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Allan Mzyece Sep 2018
Once upon a time was I a prodigy,
Wandering and drifting to find a phrontistery,
A fantasy beyond thinking,
I was a child of precocious virtuosity.

But now time has liberated from my corpsic avatar,
And to God, I was announced a groom to a bride called progeria,
Not only I but now the entire human race seems to undergo ephemera,
A phenomena not to be taken dilemma,

Death do us part dear poet
Though through our good deeds our work serves eviternal, sempiternal-and eternal.
I know not who I am,
But the tombstone that is scarred with my name cements a legacy that
Buries everybody's histories.

Death is but void and will lead me to become  a martyr,
For I deeply believe that poetry is the finest art And  not a literature,
I am certain that a spiritual minister on the day of my burial will fail to point out that I was a sinister,
They will all say great things about me-
Where is the wrong, where is the perfect picture?


I once decapitated a seraph for I but thought it was a boobook,
Look!
Now I can be pseudocodenymic numerical, alphabetic artist.
Yet, what am I rather than being a poet?

For the reason that death will deprive me of my rights and belongings,
I don't wish to fall in love but sometimes I get caught up that she might be the daughter of Jesus,
Because I can't get my mind off her celestrial features.

Who else but her makes my story worth telling?
But yet I was in bedlam because of her,
Yelling like a certified lunatic playing,
I however can't forget the asylum's floors and ceilings,
The horrible medicine that got me to be always day dreaming.

Is this the same "cycle of psychopathic love that all these poets failed to describe?"
Affirmatively! This is something they will never outmatch,
Sadly, this all seeing sun never saw
That me and her were a match since this world begun,
Hence, I had to give her up to win everybody's heart,

I gained a voice of thunder to be crowned the darkness author alive,
So I ask,  where are the poets of yesteryear? The nail biting, acerbic, alcoholic nighthawk ******* who truly knew how to write?
WHERE IS WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE?  WHERE IS EMILY DICKINSON? WHERE IS EDGAR ALLAN POE?
indeed I outmatch them all, do you know why?
It's because I am still alive!
---- Dec 2014
you want to run away,
you want to feel free,
feel wanted,
feel a sense of belonging.
you want to go somewhere that people won't judge you for the aching words you cry out at 3 am,
or forget about you simply because you find bliss in life's simplistic beauty.
you want to travel the world
and meet people who do too,
meet people who's smiles don't outmatch yours but instead make it brighter.
you want to feel like the most careless and careful person out there,
you want to feel like you matter,
feel like it doesn't matter if you don't.
you want someone,
anyone,
to decode some of the nonsense your messy brain paints pictures of
and maybe someone to splatter some of their own onto your canvas too.
you want to argue with someone in an aggresively calm way,
and you want to find someone to make you hurt so painlessly that it's beautiful.
you want to find and utilize every gift you were born with
and to take up useless hobbies that will make you feel alive.
but most of all,
you want to find someone,
something,
somewhere,
to help you rediscover what it feels like to not just exist
but to actually live.
Imagine   hot
water           music
            traipsing  down  my  throat
when you   had  your  sharp   tongue
      shoved    down   my  throat
with   contestations    simmering   in  my   sinews,
  a  few   of    them   scandalous
some    true    like   the   sudden fleeting   of your   crepuscular brow
   to   two moons   paler   than   the love –
or   the    long    traverse   to the   treacherous
    roads    of   your   skin   mapped   out   in excess
your   lecherous   debris   sprawling  everywhere   like   words
   to   a   book   or   silence  to   an   early  morning    commute,
your     undulant  bursts   outmatch   the weight  of   my
     steady  anchors,  imagine   this   cold   wind  sinking  deep
into   the    bone    at  4 o’clock   in   the   afternoon
   drunk    in  front   of    faceless  crowds
hunting     for   purpose,  discombobulated   erudition
      in    sodden   corners   and cheap  thrills,

imagine      the     scrumptious   twinge   of
     the  Sun that  mangles   its   arms   to paint   a new
moon   for   us  both   and    think of  this   as   a  consignment  to
  oblivion    when  the twists   and  turns   of  the road
     remember  only    measures   of   steps that have no  names
       and   not   the passengers, where   one   wrong   forceful
  shot   at   fate   could   mean   the   end  of  all things down
   below  an ocean  of muck   or   just  stale blackness and  ravines
      of    voices   bellowing   to call  out departed   ones

