"harms" poems
Trade,Globalization,Terrorism and Corruption
What's the difference?
Each of us look at the world with open eyes yet with closed minds.
We see the structures of society right before us
yet we can do nothing to alter its existence
Marxism, Liberalism, Elitism, lenses that see a point but not the whole picture
The age of politics is over, the market comes to be our master
I know some might argue over me in this, but hear me out still.
The world we live in is like a senseless commodity
Our natural resources is taken every day
To create excess cars, excess food, excess everything
The surplus is too much that its overflowing with decay
Another thing is war,
A place where precious lives are seen to be walking bags of meat.
The preach for violence that could've created peace, and for what ?
To protect the free world? where the rich sit in high places
and some of us pushed down to supply their greed
Globalization is a license, a license to what?
A license to **** a license to invade other states
without the use of soldiers to force out our will
We become docile as people in their wake and companies are laughing as we speak.
These corrupt figures ,conflict is their business, opportunity and peace is their excuse.
Human integration is what they say and offer, for a better society they say.
But look at us now, where is the promise of a future in the world today?
The world terrorizes me, terrorizes the people who are willing to see
and if I am in terror, what makes the system different from the loud bombs we hear when they explode.
They only made ways to make the killings silent and the experience more traumatic.
I'm sorry if globalization is a bad thing for me, but living in our country, globalization harms before it can give
it takes before we can receive.
Apr 28, 2018
Apr 28, 2018 at 12:20 PM UTC
grow your own set of arms
to wrap around your inner harms
hug yourself and squeeze tight
as much as you feel alone at night
remember, you are right here
treat and hold your self dear,
you cannot take love away
from yourself, so love yourself
everyday.
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 6:40 AM UTC
The beast loving the beast he didnt have
sympathy for beauty and the way that beauty should be treated.
Beauty she didnt have the hard core nature of
reality that means the way a beast should be. Beauty and her Beast
The tender love and affection that beauty needed.
Was often ignore rejected and neglected.
from the beast.
The same way, that beauty wasnt able to
saddle the hard core meaness
and the rocky foundation.
That the beast was used to. To accept him being what he is.
Unloving uncaring ungiving.
because he is better known as this beast.
Beauty and her Beast.
Beauty would often be torn ravished and taken for granted.
While the beast would often feast on the tender meat.
Of Beauty! Ravishing and seeking, beastly taking.
Barely ever having anything descent to be giving.
No kindness no loving ways, no maturity.
Because the beast didnt even love himself.
This beast he be!
Sometimes as beauty would be recovering
she'd reach for him in his rocky
hard core places and it would leave her torn.
In tragedy torn ripped places because Beauty.
Needs peace beauty needs sweet relief.
That couldnt be provided.
By a ravishing Beast.
Beasty and her beast.
The way he seeks,, the way he treats the way he harms.
The way he rings alarms.
Beauty would sigh love me! The Beast would say Hate me.
Hate me I am Beast!
My Features are beast My ways are Beast.
My Heart is beasty. For I remember am Beast.
Beauty would cry Love me, desire me, want me,
Cherish Me, feed me nourish me.
comfort me, cradle me.
For I am beauty and I seek love and maturity.
I am Beauty. Do Not Devour me.
But nourish me and treat me kindly
And Know that I am beauty.
I seek sweet sleep sweet deliverance
For I am Beautiful I need not a Beast!
Don't be beasty let me transform you into my Prince charming
my romantic knight and shinning armor.
can I kiss the beast and he turn into my romantic beast.
By SelinaSharday.. All Rights reseved S.A.M 2018
Apr 5, 2018
Apr 5, 2018 at 11:13 AM UTC
My family is a bunch of animals.
My mother is a lioness,
strong, brave, and full of pride,
with claws sharp as knives,
for anyone that harms her cub she will strike.
my father is a hyena,
foolish, never serious, and a lazy scavenger,
that doesn't do anything but eat the crap that he creates.
My grand parents are elephants,
big and strong during the day,
blind and helpless during the night.
My aunts and uncles are the herd of gazelles,
they graze when they can,
but when the lioness comes they silence and run away with fear.
My dogs are the shade that comforts me from the burning sun of life.
