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The Second Daniel, thought to overcome
Four more Visions conjured out of his Wand
Without reply does he renounce his Sum,
Later added Better Digits on hand
Mindly notice how this Social Train plays
Slowly taking Commuters off the Tracks
Which this Conductor sadly he displays
And the Tickets he hoped he would get back
You were not the First. This I can assure
But Sincerity a Note only you choose
This Soul, called Will, independent from cure
Balanced on Scales gives your Career a Boost.
If Reason be Creed, then Failure is Heart
Sir, not all Jewels you can just Compart.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
I am a poet.
I am an artist.
A lover of words, a shaper of thoughts, a master of feelings;
A player of emotions, a speaker of charms, a thinker of minds.
A giver of taste-and at times, a succulent creator of madness.
Madness outside such lines of timid regularity;
The rules of the common, and the inane believers of sanity.
For to me, sanity is as easy as insanity itself-
On which my life feedeth, and boldly moveth on;
And without insanity, t'ere shan't be either joy-or ecstasy;
As how ecstasy itself, in my mind, is defined by averted uneasiness,
And t'at easiness, reader, is not by any means part of;
And forever detached from, the haunting deities of contemporaneity.
Thus easily, artistry consumeth and spilleth my blood-and my whole entity;
Words floweth in my lungs, mastereth my mind, shapeth my own breath.
And sometimes, I breathest within those words themselves;
And declareth my purity within which, feeleth rejection at whose loss;
Like a princess storming about hysterically at the failure of her roses.
Ah! Poetry! The second lover of my life; the delicacy of my veins.
And I loveth, I doth love-sacredly, intensely, and expressively, all of which;
I loveth poetry as I desire my own breath, and how I loveth the muchness of my fellow nature;
Whose crazes sometimes surroundeth us like our dear lake nearby;
With its souls roaming about with water, t'at chokes and gurgles-
As stray winds collapseth around and strikest a war with which.
And most of the year-I am a star, to my own skies;
But by whose side a moon, to my rainless nights;
On the whole, I am an umbrella to my soul;
So t'at it groweth bitter not, even when t'ere is no imminent rain;
And be its savior, when all is unsaved, and everything else writhest in pain.

Thus I loveth poetry as well as I loveth my dreams;
I am a painter of such scenic phrases, whose miracles bloometh
Next to thunderstorms, and yon subsequent spirited moonbeam.
And t'eir fate is awesome and elegant within my hands;
They oft' sleep placidly against my thumbs;
Asking me, with soft-and decorous breath;
To be stroked by my enigmatic fingers;
And to calm t'eir underestimated literariness, by such ungodly beings, out t'ere.
Ah, poor-poor creatures-what a fiend wouldst but do t'is to aggravate 'em!
As above all, I feeleth but extremely eager about miracles themselves;
and duly witness, my reader-t'at t'is very eagerness shall never be corrupted;
Just as how I am a pure enthusiast of love;
And in my enthusiasm, I shareth love of both men and nature;
And dark sorrows and tears t'at oft' shadowest t'eir decent composures.
When I thirstest for touches, I simply writest 'em down;
When I am hungry for caresses, I tendeth to think them out;
I detailest everything auspiciously, until my surprised conscience cannot help but feeling tired;
But still, the love of thee, poetry, shall outwit me, and despise me deeply-
Should I find not the root, within myself, to challenge and accomplish it, accordingly.
I shall be my own jealousy, and my own failure;
Who to whose private breath feeleth even unsure.
I shall feel scarce, and altogether empty;
I shall have no more essence to be admired;
For everything shall wither within me, and leave me to no energy;
And with my conscience betrayed, I shall face my demise with a heart so despaired.
Ah, my poetry is but my everything!
'Tis my undying wave; and the casual, though perhaps unnatural;
the brother of my own soul, on whose shoulders I placeth my longings;
And on whose mouths I lieth my long-lost kisses!
Ah, how I loveth poetry hideously, but awesomely, thereof!
I loveth poetry greatly-within and outside of my own roof;
And I carest not for others' mock idyll, and adamant reproof;
For I loveth poetry as how as I respectest, and idoliseth love itself;
And when I idoliseth affection, perhaps I shall grow, briefly, into a normal human being-
A real, real human being with curdling weights of unpoetic feelings;
I shall whisper into my ears every intractable falsehood, but the customary normalcy-of creation;
And brash, brash emptiness whom my creative brains canst no longer bear!
Ah, dearest, loveliest poetry, but shall I love him?
Ah-the one whose sighs and shortcomings oft' startlest my dreams;
The one whom I oft' pictureth, and craftest like an insolent statue-
Within my morning colours, and about my petulant midnight hue?
Or, poetry, and tellest me, tellest me-whether needst I to love him more-
The one whose vice was my past-but now wishes to be my virtue,
And t'is time an amiably sober virtue-with eyes so blue and sparkling smiles so true?
Ah, poetry, tellest me, tellest me here-without delay!
In my oneness, thou shalt be my triumph, and everlasting astonishment;
Worthy of my praise and established tightness of endorsement;
But in any doubleness of my life-thou shalt be my saviour, and prompt avidity-
When all but strugglest against their trances, or even falleth silent.
Ah, poetry, thou art the symbol of my virtue thyself;
And thy little soul is my tongue;
A midnight read I hath been composing dearly all along;
My morn play, anecdote, and yet my most captivating song.

