"influencing" poems
Devilish blue eyes, frozen gaze.
Influencing me against my will,
Submitting into dropping defenses.
Overcome with an inability to escape,
I become bound by those piercing eyes.
Sapping once kinder thoughts,
Replaced by detached isolation.
Shuttering at the crack of the whip,
Blindly I walk to death.
Carved flesh ammunition against
You, weakness exposed.
Lacerations to the heart exchanged,
Milky fog clouds my oppressor.
Pieces held together by hatred,
One blow away from cracking.
Further into broken self.
All freedoms come at a cost.
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 10:32 AM UTC
She walks down pavement
She makes the government’s infrastructure look like beauty
Her beauty turns away the rules of the snooty conservative government
The constitution loses its soul
When she bends over to check the hood of a car about to roll
Her boyfriend accompanied by other boyfriends who hit on her
I stand on the sidelines
Problem is I murmur
You probably thought a stutter was worse
She’s such a high class gal
Despite her sultriness and I’m not judging
But I must mention she goes to Church
So you might still mistake her for being an uptown sister
She dances to rock music
Her head doesn’t even sway to the EDM that the plebeians surrounding her play
She’s an anachronism
But she just needs me to introduce her Monet’s impressionism
I bet her cultural values force her to mould Picasso’s Cubism
Even though I’m not a man’s man
She without influence is not enough
Because influencing is love
And I hope it is to this cute rebellious dud
I suppose from her house she ran
When she looked morose in school during period nine
It was English Drama and suddenly she couldn’t seem to remember the line
With her friends flanking her she walks and talks
She’s on the phone while she’s wearing her socks
She’s on the prowl she’s an active girl
That women is close to my heart
And I hope to treat her like a clam treats its pearl
Sep 9, 2017
Sep 9, 2017 at 11:56 AM UTC
Yo soy *****
**** immigration and the racist white tèjanõs, please tell me how the hell would they ever know what I know, shout out to my Mexicans Hondurans and black Cubanos shut the border down call it the no fly zone. Adios Americanos me and my amigos are stealing ya women and playin em like pianos, vocal terrorist this lyrical revolt should be your primary interest. Public enemy number one the domestic hectic terrorist I'm influencing your white son, right to bear these nuts I'm taking the tea parties guns stealing your freedom from right up under you, all your jobs, and way of life, your point of view. I'm the original black power ranger hide your right winged minds if not I swear they'll be in danger. I am the broken brick the stone left unturned the rhythm of the wind the willingness to learn and the desire to fight and get what you earn. I am the individual placed on the no fly list with my hand balled into a fist cause my turbin is too tight and my beards to thick. I am the man choked to death by nypd for selling cigarettes now I'm rioting with my words doing lyrical pirouettes. Yo soy ***** spitting jive like lingo I want a Pam Grier keep your Marilyn Monroe, from the 6th borough buckin like bronco they said finish em I'm educated and black had to hit em with the combo. I'm non fictions Huey Freeman battling congress and their demons catch me flexing on the law lookin like the black He-Man Standing up for what I believe in writing in my notepad I stay steady schemin with my head up in the clouds I stay steady dreamin. Yo soy ***** freeze em like sub zero not concerned with dolores or the dinero yen or bills yo, I'm still waiting for marvel to make a Mexican superhero.
Dec 25, 2014
Dec 25, 2014 at 11:05 AM UTC
Oh cursed soul,
that you be,
something I dont even believe,
In, but in pain filled ignorance,
I lack the eloquency to describe,
Even a little bit accurately,
This hateful being,
This lie of a perception, I cannot wake from,
A matrix, a coded line, I find myself,
Stuck in,
The suffering of a thousand lives and worlds,
Reaching out to you, reading this,
Lying, lying, as if the words mean,
Anything, anything, No!
Yet then, I always realize circling back,
To the histories invented by past selves,
hence, influencing who I am now,
the dark corners I look forward to in the future,
The lack of resposibility, The blissful youth,
Mixed with the pain of wisdom,
And the teachings and overview,
Of going off a cliff, only to jump back on,
And run off again,
Yet, then, again I find myself looking,
In my heart at the gun, the gun of release,
Oh that I dare say,
all humans should seek.
