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"overlap" poems
There's a yellow green gas, You can't see in your glass. Sometimes you can tell, It's there by the smell. It does a great job removing bacteria, Like Diphtheria, Or even Listeria. But what do you think, Happens to the chlorine in your drink? I don't want to alarm, But there's a chance it might harm. It protects at a price, Attacking our bacteria that are nice, And I'm sure it excels, At killing your own cells, Forcing new ones to grow, When a mistake could cause woe. Some studies have found it an enhancer, Of bladder and bowel cancer. Whether old or young, Do you want it in your lung? You have the power, To remove it from your shower. It's rather grim, To have to breathe it when you swim. You're more likely to wheeze, Or sneeze. Do you think it will please, Your inflammatory bowel disease? Perhaps it's the key, To why there's Crohns and UC. Do you think that your skin, Might become a little thin, And be filled with dread, As it starts to turn red. Can you not feel, How it's harder to heal? It makes our tissues grow old, From what I've been told. Our cells can only divide, A few times before they're stupified. With asthma and chlorine on a map, You can see they overlap. Sadly in the West, Not everyone has guessed, That there may be a link, With the gas in our drink. “But!”, I hear you cry, “Without it people will die.” Let go of your dread, We can use something instead. The answer is well known, It's called 'ozone'. Made from pure water, It's gone when it reaches my daughter, Unlike chlorine it's life is brief, What a relief. There's many a city, That make it with electricity, Splitting water into hydrogen, And best of all, oxygen! For ozone is made from O2, Yes, it's true! Imagine if you had, Water with nothing they add. Already there's Paris and Nice in France, Where people can dance. San Diego and Los Angeles in the USA, Have water that's ok. And Osaka in Japan, Now use this plan. But you don't have to be rich, To make the switch. Ask a clever committee, To stop chlorine in your city. See if you can arrange, To have your water change. I hear you shout, “Can 'I' get this chlorine out?” If you leave water in a jug overnight, What's left will be slight. Boiling will send it away in the air, So there's no need to despair. You can also remove it with a filter, Or a water distiller. To learn more have a look, At 'Question Chlorine' on facebook.
0
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 5:05 AM UTC
The Chlorine in Your Water
There's a yellow green gas, You can't see in your glass. Sometimes you can tell, It's there by the smell. It does a great job removing bacteria, Like Diphtheria, Or even Listeria. But what do you think, Happens to the chlorine in your drink? I don't want to alarm, But there's a chance it might harm. It protects at a price, Attacking our bacteria that are nice, And I'm sure it excels, At killing your own cells, Forcing new ones to grow, When a mistake could cause woe. Some studies have found it an enhancer, Of bladder and bowel cancer. Whether old or young, Do you want it in your lung? You have the power, To remove it from your shower. It's rather grim, To have to breathe it when you swim. You're more likely to wheeze, Or sneeze. Do you think it will please, Your inflammatory bowel disease? Perhaps it's the key, To why there's Crohns and UC. Do you think that your skin, Might become a little thin, And be filled with dread, As it starts to turn red. Can you not feel, How it's harder to heal? It makes our tissues grow old, From what I've been told. Our cells can only divide, A few times before they're stupified. With asthma and chlorine on a map, You can see they overlap. Sadly in the West, Not everyone has guessed, That there may be a link, With the gas in our drink. “But!”, I hear you cry, “Without it people will die.” Let go of your dread, We can use something instead. The answer is well known, It's called 'ozone'. Made from pure water, It's gone when it reaches my daughter, Unlike chlorine it's life is brief, What a relief. There's many a city, That make it with electricity, Splitting water into hydrogen, And best of all, oxygen! For ozone is made from O2, Yes, it's true! Imagine if you had, Water with nothing they add. Already there's Paris and Nice in France, Where people can dance. San Diego and Los Angeles in the USA, Have water that's ok. And Osaka in Japan, Now use this plan. But you don't have to be rich, To make the switch. Ask a clever committee, To stop chlorine in your city. See if you can arrange, To have your water change. I hear you shout, “Can 'I' get this chlorine out?” If you leave water in a jug overnight, What's left will be slight. Boiling will send it away in the air, So there's no need to despair. You can also remove it with a filter, Or a water distiller. To learn more have a look, At 'Question Chlorine' on facebook.