where   you   are just   as trivial    as
    driving  in  Kennon Rd.   at night   without  maps
and   beacons,  only   far-fetched   city buoys,
    the  frigid     wind,  the collapsing   bannister   of the night
cloying   the   turns   sharper than  how  it was to   first  see you   leave
    in   the morning,      bringing   in  the  fog  for the first
        light   of  reality    to   burn.
Allan Mzyece Jan 2017
Stranger danger, I am about to make all kinds of poets surrender... how? you wonder why? let me clarify :- let me amplify; my voice is sharper than a knife when I say I love Natalie
Adding a twist between different lives
i magnetise, form faster than they spread there lies
they say that I NEED TO BUY ***** JUST TO OPEN UP YOUR BIBLES
because i am possessed by Love demons
but to all Poets, i stand as a Villain; my messages stay hidden for someone with greater vision
you can't understand my cranium inside, i have a god's insight
I have been painting the future just to fall in love with the past
I miss them all! i miss my soul busked in the devil's mask
this is something that you will never outmatch! this is life vibrating a damb man's uvula
cute babies lubricating toys with saliva, while i am busy kissing a former lover in a world under, but above all you poets that slunder
Your words I plunder!
I am a first class writer
You can't bring me down
because I robbed you of your Crown!
Snow flake Dec 2015
I will catch Harry Potter's ******
because life is match
lets take our pistols to unlatch
scratch them all till i die scratch!
i'll sew bad ideas  batch
i will detach because im crosspatch!
this is  final war to win, no rematch
i wont back down because i'll outmatch
this poem to bad people despatch!!!
Just braining
K Balachandran Sep 2020
She robbed me, untill
There was nothing left.
I too did the same while
She was busy at it.
Who did first, or what exactly,
All that are immaterial.
I could vividly member
What her eyes did magically,
Bringing us to
The point of convergence.
Then a haze did spread
Our hot pursuit started,
On  planes higher and higher.
Then there was the
Request from her inner depth
Without any word uttered.
"Oh! take it all" a blanket permit,
No doubt,
I heard my heart echoing it
With a fervour to outmatch,
When it got back to her
We were fighting the fire
Our hearts set on with desire,
Isn't it she who  first
Sobbed with pleasure?
No! we both vied with each other
To make it a sonorous chorus.
In this heist who did what
Could never be charted
In any order,
Time and space got jumbled
During the course of this heist!
Suffice to say, it happens
Mostly once in a lifetime,
If lucky you really are, that is.
What more can one ask for
To recount to your kids
On the ritual of passing the baton?
umi kara Feb 2017
the pages of my notebook,
the ink of my pen.
the tears pooling in my eyes
my knees who so ofter hurt
and then there's you.

everything starts and ends with
you.

every star is born on your scalp
and every star dies at the very last tip of your curls.

you're the eye of the storm
my nights orbit around you and all the longing in my body (all
of it)
belongs to your moons and your winds.

every heart i have ever had
before it even belonged to me
it belonged to you.

loving you this bad
is no longer a distinct feeling in my chest
or a burning thought at core of my brain.
it feels now like it's a part of
the very bare idea
of me.

it feels very much like
my wings, no matter how forcefully they flutter
and raise me up: they
lead me always,
and eternally will,
to you.

it ends and begins with you.


and i pray sorry for every god
who thinks a wrath of their own can be
stronger than this love i grow for you.

i pray forgiveness for every person who has thought themselves
burning with passion
and flooding with emotion
for not a single one of them outmatch
the quiet persistence of my adoration for you.

and i pray mercy on myself
for one day, it is certain,
my tears shall dry and language shall run out of words;
for one day, it is certain,
this love shall tear my seams apart
and consume me to the very last breath
that slides through the barest skin of my lips.

i begin
and i end with you.
No shadow could be taller than a soul,
For souls can not be measured
    Only felt.

No person could outweigh a record,
But your soul could outmatch
    The Sun.

For the Sun’s light is dark compared,
To the glow from your skin.
    Marry me.