Crazy, crazy, John,
You are crazy you say,
Aye, aye, as all we are,
Sanity is insane,
Reason is,
2+2=4, Because.
I am the because. I am the order.
I am the chaos, that puts that electron there,
And your synapses connecting there,
Oh I'm the breath you take,
Before that **** and ***
You faked,
Little one, little one,
I am much older now in lives
Than years, I consume throwing myself away,
The self, the soul, the non existence,
Oh it is existing and it wont leave me,
And all this because,
I saw her kissing that man,
On the cheek.
Alas, that is the bane of every God and Demon,
Since nephlium, To love a human,
A mortal, the code in the matrix,
The variables for the x,
That turns your reason and logic,
Into guess work and soulbreak,
I drone on,
Where is the end,
That is the point! Dr. Seuess,
Take your money back, I know the places I will go,
Oh I've seen it now for a while, and boy do I fear,
The blank page, the unwritten line,
The truth that I've been trying to hide,
From who?
I've lived long enough.
I would like to die.
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 1:34 PM UTC
Puppet Master
You crept in like a mischievious thief.
Intrigued, decieved and retrieved my son.
Influencing and destroying his beautiful life.
Diminished his hopes, his dreams and his self-esteem.
Convincing him he had no future,
No love, no value was to his life.
Your wicked silk spun web of deadly lies,
Mislead him to believe,
That happiness and love cease to exist.
This is your fuel,
This your fire.
Your one and only desire.
You will not quit until they all expire.
****** black, H or tar,
You are a seductive liar.
Your needle point claws buried deep his arm,
Dripping with your poisonous conceit.
Now you are his puppet master.
Dominating his mind, his thoughts and his words.
Your malicious acts preformed through him,
Make him look wild, insane and disturbed.
Each day in your tight intense grip,
My son dwindled and shriveled away.
Becoming your molded and trained apprentice.
Coached to perfection in your twisted ways.
You are as bad as a ******
A murderer and even more.
I hate you ******
You started a war.
I will not let you win!
Let go of my loved and cherished son.
Let him live a full and beautiful life.
I surrender to you myself.
Volunteer my own life.
Take me instead,
Be my puppet master,
Enslave me,
And let my baby live.
L. Mack
9/20/18
Sep 21, 2018
Sep 21, 2018 at 12:41 AM UTC
There are many definitions of pride,
All in which, are perceived from a side,
Notable opinions indeed when we’re addressing the dogma that arise when mind project words that express one; wise,
However, it’s all contrary to me,
Pride isn’t something relating belief,
It can’t be put aside if it’s beyond side; choice/time,
Egoist defined when declined, rejoice inclined,
I can’t respond to a situation,
There’s no resolution when living unconditional and uncertain,
I am beyond interpretation,
I do not allude in illusions and wonder why they’re certain,
Abracadabra Hocus-Pocus...
Omm, “This State Farm jingle isn’t workin,”
AHP; “Magic”; Ouroboros,
Analytical Hierarchy Perspective on Serpent,
“They have power; They influence the course of events with supernatural forces”
That’s Magic?
The law of attraction; influencing life with thoughts; Quantum Mechanics, Force is,
Say “attract it,”
Demographics defining diplomatic, power be to the tree that’s aristocratic,
Problematic if geographic determines what’s democratic,
Tragic when ethnography constitutes what’s archetypal and habitual;
A classic ritual opposite of obsolete; of course bigotries automatic,
Bring back the art of holographic,
I’m leaning back like Crack if it’s dogmatic,
I do not understand how we understand species before intelligent and acknowledge intelligence like we never had it,
As if dyslexia was a natural condition; as if this ability was somehow previously hidden so with awareness became magic,
Freedom of speech,
“But I don’t like your words, sir”
Freedom to be,
“Those are not the clothes I prefer, sir”
Being discrete,
“He’s not in my position, he must concur”
Oh, What is believed?