I thirstest for thee regularly, and longeth for thee every single day;
I am dead when I hath not words, nor any glittering odes in my mouth to say.
Thou art my immensity, in which everything is gullible, but truth;
And all remarks are bright-though with multiple souls, and roots;
Ah, poetry, in every summer, thou art the adored timeless foliage;
With humorous beauty, and a most intensive sacrifice no other trees canst take!
O poetry, and thy absence-I shall be dead like those others;
I shall be robbed, I shall be like a walking ghost;
I hath no more cores, nor cheers-within me, and shall wander about aimlessly, and feel lost;
Everything shall be blackened, and seen with malicious degrees of absurdity;
I shall be like those who, as days pass, bloometh with no advanced profusion,
And entertaineth their sad souls with no abundant intention!
How precarious, and notorious-shall I look, indeed!
For I shall hath no gravity-nor any sense of, or taste-for glory;
My mind shall be its own corpse, and look but grey;
Grey as if paled seriously by the passage of time;
Grey as if turned mercilessly so-by nothing sublime;
Ah, but in truth-grey over its stolen life, over its stolen breath!
I shall become such greyness, o poetry, over the loss of thee;
And treadeth around like them, whose minds are blocked-by monetary thickness;
A desire for meaningless muchness, and pretentious satire exchanged '**** 'emselves;
I shall be like 'em-who are blind to even t'eir own brutal longings!
Ah, t'ose, whose paths are threatened by avid seriousness;
And adverse tides of ambition, and incomprehensible austerity;
Ah, for to me glory is not eternal, glory is not superb;
For eternity is what matterest most, and t'at relieth not within any absence of serenity.
Ah, but sadly they realiseth, realiseth it not!
For they are never alive themselves, nor prone-to any living realisation;
And termed only by the solemnity of desire, wealthiness, and hovering accusations;
For they breathe within their private-ye' voluptuous, malice, and unabashed prejudice,
For they hath no comprehension; as they hath not even the most barren bliss!
And I wantest not to be any of them, for being such is entirely gruesome;
And I shall die of loneliness, I shall die of feasting on no mindly outcome;
For nothing more shall be fragrant within my torpid soul;
And hath courage not shall I, to fight against any fishy and foul.
My fate is tranquil, and 'tis, indeed-to be a poet;
A poet whenst society is mute, I shall speak out loud;
And whenst humanity is asleep, I wake 't with my shouts;
Ah, poetry! Thy ****** little soul is but everything to me;
And even in my future wifery, I shall still care for, and recur to thee;
And I shall devote myself to thee, and cherish thee more;
Thou hath captured me with love; and such a love is, indeed, like never before.

But too I loveth him still, as every day rises-
When the sun reappeareth, and hazy clouds are again woken so they canst praise the skies.
I loveth him, as sunrays alight our country suburbs;
With a love so wondrous; a love but at times-too ardent and superb.
Ah, and thus tellest me-tellest me once more!
To whose heart shall I benignly succumb, and trust my maidenhood?
To whose soul shall I courteously bow, and be tied-at th' end of my womanhood?
Ah, poetry, I am but now clueless, and thoroughly speechless-about my own love!
Ah, dearest-t'is time but be friendly to me, and award to me a clue!
Lendeth to me thy very genial comprehension, and merit;
Openeth my heart with thy grace, and unmistakable wit!
Drowneth me once more into thy reveries of dreams;
And finally, just finally-burstest my eyes now open, maketh me with clarity see him!

