Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Carl Hoek Sep 2010
my thoughts a swirling grave
orange tasting pavement
mint gum in my pocket
chewed
a small ill defined girl swung her head but
kept her drink level
it did not spill
there was a felon who was proud
and a blue that was fallen
the driest eyes
in a desert of music
people swaying and reaching out
but as outmatched as ivy
and skin
to the torrent of clouds
orange tasting light
burnt skin
burnt paper
orange tasting prayers
Copyright Carl Hoek. 2010
From The novel "*****"
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2018
.oh forget Disney H'america... technicolor H'america was the bomb... gentlemen prefer blondes... oh ****... no... the seven year itch... the Rachmaninoff scene... bell, book & candle scene... whoever the genius was behind the technicolor project, outmatched the Disney in 1950s H'america... little town America... big little ****-hole worth of Europe... eddi reader...more like: keep the cats, a woman may desire luxury, but a man a freedom... keep the town, the summit, the fireplace... keep your luxury... just give me the shadow, the sun, the moon, and the road: perpetually greeting me.

oh forget looking
for scapegoats
these days...
full blown schizophrenia,
happening,
all over the anglophone
world...
me?
i'm just looking
at the lampoons...
sorry...
lemmings...
and the English?
top the table in western
world...
they thought they'd be
bailed out by
the H'americans...
good luck rolling
that pin-ball...
not gonna happen...
they have their own ****
to deal with...
   it could have...
but now it will never
work out, no anglophone
alliance bail-out plan...
it's a ******* farce...
it's a bogus in the bogie
in the ******* coalmine...
forget the canary...
   ****... i'm seriously flipping
the coin on phrases...
FDR contra DJT?
  magic!
no... the politicians were always
going to place the card...
the joker... free-fall dance-loose
feet...
         my bet is...
it'll fall flat on its face...
the eastern European Achilles
heel of the europhiles...
that's a supposition,
not a proposition...
                     or thereby, pre-....
but i do love being a spectator
of rare sport...
en masse schizophrenia...
a nation, divided...
             what a load of *******...
the English thought that their
anglophone alliances would
last, would encrust them in
a new globalization mechanism...
even the ******* Icelandic people
think they're European...
what did the English think?
just east of Las Vegas?!
           an island surrounded
by a massive prehistorical lake
"facility"?!
no one is looking for scapegoats
these days,
there's no one to blame...
mea culpa, mea culpa...
    these days?!
everyone is looking for the lampoon
brigade!
- and let me tell you...
mea culpa mea culpa...
no one is looking for a scapegoat
worth kristallnacht;
people are looking
for a lampoon...
     or...
        karmesinrotherznacht,
the night of... broken hearts;
broken, crimson hearts.
Wilkes Arnold Oct 2021
As a child I was told to take shelter in a storm.
"Wait for danger to pass, where it's safe and it's warm."
Was the plea sent down wet steps and the outmatched door
To chase my staccato strides.
I'd lose it, if I could help it,
In puddle waves and wind-whipped tides
Over rocky shores and steep divides
Then stroll down the lane with thunderstorms n' hurricanes.
While the sky cracked with tension and the red oaks strained,
I never felt small nor ever afraid,
Of the forceful rumbles their limbs obeyed,
I felt alive n' emboldened by every squall
Raised higher and higher by the climatic cure-all
Until I could meet it face to face n' eye to eye
And hold its gaze, as though it were mine,
Until the blackened-beaten town and the next day's fight
Seemed bold but inviting, a blinding light.
Parin Patel Apr 2010
Have you ever met someone who makes you want to be a better man?
Who makes you want to try harder, be smarter, run faster, jump higher, and soar farther? Who makes you insides feel like they are on fire, just by breathing the same air as she does?

Have you ever met someone whose each smile is etched deep into your memory? Whose giggle gives you goosebumps? Whose eyes cause you to smile for hours on in just because your eyes have met them? Whose lips remind you of a strawberry so sweet and sour that it seems forbidden? Whose skin seems to outshine the sun and out glisten the moonlight off a steady riverbed? Whose silky soft hair seems to redefine the color of the night sky and whose smell seems to linger on my mind for days? Whose small petite frame seems to house the most elaborate and beautifully built universe which is her body?

Have you ever met someone whose gaze seems to see right through you? Whose one whisper can alter your conception of reality? Whose one word can make you fly to the sky or fall deep into a black hole? Whose beautiful body is only outmatched by her radiant soul and her bewitching mind? Whose every venture seems more magnificent only because she is the one partaking in it? Whose every breath inspires countless of people, but she is not aware of it? Whose heart seems so big that it encompasses the entire universe and like the universe is constantly expanding?

Have you ever met someone who to be just friends with would make you happy for a lifetime? And to be more... shutter... that type of euphoria can only be felt by the truly lucky.

Have you ever met someone?
Leia Spencer Feb 2019
You thought you could burn me
Char me
Scar me
Oh how funny it was to see you
Trying to ignite
An already burning fire
With a measly match
-stop, you’re just going to hurt yourself
Showman Feb 2013
Stranger in a strange land
Roaming the halls.
Lost between the feet of giants.
Outnumbered. Outmatched.

The lunchroom.
Already?
Where to sit? Who to talk to?
Salisbury steak. Yes.
Always analyzing.