They’re obligated to assumptions, so they infer most-
Too much pride will **** a man,
By picking a side he’ll lose a hand,
If using his pride he’s sure to win,
If losing his mind; insane a friend,
Clueless of time; he’ll never die,
Til P take a Ride, and replace his pride with another man’s.
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 5:30 PM UTC
I had a secret... I keep it in... Mommy I... I think I'm lesbian. Thoughts rushed through her head. Gosh I wanted to be dead. Did you hear me mommy? Was she going to leave me. What was running through her mind. The silence lasting a long time. Finally she spoke, baby I think you need to go. Pack your bags and leave. But mom... No I can't have your perverted lifestyle influencing my normal children. Tears streaked my checks. I had tried so hard. Mommy accept me! Mommy love me!!! Remember when I was your baby? Back when people heard me? Goodbye mommy.
Jan 21, 2016
Jan 21, 2016 at 1:53 AM UTC
You look in the mirror
Comb your hair
Say you're ****
Blow your reflection a kiss
Sit down at your desk and begin to write
"I'm **** for all the right reasons
Woman love me
I love myself
The world is pathetic
But I'm the reason the sun shines"
You're a poet
From what you tell yourself
Well my fellow "poet"
You're a narcissistic poet
With everything going against you
You should be more like me
Call yourself pathetic
Become your very own critic
Degrade yourself regularly
Sure it makes you depressed but for all the right reasons
You become better
Influencing yourself to be better
Without the knowledge that it's happening
Don't be a narcissistic poet
Be the poet that the world actually will like
May 26, 2013
May 26, 2013 at 3:59 PM UTC
Each life ushers something new
Influencing the the way of life itself
Until people tell them to not do so
Unfortunately half of them listen
That's why the Dandileons glisten
Asking for your approachment towards them
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 2:03 AM UTC
The epitome of greatness, a mark in history
Of discipline remarkable, a stellar victory
Defeating the unbeaten, knock and break the mould
International heavyweight of Olympic Gold
Strike in quick succession, opponents retreat
Delivery duration, a knockout of defeat
Tactical ability, step into the range
Catalyst created, set for further change
Of the highest calibre, man who beat the man
Delivery on target, a humble champion
Of opponents outclassed, discontinued bout
Dominant performance, within and without
With athletic excellence, distance travelled far
Gym of daily training, cardio and spar
Professional perspective, stood to set the pace
Dedication, boldness, motivate, embrace
Influencing globally, rank of the elite
Rapid combinations, uppercuts repeat
Powerful formation, readiness of stance
Daily preparation, practice over chance
An honourable service, magnificence abound
Celebrating victory, crowding to surround
Continuing the greatness, strength and stamina
The world is truly grateful, Anthony Joshua
Written by Geraldine Taylor ©
Jun 11, 2017
Jun 11, 2017 at 3:21 PM UTC
{Act One-Darkness}
<>
There are no stars tonight,
only the cold lifeless dark.
No hearts on fire,
nor passion plays.
Only the faerie dance of fire flies,
and the myth of love.
{Act Two-Searching}
<>
Are we just bags of hormones
either fortunately or unfortunately
imbued with the chemicals of life?
Will there be a day that we will be singled out
for our levels of hormones?
Will a new prejudice arise?
Oh... she's 68.3% hormonal,
he's 97% hormoneless.....
Will there be hormone police,
checking your levels before you buy a gun,
or have a baby,
or get married?
(I should have reversed the order of those lines.)
Are we just bags of hormones?
Can we blame the lack of, or the abundance of,
the chemistry in our bodies,
infecting the knee **** reactions of our power hungry egos?
Menopausal, testosteroned, endorphined, dopamined,
all influencing the limbic system.
Soon, very soon a storm is coming.
A storm complete with tattooed bar codes
describing our perspective hormonal levels.
In the year 2025,
separated by island walls.
Are we just bags of hormones?
{Act Three-Light}
<>
You can't love me,
you don't love yourself.
If and until you completely love yourself,
you can not completely love another.
The level of love that you have for me,
can only be the level of love for yourself.
You can't love me
........not yet.