The day has come when the lioness shall not roam the tall grasses of the Serengeti.
Without the lioness the gazelles are persistently grazing,
depleting the grass,
grazing and depleting until there was no grass left for me to hide in,
they rammed and bucked at me like I had no right to grieve.
I was a helpless cub on that day and I still am,
wondering when the lioness will show up to be my heroine again.
But as the gazelles buck and ram,
a kangaroo and a zebra rush in,
embrace me,
and take me in,
I now have a second family with:
a savage tiger,
Italian chipmunks,
boxing kangaroos,
kick-ass monkeys,
elderly turtles,
burly bears,
religious zebras,
and untimely rabbits.
My second family is diverse,
but they never do the worst just as my first.
This is a story that I usually don't tell,
but this my past life so I must tell, tell, tell...
This is what God raised me to be,
This for me and only me.
One day the light will show for me,
and me and the lioness will forever again be free,
to roam the plains in the skies above,
just like a dove.
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 3:55 AM UTC
The young and bold Sir Lancelot
Had shunned the lady of Shalott
And all the swooning maidens, dear.
His heart belonged to Guinevere.
And were she not to Arthur, wed,
She'd have the heart-sick knight instead.
But so it goes, such is the luck
Of sad sir Lancelot du Lac.
When first he came to Camelot
The orphan knight, Sir Lancelot
Did prove his worth to Arthur's Court
In jousting, and such noble sport
And with his charm and courtly grace,
His confidence and handsome face,
He won the heart of Guinevere,
And so he found his heart's one fear.
But so it goes, such is the luck
Of sad Sir Lancelot du Lac.
In tournaments and deeds of arms,
He never fell to earthly harms.
His Lady's scarf about his breast,
He held aloft his knightly chest
And for her honor always strove,
And worshiped her with courtly love.
But she is wed, such is the luck
Of sad Sir Lancelot du Lac.
Beneath a tree, the young knight slept
And one day, four queens on him crept,
The chief of them, Morgan Le Fay.
With magic, they stole him away.
A choice they begged of him to make,
That one of them his heart should take.
But love is strong. They had no luck
In tempting Lancelot du Lac.
When Melegans stole Guinevere
A cart, Sir Lancelot did steer
To reach the hold where she was kept,
Then toward the treacherous knight he leapt.
He bested him with slash and blow,
But to Sir Lancelot's great woe
His Lady simply laughed in jest
And saw no honor in his quest,
For he arrived upon a cart.
Thus, broken was the young knight's heart,
And in a rage he left the place.
He longed just for his Lady's grace.
But so it goes, such is the luck
Of sad Sir Lancelot du Lac.
The young and bold Sir Lancelot
Had shunned the lady of Shalott
And all the swooning maidens, dear.
His heart belonged to Guinevere.
And were she not to Arthur, wed,
She'd have the heart-sick knight instead.
But so it goes, such is the luck
Of sad Sir Lancelot du Lac.
So when he quested for the Grail
He made a promise he would fail.
He said he'd not love Guinevere,
But as he spoke, he shed a tear.
He knew one day their love would end
The table round, and hurt their friends.
So when this promise he did break
The land of Camelot did quake.
For Agrivan, King Arthur, told
His wife did love Lancelot bold
And Arthur sent her to the pyre
To end her sinful love, in fire.
But Lancelot, his queen, did save
And Arthur fell into the grave
And all the knights of Table Round
Were torn apart, could not be bound.
And thus the fall of Camelot
Was caused by one Sir Lancelot.
But so it goes, such is the luck
Of bold Sir Lancelot du Lac.
Nov 6, 2011
Nov 6, 2011 at 9:29 PM UTC
Seniors sluggishly step
Trifling tunnels suddenly turn tame
But boredom befalls from bountiful blessings
The lengthy labyrinths lead to a lair of light
However, hazardous hiking harms healthy equipment
Determination among tunnel dwellers dwindles down drastically
Can crawling to the coronation corridor ease the contagious condition?
