"fleeces" poems
Lambs that learn to walk in snow
When their bleating clouds the air
Meet a vast unwelcome, know
Nothing but a sunless glare.
Newly stumbling to and fro
All they find, outside the fold,
Is a wretched width of cold.
As they wait beside the ewe,
Her fleeces wetly caked, there lies
Hidden round them, waiting too,
Earth's immeasureable surprise.
They could not grasp it if they knew,
What so soon will wake and grow
Utterly unlike the snow.
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311
It sifts from Leaden Sieves—
It powders all the Wood.
It fills with Alabaster Wool
The Wrinkles of the Road—
It makes an Even Face
Of Mountain, and of Plain—
Unbroken Forehead from the East
Unto the East again—
It reaches to the Fence—
It wraps it Rail by Rail
Till it is lost in Fleeces—
It deals Celestial Vail
To Stump, and Stack—and Stem—
A Summer’s empty Room—
Acres of Joints, where Harvests were,
Recordless, but for them—
It Ruffles Wrists of Posts
As Ankles of a Queen—
Then stills its Artisans—like Ghosts—
Denying they have been—
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If I’m lost—now
That I was found—
Shall still my transport be—
That once—on me—those Jasper Gates
Blazed open—suddenly—
That in my awkward—gazing—face—
The Angels—softly peered—
And touched me with their fleeces,
Almost as if they cared—
I’m banished—now—you know it—
How foreign that can be—
You’ll know—Sir—when the Savior’s face
Turns so—away from you—
3.5k
to a friend
No! those days are gone away
And their hours are old and gray,
And their minutes buried all
Under the down-trodden pall
Of the leaves of many years:
Many times have winter's shears,
Frozen North, and chilling East,
Sounded tempests to the feast
Of the forest's whispering fleeces,
Since men knew nor rent nor leases.
No, the bugle sounds no more,
And the twanging bow no more;
Silent is the ivory shrill
Past the heath and up the hill;
There is no mid-forest laugh,
Where lone Echo gives the half
To some wight, amaz'd to hear
Jesting, deep in forest drear.
On the fairest time of June
You may go, with sun or moon,
Or the seven stars to light you,
Or the polar ray to right you;
But you never may behold
Little John, or Robin bold;
Never one, of all the clan,
Thrumming on an empty can
Some old hunting ditty, while
He doth his green way beguile
To fair hostess Merriment,
Down beside the pasture Trent;
For he left the merry tale
Messenger for spicy ale.
Gone, the merry morris din;
Gone, the song of Gamelyn;
Gone, the tough-belted outlaw
Idling in the "grenè shawe";
All are gone away and past!
And if Robin should be cast
Sudden from his turfed grave,
And if Marian should have
Once again her forest days,
She would weep, and he would craze:
He would swear, for all his oaks,
Fall'n beneath the dockyard strokes,
Have rotted on the briny seas;
She would weep that her wild bees
Sang not to her--strange! that honey
Can't be got without hard money!
So it is: yet let us sing,
Honour to the old bow-string!
Honour to the bugle-horn!
Honour to the woods unshorn!
Honour to the Lincoln green!
Honour to the archer keen!
Honour to tight little John,
And the horse he rode upon!
Honour to bold Robin Hood,
Sleeping in the underwood!
Honour to maid Marian,
And to all the Sherwood-clan!
Though their days have hurried by
Let us two a burden try.
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A little East of Jordan,
Evangelists record,
A Gymnast and an Angel
Did wrestle long and hard—
Till morning touching mountain—
And Jacob, waxing strong,
The Angel begged permission
To Breakfast—to return—
Not so, said cunning Jacob!
“I will not let thee go
Except thou bless me”—Stranger!
The which acceded to—
Light swung the silver fleeces
“Peniel” Hills beyond,
And the bewildered Gymnast
Found he had worsted God!
3.1k
upon the Abington Station's
long shearing board
the feats of one shearer
cannot be ignored
a run of two hundred sheep
he can easily shear
his style with the cutting comb
is without peer
contractors in the district
know of his pace
he removes fleeces
with an elegant grace
the Lister wool press
compacts all the long day
whilst the gun shearer
works tirelessly away
Kelpie dogs tongue
keeping his race full
as Layto shears the fine clips
of merino wool
none are as effective
with comb in hand
in the regional area
of the New England
Layto shears the sheep
cleanly and effortlessly
whether the fleeces
be thick or slightly oily
his shearing abilities
are know of near and far
on the shearing shed board
he's always bettered par
when he hangs up
the cutting comb to retire
fellow shearers will of him
greatly admire
Jun 29, 2014
Jun 29, 2014 at 6:18 AM UTC
"The tallest poplar I'll grow to be,"
said the young tree.