May 28, 2016
May 28, 2016 at 11:50 PM UTC
We went from being a broke man,
To being a joke, man
From saling crack in the music,
To being a coke stand.
We went from being a nobody,
To being the president,
We went from being in poverty,
To owning 6 residents
We went from being in war with others
To being in war with one another.
From fighting knuckleheads in the streets
To fighting our own brothers.
We went from making life longer,
to influencing it to be shorter,
From following our own guidelines
To being everyday transformers.
Mar 22, 2010
Mar 22, 2010 at 9:47 PM UTC
*Snow Falling On Cedars
The Dream: Death 1
snow, falling on Cedars,
soft and gentle,
is like your whisper’d breath
spoken in silent wisps
of warmth felt seductively
on my ears.
Each flake
a kiss,
a thought
of lavender
and honey’d dew drops
caressing my lips.
It’s a sensual touch
the way my face
curves into your fingers;
into the smile
of your eyes
finding the sparkle of mine.
The Reality: Death 2
snow falling on Cedars
is a Winter’s kiss;
the emptiness of white,
of hard pack’d earth
and its message of death.
Your fingers are cold,
your lips frozen, lifeless
and wrinkl’d with the too sweet
taste of rancid fruit.
It is a brittle, cruel love
that mingles in this wasteland,
infecting
and influencing hope
and the dreams of light
with the bleak melancholy of despair.
The Finale:
snow falling on Cedars,
the darkness of vengeful breath
covers everything with the
emptiness of white;
softly
gently
like whispers of silent death.
Aztec Warrior/redzone 8.13.16*
Aug 14, 2016
Aug 14, 2016 at 8:08 AM UTC
I am alive & just barely;
my throat is closing off
with hard, precious cancer eggs
tucked safely where my tonsils
are supposed to sit.
my fingernails this lovely
shade of purple, a deeply
blueish tint influencing them
almost indigo. They tattle,
silently proclaim my complacent
malnutrition. the moons of my manicure
have sunk backwards, eve
returns to dusk, my favorite
time of day, where the quiet
begins, the candle may be lit,
& the eyes I always feel on me
are at least shadowed from my vision.
the coffee is so black
pulsing through my shrunken veins
that my tears are caffeinated.
even when I don't hold a cigarette,
I see the smoke under my breath.
my hands & feet are always cold,
my muscles tremble & I swoon
when we try to stand strong together.
there is turmoil
constant static
in the fissures of the grey matter.
well? tell me! does it really matter?
my bones ache
my face breaks
oh, this Exist Contemplate.
my government has always
been corrupt; the city walls
are finally wearing, having
borne the onslaught for decade
& decade. oh, the Burn & Blister.
I crawl to my coffin without your permission;
Where are you, my Handsome Benediction?
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 7:51 PM UTC
Uhh..God bless all the real ones mane..
ONLY FOR THE REAL ENTERTAINMENT..
Aye (I'm pimping3)..pimping..Uhh,Yeah..(I'm pimping4)..(pimping..I'm pimping..I'm pimping*3)..Uhh,Aye
..(I'm pimping4)..Yeah mane..Uhh..(I'm pimping3)..pimping,..
Young Ston..Only For The Real mane,..Yeah
(I'm pimping*4)..pimping
/(I'm pimping2)...the industry like Bishop Don Juan mane,Yeah/2
Yeah,..(I'm pimping3)..like the bishop....Yeah mane..(I'm pimping3)..pimping, like Bishop Don Juan homie..Yeah, I'm pimping the industry, they ain't gone play me..(I'm pimping2)..like the Bishop.. (I'm pimping2)...like Fifty..(I'm pimping2)..the industry just like Don Juan mane, (Aye Yeah I'm pimping3)..I'm..(pimping2)..like Kat Williams....,Yeah mane,aye..(I'm pimping2)..Yeah mane..Aye
Ain't nobody gone play me, they better not even try to homie, **** I'm way smarter than what I look like mane, I'm too wise to be another industry puppet aye..ain't nobody around me, ******* **** or falling in the white mans society trap..We all surpassing the **** ****
/yeah..(I'm pimping3)/2
Like Bishop Don Juan my *****
/yeah..(I'm pimping3)/2
Like Fiffty..