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 3:00 PM UTC
you
deserve
better
than what you've been accepting.
than all that you have chased.
than every.single.tear
that has fallen out of
place
when you realize that every lie,
was never worth your time
you can sell your watches
you have too many, anyways
one day, you will look into the sky
it won't be dark,
you will walk outside
the light you see-- will not be from the moon,
the shadows that surround you-- will not be those of demons
pulling you to down to Hades:
your blanket will not be misery
but
you won't simply wake up, alleviated by fate
you will have to fight
wars against yourself-- the worst kind imaginable
you
are up against the odds of giants
not even a troll-- would attempt to cross the bridges that you must build
but you can do it
you must learn to live with a shield in your hand
and a bow on your back
and eventually
one day,
you will look into the sky
it will be white and pure
you will walk outside
the light you see-- will be that of the sun's glow
the shadows of the tress will dance in your presence
persuading you to climb their swaying branches
lifting you towards the high heavens
flowers will float into your hair
yet slowly someone will approach
carrying a diamond-laced, gold ring, inside a crafted, red-silk box
in awe, you will notice his glowing amber eyes
then his face
you will see, is painted with delicate metallics alluring metallics
but you won't be swayed, for there is fire in his eyes
slowly you will reach towards the box
you've spotted the disguise
with the shield you have gathered; bow is in hand
untamed-- you are savage
unfazed by the lures of man
ferocious-- savage
he is not what you desire, rather lust
but you will walk across the bridge you've built--
based upon trust
away you will go, from all that harms
as you come to see the light
not a soul will tempt you away
for
you
are
savage
Dec 21, 2014
Dec 21, 2014 at 8:49 PM UTC
for my mother
the lioness is both a fierce protector
and a gentle nurturer
nothing escapes the gaze of her amber eyes
but she seldom feels the need to roar
she hunts with unmatched precision
but still has the patience to teach, and work with others
she understands her role in her pride
but is never proud
she possesses unparalleled strength
as well as the wisdom to know when to use it
she won't hesitate to grab her cub by the scruff of its neck
to keep it out of harms way
she is more than capable of working alone
but understands the importance of community
she never loses her spirit of playfulness
and her primary habitat is in the grasslands of Africa
but there are some things about the lioness
that you can't learn about by reading
she will wait up for you, when you're out past curfew
just to make sure that you get home safely
she will always be a listening ear
but she will never judge you
she loves others without condition
but knows better than to feel before she thinks
she will encourage you ceaselessly
and tell you you're more than good enough
this lioness, of which i speak
has not claws, nor tail, nor fangs, nor paws
but she is far more powerful
than any jungle cat could ever hope to be
- m.f.
Oct 28, 2013
Oct 28, 2013 at 9:14 PM UTC
I pride myself on differences,
but know at heart we're all one
I tried to do the dishes,
but only two knives made the cut.
Now I wonder if I can
accomplish more than thought possible
judging dull wounds in grunting cans;
feeling pistol grooves and wrist slitters,
I am at home again.
Lying, mining, dying figure heads
make their way to the foot of my bed,
and ask if they may lull me to sleep
with dreams of pneumonia and epilepsy.
I ask them to politely leave,
but they perch on boasting names of society,
reciting to me, too condescendingly,
"surely, we know better than you."
Now all of their heads fit askew.
Save the money and excuse for material attachment.
Keep running through your doll houses.
I pull on my hair to make it grow.
You pull on heart strings to teach a lesson, I suppose
we're in the same sinking boat.
But you are my vital poison.
My body collapses- a muted a noise and-
each time I awake perfectly poised
at your feet and frozen mouth.
How will I ever make you love me now?
Life's a Hawaii postcard
pleading, "go experience the vibrant colors."
There's more to see beyond the rainbow trees,
but they'll still satisfy most cravings.
Every threaded fiber of my being
keeps me pondering
if cells are just too shy to speak,
or if they've always spoken through me,
whispering, "scratch to win the lottery."
I want to write children's books,
and release doves from hidden cages;
watch awe wipe over next generation;
use my candies as their safe haven.
Away this world that have caused them pain-
I Am its new name.
Affection is a mistress of mine.
I still crave her like sunlight.
stare into her eye until I am blind
She's addicting even after she harms you.
I'll keep my heals neck deep
in anxiously wading water.
til I sing it into deep sleep,
its current pulls me under.
and I am at home again.
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 9:05 AM UTC
Child, the current of your breath is six days long.