"Standing above the rest,
I'll be crowned the best.
Fortified and grown,
the forest will be mine to rule alone."
Ripped from the roots,
and cut down by a man in boots,
the dreams quickly faded.
"There's not much to make of me now"
Thought the tree,
whose complexion quickly changed
from wide-eyed to jaded.
Hauled onto a truck
Off he went.
To the lumberyard,
the young tree was sent.
Chopped to pieces,
stripped of his bark.
Our young poplar was afraid his life,
would never leave a mark.
"Some wooden crates they'll make of me"
"The peaks of the other trees I'll never see"
"I'm useless, I'm broken"
"In the forest my name will never be spoken"
The story doesn't end though,
it's only just begun.
For the life of this tree,
is one that's not yet done.
The lumber was chopped, cut, and carried.
To a town of a man named Jack,
who was poor but newly married.
"I've got little money, but I make good shoes"
"I've got to take care of my wife, I've nothing left to lose"
"I'll open a store, and become a cobbler"
"And with the money I make, I'll buy my family something proper."
So Jack took his life savings.
And off he went, to open a store,
To make enough money to pay the rent.
Our poplar was still together,
chopped into many pieces.
Next to some hardware supplies,
and a vendor selling fleeces.
"I'll take that lumber, it'll do the job."
"Just take my money, and I'll be along"
Years passed by as Jack labored hard.
A few kids came along, a house, and a fenced in yard.
One day a special man came to town.
Not the type of man that you see every day,
for this man wore a royal crown.
"Wooden clogs I need for my feet"
"To keep them dry as I walk along the damp street"
A chance to make shoes for a king,
this was enough to make Jack sing.
He looked through his supplies,
they weren't enough.
To build shoes fit for a king,
would be quite tough.
"I have just the wood, "
he thought to himself.
"From when I first built my shop,
there is some left on the top shelf.
So he took the remaining scraps,
and he made new shoes.
Shoes for royalty,
clogs fit for a man more special than me.
And now our poplar finally got his chance.
To join in the royal dance.
And on the king's feet he stays.
Helping him rule the land for the rest of his days.
So, if you find yourself cut down before you grow.
Just remember, and make sure you know.
Your chance will come, sooner or later.
To become a part of something greater.
Mar 4, 2018
Mar 4, 2018 at 7:49 PM UTC
I am a golden being king
of all beasts sent by God,
to keep on searching for
all of truth.
Shinning fleeces glazing, almost
lazy, soaking up the sun.
My eyes held above the crowd
I sit back looking and looking.
Golden manes flowing with winds
keep on blowing. Yellow flames
keep on bellowing as the truth
keeps on coming.
I hear the sound of armies fleeing
as all my openness becomes
my strength.
My life an open book spreading
miles across facebook nothing
hidden all in view.
My honesty more brazen and bolder
than the Roman Empire.
As the world steps back I am unfolding
12 foot tall keep on growing.
Golden nuggets once hidden
now shinning.
I rattle the enemy to the core with
my dark ROAR the recesses of my
being turning over like an engine.
As there is not a part of my being
I have not seen all shadows disappear
with my seeing.
I turn the world upside down inside out
as all dark hidden corners become
white shinning teeth.
Ferociously I tackle the world
with a fearless truth.
Roaring into battle my open heart
devours all lies and untruth.
Let us charge
let us charge
Let the
fires burn
fires burn
As all is unified in this battle
for the streams of Gold and silver
For with no sacrifice there can be
nothing gained.
Driven forward and lifted up an
honor deep inside carries us
into battle.
So tonight my friend take me on
let us fight
be my brother
For now is a good time to die.
For the truth shall **** us all
but in the same way save us.
So my friend my brother
let us fight together
as we serve the golden King
Wear his crest upon our chest.
As all men fall within the limits
of their own lies let us hold the flag
of truth above us.
Let us die in the lies we beat to the
ground to be reborn within the truth
we hold above our head.
Living life with the glorious
King of beasts
the Golden Lion King.
Holding truth above our
own being we may proudly
bring love and dignity
to all of GODS Kingdom.
As all order is maintained
while he sits upon his throne.