I **** so hard, like DJay.., I'm the Mack mane call me Goldie.., no free me, because I'm never getting caught homie, I'm dodging the police..like, El Chapo mane.. **** the laws homie.Imma **** my nig..dawg..I grew so fast at a very young age,shit I had to why wait...Yeah I had to get my **** together sooner than later mane. No more kidding around homie,..Aye, I wanted to put all of my depression under my feet so I could get my mind right mane, so I started smoking the pacc at 15 mane, I was kinda going down the wrong street, God had to correct me, Thank you so much Heavenly Father, you always pleases me..Ayo..
I'm pimping the industry like Bishop Don Juan mane..Aye..
Aye (I'm pimping3)..pimping..Uhh,Yeah..(I'm pimping4)..(pimping..I'm pimping..I'm pimping*3)..Uhh,Aye..Yeah
(I'm pimping*4)..pimping
/(I'm pimping2)...the industry like Bishop Don Juan mane,Yeah/2
Yeah,..(I'm pimping3)..like the bishop....Yeah mane..(I'm pimping3)..pimping, like Bishop Don Juan homie..Yeah, I'm pimping the industry, they ain't gone play me..(I'm pimping2)..like the Bishop.. (I'm pimping2)...like Fiffty..(I'm pimping2)..the industry just like Don Juan mane, (Aye Yeah I'm pimping3)..I'm..(pimping2)..like Kat Williams....,Yeah mane,aye..(I'm pimping2)..Yeah mane..Aye
Yeah.., I'm pimping the game, while these other musicians too ***** & afraid to spit the truth mane, but not me homie, its my job to let my ****** know whats real, instead of influencing them in a back of a hearse man, Yeah..
Im feeding yall ****** life instead of death, so listen clearly,.. Yeah ***** I'm preaching , Yeah I'm preaching (Yeah*2)..Only The Holy Spirit coming through me..Only wisdom coming, outta my mouth mane,..,Im blessing the street ****** with knowledge, Aye.Yeah..
OFTR no false claiming my gang or you will get delt wit discreetly mane, if you know what that mean, just stay lo key away from me.
..Yeah OFTR,.
I does this for my family, we standing tall against, Satan Yeah..(I'm pimping*3)..pimping.. Like Kat Williams..Aye,
Yeah..I'm pimping the industry like Bishop Don Juan mane..(Yeah*2)...
I'm pimping.. Uhh, This is my story,..,show & tell, so I'm only telling yall real shit..let's get it man..Yeah..Aye..
I'm pimping...
Dec 28, 2015
Dec 28, 2015 at 1:05 PM UTC
it's so beautiful
********
it's a heartless ***** that luminates the dark sky as dreamers lie to themselves
romanticizing and influencing young everywhere to love dream and hope alike, when it stalks upon the sun.
despite all this,
the red on your white pants
makes humiliation sound a lot better than the repulsion of a custodian finding a used **** pad, soaked in red
clogging up the toilet.
dear.
it's a ****** that flaunts upon it's charms
while lingers in the blue sky staring up at the sun.
the red in the sun,
burns eyes so that the neurons in the optic nerve
die and somehow gives you a miraculous squint
but it's far more better than the repulsion of the custodian finding "lady" napkins clogging the toilet hole.
dear.
someone's always got to be a custodian don't they?
Dec 28, 2012
Dec 28, 2012 at 1:48 AM UTC
Right food forward, left follows
Forth by the gravitational pull of his electric eyes
Like a magnetic force
Drawing me in, attracting me,
Influencing my strings, convincing me
I am still the puppeteer.
My hand slips away from the grasp of my rules
It has become busy
Tangled within bows and gift wrappings
First, my tongue.
It parts my lips, drools at the gleam of the sharp blade,
Then, communication falls.
Second, my ripe cherry of purity.
Naked. Peeled. Devoured.
Finally, the puppeteer demands
Take a sledge hammer to the wall.
