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Cecil Miller Jul 2016
Regardless of my reagal remonstration, I remain a regular rodent in a rig.
My dearest Mrs. Trump,
THIS is how you rip-off another writer.
AmbientThought Jun 2017
A literate in a little nation
Likes to play with literation
And can add alliteration
To send along a fun sensation
And maybe make you misspeak ration?
Mitchell Mar 2011
A breeze above me made me look west
For a thought inside me
Nearly made me out right lie

No there's nothing in a place where there is no space
A whisper in the deepest mine
Will always find a way to never be fine

Currents in me push me this way and that
Towards a far away place
That I know not where or how

There's got to be answers in this maze of sewers
No man could ever walk for so long
A soul struck out and so far gone

Friends that smiled now seem to be frowning
A brow that wrinkled happily
Now seems to be questioning which way to see

Could this be it for a world innocently entered?
I feel so old nowadays,
There just doesn't seem to be any other way

I've got money in the bank all nickels, dollars and dimes
But I can't face the dearest fact
That I can't bear knowledge of our last act

Were twirling in age away from the human race
A place that we've never entered
Supposed hopeful face but seemingly true disgrace

Rippling brook has already told the twang of time
To minds that I can only read in solitude
And believe to myself I am not being rude

Where former governor's preached their worthiness
Men stand tall in digital bathroom stalls
Praying to themselves they'll fit that angelic bill

Oh worthiness of an ear I see everyday but cannot speak
Listen to these words and never to me
A broken down boy serving greenery soy

There's beauty on this Earth that may perish in a wink
And the only thing I'll be able to think
Is how I wished I cold have another blink

Understanding these mysteries of monotony
I read through periodicals of dianetic catastrophe
Full of high diluting false propheicies

A literation in a literate mountain that gave us our language
As well as the gull that has always had its own goal
Pretty petite Mr. Sweet sweeps

Times of our supposed ours is no longer ours
Caught up in an act of a 1984 trip
Lost in the final act of a weighty invisible feat.

Lo' and Behold bellowed the man acting mellow
We are the warriors our brothers will write about
So look alert, hold no smirk, and as always, look together

— The End —