried in is covered in a thick fog, similar to that surrounding your mind. And as the car arrives to take you back home, You can almost hear the wind whispering for you to come back and visit and although you've finally left the scene, All you can picture are a white rose, a gold casket, and a large, foggy field.
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30
I like to play RPGs It's a world that is unlike my own and I'm a character I've named myself. Sometimes I save my progress on a file- safe and undisturbed- and then I wreak havoc, make friends I wouldn't make, experiment for potential easter eggs. It feels good to know I can just go back to where I started unfazed, undamaged, unharmed. And if I ever do something substantial in my free-for-all joyride of side quest, I can always save it to another file. There are so many memory cards in my drawer. I find myself living life this way- but with empty drawers and only one disturbed file. of only one fazed, damaged, harmed, character, that my brother named when I was a baby, in a world that I don't like too much. And everyone tells me it's a game- that we all put our hours in. I just see the option of a never-ending boss battle with loneliness, or a never-ending side quest with friends, and too much damage done, so where better to let my thumbs rest?
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May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 7:46 AM UTC
Neverquest
The golden sand swept around in synthe of beech, where he hath made promises which he’ll keep. He held her hands and walked past the bow, the fazed waves whispered with a thwart, Being thalosophile she stood with no go. When the sea embraced the shore, She could not keep him forsaken anymore. Both settled to relish the saline tang, As they oft had love pang. One moonlit night she saw banshee, Who warned her foredooming death, She feared his life & ran gasping for breath. She saw the wind unusually howled When her beloved sailed and left her in cold. She woke up and hushed and scream, “this was a dream!” Alas! Unconsolable she seam, When She saw his scar left on her heart, Memories flashing by and her world falling apart.
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Sep 16, 2017
Sep 16, 2017 at 2:48 PM UTC
“PRINCESS OF THE BEACH”
Once there was a boy who lived in his lonely world He was so alone, he filled up his world with dreams and fantasies And all the thrilling creatures and characters from fairy tales and movies He believed in magic, miracles,  and pretty much anything incredible Though life reminded him that reality is somewhat different He dreamed and dreamed and the chose the path which is less traveled On his way the boy stumbled and fumbled, his whole world crumbled In a world built up of lies and deception He made the biggest mistakes, Learned the greatest lessons Realized his castle of dreams were built on sand His wounds turned him in to something he was not So scared, fazed, and insecure he stood all alone caught up in a whirlwind of questions and doubts Self realization came late, but it got too dark by then It was too late to turn back, too late for anything His ship got succumbed to the violent storm And the boy went down along with his ship
0
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 10:27 PM UTC
The Fallen
I’m hated by the world because I won’t sell my soul. I’m frowned on by society cuz I’m not very old. My teachers all look down on me, but I do what I’m told. Because I am a metalhead, I’m always treated cold. So what if I’m opinionated? I’m sure that you are too. There’s things we won’t agree on, that much I know is true. But why are you so hard on me? Cuz I’m not the same as you? That’s why I have true happiness, I am not fazed by you. (Might add to this later.)
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Jul 26, 2011
Jul 26, 2011 at 6:48 PM UTC
Judgement
Lord time is loading a gun First, he loads the seconds The first time you met, the way you felt The minutes soon after Your first date, knowing it's fate The hours afterwards Sweet talks into the night, the regret after the first fight Next slightly fazed he stacks in the days Getting to know each other, finding love in one another months goes down the Musket as he seals the casket The special why she smiled, awaiting your first child Lastly, with tears he forces in the years You grow old together. Time has cut her tether Now his work is done It's time to fire the gun.
