"oftenly" poems - Hello Poetry

"oftenly" poems

I'm an escapist Who indulge in escapism But no matter how far I run My demons, they take chase. Into the waters I hid Drowned by the sound of water pouring Yet they came to me In forms of crimson red Dripping as I slipped. So I went up high Onto the mountain top But they followed me up And made me want to fall. I couldn't bear it longer I dived deep into books Hoping words would bore them As they so oftenly do to plenty. It worked for a brief moment But they found the tiniest hole in my head During rests They race into me. It seems like no matter where I go Or what I do I can never shed them off. All I ever wanted Was to **** them all. But they seem to replenish twice the number Of the minute I've removed. I don't know what to do anymore Escaping no longer work. **I am an escapist Trying to escape escapism.** (c.c)

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Oct 6, 2013

Oct 6, 2013 at 11:20 AM UTC

certifiednutcase

I'm an escapist Who indulge in escapism But no matter how far I run My demons, they take chase. Into the waters I hid Drowned by the sound of water pouring Yet they came to me In forms of crimson red Dripping as I slipped. So I went up high Onto the mountain top But they followed me up And made me want to fall. I couldn't bear it longer I dived deep into books Hoping words would bore them As they so oftenly do to plenty. It worked for a brief moment But they found the tiniest hole in my head During rests They race into me. It seems like no matter where I go Or what I do I can never shed them off. All I ever wanted Was to **** them all. But they seem to replenish twice the number Of the minute I've removed. I don't know what to do anymore Escaping no longer work. **I am an escapist Trying to escape escapism.** (c.c)

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coffee house is a place where you doubtlessly see all the people being swept away in an invisible connection you can not see--sometimes, there are also some people who get caught in discussion and stuck by diffusion. the coffee that you drink often converts you its energy to analize your life's difficult problematics. coffee house is a place where you will genuinely feel sane if you see some people reading their own scripts or feel well-earned if you witness the self-interested people--where they hear their own tunes just for themselves, where they do not want to give you the same opportunity for joining them in thrilling your cochlear, even through the air filled with whiff of vapour. vapour which doesn't comprise the fumes of nicotine, but there is just a little amount of caffeine in its womb. however, vapour is vapour. it has its ability to serve you an effect to crave which oftenly makes yourself lose its excuse to refuse. coffee house, is a place for the people who are looking for identities. coffee house is made for the people who keep analizing the layer by layer of their lives, for the ones who keep hunting the nucleus of your providence's atom, for the people who keep ripping apart their particles. not dalton, neither rutherford, nor thomson, not even bohr, as the ones who might be able to serve you a soup of theory which if you eat it, you might be enlightened and your life might suddenly be well explained. the chaos of your life can not simply be explained that way. coffee house is a place where you will find the lonely people whose lives will always be tossed around, the people who keep glorifying the fumes of caffeine that can hit you back to the point where you can be boiled by new hopes. and it remains that way all the time. coffee house is a place for them who are hurt and diseased, but feel like hospitals are not the right house to canalize their moans. precisely, they will find their house here. in a coffee house, you will learn to be yourself, and you will never find the lesson at all schools. in a coffee house, you learn how to admit your predestination as the Audience of Lives. coffee house is a place where you will always find your own cinema seat. Stefan Sagala, February 4th 2017.