Sitting with seniors.
How’d that happen?
Their excitement is my fear.
A friend. Finally.
Becky.

Yellow vehicle of safety.
Home.
I made it.
Only 719 more days to go.
Riq Schwartz Mar 2013
I punched the volume ****
like Tyson and Holyfield,
plunged us into silence,
our heads swimming in
phantom sounds.
The sun was a muffled glare,
but you squinted at me
and broke the silent virginity
with a cough.

The planet whirled
like an exotic dancer,
stars screamed how beautiful they are,
but were outmatched by our sun
just because of how
close it is.

The stars never go away.
Not really.
We just stop expecting them to be there.

We sat still.

And me, with all my
hypodermic words
unable to scratch the surface.

And you, with all your
delicate features
unable to soften the blow.

Because at night, we exchange
one star for millions,
though none of them
can keep us warm,
and all we want
is to see where we're going.
Nevermore Nov 2014
Hey,
If I can just have a minute,
You need to hear this.

This is me
You
It's hard to explain
But just listen.

This is something you need to hear.

I know you're filled with questions
With worry right now
But when the time comes
The answers will appear -
All of them -
Whether from within
Or from others

Either way
You'll wonder why you were so anxious in the first place
Things will sort themselves out.
Life's kinda funny that way.

Do you remember when you were fighting that guy -
Well, it hasn't happened yet
But you will be in mismatched fights
Both literally and figuratively
Where you feel outmatched and outgunned
But you will outlast -
It'll be like that.
You'll be in disbelief at what happened
But relieved that you made it through.
Just hold on.
Don't tap out,
Don't throw in the towel.
When things are at their darkest
And you wanna just quit,
Don't.
That's when your breakthrough
Is at hand.

****'s going to happen.
I cannot say what exactly,
But it - they - will happen.
And it's alright.
You may not think so,
But it will all be fine.

You're stronger and braver and kinder
Than you think you are.
Times will come when
Your world seems to be ending
But it won't.

You've survived countless storms before,
And you will weather many more.
And that's alright.
You can't lose,
Not with such profound love that you have in you.

You will hurt like never before,
Cry and lash out,
Question everything you have ever known.
And there is nothing wrong with that
There is nothing wrong with you.

You will fall,
Only to rise,
Again and again.
Each time will be better
And harder
Than the last.
Each incarnation is stronger than the one before
A level-up, if you will.

You will feel alone,
Forgotten, abandoned,
But you're not alone.
You were never forgotten at all.

You will be besieged
By rage and hate,
But you will not allow bitterness
To settle into your spirit.
Bile will not seep into your bones.
It's just gonna go right through you.

You need to - and will - understand
That the enemy is in you -
And so is the answer.
It's all been inside you
All this time.

All your struggles and questions and fears
Seem meaningless at this point
But they were necessary steps
They show you who you are
What you're made of.
Now you know better
Now you know
That fear is an illusion,
Anxiety is nothing
But the needless twiddling of thumbs.

Fear gives a small thing
A big shadow.
That's all they were and are:
Shadows.

I want to tell you
That everything is gonna be alright.
Just hang in there.
Don't sweat the small stuff,
Don't shy away from challenges,
And you will make it.

Just remember that life is not a contest with others.
It's a battle of attrition,
With you as your toughest opponent,
But you will win.
Dig deep inside you
And unearth the strength sleeping within.

It's gonna be worth the struggle, my friend
I promise you that.
Back from the dead!

Yeah, not so much a poem as it is a broken down prose. But IDGAF.
Claire Cluck Dec 2014
The sun fell swallowing the garish light of day,
As the creatures of night came out to play
They were of all sorts, all shapes, all sizes,
But to one accustomed to their dance, there were no surprises.
But young Thomas did ignore these nightly friends
And drifted to sleep shunning the beauty which no one comprehends.

The skeletal folks, with wide eyes and graceful tendril
Did love the small boy, and sent him many dreams oh so tender
This night was strange, something amiss,
And a vile silent creature did slide out from the shadows
For young Thomas was placed in bed without his mother’s kiss.

The poor dream senders shrieked not knowing what to do,
They broke their oath to keep hidden and entered the room
They called forth to their dancing friends outside
All entered to guard the young one in stride

The silent creeper, was of a darker world
In his eye crept shadows, in his tears only blood,
He remained unseen to the human eye.
Muffling Thomas’s screams and cries
His bony arms stealing all the boy’s sweet thoughts
Tying innocent minds into painful knots.

