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Rowan Mar 2016
Hello again, heartless friend.
So slyly in the backgrounds blend.
Your veering vanish, vaguely here.
Your gaze of increments - insincere. 
Healer of the hearted scars.
Swallower of the heavened stars.
The paths in which we dream and delve.
Allow the doubling ones to twelves.

Slices of the eternal elude.
Movements of monstrous magnitude. 
A hesitant dawdle. A lingered delay.
The mountainous sway is steered away. 
Hoarded heaps of hourglass bliss.
Outnumbered by wasted nothingness.
With interludes of want, of miss.
To slowly morphed indifference.

The pendulums that abruptly swing.
The burdens they still hope to bring.
The envied earn of Earth's endeavor.
The better late. The better never.
The eerily empty echoed need.
The blossomed tree from planted seed.
The curse of a continuous grief.
The ever stealthy, silent thief.

The cogs, gears, hours and hands.
The burn of beauty, bleak and bland.
The coziest, surrounding choke.
The whelm from the transparent cloak. 
The running out. The ever essence.
The grand keeper. The watchful presence.
The potential of the plainest plan.
The currency of the wisest man.

What horrors - hallowed by the tick.
Will sound for both healthy and sick?
Will compose secrets, never told?
Will fumble flame to frigid cold?
The end stays always promptly nigh.
For the intimate, infinite blink of eye.
I fear your wasting, more and more.
The constant count to twenty four. 

Unresurrectable and second to none.
Airborne, regardless of having fun.
As retrospective wisdom blinds.
Our youthful hopes and manic minds.
On and on. From time to time. 
Song to song and rhyme to rhyme.  
Betrayer of all mice and men. 
Less of if and more of when.
Of all phrases of mouth and pen.
The worst are "I've done nothing, again".
Nickolas J McKee Dec 2020
I would like to go there -
This place,
This somewhere anew.
It would be here,
My love,
My dear love with you.
O’, cherish me there home,
Our place,
For us young to rest.
Forever pure,
Heavened,
Laid upon God’s vest.
For I love you dearly,
My love...
Filmore Townsend Mar 2014
I am rich
I’ve used my blood
like an extravagance

An archetype of oralcry
whose silence
               smells of cheap wine
A poetman
become an olding messenger boy
O silver tongue of spiritus!
I whoop it up
       in all my wealth
              like Great Mercurio
                      twirling his white ribboned caduceus
                                             in heavened air
Bathed & gowned
               by the Pifs of Prophecy
Asoak in a tub of soft flashes
               I step into talaria
And into my hand
               the twined winged wand was wound

I sat on the toilet of an old forgotten god
and divined a message thereon
I bring it to you
       in cupped hands
poet:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gregory_Corso
collection:
http://ndbooks.com/book/herald-of-the-autochthonic-spirit

user does not claim this as his own work.
                   -FT
For whose License must your Coppered Mouth sing
Which the Lamb and the Owl compose for you
This - define such Friend - thumb your nickered strings,
Then delve Innocence perform those Tidbits true
Perhaps my Finger - or Eye then about
Point to where your Righteous Heart should belong
As you praise your Job; Past Excellence stout
Play your Hidden Muse in search for a Song
Which Customers, their likely Music spell
Helled or Heavened Clefs you both pacify
That this Foundry should acclaim Managers well
As their War-Torn Throats win your satisfy.
Still it was just a Day; As such Day did pass
Back to your Reward; And Reward it was.
Heather Moon Feb 2014
Red rain,

Like suburban sunsets
war has taken hold of Fate,
closed hands in.
Drenched
quenched
killed
red rain pouring down from
lightening grey skies
empty outskirts
of people
walking through
deserted streets
hushling and shuffling inside

a bomb hit the town
the day the red rain came down

people sitting in homes
hiding away in fear
yet some scream
they have no sanctum here
Street children
Are all gone
And little the little ruddy
whose leftover
Is left all alone
with silent cries
afraid men in boots will hear
his empty gafing
into chilled air
he hides in an alley
his knee cut right open
and to the bone

he hides behind a dumpster
in the shelter of the rain
while men in iron clad gear
scuffle past cold metal frameworks
of what used to be a fence
and back out the alley and returning to the streets
where shops sit devastated
or nothing left from where
a building stood
ruins of the castles
that labour built up
now gone to waste
breaking down the empire
a mighty kingdom
Of human sacrifice
hard work
to grind the stone
and put it in it's place
and now gone
by bombs and
cold blooded
******

A woman,
I saw her scream
she held a child in her arms
behind her there were flames
raging like a beast
and open fire arms
guns like whips
shooting quick
she ran for her life
but still they shot her down,
I think,
or the fire got her