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Jun 26, 2017

Jun 26, 2017 at 1:35 AM UTC

coffee house is a place where you doubtlessly see all the people being swept away in an invisible connection you can not see--sometimes, there are also some people who get caught in discussion and stuck by diffusion. the coffee that you drink often converts you its energy to analize your life's difficult problematics. coffee house is a place where you will genuinely feel sane if you see some people reading their own scripts or feel well-earned if you witness the self-interested people--where they hear their own tunes just for themselves, where they do not want to give you the same opportunity for joining them in thrilling your cochlear, even through the air filled with whiff of vapour. vapour which doesn't comprise the fumes of nicotine, but there is just a little amount of caffeine in its womb. however, vapour is vapour. it has its ability to serve you an effect to crave which oftenly makes yourself lose its excuse to refuse. coffee house, is a place for the people who are looking for identities. coffee house is made for the people who keep analizing the layer by layer of their lives, for the ones who keep hunting the nucleus of your providence's atom, for the people who keep ripping apart their particles. not dalton, neither rutherford, nor thomson, not even bohr, as the ones who might be able to serve you a soup of theory which if you eat it, you might be enlightened and your life might suddenly be well explained. the chaos of your life can not simply be explained that way. coffee house is a place where you will find the lonely people whose lives will always be tossed around, the people who keep glorifying the fumes of caffeine that can hit you back to the point where you can be boiled by new hopes. and it remains that way all the time. coffee house is a place for them who are hurt and diseased, but feel like hospitals are not the right house to canalize their moans. precisely, they will find their house here. in a coffee house, you will learn to be yourself, and you will never find the lesson at all schools. in a coffee house, you learn how to admit your predestination as the Audience of Lives. coffee house is a place where you will always find your own cinema seat. Stefan Sagala, February 4th 2017.

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In a four wall room She feel so small She feel out of place Cant walk alone inside and roam Everytime she's alone Sitting and prentending is all she can do She sits like no one's there Pretending that she is okay Her mind overthinks oftenly slowly being eaten by all her insecurities Insecurities that she is so small And compare to others that she is too low

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Jan 29, 2018

Jan 29, 2018 at 10:23 PM UTC

In a four wall room She feel so small She feel out of place Cant walk alone inside and roam Everytime she's alone Sitting and prentending is all she can do She sits like no one's there Pretending that she is okay Her mind overthinks oftenly slowly being eaten by all her insecurities Insecurities that she is so small And compare to others that she is too low

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‘myopia,’ the doctor says as he hands me my new glasses with the brown plastic frames and the lens thick as the thick bottom of a glass I’ve been having more headaches lately and more oftenly dizzy in the same way I get after my first morning cigarette. ‘myopia,’ (noun), nearsightedness close objects look clear but distant objects not as much. close objects seen clearly but objects farther away appear blurred he explains further as i hand him the money and I get on my way home and I look at everything around me and these new glasses already feel like a scam. They’re sliding down my nose and I look at everything around me and they do look clearer but feel the same as before — a haze, a blur; indistinct shapes that I know well enough by their nature but not by meaning and I realize how you’re so far away, you’re so distant but of all the things I could claim to know you’re the clearest thing I’ve ever set sight on. I do not know if it’s just that image of you or my imagination that’s to blame for how vivid you have imprinted into the cloud that is my memory; burned into my mind. (I feel you burn like a fire in there, it hurts.) I push them up against my brow, these new glasses, doctors don’t really know anything at all.

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Jul 14, 2013

Jul 14, 2013 at 12:23 PM UTC

i would bribe your opthalmologist into ******* up your vision till u thought i was nice to look at

‘myopia,’ the doctor says as he hands me my new glasses with the brown plastic frames and the lens thick as the thick bottom of a glass I’ve been having more headaches lately and more oftenly dizzy in the same way I get after my first morning cigarette. ‘myopia,’ (noun), nearsightedness close objects look clear but distant objects not as much. close objects seen clearly but objects farther away appear blurred he explains further as i hand him the money and I get on my way home and I look at everything around me and these new glasses already feel like a scam. They’re sliding down my nose and I look at everything around me and they do look clearer but feel the same as before — a haze, a blur; indistinct shapes that I know well enough by their nature but not by meaning and I realize how you’re so far away, you’re so distant but of all the things I could claim to know you’re the clearest thing I’ve ever set sight on. I do not know if it’s just that image of you or my imagination that’s to blame for how vivid you have imprinted into the cloud that is my memory; burned into my mind. (I feel you burn like a fire in there, it hurts.) I push them up against my brow, these new glasses, doctors don’t really know anything at all.

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im scared. But "I know I will be okay... " (The quote that seems to make it all okay in the mind of Kimmy) the seconds till sun sets feels like a lifetime. I hear the whistle, but dont have that kick. I feel the pressure; but there's no release my break time, has turned into lunchtime and my style has changed from super so cal cute to what the **** am i doing out here? i seriously contimplate playing with death. i think to myself how id do it and what the aftermouth could be. its as if my skin is crawling with uncomfortableness. this city isnt for me. im not for me. i know who i am. what i enjoy. what is wrong and what is right. but oftenly enough, my behavior has trashed all previous teachings once learned. I cant take myself seriously i cant take life seriously. I am in a relationship that is remaining consistant because its one less thing to add to my table platter of life. sometimes i wish i could just walk away after being served, but it just doesnt work that w ay. I get that.