Reveal the heart once and for all.
Tear it out. Gift wrap it.
Into the emptiness I plummet
Down into the bowel, through the stomach
****** awake by the sinking feeling
Empty room, all truth revealing
Right foot forward, left follows
Forth by the gravitational pull
left by his hollows
Body trapped in in the lingerings of his magnetic field
His electric gaze the portal
Storing the Love Comedy wielded in Horror
Tear out your heart. Gift wrap it.
Place it into his arms
Watch him drop it.
Mouth gaping. No tongue to speak.
Just eyes watching, from above to the side
Out of body out of my mind
I am the puppeteer who tore out my heart
Gift wrapped it with bows
Hypnotically placed it in his arms of doubt
He dropped it.
Severing me from the gravitational pull
Awakening me from my trance to witness
My heart there
Pulsating
Against the cold. Concrete. Floor.
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 9:32 PM UTC
"Every time I look into a mirror I see the eyes of the devil".
The perpetual flame of life
A new dawn, an enlightening dusk;
The translucent sun
The convection of eternity,
Abysmal adversary,
The convocation of co-eternal legions!
''Every time I cry I see the face of God".
Influencing twilights perfection,
Hells paradise devouring
The ardent fervour of the carmine flame
Piercing the atmosphere,
Constantly tantalising the air- fuelling.
The forests engulfed, bellowing from the apse shaped canopies
Violet blue threads of of ribbon;
Wofting unto nothingness
Vapourising smoke.
Natures delightful beauty, casting a shadow
The conflagration immanently consuming lands;
Raging across the earth
Dehydrated and scorched.
Baptismal tears vanquishing the fire,
Heavens standing ovation, applauding
A contained flame,
The sound of rain the fires lamentation.
1997 ELEETE J MUIR
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 12:38 PM UTC
Remembering how things went the moment we first talk.
It really was hard as challenge for me to look.
It’s because I’m that shy-type at first time.
And because you’re mesmerizing, like star in darkness that shines.
You are known for having an encouraging smile.
The way you look, it’s like perfection to human kind.
Whenever you are around, it feels like there’s heaven in land.
You are a fairy and your voice is your significant wand.
You are like Artemis, the goddess of the hunt;
For it’s like you have this invisible bow and arrow on your hands.
You’re a woman who is brave and a fighter, ready for battle;
And in competitions, I salute you for going home as the winner.
In terms of inspiration, intelligence, courage and wisdom;
You are like Athena, the goddess of these things in one.
By simply listening to your influencing words, there is wisdom.
You inspire people; encourage them to be better the next time.
Beauty is always attached to your name clearly.
And love is always defined with your personality.
You’re a woman of caring a heart which is a nurse thingy.
That is why among the Greek goddesses, I want you as Aphrodite.
As how you sway your hair when you walk until it went messy;
As how mesmerizing your eyes whenever you talk, you’re just so pretty;
As how soft-hearted you are even if you talk frankly,
You should know that you deserve a crowd that applause for you dearly.
© Quenniebells, 2015
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 9:59 PM UTC
םתוח
השׂטן
and i thought that ancient egyptian
was retarted...
looks like there's a contender!
hebrew!
this language doens't know left
from right, or up from down...
hebrew is, by html encoding... a dodo project!
it's retarted!
hebrew can't survive in the html age...
it's retarudus proximus!
oh, you think arabic is any better?
don't think semites should
be laughing at this point...
trying to write hebrew script is like
juggling pineapples...
what does it say?
the seal of satan... satan?
well that implies guardian
of the tetragrammaton...
i still agree hebrew evolved from
ancient egyptian script...
but hebrew wasn't used in writing
html or any other computing script...
that's why it's so retarted when trying
to write it in html mode...
nope, can't convince me...
you can't really write hebrew in html mode...
i call this the extinction precipice...
if this ****** is going to keep up
its copernican acid tripping not knowing
left from right...
might as well leave it at the roman
long-handshake... where hands
don't actually touch, but hands touch
nearing the elbow... namely
forearm-grip.