I wish I could reach out and help
but I only knew
that in the end
they would have shot two
If I stepped up to my plate,
had I thought for a moment,
death is better fought in a raging battle
then to meekly grow old
and shrivel like a raisin.
No longer shall I stare
gravely at my hands.
if such a situation
should again arise
I'll put my soul in trust
and pray for heavened skies


And still, to this day,
the brittle lies
of my countries ways
tell me these people
are the enemies
but I can't help but to think
that isn't so
I stood solemn while I watched my insides punch at me
scream at my betrayal
tall I stood
with my chest to the air
I tried to stomp back the truth
thinking I could escape the air
by raising my head tall
but if I stopped
my effort
limp it hung.
I could not grasp
what I had done
I did what they told me,
wasn't that correct?
tall I stood
like a statue
The ones they would make for us back home
and I could not help but feel
That any statue
With my face,
no matter the size
could not bring me back what I lost
When I looked into that
womans eyes

the so called enemies
they share the same filth
The same soul and cells that make up matter
with a being of beauty on the inside,
all striving for something greater,
accepting and living life with flaws
going home at the end of a hard worked day
and greeting their love with a warm exhausted smile
and sitting in a lamplit room
on a rocking chair
covered in a knitten blanket
or by a bedside table
poking through words with reading glasses
sipping at their tea
with parched lips
stumbling now and then
to silently thank for
what they have.
Reading to their children,
fulfilling the little ones
curious and eager desires.

It pains to see the universe within them
when their faces
met mine
and I could see the Ocean
and the moon
and all that is divine,
then I saw it melt away
by the twist of grubby hands
from men who had no clue
what world they were living
when once a work hat was put on
walked away
from all
that they knew

and so red rain
Begins to fall
on the shoulders of
us all
It opens the mud
of the ground
and leaks
into the heart

The great and mighty sky
with clouds of coal
And ashen grey
boil together
lost in a swirl
then they too break out
unleashed
released
from all that they held

the red rain
pours down
creating puddles
and dripping like a spoat
carressing
the mother
who too
needs a soak
to wash away
what we left on her earth
and what we did to her people

The red rain
It satisfies our sorrow
it cleanses us of our pain
and helps to wash away,
in the wakes of our betrayal,
what we left lying

but even rain
does not take from me
the sounds of people crying

  the red rain it hits                                            
everyones shoulders                
everyones shoulders        
everyone                  
             every                
  single          
person
including mine.
Dreaming upon memories of war stories,
perhaps it's this city rain
looking through old family
photos again, a bit choppy.
charles Aug 2021
through time and heavened hell,

i am gripping thread,

that could lead me to you,

where life and stars,

could not conceive you.

still waiting for space,

where you can arrive.
Blaire Blues Jan 30
Act I
Enter two navies inspecting a robbery scene, Norman staring at a table on a stage full of empty shuffled tea cups and scattered roses.

Norman: well wouldn’t you see! isn’t this the most balanced tea!

Enter Dover eyeing the table and Norman with sharp inspection.

Dover: what the shambles you mean? (picking a rose up)

Norman:oh the shambles! where’s the gleaming fire within the clear clouds!

Dover:what even caused such a commotion?

Norman: oh what’s the withered moon without the staggering sun! the founded prism underneath the leaves when they hum
the lookers- instead of the rounds could have taken onboard routes!

Dover stands unsure as Norman roams around like he’s on shore.

Dover: what’s buzzing in that wits of yours?

Norman halts all of a sudden picking up the pieces of a broken glass, roses, and stems.

Norman: fine time how it had tethered! if the tea cups hadn’t fallen under ink of roses on their surface! then who’d rip the poor roses out their wombs!

Dover listening to Norman, picks up the labeled teabag’s paper inspecting.

Awfully surprised Dover reads.

Dover: Sugarlime Tea? how’d that not succumbed from thrills of morbid totes! my heavened lord!

Norman halts amidst his tumble around the lowered velvet curtains.

Norman: oh that must’ve been treading on dreadful strings that led to delightful things— thorns in their cups but roses around their mugs just like vibrant flowers inhaled beneath wooden brutes!

swords do twist oftentimes!, just like forsworn letters carved inside hearts oh how the mighty wind had rumbled their grounds their cups! their roses! their mugs!

It must’ve been when the lime in that whiff had hit! oh do come abrupt thrills! to forsaken wills!

Dover shakes his head exasperated.

Dover: not even the hastiest of blades could highlight your lines you rot witted Norman! if anything but, sons of your lips could fill all those bare rugged stones!

End act 1

— The End —