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Apr 21, 2011

Apr 21, 2011 at 4:58 PM UTC

punch me with poppys while sipping on tea.

im scared. But "I know I will be okay... " (The quote that seems to make it all okay in the mind of Kimmy) the seconds till sun sets feels like a lifetime. I hear the whistle, but dont have that kick. I feel the pressure; but there's no release my break time, has turned into lunchtime and my style has changed from super so cal cute to what the **** am i doing out here? i seriously contimplate playing with death. i think to myself how id do it and what the aftermouth could be. its as if my skin is crawling with uncomfortableness. this city isnt for me. im not for me. i know who i am. what i enjoy. what is wrong and what is right. but oftenly enough, my behavior has trashed all previous teachings once learned. I cant take myself seriously i cant take life seriously. I am in a relationship that is remaining consistant because its one less thing to add to my table platter of life. sometimes i wish i could just walk away after being served, but it just doesnt work that w ay. I get that.

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*Here's to folly, to the great valley called love Which reminded me of forever through imperfections, Hardships and disappointments, of falling deeply Into discovery from self-doubt, of reaching freedom, The bore of a goal like contentment. Here's to pain, the antithesis of the stars, Of pretensions and incompletion, the middleground Between the starts and the endings, the covert catalyst, The grand surrealist, as we dread to know The fullness of our sanity, of our souls, Our fragility, of our very being. Here's to the machinery, the agitation Called dreams, the sweet fog of distant memories, Or the dark smoke of passion sometimes, Cunning as ever, like a freight train, Like wind, like havoc, like thypoon, Oftenly deprived of conclusive destinations. Here's to art, drama and poetry, the mystics, The sons and daughters of the grand mystics, Of philosophy, science and religion, not to mention History, the grand infidel, and mythology, the fibber. Answers overwhelm us, test us, and divide us, They appear when we're most not ready, Yet the questions keep us sane, ever growing, Ever sun, ever moon and ever cloud. Only time will tell and would not, The old grey, the clear dark, the pale light, It never learned a language, It only learned to live, noticed But never quite understood. How diaphanous. How vague. So here's to the confusion, to the uncertainty Like love always has been. Here's to us, to our ambitions, Our possessions, the treasures which speak Permanence in our hearts. Here's to the violent, the meek and the indifferent. Here's to the society and the humanity That's left in it. Here's to those who hate me. Here's to our faith and our fate. Here's to the poems that will never be written again. Here's to you, my love, my true. May we stay kind, mad, and human, Or something more, whatever that means, Despite the opposition, and deception and progression. So here's to the Universe. Here's to the grand riddler called existence.* © 2015 J.S.P.

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Feb 21, 2015

Feb 21, 2015 at 11:00 PM UTC

*Here's to folly, to the great valley called love Which reminded me of forever through imperfections, Hardships and disappointments, of falling deeply Into discovery from self-doubt, of reaching freedom, The bore of a goal like contentment. Here's to pain, the antithesis of the stars, Of pretensions and incompletion, the middleground Between the starts and the endings, the covert catalyst, The grand surrealist, as we dread to know The fullness of our sanity, of our souls, Our fragility, of our very being. Here's to the machinery, the agitation Called dreams, the sweet fog of distant memories, Or the dark smoke of passion sometimes, Cunning as ever, like a freight train, Like wind, like havoc, like thypoon, Oftenly deprived of conclusive destinations. Here's to art, drama and poetry, the mystics, The sons and daughters of the grand mystics, Of philosophy, science and religion, not to mention History, the grand infidel, and mythology, the fibber. Answers overwhelm us, test us, and divide us, They appear when we're most not ready, Yet the questions keep us sane, ever growing, Ever sun, ever moon and ever cloud. Only time will tell and would not, The old grey, the clear dark, the pale light, It never learned a language, It only learned to live, noticed But never quite understood. How diaphanous. How vague. So here's to the confusion, to the uncertainty Like love always has been. Here's to us, to our ambitions, Our possessions, the treasures which speak Permanence in our hearts. Here's to the violent, the meek and the indifferent. Here's to the society and the humanity That's left in it. Here's to those who hate me. Here's to our faith and our fate. Here's to the poems that will never be written again. Here's to you, my love, my true. May we stay kind, mad, and human, Or something more, whatever that means, Despite the opposition, and deception and progression. So here's to the Universe. Here's to the grand riddler called existence.* © 2015 J.S.P.