You lie, a small knuckle on my white bed;
lie, ****** like a snail, so small and strong
at my breast. Your lips are animals; you are fed
with love. At first hunger is not wrong.
The nurses nod their caps; you are shepherded
down starch halls with the other unnested throng
in wheeling baskets. You tip like a cup; your head
moving to my touch. You sense the way we belong.
But this is an institution bed.
You will not know me very long.
The doctors are enamel. They want to know
the facts. They guess about the man who left me,
some pendulum soul, going the way men go
and leave you full of child. But our case history
stays blank. All I did was let you grow.
Now we are here for all the ward to see.
They thought I was strange, although
I never spoke a word. I burst empty of you,
letting you see how the air is so.
The doctors chart the riddle they ask of me
and I turn my head away. I do not know.
Yours is the only face I recognize.
Bone at my bone, you drink my answers in.
Six times a day I prize
your need, the animals of your lips, your skin
growing warm and plump. I see your eyes
lifting their tents. They are blue stones, they begin
to outgrow their moss. You blink in surprise
and I wonder what you can see, my funny kin,
as you trouble my silence. I am a shelter of lies.
Should I learn to speak again, or hopeless in
such sanity will I touch some face I recognize?
Down the hall the baskets start back. My arms
fit you like a sleeve, they hold
catkins of your willows, the wild bee farms
of your nerves, each muscle and fold
of your first days. Your old man's face disarms
the nurses. But the doctors return to scold
me. I speak. It is you my silence harms.
I should have known; I should have told
them something to write down. My voice alarms
my throat. "Name of father-none." I hold
you and name you ******* in my arms.
And now that's that. There is nothing more
that I can say or lose.
Others have traded life before
and could not speak. I tighten to refuse
your owling eyes, my fragile visitor.
I touch your cheeks, like flowers. You bruise
against me. We unlearn. I am a shore
rocking off you. You break from me. I choose
your only way, my small inheritor
and hand you off, trembling the selves we lose.
Go child, who is my sin and nothing more.
4k
Oh my dear friend molly,
How I love you so.
Always there for me,
Oh sweet molly
A your voice is a drug.
Makes me feel comfortable
Like my sweet friend maryjane
All you need is to spark her up
Shes on fire
Makes you feel worth living
I always hang out with maryjane with friends
Even alone
My mom likes her
My family doesn't
My mom hates molly
For a reason unknow
Maybe because she almost killed me
Molly killed my cousin
I miss her but molly is nicer
Makes you happy right?
My cousin never did
I met maryjane when i was 13
Best day of my life
Happy
The happiest i had been in months
At a party is where i met her
Maryjane is my bestfriend
She introduced me to molly
I blame her sometimes for that
But then i hang with molly and i love her
Molly is fake though
Always nice when shes with you
After she makes you feels bad
Like you need her all the time
As if you cant live without her
Oh sweet maryjane never does this to me
She knows ill always come back to her
But molly has a price too
Makes you happy but then harms you
Please leave molly i cant continue to live with you
Maryjane my savior is the one i look up to
Aug 27, 2013
Aug 27, 2013 at 1:47 PM UTC
even though i don't know you yet
and i know we've never met
i feel so much love, straight from the heart
and i can't wait for you to be a part
of this family that's wanted you for so long
can't wait to play you a bedtime song
rock you to sleep in waiting arms
do my best to protect you from harms
teach you of the world i want you to know
watch you learn, see you grow
give you all i have to give
and you'll show me how to live
and make each day an adventure
i'll never feel anything as pure
i'll hold your little hand, touch your face
you make the world a more beautiful place
loving you will never be too late
and it will all be worth the wait
to the child i love so much
whose life i can't wait to touch
i may not have carried you
but this love is so true
because you were chosen
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 10:22 PM UTC
Some voted for freedom from that rusty EU shackle.
Discussed immigration issues they were unable to tackle.
An establishmentarian North, South divide. When poverty strikes there's nowhere to hide.
Deep trenched anger rising from the disenfranchised vote. The pound devalued as the right wing gloat.
Uncertain times causes a global ripple. Bank of England acts to avoid economic *******
But what of our neighbours? Our brothers in arms? Democratic victors, do they know who this harms?