Dec 14, 2016
Dec 14, 2016 at 5:03 PM UTC
You were raised without praise
where storms are the norm
catch
the wind
that crosses the tide
trudge the dread and take that stride
break the violence
where curses were built
Satanic crutches
fells the mind
crave wisdom that fleeces the foe
stretch the sinew
and grow
your
... spine...
dream the dream
leave hate behind
and
refrain from crime
brown leaf
Pray!!!
stay alive
in this bright future
you
were born
to
survive.
Nov 9, 2021
Nov 9, 2021 at 5:41 PM UTC
@ a cristian @ a catholic @ an all round ruddy good athlete. @ herd roast beef @ herd mutton. @ i used to lead the pork and dairy through the fields of cotton. @ wear football socks and wellingtons and fleeces and march to the top of the old south downs. @ make a jump jet from bits of old pieces @ act a goat or a hero or a clown. @ do front flips straight from the backflip @ sing who put the dog with the cat fish @ say ship! Take the P add a T @ break the day with a bowl of muesli. @ play snake if my mate had a phone, but playing with others isnt always better than playing
alone.
@ like films made for kids my age, glamourised ideas of aristocracy and faith. The good will win and the bad will be sad and the age of the raging mad will begin, its a fad! @ wear jean jackets, go to the parties @ have fanta and chocolate log rushing through the arteries. @ chew through books faster than a vulture, faster than the fastest man at the height of zombie culture. @ play football everyday football winter time football, dont need sun. And then we play cricket. 40 legs of cricket. 3 days later im counting up the runs
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 11:44 AM UTC
A swallow swoops for flitting flies
While Johnny rubs exhausted eyes
(As morning clasps the rising sun)
Confirming Captain’s day’s begun:
Slow streams emerge from melting snows -
The Merchant Ship’s in stark repose...
As Johnny frets with tingling tongue
A Vulture fleeces fields far-flung
(Beneath a bleeding sun above),
And Captain culls the dead with love:
Yes, while the silent water flows,
The Merchant Ship just gulps and grows...
A serpent weaves amongst the weeds
As Johnny dares audacious deeds
(When evening drains the dying day)
To stop the Captain, come what may:
And while the raging rivers grow
The Merchant Ship rocks to and fro...
An owl, a’ branch, has teacup eyes
That glimmer dark as Johnny dies
(Now sown inside the future’s womb)
When flushing Captain to his doom:
Trapped in titanic undertow
The Merchant Ship’s swept down below...
A fledgling bird sprays morning dew
As Johnny Junior’s born anew
(He’s baptised in the dawn ablaze)
To rectify the former days:
Raw rills arise from melting snow
And ****** rivers start to flow...
Jun 15, 2013
Jun 15, 2013 at 6:09 PM UTC
1
In the year Victoria
came to the throne,
on 9 acres by a river’s bend,
(bought for £490)
Joseph Dover built his mill.
yarn
to weave,
wool to knit,
the raw fleece
washed, carded,
scribbled, tentered, dyed,
spun and woven
(back parlour or
mill shed)
finished,
sold.
Today the fleeces are
burnt at the farm,
and the sheds and lofts
display colourful crafts.
The past is collected in
sepia photographs,
strange heritaged tools.
The present hides in
figures on the footfall,
those costings for the café.
In an August
of grey cloud
and persistent rain,
the sun on occasion
shakes the building into life;
it filters through the tall riverside trees,
makes swathes of coloured light
swim across the wooden floors.
2
The studio, cool
on the hottest day,
is graced with garden flowers,
and the business of making everywhere.
Days fold work into the pleasure
of small gestures of care,
Satie’s tenderest song
a litany under the breath.
When toes meet
beneath a table shared,
this touch registers
the slow wonder of it all;
that ‘being here’
in this expansive place
of stone and wood,
textured always
with the white noised
rush of water.
At night we steal back in
to sit together by a single lamp:
to decipher Henry’s mimetic prose
of estuary, moor and river;
ponder Robert’s quartets in A,
every phrase singing Clara, Clara . . .
Later, lights extinguished
we move in the pitch of darkness
through the long galleries,
carefully down the invisible stairs.
Outside, in the
coloured silence
of the river’s run,
the hills carry the sky
cloud-haunted, star-strewn.
moon-lit.
Jan 7, 2013
Jan 7, 2013 at 1:30 AM UTC
Beautiful cloud! with folds so soft and fair,
Swimming in the pure quiet air!
Thy fleeces bathed in sunlight, while below
Thy shadow o'er the vale moves slow;
Where, midst their labour, pause the reaper train
As cool it comes along the grain.