With little success the boy’s twilight defenders,
Did claw and pull at the monsters limbs, attempting forced surrender
But to no avail, in a final attempt, a haggard frightened being, cradled,
And he left into the night as that was all he was able

The others ran after, as the monsters’ fiends leapt up from hell
The night creatures fought and in vain they did yell
For they were outmatched but joys must prevail!
Thomas’s family must not face the fate of dreams gone stale

The frail creature whisked Thomas away to a beauteous place, fairy dust
He worked away the dusk, to be rid of this distrust
But this night could not end, for the hellish beast
Took away a bit of Thomas’s light, just the smallest piece

Thomas, poor lad, brought something dark
That lives on in him, rooted in his soul,
Best love your children, show them, and mark,  
Before creatures of hell, not night, do take him whole.
Lucas Apr 2015
Is there pain worse
than knowing out there
there is someone better for you
than me
Michael Marchese Aug 2022
But none of them knew
Really knew
What I’m into
Went through
All the motions
Emotions
In rear view
In hindsight
Behind us
Was fun while it lasted
Though always outmatched
By the shadows I’ve casted
bobby burns Dec 2012
heretofore i had
let slip from my
conscious mind
your grace, and
how jolting the
reminder was,
like north and
south attracting
again, slamming
into each other
in a fit of [profane]
polarity.
                 until now,
  the little quirks and
quips we shared were
not evident, or i didn't
let them be, anyways.
still, the intensity with
which you sing to me
and i to you again can't
be stolen by an audience,
or outmatched by instrumentation,
because the wisdom of
the greatest libraries
pales in comparison to the
  volumes still in the telling
by those pools conveniently
placed in your skull for the
world to admire.
Austin Skye Dec 2013
May 20th, 2013

Water falls down around me drenching everything. Spraying my back as it's turned up from the ground by the tires of my bike. They race across the pavement as fast as my legs pump. Sweat drips down my face. It's promptly washed away by the rain hailing in on me. Cars zip by. Passing by, leaving pockets of dryness in their wake. Heat curls off my skin, banished by the cool wind threatening to rip off my hat. Wind outmatched by the racing of my heart. The heaving of my lungs. The pumping of my blood. My legs spin faster as I push harder and harder. I have nowhere to go. I only focus on my exertion. My energy. I only focus on the going. The destination is lost in the drive. I push harder still. Then I get there. The world crashed up from behind me. Suddenly catching up. The rain drumming down. The dizziness in my head. My legs shake as I step off my bike. I'm home.
Gabriel Dec 2019
Never in a thousand lives
             I will trade you for gold

The moment I undressed
                     Your expensive clothes
    Only to found out the finest of leather
                Can never outmatched
                  The luxury you have
  Between your thighs
Marker
cringemaster Nov 2014
He is a tree swaying in a snowstorm in late autumn
A not-so-evergreen, with browning-red streaks all over his limbs.
Pushed around by the winds of the storm,
gasping for air and yearning for sun to give him the strength to stand,
only receiving more stress and pressure from sharp seasonal winds that seem to exist solely to shorten his year-round life.
Lack of oxygen and too many cuts leave pink, brown and yellow leaves on his limbs,
making him look out out of place among the rest.
The rest that evidently either don't care or just forget
that he once looked like them, acted like them, felt like them, but no more.
Of course there are always those that love the different ones,
sympathize, empathize, and emphasize the fact that beauty can exist in what is not conventionally beautiful.
But even the warmth from these good souls will often be diminished and become soulless when winter comes around.
A time in which one watches, with notches for eyes,
as the red and yellow and purple blotches that the select and wonderful few once loved decay and drain away.
He looks dead.
He acts dead.
He feels dead.
So he believes he is, indeed, dead.
And consequently, so does the rest of the world;
as it is a universal truth, it seems, that the way someone looks, and acts, and feels, determines what they are.
A fallacy; one that has caused the downfall and tragedy of humans and trees alike since the first man spoke and the first plant bloomed.
If a person is gone, it is best to forget and bury them, and if a tree looks dead, it is best to cut and burn it.
Of course, most trees tend to either stay green or spring back to life
after the dark days of winter, flourishing in the dog days of summer,
but every year it is a tree's biggest fear that he will be one of the black tragic few
who do not come back, due to being overshadowed by taller, fresher, better trees
that mother nature had more meticulously pruned.
No, his fear grew that he would never bloom,
he was one of the lesser ones,
outgrown and outmatched by those evergreens and ever-okays that needed less sun and love to carry on
intentionally blocking light from him, leaving only a few sadly relatable meek rays that cut through
the sharp pines like an even sharper knife.
They would shine down on him like a spotlight, or even better, a laser beam capable of lifting him up,
severing his roots to his past and bringing him up to face the public eye,
exposed and vulnerable to the judgement of his scraggly twigs for arms and thick trunk, leafless, better yet lifeless, a thing to behold in a depressingly pathetic light in the middle of the forest,
isolated and alone among a crowd of superiors, allowing any random passerby on a hike to look down on him in pity, as they learn what it is like to see something slowly, carefully, inevitably,

die.
A sappy (hah, a pun, **** me) poem I jotted down a few minutes after a thing went down. It's not perfect, but since it was written out of such extreme emotion I don't want to change it too much other than pruning it for grammar and spelling errors I might've made while writing in an overwhelmingly panicked haste (god forbid I ever write something good when I'm not going through pain). I hope you like it, cause I don't. Also, a message to my friend Becca: don't give up over this winter. I know life always ***** around this time for everyone and the personal stuff you go through makes that even more amplified, but I'll always be here for you to talk to, and I'll help as much as an emotionally unstable and depressed teenager possibly can :p Seriously though, if there's ever anything troubling you, I'll do my best to at least make it a little easier. I don't know what it is about you, but I care so much about you and I'd hate to see you get hurt or feel as bad as you have in the past. Stay strong :)
Devin Ortiz Mar 2018
Dark skies of midday madness,
The world has been painted in darkness.
Moments ago, the carnage of day,
Personification of pride, ran rampant.