Young against old, divisions laid bare. Political wrangling, do they really care?
The Prime Minister resigns and a new chapter to be written.
Democracy wins in a diverse, Great Britain.
Jun 29, 2016
Jun 29, 2016 at 4:00 AM UTC
Spriralling down profanity
Standing on the cliff of blasphemy
She looked for angels inside of demons
Where God's decree was nowhere to be found
She had faith in what she saw
Preachers and believers
Insolence and deciept
Their words of judgement reaching out to cage her in
Threatening punishment
Imploring her to forgiveness
God, there is sacrilege
This world is rampant with hypocrites
Her heart is full of your love
Yet desires the forbidden
The unsanctioned
It harms not a soul, not even her own
But holds her happiness down the one path
That strays just a little from the rules
God, who loves the impious preachers and believers
The patient and forgiving
Can these two paths not become one?
Where the blood in her veins runs by His decree
Every breath she takes is with His grace
Oct 28, 2017
Oct 28, 2017 at 8:57 AM UTC
All I want to determine, to think out, is your perception about Purity and cleanness.
You could find so little written about them, even they should be most important part in someones life. Purity has many levels of existence :
- Purity of heart
- Purity of mind
- Purity of body
- purity of spirit
- Pure aura/ energy
As we can see they are all connected. Nowadays everyone want to be "pure" in one of these levels, but rarely someone think about all of them, as constant essence. You can't have so high level of purity of mind, heart and spirit, if you allow yourself to have any kind of "uncleanness" of body. That doesn't mean to not "take shower", even that is something too simple, missing from some part of humans...But it means - realize what harms your body and avoid it! For example smoking and alcohol and drugs, they all harm your entire body energy, that why if you want to be pure from outside, be pure also from inside! The sinful thoughts are also included, they can be avoid by participating in right and good activities, which decline your mind of them...For example, we cant expect from one smoker, or alcohol addicted person, to have full image of "good and bad" means "right and wrong" actions. What we see many times, is not what is the essence. We can see a beautiful woman, but she is nothing, if she is not pure inside. The energy of harm affect all parts, and one day she will wake up as a little monster...If she allows the evil to grow inside her. It's about all kind of restrictions - from harmful action.
- nour-
June-013
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 4:05 AM UTC
The Little Bird came a hopping up
And flew into his arms.
She cooed and chirped and occasionally burped
As she snuggled from all harms.
Her eyes so blue and so inquisitive
She searched his face for a smile.
Then saw what she was waiting for...
Spread across a country mile.
Her feathers so fine and very blond
Flew around when she did move.
As the music began to play and sway
Her body began to groove.
Her love of music, things so fine
Came naturally to her.
When Papa played his old guitar
It caused her feet to stir.
She laid her head upon his chest
And let out a great big sigh.
All was well in little bird land
That, you could not deny.
Her eyes fluttered closed, her feathers a muss
The face of an angel shone.
Asleep in the arms of her grandpa
Little Bird and him, alone.
Good night Little Lucy Bird. Sleep tight Princess.
Aug 4, 2010
Aug 4, 2010 at 12:39 PM UTC
This Little, Silent, Gloomy Monument,
Contains all that was sweet and innocent;
The softest pratler that e'er found a Tongue,
His Voice was Musick and his Words a Song ;
Which now each List'ning Angel smiling hears,
Such pretty Harmonies compose the Spheres;
Wanton as unfledg'd Cupids, ere their Charms
Has learn'd the little arts of doing harms ;
Fair as young Cherubins, as soft and kind,
And tho translated could not be refin'd ;
The Seventh dear pledge the Nuptial Joys had given,
Toil'd here on Earth, retir'd to rest in Heaven ;
Where they the shining Host of Angels fill,
Spread their gay wings before the Throne, and smile.
3k
Child, the current of your breath is six days long.
You lie, a small knuckle on my white bed;
lie, ****** like a snail, so small and strong
at my breast. Your lips are animals; you are fed
with love. At first hunger is not wrong.
The nurses nod their caps; you are shepherded
down starch halls with the other unnested throng
in wheeling baskets. You tip like a cup; your head
moving to my touch. You sense the way we belong.
But this is an institution bed.
You will not know me very long.