Beautiful cloud! I would I were with thee
In thy calm way o'er land and sea:
To rest on thy unrolling skirts, and look
On Earth as on an open book;
On streams that tie her realms with silver bands,
And the long ways that seam her lands;
And hear her humming cities, and the sound
Of the great ocean breaking round.
Ay--I would sail upon thy air-borne car
To blooming regions distant far,
To where the sun of Andalusia shines
On his own olive-groves and vines,
Or the soft lights of Italy's bright sky
In smiles upon her ruins lie.
But I would woo the winds to let us rest
O'er Greece long fettered and oppressed,
Whose sons at length have heard the call that comes
From the old battle-fields and tombs,
And risen, and drawn the sword, and on the foe
Have dealt the swift and desperate blow,
And the Othman power is cloven, and the stroke
Has touched its chains, and they are broke.
Ay, we would linger till the sunset there
Should come, to purple all the air,
And thou reflect upon the sacred ground
The ruddy radiance streaming round.
Bright meteor! for the summer noontide made!
Thy peerless beauty yet shall fade.
The sun, that fills with light each glistening fold,
Shall set, and leave thee dark and cold:
The blast shall rend thy skirts, or thou may'st frown
In the dark heaven when storms come down,
And weep in rain, till man's inquiring eye
Miss thee, forever from the sky.
996
Take me to your land of love,
Guide me by your voice of love,
Hold me by your hand of love,
Cover me by your choice of love.
I will then climb mountains of love,
I will scale the higher peaks of love,
I will show us the fountains of love,
I will be nurturing the plant of love.
Out will come our cheesy fleeces of love,
So will be our savoury expedition of love,
We will be drinking all the juices of love,
To achieve a heart-felt ambition of love.
Jun 13, 2013
Jun 13, 2013 at 8:55 AM UTC
We can all dream of love night and day.
A dream lover.
To dream alone.
Is so much better.
In the cold of the night.
Love is a fossil.
Crispy dry and decayed.
Put love.
My once friend.
Love out to pasture.
In the field of dreams.
Sheep get counted.
Their fleeces,
they don't fleece the dreamer.
Drift down the river of dreams.
Baa baa black sheep...
Once a little lamb.
Grew into an adult sheep.
Then became a man.
Sheep, one, two,three...
Slip slip slip...
Into Zzzzzzzzzzzz
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 1:20 PM UTC
O Kali
You hold the world
In the fleeing fleeces
Of your infinite
Black hair
You hold the the power
Of control
On this world
For your
Tongue
Protruding in glory
Points to the annihilated
Darkness of the world
You stand dramatically
One foot ahead
On your spouse
O he is no less
The mighty Shiva
As her and his eyes alike
Meet each other
Non contact forces
Working light years away
Hail you and him
O the Satan's head
Lies chopped
In your lotus palms
Yet they hold controlling it
With such a charm
Your glorious eyes
Glazing with the Kohl
The adsorbed sorrow
And dearth of your
Devotees' lives
You bless them
With your lotus palms
Which points but
Downwards
Oh this world but
Is bound by gravity
Oh that Satan's blood
Also falls
Under gravity
Signifying continuity
Of ones like him
Being born
And you
Annihilating them
Again and again
O Devi
Your rawness
Is so charismatic
You shelter your
Devotees'
Under the drapes
Of your clothes
The sword in your hand
Dispelling all evil
Let you guard and nourish as all
Forevermore
O Kali!
Feb 3, 2018
Feb 3, 2018 at 7:10 AM UTC
Azure limelight faded grey by the bewilderment
I am the King of All living, we remember
infested as the bunny and pine tree
weeping as mothers marry off their siblings
why wear white at weddings, why wish to be a innocent
a bottle of gin is a grin tonic for a child to see as an aching smell of visions last saw
as if Calvary was a horseman weilding a Lance
A tree to Long for us, grown in the desert
Already Peace flown in pure reverence Sang real
The Last Great Initiate,
Oh Reign, Reign, Rain, Rain, Reins, Reins
Dye his skin with the empowered wish of will
A well endless to stare through is warp drive
A might so glorious we all must avert our eyes, a New Motion
a **** gorgon, to start the serpentine on the sabbath
to revolve and molt in a revolutionary vulcan grip
to fly to the sky with birds writ uplift
delight, delicious, appeal. zeal, feel
Iesus covered in Liquid Cheeses
Sweet Fleeces its Christmas Season
Solar Deities yummy as Pizzas
A pie in the Sky is my age divided by the week
A pipe dream plumbed with gooey memories
the weaken ends of my jeans faded blue from seventy
charred black as the temples crystals phase out painted-glass Murals
too light to be mailed, too large to be contained by an envelope
too short to fit in the door way, too effulgent to weigh on the scale
Pi sees Men, laughing as a woman changing clothes on a curbside speaking
seventeen in one hand, zero at the bone in the other
IhavebeenChanced, Iamexceed, Iamtheether, Iamsanctioned
Fletcher Night: folllow your heart
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 8:09 AM UTC
I thought you had shattered my heart with your fleeces,
And that I’ve been busy picking up the pieces.
