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Dylan D Aug 2010
So,

I took these ideas

Planted them into your mind

And watched as they grew into

A monstrously beautiful thing


A discovery

That would keep you with me

For as long as I wanted you to

For as long as you were able

Until you slipped back to sleep; to reality


And while your evaporating imagination

Produced, and created, things that

Would otherwise be impossible

I looked upon you

And gave way to shame


We grew old,

You under the idea of eternal love

I under the guilt of eternal culpability

And the world we created; the world that we would come to fear

Would become the only reality we knew -
Q Aug 2014
Thoughts are incepted
Good or bad, we tend to them
Ignore them, they bite


*s.q.
Lewis Wyn Davies Sep 2020
Four kings rode in with strings and skins to bring salvation to me on the streets of New Year's Eve. My friend would lend contents of bookends that induced solutions to a common teenage problem. I became incepted and indebted to the greatest escape artist, plus drowned-out voice who talked me through the agony of lonesome pains. Though association fades, those days still replay in heavy bass, or on the screaming face of a DVD case. But when handshakes are met with drunken compliments, it makes me question what it all meant. Veins no longer contain baselines or nets because the rent doesn't even cover travel expense. There are hotel pillars in a lake up town, tacky Christmas decs have been taken down, while two Jags are parked up outside dad's house. The nice-eyed lad, Welsh running track, smiling dancer and security-defying chap in a flat cap keep me from collapse. As the album dies, benign podcasts thrive. Franchise rise, repeated lines, gym life, energy drink lies and paper bag highs make laugh-cry emojis hard to find. With Wi-Fi or offline.
Poem #25 from my collection 'A Shropshire Grad'. On not fitting in.
shireliiy Nov 2015
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Sayer Oct 2013
unbound and incepted right into to the camera
looking in, if you're watching
can you see me staring at you

this is the final glare
my wannabe farewell
when you look at your camera in your mind,
can you see me staring at you
will I haunt you like you haunt me

i can feel you looking right through me
Adam Holmstrom Sep 2017
In the last night I lie awake
I won't question my life’s wake
I'll leave my heart's garden a few less weeds to rake.
I'll try to plant a few flowers,
Replace ones that died in my dark hours,
Sprinkle some seed and grow a few trees
Amidst the fresh wet grass dancing in early April’s breeze.

I hope the scene is serene providing shade from the sun
For my son.
I told that man he could have the world
He may not be in this world but I feel like he’ll be my world

Lately in my world I’ve been a bit otherworldly
On the moon pondering, are these thoughts just coming too early?
What if I have so many years still in me to live,
Filled with so much good will still left in me to give?

My prodigal son could come to fruition
Or a daughter, too smart, scholarships to axe the tuition
Someone a vivid image of all I wanted to be
A recurring dream of what my younger self said I would be.
It feels like I blacked out for several years without shame
I parted ways with so many people I couldn’t list names
And raised by certain people that I’d place claims
Of abandonment treating my childhood like a game
Or a waged war between battling armies
I swear to god my offspring would never feel this raceless apartheid
That it felt like sometimes, nothing seemed to be worse
Than growing up stuck wondering if your gifts are a curse.

I wish someday I either guide myself or my child
Into the warm light brought upon by hope and a smile
Cast upon them by my potential and graceful reconcile...

I’m one with my actions; past, present and future
Knowing regret is simply just a useless venture
So all I can do is be good for now and teach to be better later
While I try to shun the demons of my past that cater



What I insisted I would be—its never in doubt.
Either make a difference myself or bestow it on someone else
So they could end my journey if I fail,
Conduct my train of thoughts, turn them to actions that I derailed.

I’m stuck in accepted limbo unsure of what I can accomplish
Leo DiCaprio incepted spinning a thimble in anguish
To see if someday I’ll dive through a clouded finish line
Million feet up with my thoughts of how it worked out in due time


If I see or create the beautiful soul that I wanted to be
If I’ve given all I can to someone else to be a better me
There’s nothing left for me to give, nothing more you can take
In the last night I lie awake.
Its been a long time coming for me. I love writing as my undoubted passion but I've been through a whirlwind of a year where I have not let myself dive completely into committing myself to putting together a good piece although I've had many powerful prompts and ideas come into my head. Alas I was in a mood tonight where everything just came spilling out and my first finished quality piece I've put together in a year came complete in about 3 hours time. Go figure. It is as such a free-flowing piece without a lot of restrictive construction. One may even call it a lyrical or spoken word type of piece. But anyway I like it and hope you all do too. Love~
Aaron E Jan 2020
Each is given their canvas
Open air along the brief respective flashes of time
We whittle gasping attempts at a connection

With only any placeable frames that we’ve collected
Hammer dissonance to Xanadu

Feather in the contrast as a method of description

or discretion.
____

Building a context

heft upon a quickly fading gust
Just a divvied introduction of trust as a reflection.

Left as signal threading the reverence into message

Let me bury symbols in code and seed a weapon.
____
_____

Let me choose a frame and build a picture growing out to the edges
Filling seconds with deference
Knowing breath is the setting, for where the grey areas are

Levy loosening gaze, and form a tinctured impression of the glimpse I’ve incepted, though the lesson I’m guessing won’t fare to carry the cadences very far.