The doctors are enamel. They want to know
the facts. They guess about the man who left me,
some pendulum soul, going the way men go
and leave you full of child. But our case history
stays blank. All I did was let you grow.
Now we are here for all the ward to see.
They thought I was strange, although
I never spoke a word. I burst empty
of you, letting you learn how the air is so.
The doctors chart the riddle they ask of me
and I turn my head away. I do not know.
Yours is the only face I recognize.
Bone at my bone, you drink my answers in.
Six times a day I prize
your need, the animals of your lips, your skin
growing warm and plump. I see your eyes
lifting their tents. They are blue stones, they begin
to outgrow their moss. You blink in surprise
and I wonder what you can see, my funny kin,
as you trouble my silence. I am a shelter of lies.
Should I learn to speak again, or hopeless in
such sanity will I touch some face I recognize?
Down the hall the baskets start back. My arms
fit you like a sleeve, they hold
catkins of your willows, the wild bee farms
of your nerves, each muscle and fold
of your first days. Your old man's face disarms
the nurses. But the doctors return to scold
me. I speak. It is you my silence harms.
I should have known; I should have told
them something to write down. My voice alarms
my throat. "Name of father-none." I hold
you and name you ******* in my arms.
And now that's that. There is nothing more
that I can say or lose.
Others have traded life before
and could not speak. I tighten to refuse
your owling eyes, my fragile visitor.
I touch your cheeks, like flowers. You bruise
against me. We unlearn. I am a shore
rocking you off. You break from me. I choose
your only way, my small inheritor
and hand you off, trembling the selves we lose.
Go child, who is my sin and nothing more.
3.1k
Your voice has a choice.
Your tongue is moist with juicy, fruitful words.
Your lips chirp like harmonious birds;
building botanical gardens inside some
beautiful person’s head somewhere.
You could distinguish old flames, smother your pride
ignore all blame… Or
you could turn something worse.
Go postal, find trouble to immerse
yourself in.
Do you even try to scale the value between a blessing and a curse?
Did it sound more exciting when I said Congratulations first?
Is your mommy and the tv well distraction from the hearse
all of us blindly ride in.
We’re born into a society claiming Life, Freedom and the pursuit of happiness.
I feel no freedom in our flags
when more blood falls on clothing tags of women who were “just asking for it”.
I’m desperately clinging onto the pursuit of happiness,
but my hands slide off like butter fingers pursuing monkey bars
The greasy kind of disappointment you can get at
McDonalds for a dollar
I’m a little confused where the donations are Ronald?
$27.6 billion in revenue,
yet every seventeen minutes
another person pursues death as if it were their
only chance of freedom
and you’re squeezing your red clown nose
thinking of what new toy to impose
on the children buying Happy Meals.
The 111th richest corporation in the nation
has the audacity to serve deep fried pink slime
and call it a happy meal.
At the same moment,
a stiff insurance business suit is denying
extended treatment to people.
People:
dying to learn how to tame the monsters in their heads,
dying to learn how harming themselves harms their families health,
dying to learn how to fight enemies who sing them to sleep at night.
Thousands of children men and women
who are in so much pain.
Plastered with close-lidded visions
nightmare doorknobs with creaking hinges.
Some violent, some explosive, some ******
ostly misunderstood combinations of the above.
Some, accidents stained with blood.
Some, knife twisting in their back, broken oaths.
There is more freedom in valuing the pursuit of life
than happiness in living for a dying pursuit
Congratulations, we live in a society
where the living die with a side order of either
painful awareness or
numb naivety.
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 5:43 AM UTC
you wanna escape
this place
and these people
so so badly.
'cause they say
you should drift away
from what harms you,
and they are of no good
to your soul,
and also 'cause
you've never felt like
you belonged here.