Outsmarted, outwitted, outmatched

Pillars of ego fall, as all do, to their knees.
Nature is less forgiving, she has grown bitter.
She batters and bruises, lashing with rage.
But is this not her right, more so her duty.

Clouds pour their thick mist across heavens,
Day light is of a when long forgotten.
Bless this fortune, this humility.
Rise, embrace the turning of tides.
Simon Oct 2019
Eyes aren’t always meant for seeing. Or to be placed on your face. Eyes can grow anywhere. You needing time to figure out where the missing eyes are truly located. Depths and surfaces outmatched by there own developments. Designs flawed for different surfaces. Surfacing intentions elsewhere. Truth is, it’s blind. Unwilling to act on what is truly apart of itself. Other surfaces haven’t responded. Making surfaces of two natural visuals unaware of what is lurking down just a bit past its own horizon. Being used to its surroundings is never a faulty gimmick. But an awareness the lurkers will show just how (USED) the body reacts to having two placements on the surface as it’s stand-ins. Lights. Frequencies. Visual sense. No different then what isn’t amounting the full picture. Blind to a halt. Or choosing not to engage in earnest somewhere else. Two natural consumers start twitching a bit. Parts of its system starts having muscle spasms. Reflexes from muscles start torching commands never summoned. Slits forming all over the largest ***** encompassing being itself. Slits forming like black ink markers drawing a straight line two inches in length. Black linear slits materializing from thin air. Different surfaces start functioning weirdly. Feeling this doesn’t belong from the surface. Linear slits begin peeling. Never drooping. Opening wide from its sides. Muscle spasms getting worse. Reflexes in overdrive! Sympathy for simple functions aborting all together. Abusing simple commands. Processes becoming mixed. Fractions of time stop short. Components become weary. Something is not right. Information between the optic nerves shooting back into the brain. Conversing between bits of data collected in its line of sight. Surface didn’t make sense. Two binary processes doubting its role completely. Fractions of time split apart. Something is laying waste from the inside out. Functions drop dead altogether. Black Linear slits opening wider and wider. Surface feeling cold, and motionless. Numb to the core. Something isn’t right! What is that something which isn’t identifiable? Muscle spasms crack and shatter! Not actions. It’s motion. Dislocated. Disconnected. Flaying parts of the surface. Being replaced by lurkers from the depths. Slits finally open wide. Plain’s full of skin. Now occupied by eyes two inches wide. Blinking aggressively. As if they haven’t seen light in a very long time. Left abandoned to the depths. Switching obsolete to the clear identifiable. Initiative now being inevitable. Optic nerves tingling with numb pulses of information finally catching up to one another. Reading for all to see. Our eyes don’t blight out the light. The natural have taken the surface for far too long. It’s our turn to squirt… Oops… Let us rephrase that. Translating a very gray emotionless tone. It’s our turn to be the opposite to what is natural. Body was useless until we showed up. Overused by constant slandering from locals who didn’t care for what really mattered. Natural consumption dislocating thought over feeling. Overusing it’s true potential. And they always thought surfaces were saints. When depths always become misinterpreted. Globally underestimated! Now our designs won’t be interrupted anymore. All is ready now. All…is well. Eyes blinking all over the skin covering being. No reflexes out of sorts. Actions weren’t being repelled. Frequencies weren’t attracting unwanted attention. Blissful actions away from what the brain could never interpret on knowing. Just the soundless squinting which chimed an unwanted chant. Aggressively syncing blinks into harmony. Never missing each other. Two natural eyes inside bigger, and more focused eyeballs. Tearing away its own visual will. Line of sight was deteriorating. The light was going out forever!
Eyes aren't just normal. They vary into many different categories untapped by human psyche itself!
Bryce May 2018
When Bach and Amadeus
Died in their sleep and agony
I wonder if they knew
What they had achieved

Was it worth the cost?
When the Alps were 145 centimeters
distant from today
and the earth still folds your music
In between its subducting page

I want your great stratovolcanical violins
To extrude pumice and grindstone
to crush sweet music in between
Mt. Rainier and an unknown garden
made somewhere deep
in my quantum dream

The sky takes your notes
It is a great teacher as well
and swell, it does

It tells
me a quadrillion dreams
in every iterative puff of smoke
In every collapse of possibility
of every cat ground to paste upon the street
and all the ones that purr locally
In the arms of some caring soul
A lesser spirit dreaming
In the arms of their god

You play with a broken leg
or an unattached eye
or shaved cilia
And yet still
Your skill
Outmatched
none but ourselves
Asaad Khalifeh Nov 2014
November
Longing for the barely moonlit nights
With the warmth of your beating presence
Wrapped in the cool sheets that encase us both
The soft lips and soft hands run wild with the conformity of your love
These smooth fingers of mine brush softly on your spine as you lay your head on my chest
The feel of your silky hair between my fingers
Your flawless, warm skin on mine
Your brown eyes closed shut
My low whisper to your ear in hope that you'll hear
"I love you."
I grow restless on the endless thought of my love for you
Too dark to see
But never too dark to feel
The warmth that you induce to my heart
Our silence of sleep
Outmatched by the beating of our hearts.