Ah, poetry, t'ose rainbows of thine-are definitely too remarkable;
As how t'ose red lips of thine adore me, and termeth me kindly, as reliable;
And thus I shall rely all my reality on thy very shoulder;
Bless me with the holiness confidentiality, and untamed ****** intelligence;
Maketh me enliven my words with love, and the healthiest, and loveliest, of allegiance.
Bless me with the flavoured showers of thy heart;
So everything foreign canst but be comely-and familiar;
And from whose verdure, and growth-I shall ne'er be apart!
And as t'is happens, holdest my hand tightly-and clutchest at my heart dearly;
Keepest me but safe here, and reachest my breath, securely!
Ah, poetry-be with me, be with me always!
Maketh me even lovelier, and loyal-to my religion;
In my daily taste-and hastes, and all these supreme oddities and evenness of life;
Maketh me but thoughtful, cheerful, and naive;
And in silence maketh me stay civil-but for my years to come;
and similarly helpeth my devotion, taste, and creativity, remain alive.

Ah, poetry, thus I shall be awake in both thy daylight, and slumbers;
And as thou shineth, I knoweth that my dreams shall never fade away;
Once more, I might have gone mad, but still-all the way better;
And whenst I am once more conscious; thou shalt be my darling;
who firmly and genuinely beggeth me t' keep writing, and in the end, beggeth me t' stay.
Leave me not, even whenst days grew dark-and lighted were only my abyss;
Invite my joy, and devour every bit of it-as one thou should neither ignore, or miss.
Keith Ren Sep 2010
The bumblejunk doorhinge,
The greets labeled orange,
The smart-flats and bungalow'd keens.

I want you for waiting.
My trip-stick is failing.
We settle for high in-betweens.

I know not this purpose,
My heart fakes for circus.
My napsack is packed full of liens.

I fluster the roundings,
And muse over drownings. I
Limp on my confusiest things.
if you have to ask,
i can't afford it
Nico Bee Aug 2012
For I to cherish soaked in sunbathe dream of freckles on cream and strawberries
For you to see and sigh and fill with warm fizzy pink water too sweet to contemplate 
For you to see and sigh and long for long sleeved sheathed in jealousy spilling out in bright red syrup

For I to paint faces with my utterances fanciful making ugly alluring curious mysterious attractive

I can take my nose to be strength clever seducting wicked men and women to listen to my describes or look upon papyrus sheets

I can make my jaw a naive child stricken with blue veins translucent skin clinging papery like wings to brittle bones under eaves ready to snap

I can write my eyes wide innocent in first time headlights first time frosted firsts filled with empty antecedents of unclasped things and fifty fifty longings

I can make the ugly striking like a stinging snake cruel contemplating lashing smarts or make it sad sorrowful quiet longing new to life love mature but still a child

I can add grace poise to my stretched out neck make it stand tall of pride training because it's ladylike to do so and so I must and say my prayers every night too as I powder over my faintly drawn freckles

Boyish humour uncaring to my generous brows a baseball mitt bubblegum cards and a fetish for goths forever unrecognised as spit flies and at home haircuts compose a flyaway life

Embellish the hollows collarbones and detract the too-broad shoulders make the frailty proud and small shrink it down to fit in a girl big brothers to gentle and lovers to rough pinned wrists that near snap

With my words I reap the benefits of my own mindly kindling I wander through half made times in history and finished times two seconds right now 

I can create myself and so I do my thirst to be is insatiably insatisfied like my attraction to bad grammar and lilts when you talk so I do I become each and every one 

I create myself and it's addicting
Bernardo Soares Sep 2013
Justify everything

Incentive

Suggestion

Birds sing

Bells ring

You win



Clarify nothing

Let them all walk blindly

And mindly slow

See all on show
When im gone, and no longer there to hold you when you crying.Maybe then you'll realize that you was the one lying,  and im done! don't bother even  trying.Rain of pain tears are falling,  and my heart is cold  your love is calling?
so I hang up!
cause your full of it, no more love falling, cause im through with it.

I could've been there as your man, but now thinking of it, I cant stand.
And as for this stranger in this strange land, this strange man, and this real man, will meet who is now a heartless dead man.
Only only one will be on his feet, and its this man.

but in the end!
Back to you, and how you did me wrong,I get it.
You played me the whole time, and in my presence you don't belong.
Now that the hand has turned, and my patience with you has been wasted.
time with you is gone,but theres a closure that I can never face it.

I cant believe it, how nieve I was!
Its the truth, your pathetic its pittyful too
and I regret it, all that i did for you.
Your no longer a memory or a fantasy.
What Ive made you is all deciessed-full,in my heart.
You an art that shouldnt live, be punished for what you did, and let me be once rewarded for all that I've give.