But deep down,
I guess what you truly
want is to escape yourself.
and that, my friend,
no place will allow
Jun 23, 2018
Jun 23, 2018 at 6:59 PM UTC
I called to give you a rearrangement of irony and a bucket full of Jews, I tailor made a rebreather because the past connections were used . Indeed, just like a crossview that encouraged stars to collapse, then did a fix up for the X's and O's so every oxymoron followed with a laugh. A pail of shrubs, an ounce of yore, yesterday you were following your very own bated breath. Up until you challenged yourself to a duel, you didn't look so bad for a disastrous mess. Harms' Way could be the place in town where odds go to get even, or it could be the street where Blow-Pops aren't just made, but also handed out to toothless citizens. We the captured, please and thank you, sir and mam until our captors go, like if you imagine The Godfather in The Graduate, describing how the Komodo dragon roasts. We haven't made it thru a single day since they've come in packs of seven, but today we'll have the chance to share some face time with the hours that we are being given.
Misty-eyed, mournful, and very sorry walked in separately from the yard. They drank cold-filtered PBR and joked about all the kids they may have fathered. Has it been four weeks or just four days, since the Ferguson, Missouri Captain resigned his post? I was always taught that for a captain to go out, he or she must go down with their boat.
In time where boredom lays around with dynamite by the loads, tomorrow remind me of the basorexia I've had since we met not long ago.
Mar 15, 2015
Mar 15, 2015 at 2:39 AM UTC
As virtuous men pass mildly away,
And whisper to their souls to go,
Whilst some of their sad friends do say
The breath goes now, and some say, No:
So let us melt, and make no noise,
No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move,
’Twere profanation of our joys
To tell the laity our love.
Moving of th’ earth brings harms and fears,
Men reckon what it did and meant,
But trepidation of the spheres,
Though greater far, is innocent.
Dull sublunary lovers’ love
(Whose soul is sense) cannot admit
Absence, because it doth remove
Those things which elemented it.
But we by a love so much refined
That our selves know not what it is,
Inter-assurèd of the mind,
Care less, eyes, lips, and hands to miss.
Our two souls therefore, which are one,
Though I must go, endure not yet
A breach, but an expansion,
Like gold to aery thinness beat.
If they be two, they are two so
As stiff twin compasses are two;
Thy soul, the fixed foot, makes no show
To move, but doth, if th’ other do.
And though it in the centre sit,
Yet when the other far doth roam,
It leans and hearkens after it,
And grows ***** as that comes home.
Such wilt thou be to me, who must
Like th’ other foot, obliquely run;
Thy firmness makes my circle just,
And makes me end where I begun.
2.7k
I have never been employed or earned any money for the work I do. And yet I still have a job to do.
For I am the door keeper, a guard, a lookout... a friend.
My job is simple yet complicated, for I have many jobs rolled into one.
I stand by the door and wait for people to approach me. Some talk to me, most people don't. Don't you know that I do my work for you? I don't get paid for my work, but I still think it's worth it to keep working.
I am the door keeper.
I stand by the weak, injured, and the broken with the strength I still have. When the people who I help finally regain their strength, they walk away from me, not even leaving a "thank you".
I am the guard.
When danger arrives at someone else's doorstep, I am there to see that they are not harmed, I will warn the of danger and guide them out of harms way.
I am the lookout.
Whenever you need me I will be there, I'll hold your hand and help in any way I can. I will always be here.
I am your friend.
I have always been here, but people don't see me anymore. I have become a ghost. I wonder what it takes to become alive again. But I can't just leave, whether or not people see me. I need to keep working. My job doesn't cost money, it costs lives.
A treasure more valuable than money.
I can't stop working.
I am the door keeper watching for their smiling faces. I am the lookout for their lives, and the guard of their hearts. But most importantly a friend.
A friend they might never see, but I'm still here.
I can't leave just yet. Because I still have a job to do.
Mar 20, 2017
Mar 20, 2017 at 10:40 PM UTC
Arctic and Pure
cups emptied of Western laziness
gratis
Sapphire tears and sparkling beams
gathered from the fields
shining Pez and elecution exercises
Hey Miss, Tell me something
a poem
about everyplace
no fooling, You're so serious
and the serfs of the modern hovels are well behaved
and none
fleshen bodies
heads full of squishy wishes
consumme
my amusement is like a panacea
a corporeal healing
Flying who-I-haven't-people
someone down in my
constant solar blaze,
one who I devote all clear evidence
all the right answers,
fairness
Ignorance always harms our potential
reveal deaths inconsequence and void
flying through tunnels
creating opportunities for life.
Aug 1, 2012
Aug 1, 2012 at 7:22 AM UTC