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When they curse you And they blame you When they passively BOLDLY Begrudgingly Or in all other ways Attempt to shame you Into fleeing as if You have nothing to be And no reason to exist Or to write such things As these and this When they try And try And YOU find yourself Your world Suddenly spinning Upsidedown On brand a new axis It is then In that moment Of parry and precaution That you must decide How it is best to be How you currently see And can share such things Beneficial to those Who WILL always stray When you hoped they'd stay But as for me and my house We will ardently seek And oftenly pray To show kindness to those Who cannot For the truth of them Or the life of them Or for the anger they store inside of them BEGIN to see The ways in which That the sacrificial lamb Has blessed us all With this A BRAND NEW LIFE Within EACH DAY This my friends Is why I say Be strong in this And we'll walk that way

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Apr 6, 2018

Apr 6, 2018 at 3:37 PM UTC

Be Strong My Friends

When they curse you And they blame you When they passively BOLDLY Begrudgingly Or in all other ways Attempt to shame you Into fleeing as if You have nothing to be And no reason to exist Or to write such things As these and this When they try And try And YOU find yourself Your world Suddenly spinning Upsidedown On brand a new axis It is then In that moment Of parry and precaution That you must decide How it is best to be How you currently see And can share such things Beneficial to those Who WILL always stray When you hoped they'd stay But as for me and my house We will ardently seek And oftenly pray To show kindness to those Who cannot For the truth of them Or the life of them Or for the anger they store inside of them BEGIN to see The ways in which That the sacrificial lamb Has blessed us all With this A BRAND NEW LIFE Within EACH DAY This my friends Is why I say Be strong in this And we'll walk that way

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Once goodbye has been said, Leaving is often mistaken -- mistaken for being the hardest part. It's always been thought of that way, because it's oftenly associated with pain -- one that causes heartaches. But really, It's the easy part. The empty feeling is what gets to you. The space in your heart that's just empty -- Emptiness that wouldn't be fulfilled, Emptiness that will soon turn hollow.

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Jan 6, 2015

Jan 6, 2015 at 9:21 AM UTC

Once goodbye has been said, Leaving is often mistaken -- mistaken for being the hardest part. It's always been thought of that way, because it's oftenly associated with pain -- one that causes heartaches. But really, It's the easy part. The empty feeling is what gets to you. The space in your heart that's just empty -- Emptiness that wouldn't be fulfilled, Emptiness that will soon turn hollow.

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Oftenly a thought Strikes my mind Its better to be A Pornstar than a Poet really by name or fame! will excel a lot What would I get? Except criticisms & insults! A l'll shamelessness Can bring more prestige-Written on 13.07.2012,Friday

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Jul 15, 2016

Jul 15, 2016 at 2:55 PM UTC

gourab-banerjee

Oftenly a thought Strikes my mind Its better to be A Pornstar than a Poet really by name or fame! will excel a lot What would I get? Except criticisms & insults! A l'll shamelessness Can bring more prestige-Written on 13.07.2012,Friday

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Thou art not only more beauteous Than effulgent night stars in a cluster But thou art more pulchritudinous Than the beauty of queen Sirius's luster Every night whilst thou art sleeping Like a thief in the dead of night To thy slumber shade I come creeping As to feast about thee glowing so bright Sorry I am like lonely stars to the night I can't help it spying oftenly upon thee Just as an enemy keeps an eye to a knight Or like an apiarist to the honey of a bee Thus just like the morning dew to grass My heart doth crave thy magical touch Though to thee, I'm but not thy class A heart of mine you torch! ©Kikodinho Alexandros 27th August 2016

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Aug 27, 2016

Aug 27, 2016 at 3:01 PM UTC

KikodinhoAlexandros

A Heart Of Mine You Torch!