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May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 11:19 AM UTC
Time
Pretty face Frozen smile Liquid eyes Full of pain She doesn't Want to be here She knows Something's wrong A giving heart Shattered By the pain She feels It isn't her pain To feel Her empathy Is killing her Tired face Lost smile Cold eyes So empty She feels nothing No pain She is jaded No pleasure Her heart is stone Her mind is cruel The years Have taken their toll Lost soul Fazed By time Angry woman Her soul Is empty Her eyes are wet Realiztion dawns She lost Herself Trying to forget Eyes squeezed Shut Gun to Head ****** mess To be cleaned No one cares She is gone A poor soul Never remembered Yet Not forgotten
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Aug 9, 2011
Aug 9, 2011 at 3:58 AM UTC
Not Forgotten
Flaws upon flaws, My skin crawls, The mirror reveals all, My mothers words, Lost to the whims of the world, In a pursuit to please other girls, I feel like an object of social dissection, With the eye of the beholder, What's your interpretation? You see it too, I hear the horror in your averted eyes, You see all I despise, There's no way for me to hide or deny, I shouldn't be so fazed, It's just a phase... It will all fade.  ~Zupe
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Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 10:58 AM UTC
Reflections
I'm driving down the street Taking in the sight & sounds. I see a disturbing sight A family pushing a shopping cart around. Their clothes are ***** They look like they haven't eaten in days. But somehow it doesn't bother them They don't seemed to be fazed. People walked & drove past them As if they weren't there. They acted like, it isn't my problem Why should I care? I wanted to get out my car & offer this family some encouragement. Give them a few bucks So their kids could have some nourishment. I didn't, I kept driving & stopped looking their way. I was like everyone else I didn't care anyway. I started thinking of my own children Could I put them through this? Could we fit all we own in a shopping cart & still live in bliss? Would our pride allow us To ask strangers for change? Would we suffer from culture shock If our lives were that much rearranged. Would we be able to deal with The weather, the hunger, shame? To be amongst the nameless Where no one knows your name. I started to feel bad for this family So I turned my car around. I went to look for them But they were nowhere to be found. I got home & got on my knees & began to pray. I asked God to shine his light on them & give this family better days. I prayed for those 3 children Who looked tired & worn out. I prayed for their mother too Her eyes were so filled with doubt. I prayed for their father Who felt like he failed his family. Who am i to judge them Hell, that could of been me. For some reason that family Stays on my mind. I never saw them again They're just a memory in time. I often wonder what became of them. Did they ever get through this? They are stronger than my family There's no way we could ever do this. When I start thinking life is hard & my world's coming apart I just think of that family pushing that Wal-Mart shopping cart.
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Jun 3, 2016
Jun 3, 2016 at 4:20 PM UTC
Shopping Cart
I'm driving down the street Taking in the sight & sounds. I see a disturbing sight A family pushing a shopping cart around. Their clothes are ***** They look like they haven't eaten in days. But somehow it doesn't bother them They don't seemed to be fazed. People walked & drove past them As if they weren't there. They acted like, it isn't my problem Why should I care? I wanted to get out my car & offer this family some encouragement. Give them a few bucks So their kids could have some nourishment. I didn't, I kept driving & stopped looking their way. I was like everyone else I didn't care anyway. I started thinking of my own children Could I put them through this? Could we fit all we own in a shopping cart & still live in bliss? Would our pride allow us To ask strangers for change? Would we suffer from culture shock If our lives were that much rearranged. Would we be able to deal with The weather, the hunger, shame? To be amongst the nameless Where no one knows your name. I started to feel bad for this family So I turned my car around. I went to look for them But they were nowhere to be found. I got home & got on my knees & began to pray. I asked God to shine his light on them & give this family better days. I prayed for those 3 children Who looked tired & worn out. I prayed for their mother too Her eyes were so filled with doubt. I prayed for their father Who felt like he failed his family. Who am i to judge them Hell, that could of been me. For some reason that family Stays on my mind. I never saw them again They're just a memory in time. I often wonder what became of them. Did they ever get through this? They are stronger than my family There's no way we could ever do this. When I start thinking life is hard & my world's coming apart I just think of that family pushing that Wal-Mart shopping cart.
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The cold never bothered me the snow and ice never fazed the days of early childhood never left me dazed. The rain was always pleasant it brought joy to my senses the sight of damp stone walls were my images of fences. The summer days spent swimming first - like a dog might do but I became proficient once the summer days were through. Autumn days were magic colored leaves came drifting down jumping into heaps of them was delightful I soon found. Seasons of a growing boy lodged deep in memory printed here for you to read thanks for sharing it with me.
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Nov 6, 2021
Nov 6, 2021 at 12:44 AM UTC
A New England Memory.