So I leave you this letter, more of a promiss.
That life could take better care of me rather than you, from what you promissed.
So lets be honest, you never had a thing for me, but I did for you.
Quess thats wasnt enough to keep me too.
So "bye bye!", Im tired! Im gone!
When you ask were I went,
just listen to this song.
My pain is written in these lines, now start reading!
If you really did care for me then make wounds in thought of me, and start bleeding.
So I can live off your pain, and laugh myself to sleep.
knowing your stupid, and deceitful actions lead you to lossing me.
You blame everything but yourself as if its not clear to see.
One will not prove there mistakes, but some are open spokenley.
And your not one.

I hope this letter rotts your insides,
make your eyes burn from tears as if it was from rays of the burning sun,
and let your lips dry.
Cause no one will ever kiss you like I will,
not no guy hunn!
The only real thing in your life has just been killed.
I bet your not thrilled, to see me smile, but behind it, its anger filled.
Im strong willed, but at times I cant help but think your heart was born still.
"Us" did happen too fast, now the thoughts of you is just those of my past.
I'll still keep you in my broken heart,suffocating in a caste.
So your love can die,
as I give you a taste of you own trash.
Let it known, my heart beats with no rhythm.
From what you said and what I've known baby your unforgiven. I.I know It wont hurt you as it hurts me, but I rather let you know, that I rather be thirsty than drink your love, why? because your cursed see?
you told me lies to hypnotized me, I saw love but I felt it blindly.
false image of love, is  what you remind me, and im this song, you play this, now rewind me.These lyrics are clear, like my head is now, open mindly.
Able to co-exist with my heart, now before I can love again I wouldn't have to tear it apart.

By:Emmanuel jv Hernandez
Created 12-10-11
pefected 2-22-12
Tu Anh Apr 2020
My thoughts went to you when i woke up this morning
I see your confusion, i see your mindly fight
I see you being in the midst
of finding purposes, of achieving peace for inner mind

You have walked half of your journey on this earth
You have traveled across the globe
You have read thousands of philosophy books
You made those decisions majority wouldn't dare to try

But right now you are at the point
Of experiencing another defeat
another grief
And with all the doubts, hatred rising inside
You felt like you are hopeless
And that time slipping through your fingers
And you have no energy to confine

I wonder what life wanted to tell you through all this
Maybe, its time to slow down?
To look deep inside and to go back
to find your inner child and reconcile?
For i think the root is self love
the only dose to heal broken pieces inside...
axstrohostonaut Jan 2020
The drums in my ears, the galloping of horses right behind my back,
I stand looking at the murky thick fog, with the word ringing in my ears, "Attack!"
I stand still, pondering of what to do and why,
Pondering in my head, why don't I just die…

The black hooded riders gallop on their horses right behind me,
There is a legion of them, thick as smoke with no hope of being free,
Ravens screech above my head, smoke pours from my head, back and shoulders,
I want to reach out, want to give up with this feeling of me being crushed by a million boulders…

My head drums, my temples throb, my vision goes blurry and hazy,
My eyes cloud with a murky green color of insaneness, I'm going crazy,
I grab my sharp big knife, and start to stroke it absent mindly,
Meanwhile, I struggle on, with the hooded riders behind my back whle I stumble on-ward blindly…

I still have hope in my heart, as my feet carry me,
I look at the dim pale objects of people, walking happily and free,
While I… stumble in this murky thick fog, and behind me there is hooded figures with their swords,
The numbers so many of them, it's like black thick smoke, except of the figures there is hordes and hordes and hordes………

I fall on my knees, stumbling over ****** grass,
I see holy-water ahead, but the smoke atop my head tells me to pass,
Falling on my face, I give up, breathing hard and almost dead,
I give my last efforts, when a figure gallops up to me on a stallion and with it's sword just cleanly slices off my head…

The blood paints the grass, as my hand is holding the knife,
The blade is stabbed deep inside my chest, taking away my life,
My eyes go pale and my body stays motionless, in a death-like freeze,
The fog clears, the figures disappears as the smoke gets blow away by the soft gentle breeze......







~Mishka Wayz~
(The fog is caused by my thinking vision, the hooded figures are dark thoughts and wishes, the smoke above my head is my depressions, the Holy water is a friend who will really care about me, the boulders are the bad things that I remember I did in the past, and the Ravens are tauntings from my low-self esteem self)
Dawnstar Apr 2020
ago in a forgotten land
there was a boy that dug the sand
who hoped to split earth like a knife
to reach the eastern sea of life

he toiled away for mindly things
and never wanted priceful rings
the grand bands grew, as he did too
while shade fell on the canned brook stew

at mattress bugs the teachers squinted
of rose and lime, their glasses glinted
they recognized by nose and ear
astute a student passèd here

but, tongue and teeth, head topped with heath
the singing sword had smith'd its sheath
and decked itself in a fanciful wreath

and down he went beneath the sand
and nevermore to surface land

— The End —