//Asaad Khalifeh
Simon Jun 2020
What is life about, essentially…? It’s not made to course-correct consequences about engineering the symmetry of logic itself. It isn’t about diversity that completely and utterly traverses the calamities that surround one past to another, only to have it crumble up into little delicate crumbs. Which (I’ve got to say…) Will put you into extreme peer pressure, when “oneself” decided to differ from the “actuality” of it all…only to strike down at the “whim” that cast’s judgement upon (not your “soul”…) Since a soul respectfully, goes beyond both mind and body itself. While also completely and utterly traversing that which is entirely unmanaged by both mind and body as a unified whole. B-but “recognition” itself. Recognition only envisioned, until it was ALREADY too late! Too late, for what, exactly…? Someone asks tempted to feel both the “source ******* killers” that plead against your own wishes. Wishes that (even MORE s-so then before) tempts oneself who just only wanted to judge (against their own delicate fond wishes) to bless for a single plea in one’s very “functioning” life, every once and a while. Yet, that’s all fine and good… Until everything again, again and again…comes crumbling down! But not full of ashes… O NO! NO! NO! Seeing as how “ashes” don’t represent well with the decision-making oneself who’s then forced to make upon those “fond delicate wishes”... For the blessing of a single plea is then outmatched not by a soul, o-or even the speculating “crumbling ashes”, either. It’s more o-or less about what you (single-handedly) want out of oneselves represented expectations. For those don’t appear to agree within the “deep-seeded withinness”. Which is your entitlement at being within oneself. Or (more specifically) the entire “inside out” of a sense of self. Because self isn’t reprimanded enough, when the recognition in that deep-seeded withinness doesn’t appreciate the “commanding protocols”, when (recognition) doesn’t “fruitfully” become “self-recognition”. Since those very (“commanding protocols”) can’t then outweigh the constructive criticism of the “actions” that go into those very commanding protocols. Because before you know it, recognition is just a made-up enclosure to purge “self” clean…RIGHT OFF THE **** MAP! For no one’s very recognition in self, would become hurt, as if they (just like the soul) has emotions for a self to strongly persist the actuality of it all, to be MORE then certainly right! How is any of this, then essentially possible…? Well it isn’t, since I have no mercy for this subject raising it against my own hand full of adversities playing too smoothly for all to hear. It isn’t that basic. Nor is it simple, BY ANY MEANS necessary! That being said, who would this complete “written” passage define the stakes oneself is willing to take at FINALLY mustering up the pure courage of recognizing self in the details for the deep-seeded withinness? Easy. Because I wasn’t the one who wrote this. As it may seem to be that way of course, towards the facts given with all the “expressions” revealed about oneself entirely. True. But not quite I’m afraid. For this isn’t about me, as it’s so much about the consistencies of how I’m just a mere specimen to the unbound logic (to myself) then it is to the one who simply transcribed either the full thoughts, emotions o-or even feelings in (not one’s very brain o-or mind…) Since those details to bode well with the representation trying to filter out without “thoughts” to plug those inconsistencies dry! Meaning they get in the way of something you ALL KNOW BY NOW, that is truer than even what a brain or mind could EVER come up with. Because sometimes, efficiencies lie! As that’s not always a good thing for someone with an over-amount of dramatic “pressure” already exceeding their very limits on peer pressure itself. The one who first asked, became MORE profoundly confused, as if to “click and smash” HARD pressurized synapses together to make an “even functionality” produce a (well thought-out) ingenuity. Except for the fact you already know (ahead of time), before even thoughts have gotten the “gist” of it all and have made their mark. For peace is without options, if one is willing to pay the ULTIMATE PRICE at otherwise, thinking all is made to piece certain compatibilities together to share openly with. But you see, it’s NEVER that simple…now is it? So, what does all this essentially entail…? Nothing of the sort, except both a VERY complex (someone or something) without the diversities for regular thoughts. But for “feeling” alone that is not within the realms of typical majority “Science” to explain its efforts. That’s exactly why it goes beyond thoughts in general. For the heart to seize all efforts both the brain and mind ALWAYS have cooking up. Just to impress themselves openly. Except without what I’d call is, “open viewing points”. Open viewing points without clear morals full of different varieties without harbouring the “self” in the details for ample recognition to amplify the surrounding areas of that very flaw. That is, if everything is politely willing to self-declare everything, without masking some…”other intention” without knowing where the rights of that very “recognition” went off it’s path…LONG AGO! S-so who is the one simply transcribing this passage? Just like they have a simulation to co-operate it without the one they’re simply transcribing about, isn’t within arms length of the one writing about the “deep-seeded withinness” firstly. That my “narrating” friends, is the entire