But in reality you’ve stolen it for you own,
And someday you will use it as my gravestone.
Just a whisper of you echoes through my mind,
And still the goose bumps ripple every single time.
You had simply faded to a shadowy figure,
And suddenly in my stolen heart you’re reconfigured.
I wish you could just disappear,
But I’ve learned you will always be near,
For the fibres connecting us are spun of steel,
And while invisible they are solid and real.
These connectors keep you vulnerable to my caress,
Even though my broken heart you still possess.
We are cursed and you will forever be drawn to me,
And the fear causes you to take my heart and leave.
The steel will stretch taught but never snap,
And you are destined to always come back
Nov 17, 2011
Nov 17, 2011 at 9:25 AM UTC
At that winter smiles in the North
and melts into mist
and returns a few weeks later
with soft snow flakes from the sky,
on an April afternoon
the same day the sun wore
her yellow raiment
and the grass put on her green dress
in preparation for spring.
The trees know better
and wisely kept their leaves tucked
up in their buds and sleep still,
warmed by the hardened shell of their skin.
We learn it is better to wait, to plant our seeds
–instead of letting their promises freeze
like our uncovered fingers and toes
during the false fade of winter.
So the sandals are put away,
and the scarves, gloves, and fleeces
come out of storage.
It feels cold now, but you smile
because you remember that
you are still warmer than the days
that turned your fingers blue with ache
and turned your breath into mist.
They say there is a season for all things,
and now growing things lie still,
except for you.
So, you wait
and grow more patient.
Apr 23, 2017
Apr 23, 2017 at 8:26 PM UTC
I feel like screaming at the top of my lungs.
"AHHHHHHHHHHH!"
She intoxicates my thoughts,
I can almost smell her sweet scent.
Fresh laundry which I adore,
And I begin to wish I could hug her once more.
Feel her smooth skin, her soft fleeces.
But it’s not meant to be.
For she doesn’t think of me,
in the way I think of her -
Often.
Just the thought of her makes my heart race
When I’m around her, my ears flush scarlet.
But it’s not meant to be.
Late nights and endless conversations.
When things were new,
when they were fresh.
Discovering each other
watching a friendship grow.
Then overnight, like turning out the light,
Having it grow into more than friendship.
But it’s not meant to be.
The sleepless nights,
the doubts and frights.
Wishing I could change things beyond my control.
But it was not meant to be.
Cuz.
She’ll never be my girl.
Jan 14, 2013
Jan 14, 2013 at 6:11 PM UTC
I AM!
by Michael R. Burch
I am not one of ten billion—I—
sunblackened Icarus, chary fly,
staring at God with a quizzical eye.
I am not one of ten billion, I.
I am not one life has left unsquashed—
scarred as Ulysses, goddess-debauched,
pale glowworm agleam with a tale of panache.
I am not one life has left unsquashed.
I am not one without spots of disease,
laugh lines and tan lines and thick-callused knees
from begging and praying and girls sighing "Please!"
I am not one without spots of disease.
I am not one of ten billion—I—
scion of Daedalus, blackwinged fly
staring at God with a sedulous eye.
I am not one of ten billion, I
AM!
Keywords/Tags: I, AM, ego, individual, individuality, character, Icarus, Daedalus, Ulysses, fly, gadfly, chary, wary, quizzical, questioning, panache, sedulous, heretical
jesus hates me, this i know
by michael r. burch
jesus hates me, this I know,
for Church libel tells me so:
“little ones to him belong”
but if they use their dongs, so long!
yes, jesus hates me!
yes, jesus baits me!
yes, he berates me!