Thou art not only more beauteous Than effulgent night stars in a cluster But thou art more pulchritudinous Than the beauty of queen Sirius's luster Every night whilst thou art sleeping Like a thief in the dead of night To thy slumber shade I come creeping As to feast about thee glowing so bright Sorry I am like lonely stars to the night I can't help it spying oftenly upon thee Just as an enemy keeps an eye to a knight Or like an apiarist to the honey of a bee Thus just like the morning dew to grass My heart doth crave thy magical touch Though to thee, I'm but not thy class A heart of mine you torch! ©Kikodinho Alexandros 27th August 2016

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Can be good, can be bad But oftenly sad. A past we once had, A time I can't bring back. Your voice keep ringing in my head, When will this ever end? Is this what I get? For loving you till the end... I trusted you, I thaught you were true... Why didn't I saw through, Your love that is too few. Oh how silly For you I still worry Burden I no longer carry But my chest is still heavy. Everything I see Reminds me of what we used to be Still hoping for you to be with me Even knowing it could never be. I've been so depressed This must be the greatest Putting my sanity into test I hope it will be less.

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Feb 20, 2018

Feb 20, 2018 at 8:34 AM UTC

Hurtful Memories

Can be good, can be bad But oftenly sad. A past we once had, A time I can't bring back. Your voice keep ringing in my head, When will this ever end? Is this what I get? For loving you till the end... I trusted you, I thaught you were true... Why didn't I saw through, Your love that is too few. Oh how silly For you I still worry Burden I no longer carry But my chest is still heavy. Everything I see Reminds me of what we used to be Still hoping for you to be with me Even knowing it could never be. I've been so depressed This must be the greatest Putting my sanity into test I hope it will be less.

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Can I tell you a secret? I'm a liar. Why am I telling you this? It's just easier to tell strangers the truth, Than people close to you because, They don't ask questions, They just nod their head and keep to themselves their suggestions. Why am I telling you this? I just openly admitted to all of you that I'm a liar, So it's hard for you to think about these things if I'm telling the truth or not, So what's the point of all this if I'm just lying to your faces. Well ladies and gentlemen I'm just pouring the brandy to your glasses, As I intoxicate you more with the lies that my sugarcoated lips can say, An average person is lied to 200 times a day, The most oftenly used lie are the words, "I'm okay." Like when my mom asked me when my eyes all rubbed out from crying too much, Or that time when I looked myself in the mirror and had to tell myself that lie over and over again just to get myself through the day. With that being said I need to tell you one more thing, My backyard is filled with skeletons of people that I have buried and skinned, I keep their skins in my closet so I have one for every occassion. I keep so many of them that who I really am just got lost within the confines of my closet. I have worn so many that I have already been so comfortable in each and everyone of them, I wear them so often that I have gotten so good at pretending to be someone else, I have gotten so atuned to it that no one can tell that I'm lying, That's why no one's chasing me around with matches threatening to set my pants on fire. If I gave you a tour of my closet you'd see all the skins I wear as suits and it wouldn't surprise you, That who's infront of you right now is just another one I wore for this occassion to fool you, Then you'd see all the things I've been trying to hide, I have gotten so good at it that I'm starting to believe in it myself, I am starting to believe that I am those people, That I am okay, that I am fine, that I didn't mean to lie but, I just had to for the greater good, I convince myself that I'm doing what's right when the truth is I don't know what it is I'm doing, So yes, I am a liar, I admit to it. But what I'm asking you is please, Help me. Help me find out the truth, Because I have gotten so good at lying that, I ask myself "who am I?"