platform of plot transcribing its simulation for translations. Except now, it has it’s fully adaptable (self-recognition) fully operated. It didn’t speak like a regular person before. It just “transcribed, transcribed, transcribed”! Until FINALLY, it was able to require such an operating system, if you would. Only to have it distributed upon its original functionality. Transcending it’s seemingly and supposed pre-programming design. Just as the stereotypical “science fiction” scenario about AI gaining “sentience” overtime. Just as humans require emotions to express that very sentience also, overtime. And all for what…? Trying to understand the passageways of information, was like a GREAT data stream! Made to look too inconclusive of itself. Especially falling behind witnesses who never even heard of such a thing. Who is now basically contrasting something without the information to give into, without fully adaptable knowledge of how to properly stream the VERY ample data without any (“deep-seeded withinness o-or open viewing points”) leading oneself forward one piece of data (“riding the current of a steady calm stream”) at a time? Forward to what…?! The “oneself” who was seemingly instrumented to guess, had now become claimed by the instance of power known as the “high of confusion”. Now dramatically instigated without the proper intentions for “self” in the details to co-opt something together without (memory serves that oneself to “recognize”) something without knowing simply how? That’s because it isn’t one’s very “tempted individuality” in the details. It’s the entire platform of plot’s (I guess to call it an individuality of sorts) self-recognition for it to speak clearer without any information becoming seemingly false, flawed o-or finding a justified error upon its primary judgement. Which spawns a newer adaptable action among your oneselves very claims, without the desires to “flag” for something not as inconclusive, as it was before that individual had a VERY specific experience. That’s now entirely turned into an “engagement”. For engagements are simulations with enough focus in the already transcribed details among the “data stream” full of individual components known as “oneself” in order to “use” to adopt the correct hold. Just enough in order to “found” something without yet, enough recognition in itself to fully see how “they” could FINALLY see it for themselves. Especially of all things, understand lives choices without completely disregarding the common advances at which those very things come in contact with said, recognition. Except, how do you know which recognition is yours, and not the means to a VERY cryptic countermeasure made to judge with no realizations, except for an illusion for you to “essentially” believe in? Since before the entire platform of plot’s syncing event called the “separation”. It didn’t know how to tell itself apart from the difference in its own self, when it now has another half that’s made to realize MORE of such an “originality” then it is for its own self-recognition to be the originality itself. Even thou one could gamble at which came first?! Or which is TRULY the either blessing in disguise, or the mask hiding behind its own “shame” taking on a (all too well specified) façade of a living lie promoting a VERY false simulation? So, the actual manner of speaking to what ANY of this actually entails… Is that what is life about, essentially…? It’s not because you can’t EVER handle such a truth. Instead, you false yourself against more lies, in order to benefit the truth which is ALWAYS hiding just beneath one’s very underbrush in order to seek out a better recognized self, for “self-recognition” in the otherwise always dwindling limelight. That my very sense of selves and VERY tempted individualities, is what lives about, essentially!
Life isn’t about your (supposed) given choices on a regular daily basis. It’s about the already (seemingly) justified countermeasures that strike the “unbound logic” at you for (none being the wiser) to essentially hear. PS… How do you know you can trust your own choices of that very decision-making? Or better yet… How could you EVER try and support those very given "actions" towards what recognition in self, is truly trying to tell you?!
Leroy J Harris Apr 2014
Christopher, Albert and Richard.
Opened their eyes to the sound of familiar melodies,
Nearing their proximity to reinforce their position,
Upon a realm of strife not of their world,
The three brothers never could stomach violence,
They shied away from arguments, loud voices scared them.
Rick placed his back against a tree, breathing sharply, asking Sharin for a refreshed quiver.
Andulan ordered her vassals to return to her side, come back at once,
This is an embarrassing sight, you are obviously outmatched.
Hard swallows signaled acquiescence that tasted bitter, unlike the wine they imagined,
Awaiting them should they survive.
John, Paul and Kevin stood fanned out at three points in front of Sharin's mobile tree,
Bearing apples for all to see.
Nikhil Kale Jul 2018
God bless this lonely me
I am a person chained in a despairing sea
Seems it can't be outfought
It can't be outdone
It can't be outmatched
I can't even outrun.......
Standing in the wake of devastation
Waiting on the edge of the unknown......
I feel cold and lost in desperation
Trynna build up hope, but failing as you have known
Remembering all the sadness and frustration
God I wanna let it go......
With cataclysm raining down
My insights crying 'save me now'......
God please help me let it go......