as the original stated:
the smaller the audience: the greater span of historical worth, and desire to upkeep: that pangloss citation from voltaire's candide: better us tending to our own conerns, that bother ourselves with the concerns of others.
oh, i know what a small audience implies...
didn't christ have only the 12,
didn't pythagoras only have the approx. 30?
there's something quite telling
about a small audience...
not exactly cultish...
but something beyond the realm
of influencing people within a single
lifetime...
take en sabah nur and his 4:
oh come on... rewrite tolstoy's
war & peace in a comic form:
just to ease the gates for poets,
and leave barren, the boring narrator...
let's keep it at just that:
there's something telling about a small
audience...
look at the 1 and the 12,
and now look at the billionth marker -
funny, isn't it?
what am i claiming though?
ah, that's simple, that's a revival of
"judaism" - i say "judaism" because
i am the one ordained with neither prophecy
or anything worth mastering:
i am the guardian of the tetragrammaton...
and sure, the god within the confines of
philosophy has to necessarily not exist...
but?
well... you can't really evaporate
the tetragrammaton out of existence!
whenever the right time comes,
i loose the title: chief prosecutor, and become
chief defendant.
Jul 25, 2017
Jul 25, 2017 at 8:53 PM UTC
Logical doesn’t have taste. It has circumstance. Only to be tasteful, is to be surrounded by a taste of what gradually makes a self importance greater to yourself. Proudly underestimating yourself at first. Giving closure to the surrounding areas. Taste has no boundaries here. A made-up friction. A made-up functionality. A dripping faucet without clarity. Dripping one social taste at any given time. Clarity giving rise to the surrounding areas with logical ingredients. Logical ingredients slapping taste buds without concern for logical praise. Logical praise that doubts it’s understanding of taste buds giving praise to ingredients without concern for how praise will affect it’s priorities. Priorities finishing the diversity of something logical with a taste. The taste buds feeling the diversities finalizing ingredients in their rightful places. Like shiny white plates on display for the crowd of praises effecting one’s own priorities. Teeth whitening the taste buds for greater effect. Praises finally giving the logical praise the taste it deserves. More surrounding areas include a broader crowd. A newer logical taste starts to emerge in the practice of ingredients giving logical praise to the logical priorities that govern it so. Praise from newer surroundings influencing more ingredients in the form of logical taste. More taste buds start feeling the diversities in the praise which salivates the practice of logical assessments. A reverse act giving rise to a simplified logical taste without boundaries.
Oct 27, 2019
Oct 27, 2019 at 9:55 PM UTC
FLAMES from furious friends fighting ferocious fears, forever forging faithful fellowship.
INCESSANTLY incinerating iniquity in inner-selves. Ineffably influencing introspective introverts.
RISING rapidly.
radically rupturing rectitude rampantly, ravaging rancour.
ENDLESSLY eclipsing earthly ecstacy.
Eliciting elation.
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 2:32 PM UTC
A young man
Uncertain of his talents
Seeking glory in former poems
Scared of failing his own expectations
The hardest critics, given by himself
Afraid of lacking quality in midst spotlight
He can't meet up to his former pieces
New poems remain unpublished
Uncertainty
Detaining him from creation
Letters remain unaligned clusters
Wasted potential all along
If only he was more confident
To search that spotlight once again
Maybe he could be an impact at last
Influencing other poets
Jul 10, 2016
Jul 10, 2016 at 4:05 PM UTC
We're all on the path
to self discovery
whether we're aware of it or not
Each day
brings forth
new lessons, new teachers, new light
It's up to us whether we
learn our lessons and pass our tests
and
It's up to us whether
we relearn the same lesson
again and again and again
disillusioned and hopeless
Alas!
there is no need to search anymore
for the "Guru"
the all knowing, all wise teacher of teachers
Every person, rock, tree and sea
that you see and pass by
has within them the knowledge
that you seek
You too, young, lost soul, are a Guru
blindly following your own path
influencing all that you encounter
teaching others
with open ears and eyes
all they need to know
about themselves,
the universe,
life,
unaware or not
A teacher you are
A Guru.
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 6:27 PM UTC