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Mar 25, 2016

Mar 25, 2016 at 3:01 PM UTC

ace-jhan-de-vera

Can I tell you a secret? I'm a liar. Why am I telling you this? It's just easier to tell strangers the truth, Than people close to you because, They don't ask questions, They just nod their head and keep to themselves their suggestions. Why am I telling you this? I just openly admitted to all of you that I'm a liar, So it's hard for you to think about these things if I'm telling the truth or not, So what's the point of all this if I'm just lying to your faces. Well ladies and gentlemen I'm just pouring the brandy to your glasses, As I intoxicate you more with the lies that my sugarcoated lips can say, An average person is lied to 200 times a day, The most oftenly used lie are the words, "I'm okay." Like when my mom asked me when my eyes all rubbed out from crying too much, Or that time when I looked myself in the mirror and had to tell myself that lie over and over again just to get myself through the day. With that being said I need to tell you one more thing, My backyard is filled with skeletons of people that I have buried and skinned, I keep their skins in my closet so I have one for every occassion. I keep so many of them that who I really am just got lost within the confines of my closet. I have worn so many that I have already been so comfortable in each and everyone of them, I wear them so often that I have gotten so good at pretending to be someone else, I have gotten so atuned to it that no one can tell that I'm lying, That's why no one's chasing me around with matches threatening to set my pants on fire. If I gave you a tour of my closet you'd see all the skins I wear as suits and it wouldn't surprise you, That who's infront of you right now is just another one I wore for this occassion to fool you, Then you'd see all the things I've been trying to hide, I have gotten so good at it that I'm starting to believe in it myself, I am starting to believe that I am those people, That I am okay, that I am fine, that I didn't mean to lie but, I just had to for the greater good, I convince myself that I'm doing what's right when the truth is I don't know what it is I'm doing, So yes, I am a liar, I admit to it. But what I'm asking you is please, Help me. Help me find out the truth, Because I have gotten so good at lying that, I ask myself "who am I?"

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Bang! !!Bang "Bang Oh awake Though not in shock No body is hurt. But run ...run we ought to meet HIM yes I know he won't leave us. Let's go quick and meet the rest This is the best I have to wear clothes be not of trouble only the depth of your heart The door is always open Non be left out. seek him while you can. The great attention here..... All for the above pardon me not only above oftenly everywhere. The Alpha stands one and so to the Omega

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Sep 28, 2014

Sep 28, 2014 at 2:16 AM UTC

thomas-bron-mukama

Bells Of Invite

Bang! !!Bang "Bang Oh awake Though not in shock No body is hurt. But run ...run we ought to meet HIM yes I know he won't leave us. Let's go quick and meet the rest This is the best I have to wear clothes be not of trouble only the depth of your heart The door is always open Non be left out. seek him while you can. The great attention here..... All for the above pardon me not only above oftenly everywhere. The Alpha stands one and so to the Omega

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sheet crumpled not deeply thrashing with life as a last night did dead now dreaming as dreaming sheets oftenly boy with toy like fantasies of apart joints socketed into unsleeping hips in the darkest of night's dreamless deepening

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Jan 22, 2015

Jan 22, 2015 at 10:43 AM UTC

patrick-wakefield-1

sheet crumpled not deeply thrashing with life as a last night did dead now dreaming as dreaming sheets oftenly boy with toy like fantasies of apart joints socketed into unsleeping hips in the darkest of night's dreamless deepening

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It greatly tickles my instincts to know that good people still exit. Not the Samaritans that give money, but those who understand the meaning of words and live beyond conjectures that oftenly befall their ears. Is that why you keep seeing someone young in your eyesight!. Its because your focus is blurred, as you strip your spoonful ignorance for knowledge while the giants in contemplation blow in covers of selling brilliant ideas at no penny. If you what to know how important you're, considerably give other people's existence importance; thus your thoughts to the people wont seem impotent. # no eviction for failure by mouth rather action

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Jun 29, 2015

Jun 29, 2015 at 3:23 AM UTC

thomas-bron-mukama

It greatly tickles my instincts to know that good people still exit. Not the Samaritans that give money, but those who understand the meaning of words and live beyond conjectures that oftenly befall their ears. Is that why you keep seeing someone young in your eyesight!. Its because your focus is blurred, as you strip your spoonful ignorance for knowledge while the giants in contemplation blow in covers of selling brilliant ideas at no penny. If you what to know how important you're, considerably give other people's existence importance; thus your thoughts to the people wont seem impotent. # no eviction for failure by mouth rather action

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"I love him." as I remind myself that to love is to trust. but why is it the word love so oftenly used yet I still doubt you.