Church libel tells me so!
jesus fleeces us, i know,
for Religion scams us so:
little ones are brainwashed to
believe god saves the Chosen Few!
yes, jesus fleeces!
yes, he deceases
the bunny and the rhesus
because he’s mad at you!
jesus hates me—christ who died
so i might be crucified:
for if i use my **** or brain,
that will drive the “lord” insane!
yes, jesus hates me!
yes, jesus baits me!
yes, he berates me!
Church libel tells me so!
jesus hates me, this I know,
for Church libel tells me so:
first fools tell me “look above,”
that christ’s the lamb and god’s the dove,
but then they sentence me to Hell
for using my big brain too well!
yes, jesus hates me!
yes, jesus baits me!
yes, he berates me!
Church libel tells me so!
Mar 4, 2020
Mar 4, 2020 at 10:13 PM UTC
Above the spine of snow,
Calm ,white; and here floats
Ice crystals from a dead storm,
And there in the snow a child wins
With a snow ***** chance.
The frozen scapes- grey nostalgia-
With a peculiar memory
Recalls itself in its snowy drifts
And mania like senile tundra.
To add the sum of January
In enthusiastic forms of child play
Like a snow man in fleeces,
The memory is fused.
And far away,
Dreaming maybe of an abstract
Freeze in the heartfelt snow
A child is warmed by the memory.
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 3:47 PM UTC
When was the last time I. Panted. For the water. . ?
When was the last time I. Knelt. before his throne. . ?
The deciever. Will come up to me and say '. Sickness. Be gone '.
But. It's. In Christ. Alone we are saved , in him salvation is found .,
every knee. Laid low .
Pockets of water gather on mountain tops .
From rills to ravines , gush and flow . .
Rocks from volcanoes solidify. ,
turn to crystal dreams in granit lost in space and time .
born from magma. They are formed
Only in time , only in time .
Yet in a cave in my mountain my kings hand is never over my cup ,
nor my goblet. Left dry .
In the shadow of my mountain. Trees find water , prosper in every season .
Then in '. Eighteen hundred. and frozen to death ' came a rolling doŵn
My mountain , a. Thick cloud covered. This ball of clay in the heavens .
Birds fell from the sky ,
Fish floated in the water ,
Farmers. Returned. Fleeces. To their beasts of the field .
Poets. Retreated indoors ,
Out of dreams Frankenstein wax born .
'.Bread or blood ' the peasants cry
God hast. Breathed. On our green fields. and turned them to a white frozen waste lands .
'.or has Napolian. Captured. The sun ?
Out. Of this misery. the deceives. Came .
The ear twitchers. Listened ,
Gods book found new. Chapters. ,
To profits of the new age .
Oh you. Can still , even now hear them knocking on your door .
Listen carefully ,
Stay alert . !
For as Eligh. Layed. Twelve stones
Baal. Men danced. ,
As. Eligh. Called down from heaven
Baal s. Men ran ,
And as Eligh. Came a looking ,
Fire and water reigned down .
One God of the land .
Yet even today there's. A heart break a coming my way .
Aug 2, 2016
Aug 2, 2016 at 5:23 AM UTC
Its 6:01, Farringdon Platform 1
Shattered souls craned necks
And twiddling thumbs.
The fool in the know.
The first to know; the last to accept it.
Here stood reflecting.
Silently condemning a life accepted
Reams of fleeces overground and understated.
Shrouded from sheering myself.
The fool in the know.
The first to know; the last to accept it.
How my hem has freyed
No, not from loft today
Through rubbing ankles under desks,
To metamorphose
To a child cocooned blanket bound
Rubbing ankles dreaming sound
I dream as the child dreamt
As a baby longed to feel
I long for what I have felt
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 1:33 PM UTC
A few times in life I've been smitten
By the feelings of love I've been bitten
But cold is love
Like in winter a hand that lost it's glove
It's touch can leave you frozen
A heart eaten away by corrosion
It will make any situation a little more dire
Making you feel a little more expired
Why is love so cruel
Two people in a dual
Leaving you the fool
Feeling just like a ghoul
Love set's your heart on fire
Giving you all kinds of desire
Only for it to turn the tables
For seemingly it is just a fable
It's really not real
All those feelings you feel
They were nothing but a mirage
Giving you a cardiac massage
Why is love so cruel
Two people in a dual
Leaving you the fool
Feeling just like a ghoul
Till that inevitable day
Love takes it all away
You plummet from the sky
Till you're laying in the wry
Love so skillfully fleeces
As you cut yourself to pieces
Trying to recover your shattered parts
Tiny slivers of a pulverized heart
Feb 20, 2016
Feb 20, 2016 at 11:32 AM UTC