Tarry not for fear of ones inept reflection, bury not thy fierce direction.

Into the void.
Into the depths.
To build the frame.
To will the question.
I’ve been doing more of these on my phone, due to time constraints. I’m hoping it doesn’t affect the formatting negatively.
MOTV Nov 2015
swiftly dazing in and out of reality
flowing into a parallel dimension
incepted by a higher being
flying higher than an obscene dream
a scheme levitates me to the heaven's pearly gates
where we can cypher gleefully
living up
filled up
poured up
like I am drunk
in the club with my crew
mostly fam .
and a few chosen dudes
not that I don't like others
but the way I mutter
draws people back
I am a disciple with the raps
Megan Sherman Mar 2017
Once you were an unborn, unformed dream
A spirit drifting down cosmic stream
Then you were incepted in the world, babe supreme
A treasure, whole, without a seam

All hearts in unison rejoice at the babe
Who with their gleesome joy doth amaze
Setting cynical, jaded souls ablaze
Enveloped deep in loves warm haze

The world is better for your life
Be to the lust of life a wife
And then you'll transcend toil and strife
A ribbon on the breeze, like a kite

Don't struggle for the treasures vain
Allow thy ego to be slain
Then you'll transcend suffering, pain
And thy heart will not be cleft in twain
Megan Sherman Nov 2016
A most radical woman named Mary
Has faith in the existence of her own innate strength
For her time, it’s an opinion most contrary
And maketh her many adversaries

She moves and mingles in circles fluent
In the lofty language of ideas
But she is still most incongruent
Her airs and graces lack, are truant

Like every literate liberal learning
Through diatribes of how corrupt Society is
For a better deal for all she’s yearning
Her passion for justice a beacon burning

Grows to detest privilege, rank and station
Those ghastly bars behind our eyes
For women’s rights she seeks vindication
Publishing a wild sensation

Its arguments are sound, sophisticated, sage
Giving elegantly eloquent expression to her thoughts
But the pamphlet nonetheless generates vast opprobrium, outrage
It offends the sensibilities and the mores of her cruel age

Saying Society enervates women of their strength replete
Mary’s verse is passionate, informed, incendiary
Saying women can be competent and women can compete
On the same plane as men, achieving the same feats

But such ideas are too advanced for the day they were incepted
They are vehemently beleaguered by the defenders of the realm
We will have to wait for centuries before Mary’s words are respected
It’s a tragedy it took so long for her wisdom to be detected
Hail CWC and all the OC's, too!
Hail Sonichu and Rosechu!
We curse-ye-ha-me-ha the trolls;
this **** rivals the Dead Sea Scrolls.

Alumnus of PVCC
afflicted by virginity,
so he devised a master plan
to finally become a man.

But Mary Lee would not abide;
our autist hero she did chide
and ripped up his attraction sign.
He soon thereafter went online.

Some 4chan trolls would come along.
(Hail them, they're why we sing this song.)
They started up an ED page,
inciting Chris into a rage.

Yet CWC could not contain the need:
his massive ego had to feed.
For the attention trolls did yield,
no secret thing did Chris conceal.

As time wore on, his fame would grow.
He even got on Tosh point 0
posing in women's underwear
thus with the world Chris-Chan was shared.

One day a group of teenage boys
who, growing tired of games and toys,
conspired to blackmail now-Christine
just to go down in "Christory."

From Twitter, it was plain to see
Chris breaking from reality:
obsessed with multiverse theory,
proclaiming herself deity.

Some sophomore down in Texas, y'all,
precipitated Christine's fall,
incepted into her weak mind
a crime of the most heinous kind.

From jail, Christine now writes to us
insisting that she is Jesus.
Is Christine crazy or afraid,
and is she finally getting laid?

Amen.
sung to the tune of "Old 100."

This is a retrospective on the online presence and work of troubled outsider artist Christine Weston Chandler and her problematic online following.
Megan Sherman Aug 2017
Strive thee - to snare a poet?
Unto thine bewitching hands?
Ferrying her - on sweet seismic seas -
Right - to passion's sands?

Dare thee to trap - between thine teeth -
A riotous - sensuous belle?
Whom for portent - plotting - had been beneath -
Plummeted - to hell

Did thou fathom a sadness?
To sense - a sorry fate -
Insidious - incepted cruel -
By hate - insatiate -

Dwelling deep - in divine dalliance -
Immortal thou - with sublime friend -
Heart commit - in solidarity and alliance -
Truth heaven dare not forfend -

A confederacy - of Love -
We are citizens - betrothed -
Seeking light - on which spirits rove -
To eschew hell we loathed -

Passion - our province -
Bliss - our barony -
Love - our latitude -
Divinity - our diocese -
Of timelessness that stirs a longing in us
The graceful lady that brings love from heaven above
golden pots and electric face
Are items of a surreal existence
Incepted by the thought of your beauty
This alchemy is as real as the religion that you praise

— The End —