    You are my only warmth for winter.
Amber S Sep 2012
could easily outmatch the summer,
sizzling. scorching. scalding.
dew of sweat fresh each morning,
air pungent with flames each night.
our summer love could belong in novels,
the days full of sparkle and rapture,
the weeks gone into the heat of our embrace.
our summer love was gone
too quick.
tears new and stinging.
feeling nothing but your fingertips.
tasting nothing but the sour air.

our summer love...
i could write more. but no one.
no one.
no one.
will ever understand.
Show no effort

My absurd ethics  

appear unpleasant

       its actually quite impressive

           and intensive.

      for several seconds

These words appear clear

but true meaning get lost by fear.

I hear Whispers about , how she can figure me out.

But there's doubt.

They can't track me
                should of known my soul mate was the one to outmatch me.

  I need to defeat her  before my thoughts get deeper ;  lost at sea,  the letter C , they letting me ,

Hold a piece

                           of my memory

i wrote this last verse

              drained from my energy.

I was able to preserve my memory before I got my heart stolen by the enemy


they always seem to have the same tendency  

        I'M in a ****** up position she Tried to steal my wisdom
{Description} ~ Women can make you lose focus. Just keep doing what you do before you mess up the real you.
Michael Ryan Mar 2018
With time I grow--
growing similar to a tree
layer upon layer
my trunk
becomes ever sturdy.

Mental stamina
is the deepest of layers
that can outmatch
any muscle that I could have ever built.

Muscles dwindle within days,
but the fortitude to continue on
will never stifle or faulter;
nor will it ever  need a rest day.

So people
there are aesthetics of beauty
that the mind can accomplish;
some feats never dreamed
by even the most physically ept.

When you find time for the gym
remember that time was at a loss
from when you could
have learned something new
anywhere else.
For some reason most people never work out the muscles that would last them a life time.  Just because you can't see it; doesn't mean it isn't happening.
Remy Luna Jun 2016
I have never feared to love
Or to let love touch
The hidden places of my soul
I do not close
Myself off from those
Emotions that make us most human
Or hide from the fluidity
Of eyes flecked with longing  
Tenderness comes with ease
To me

And I see it now in yours

Honeyed glowing orbs
Speckled with curiosity
From underneath a shadowed brow
Come to disarm me
But I hold no weapon
With which to frighten
Or force you to turn from this
Only pens,  
And the notebooks I surround
Myself with
A writer knows
No sword can outmatch
The weight of a word
And with so many to choose from
To explain the phenomenon
Of us
I can only use one

Love

The heaviest of them all
And I feel it's potency
When you turn to glance
In my direction,
A foreign feeling
I am leveled by the honesty
Of the way your eyes
Scream only things unwritten
Unsaid
Unfettered
Windows to things we don't speak
The idea of forever
Etched into the panes
Do you see it in me?
Fixed in your gaze
Is the only home I'll ever need.
Elsie Greek Mar 2020
Ars gratia artis.
That's all that he knows
About life.
Called in to restore
Demographics,
Demolish the bleak
Overnight.

Repetitive claws
Of his fashion
Set up undeniable
Scratch.
How trendy it is!
Oh, how flashy.
Impossible
To outmatch.

Recover us, please,
Mother nature.
For his is
The meanest delight.
He once used to toddle:
Now crests us
In his own unhumble stride.

Forsake it,
Leave everyone bare.
He deals us as
Master of his trade.
We are stopped at nothing,
Forsake not.
Ain't Earth living art,
A hot spot.
#arsgratiaartis #hotspot #world #coronavirus
hermella Jun 2020
You are like the stars, you need the dark to shine
You are like the moon you reflect so many warmth
You are like the space, you're infinite in nature
You are so unique you are bound for the future

So leave me be I beg you
Let me welt in peace
Stop jabbing at my side
I just need my space to breath

Just like the earth I am hot fury inside
But also like the earth I am dead for the most part

No water can sip
No roots can touch the core
To my disappointment I revolve in your orb

The push and pull of tides
The water you try to sip
The holes you open up
With the derbies you send
Can not outmatch my fury
But only make me bleed
In the lava form you know
In the pain I try hide

So leave me be I beg you
I do not need your help
So leave me be I beg you
I'm not gonna offer to help

I will rock in silence rotate around your head
But don't pull me in just yet I need some time blend

Without you which I cannot survive I know
Without me which you will be fine I know
But we have synced to a comfortable pace
So leave me be I beg because I can't lie to your face.

— The End —