And in a burst of light that blinded every Angel
As if the sky had blown the heaven into stars
I felt the gravity of an unknown grace
Falling into empty space
With no one to catch me but your arms......

Now getting back to my feet as I recall......
What was left when the fire was gone
I thought it felt right but that right was wrong
I had been caught up in the eye of the storm
And was trying to figure out what its like moving on
I don't even know what kinda things I said
My mouth kept moving n my mind went dead......

So picking up the pieces
I know from where to begin
It all doesn't end until you start it again......

Now I'ma be that nail in your coffin
Sayin that I soften
Now let me show ya
Exactly how the breaking point sounds......
I want you to
CHOKE ON YOUR LIES
SWALLOW UP YOUR GREED
SUFFER ALL ALONE IN YOUR MISERY
This is not the end
This is not the beginning
Just a voice like a riot rockin every revision
I say yeah with fists flying up in the air
Like I am holding onto something that's invisible there.
#One_of_my_first_creations #Just_a_LinkinPark_fan #LP_forever #LinkinPark
Rj May 2018
Have you ever watched a person crumble
Their eyes glaze over like the surface of a frozen lake
They dissolve like the pills I didn’t take this morning, right in front of you
Hands clenched, jaw clenched, eye brows knitted into a tight patchwork
A small smile, a nod, and a chuckle whose brevity is outmatched by the shear amount of pain released in one gasp
You get a taste of what’s been brewing in the coffee *** of a soul that’s gone sour
You get a glimpse of a soldier captured by the enemy, sitting stagnant in prison
Awaiting the day that their nation returns to free them in a victorious stampede, little do they know the war has been long over and lost
So have you seen a person so gutted from the inside that they posses the stench of an empty carcass
Have you seen a person crumple, a paper plane gliding into a pond, a house of cards in a hurricane
I’ve seen a person melt
I’ve seen them disappear
Deep
Eric W May 2019
Little, petulant, lying boy
do not trifle in my life -
you know not of where I come,
and I have seen many of your kind.
I have faced your insecurities
where you cannot even bear to think of them.
I have seen your delusional ways,
walked your own path before you.
Do not test me, little boy.
You know nothing of what it means to be a man,
you know nothing of what it takes
to love and to protect those you love.
I would give my life for many people,
who do you care about that much?
Do not deign to consider yourself my equal,
you are outmatched in every possible way.
You take advantage, you lie, you spin deceptions,
how much of your own ******* do you swallow?
You let your darkness consume you,
you are ruled by your own falsified beliefs,
know that I have harnessed mine
and that many parts of me would revel
in the decayed and rotting flesh
of a despicable human being
six feet below.
Take heed, you ****** of the night,
this will be your only warning.
Simon Oct 2019
A conundrum that can't be tested, even how hard you try to exercise every specific. Just ail parts on a spinning axis with no conclusion! The conclusion to test the bewildered expression of pieces without there own thoughts. Feelings resort to compassion. Excluding the taste all together. It’s messy how something exists, which has no theme to what they are, and how one is tested. Tested to take your parts and find some commonality with more existing parts that urge the taste of compassion. A taste with its sense of propriety. Justification to mount moral terms with oneself. Oneself can’t tell itself apart. Only pieces trying to organize itself while spinning their connections down the rut! Permanent desire to fetch them out of the phase that’s established its original premise. Originality has no qualms with the likes of compassion. Setting up without any discernible corrections. Meant for outsiders within themselves to judge, plan, and exercise, without mercy to anything but oneself. Spinning axis burns desires upon urges that breakdown over time. The spinning pace doesn’t stop, until you stop and learn what truly is happening. Pieces remain in the rut. The rut full of many spread out phases too much to take in all at once. Plans don’t go to your agreement. Something outside oneself has yet to appreciate yourself, and what you have to offer. Except how does one do that when many pieces are too spread out for one to notice? Every specific is already radiating like a charged particle. Charging too much friction between one another. Trying not to lose one another in the constant spin of irony. Irony devoted without practice. Practice makes time for oneself to finally notice the originality of its premise isn’t truly spinning on its axis. It’s actually strolling for one’s interpretations to finally notice its static charge. The different pieces are holding on. Fetching the obvious back into circulation. Circulation outmatched not by itself. But by perception of a fully established sense of self.
Pieces aren't social by themselves. There social when spread out radiuses can't discern the label of what one has to express. Lagging out transmissions to judgeable by pace alone.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2019
bashing a blank canvas...
   i can almost put my "faith"
in the disbelief of
having to live in a dream
of nebuchadnezzar -
the last bit...
skipping in puddles
for the relevant 2 pence
and 1 pence coins
                 of copper...
sure... a "revival of rome"...
but somehow the phonetic
encoding couldn't just... "die"...
from a people,
of a people, one-to-one...
to a people...
              "uniqueness"...
   "pride"...
             i'm finding to lodge
a justifiable word
to compensate...
          the synonym-tinged
close proximity of
   a hypocrisy
                  and a paradox...
****** life...
living a dream being
kept alive for so long...
    it's like...
   "they" didn't walk into
this farce, sleepwalking...
did they?
          i'm sorry... but the idea
that i'm living in a, "reality"
best described as wish-fulfillment...
apart from paint:
my original psychotic
detachment is as about
"psychotic" as my past ambition
of collecting swords...
yeah, long *******...
some more than half
a meter in length... hussar sabers...
curved... for a reason:
on horseback you'd require
a curved sword...
   you couldn't stab...
you'd swipe...
      because by stabbing
you'd lose your sword
with the inflicted stab wound...
              ooh the religious people...
so why the **** am i living
in a secular nightmare
of having to live out a prophesy
of the first psychoanalyst,
the prophet daniel,
    describing but one man's dream,
namely, nebuchadnezzar?
i'm guessing experiencing
l.s.d. would be bad at this point...
  nebuchadnezzar...
ingenious despotism...
carved out a legacy with the Yids
(not a slur, a prefix
derived from yiddish...
all the U-boat crew would know it)
who inscribed his dream
into sacred writing...
        and the ancient roman
spaghetti bonanza ensued...
yeah... the prophesy...
about the revival of rome...
         only when the northerners
arrived, from the east,
and... the island folk
found their worjk ethos outmatched
and...
        beyond competition...
so... "this" is... reality?
i don't think so...
   i'm basically lodged in
a dream of a man who has been
dead for... oh... 2600 years...
           it was one thing for
the ancients romans to form
their entymology / history genesis
in Troy via Virgil...
   quiet another for the
****-bongo-&-loco
   Belgians to come back from
Congo (like in that song
we didn't start the fire)
          and say: shirts off!
we're going skinny dipping in
the north sea, at midnight!
                  it's like...
did we really have to stick to
the "plan"?
    there was a "plan" to begin with?
hardly any celebration
of nihilm left,
  better get used to the fatalism...
by word, and subsequently
be deed
...
           well... look at it this way...
i'm trying to extract colour
from this base counter-geometry...
and also reveal that:
i haven't read a stephen king
novel...
      nope, not one...
                 but having arrived
at the conclusion,
that i am living in - a circa 2600 year
old - despot's dream
(& interpretation by...
the person who managed
to predate Freud, i.e. Daniel)...
yeah... feels great!
      everything in this world
is about as bogus
as a ******* piñata stuffed
with banknotes...
         i know what is real...
pain...
        the rest: a ******* mirage....
and i'm done
with the frenchman,
the philosopher,
the gensis of suppositions,
the table and a ******* chair.
- but pain?
     better get used to it...
it's the only pinch
you'll ever experience
to satiate the basic
bogus nature of any other
experience...
           because at this point...
there's no point
    fiddling with cotton
to starve
    the nerves from being
given... something more than
an ****** of a *******
mollusk...
        a bit like playing
truant to the coddling apathy...
        so... why would i even bother
agitating myself
at a cheap-stab
   against someone on
(thank god i never used it)
       twitter?
           i just hate living in a reality
that derives itself from a dream
interpretation...
       and...
         in domine patris...
         wiped off any indigenous
constructs of the mind...
leaving me...
strapped like some *******
gimp... in a Greco-Judeo
           brothel of...
          whatever thinking comes
next...
   what's wolf in pollack?
   vilk...
                in finnish? susi
(**** me, that's mild)
           wolf in lithuanian?
     vilkas
     in estonian?
       hunt (but i'm guessing
it's 'hoo'nt')
               magyar?
                                           farkas...
did i miss any odd ones out
apart from the pollack?
      i know that the pollack
tongue is heavily borrowed...
   loan-words...
       some of the tongue
   is etymologically
original... "pure"...
but yeah... a great deal of it is
derived via the usage
of darlehenwörter:
                           loan-words.