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Dec 13, 2016

Dec 13, 2016 at 5:47 AM UTC

"I love him." as I remind myself that to love is to trust. but why is it the word love so oftenly used yet I still doubt you.

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Its' not the people for whom i worry about, It's who they are I actually worry about! The ones who show to be the strongest, From outside are oftenly those whose Heart suffered from a deadly accident. All we look is love in this life, What we forget is that everything has it's dark side. Don't you see! The beautiful moon? Can you see it completely? Or just the side it wants you to see! And the same is love, I'll always show you the bright side, Not the dark side!

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Mar 16, 2017

Mar 16, 2017 at 9:12 AM UTC

Never Know the Truth!

Its' not the people for whom i worry about, It's who they are I actually worry about! The ones who show to be the strongest, From outside are oftenly those whose Heart suffered from a deadly accident. All we look is love in this life, What we forget is that everything has it's dark side. Don't you see! The beautiful moon? Can you see it completely? Or just the side it wants you to see! And the same is love, I'll always show you the bright side, Not the dark side!

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Baby stay, Tell me what you need. It worked with you Why didn't you pay heed? To us, To love, To silence and screams. To madness, To sadness, Where is the peace? My peace lies with you Yours? I don't have a clue. I've been yours; You mightn't be mine. Do you cherish the moments, Of how oftenly we dined? Your place or mine Everything so fine. Our eyes that met, My heart that fell In love, for you. Your character that fell, In lust, for me. Let me be convinced by, Is this really true? And here My heart still asks you to, Take me back to From where we began Let me kiss you One last time.

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Mar 18, 2019

Mar 18, 2019 at 7:36 AM UTC

Baby stay, Tell me what you need. It worked with you Why didn't you pay heed? To us, To love, To silence and screams. To madness, To sadness, Where is the peace? My peace lies with you Yours? I don't have a clue. I've been yours; You mightn't be mine. Do you cherish the moments, Of how oftenly we dined? Your place or mine Everything so fine. Our eyes that met, My heart that fell In love, for you. Your character that fell, In lust, for me. Let me be convinced by, Is this really true? And here My heart still asks you to, Take me back to From where we began Let me kiss you One last time.

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Never interested in my mistakes but at all costs engaged To see me survive. Though a times I feel a giant over A few achievements, never jealousy But tasking to see more and better. “Your bigger than this” is my reward in time This has taught me to progress. You’re great when am great And great even when am greater Through all that I encounter Soon I stand out victorious And paid a penny of respect. Then I grow Eagle wings, In many attempts to fly I hopelessly return to the ground. Get up and walk, further inspired Even at the helm of my success I oftenly bolt back for remedies Standing prominent and brave Known to many as the greatest Though the porter stands great in all.

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Jul 24, 2014

Jul 24, 2014 at 10:56 AM UTC

thomas-bron-mukama

Never interested in my mistakes but at all costs engaged To see me survive. Though a times I feel a giant over A few achievements, never jealousy But tasking to see more and better. “Your bigger than this” is my reward in time This has taught me to progress. You’re great when am great And great even when am greater Through all that I encounter Soon I stand out victorious And paid a penny of respect. Then I grow Eagle wings, In many attempts to fly I hopelessly return to the ground. Get up and walk, further inspired Even at the helm of my success I oftenly bolt back for remedies Standing prominent and brave Known to many as the greatest Though the porter stands great in all.

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It was at that time then when I began. the Sun did a moody and it was the Moonlight that knew me in the shadows left hanging by the day. and now? yes and now we're all offended by remarks chalked on park benches or by eyes that look unguardedly at anything to do with me and I'm offended oftenly that oftenly is not in the Oxford dictionary. I'm happy that it's Saturday, that'll offend a few.

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May 29, 2021

May 29, 2021 at 1:06 AM UTC

john-edward-smallshaw

Thirty three and a third recurring

It was at that time then when I began. the Sun did a moody and it was the Moonlight that knew me in the shadows left hanging by the day. and now? yes and now we're all offended by remarks chalked on park benches or by eyes that look unguardedly at anything to do with me and I'm offended oftenly that oftenly is not in the Oxford dictionary. I'm happy that it's Saturday, that'll offend a few.

Continue reading...