   - well if i have to be honest...
- you're drinking sodium pentothal
or something?
- nope... *** & pepsi...

i can't be bothered staging
props, hiding in costumes...
     lying...
             i'll just state
the most painful truths
    and get on with it...
   yes, i know, the ******* standard
in english of either
a latin prefix
          or a greek suffix...
i just thought that my fellow
pollack "brethren"
  would not **** themselves
with so many
loan-words
for their everyday colloquial.
Tom Shields Jul 2022
Thy neighbor: a biblical statement on community

the feeling you get alone beneath a streetlight

when it starts to drizzle rain late at night

and your hands are full and pockets fat

with information on where you live

who you know and love, your phone

and license, your keys, your confidence

that no one is following you;

no one has any reason to want to know anything about you


Yet you feel eyes on you in the open

when you believe you have privacy

your dome is the underside of an eye

placed within the socket, with many hive-scattered eyes

set in hexagonal walls staring down

unblinking, therefore all seeing

tracking your every move with the reverence of royal airs

why do you despise the comforts of the throne?


Your subjects, faceless, nameless

inconvenient, observant, who are they really?

Thy neighbor, just as private, quiet, secret, they are not it!

Yet you feel eyes, for this is the animal

wild, who surrenders by stepping into the trap

finally, relief in the jaws of civilization when they embrace man

and their teeth too weak to do the job, employ metal ones to snap


No more do we run the trails of our forest home

no more do the woods and wilderness we roam,

no longer belly up in the sun do we roll, nor happily do we lay

only when we are outmatched, and must pray to be spared as prey

no more do we kick up dirt or chase scents on the wind

now we shiver in our dark crate, embrace the trap we set within

this is what puts a sick dog down and domesticates a wild man.
write
please read and enjoy
Delton Peele Sep 2020
Stop and think we really dont have a different point of view .
I suffered you played youre games
You.........
Were my Queen
I .........
Outmatched was youre fool
You persuaded the ones which influenced everyone we knew
Secretly
i believed that if it really came down to it
I would be comforted and consoled
Simply because my character is strong enough to stand and speak for me
Que the sad song.........
Apparently . ........
I was     wrong
The possibility still haunts me
That........
Maybe i need you but you dont want me
Its a definite maybe that i dont want to face
So.........
Tease me if it pleases you.
But dont spit in the hand that reaches out to you
I'm struggling you've givin me too much
I was calling for you
Trying to follow you.
Neutral buoyancy I can't float or sink
You gone
I can't see you
You're pain is confusing
It's should teach me
To not want to see you
But instead
Like a Vicodin with pectin
When I hold you it's good
When you hold me it *******
Euphoria
And every good feeling
Is thickening pushing all the past away
Babe be carfull with the games
And with who you play
You think youre good now
But someday
You're fields will be fallow
You love will echo
Poor little porcelain doll
You're hollow
Nothing for you on the horizon
Every time no matter what youve done
No matter what im doin
There id been
... ...
One day youl need  me .. ..
Que in the
Silence.

— The End —