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87
Every face is a story Etched into the air we breathe /           And these journeys Lead us to paper lives of survival’s manifest, Where solid colours refuse to exist - And black and white enmesh To cloud the streams of speech We use to guide us to The non-existent chapter Of complete understanding /           Leaving fingerprints That overlap over others Until an artwork is forced /out/ of our ghostly presence, Always to be remembered By all we’ve touched - Long after memory has lost itself... In the streets of brains Trying their best to rest after they have successfully /etched/ themselves into the fabric Of spinning time and a gravitational pull           -Irresistible- Breathing out one last patch To add to humanity’s short stretch, To feel the very essence Of reality within them Before returning to the beginning / Every face is a story
0
Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 3:16 AM UTC
trying to breathe in your image
The shivering eyeglasses lazily coating the ground Break way to the budding of the season. To reincarnate is to live the anomaly, The evergreen boughs bend in the wind. Coalescing crystals form dew on our morn To leave a fresh taste, on lips, on tongue. The time is imminent, but the dawn is young, My white Orchid, born to the sun. Simply, optically, it's to weak to touch Unworthy digits, to blind to see. My scarlet levees, to right to feel. The ivory blossom, to right to be real. Under the canopies, the shimmering outline Moves closer until the mirror cracks And our reflections are polymorphicly one, Our hearts still polyamorously two. I yearn to dream of lucid lavender, The aroma surrounds the dream, still dreamed The scent so real, or so it seemed Encapsulating this moment in amber. Until we sleep, until we fly Together. Our wings open to embrace the quilted high. Our mouths embrace to fill the void, Unleash the magic, bathing us in light Bricks and mortar overlap my thoughts But time alone is not a wall. Time alone, it cannot fall And it still ticks with the beat of my pendulum. Oh flower, oh life, vitality aplenty. Your hideousness, a secret untold, Withers to your beauty, yet to unmold. Le voyage fantasme is here for me now. And now the grains slip between my toes. The sandcastles caress the glass of our hour. It's never too late, but always on time, So before the light fades, kiss me and say "I'll sleep tonight, I'll dream of you." Orchid, my Orchid, love, my love I'll dream with you forever.
0
Nov 3, 2010
Nov 3, 2010 at 7:39 PM UTC
Ballad of the White Orchid
The shivering eyeglasses lazily coating the ground Break way to the budding of the season. To reincarnate is to live the anomaly, The evergreen boughs bend in the wind. Coalescing crystals form dew on our morn To leave a fresh taste, on lips, on tongue. The time is imminent, but the dawn is young, My white Orchid, born to the sun. Simply, optically, it's to weak to touch Unworthy digits, to blind to see. My scarlet levees, to right to feel. The ivory blossom, to right to be real. Under the canopies, the shimmering outline Moves closer until the mirror cracks And our reflections are polymorphicly one, Our hearts still polyamorously two. I yearn to dream of lucid lavender, The aroma surrounds the dream, still dreamed The scent so real, or so it seemed Encapsulating this moment in amber. Until we sleep, until we fly Together. Our wings open to embrace the quilted high. Our mouths embrace to fill the void, Unleash the magic, bathing us in light Bricks and mortar overlap my thoughts But time alone is not a wall. Time alone, it cannot fall And it still ticks with the beat of my pendulum. Oh flower, oh life, vitality aplenty. Your hideousness, a secret untold, Withers to your beauty, yet to unmold. Le voyage fantasme is here for me now. And now the grains slip between my toes. The sandcastles caress the glass of our hour. It's never too late, but always on time, So before the light fades, kiss me and say "I'll sleep tonight, I'll dream of you." Orchid, my Orchid, love, my love I'll dream with you forever.
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40
Antimatter mirroring our existance on the pathway of a reverse world Imagine it, time stands still, halts without a will to  continue its flow if it were to possess one to begin with, and everything is but fragile, Illusionary moon, shine on in this distorted realm in which not even gravity is reliable or even trustworthy at this point, up is down here, An imperishable night caught under a spell of eternity, uninterrupted Everlasting, permanently shining, the fake moons appearance is clear, Unremitting, sweetly told as a if it was a lie, the rumours of this world spread more likely like a disease through the ancient, young earth, A line parallel drawn to ours, a dimension coexisting without sense, It appears to be fragile, like a newborn child, the smallest disturbance would mostlikely ruin it's balance, bring tremor upon it wretchedly, But where that life sparkles as then fades, two dimensions surely would overlap, of course, maybe it will be the world you inhabit, no? In the realm of the dead, a loitering, lingering darkness thins the borders of reality and illusion, causing them to exist as one, now with the same heart and soul, a fantasy heaven which became reality, After all, that place is only temporary,one surely could even call it a; Short living eternity, ~ Umi
0
Mar 26, 2018
Mar 26, 2018 at 7:57 PM UTC
Short living Eternity
I dreamed about the future and you know it wasn't great Unless, I may have missed it And I kind of showed up late Time controls the future turns tomorrow to today just when you think you've made it the future's yesterday You can have a bucket full of wishes You can have a bucket full of dreams But, don't wait until the future For it's not quite what it seems Other peoples futures Overlap with what you do Everything keeps changing So the future is not new What goes around will come again At least that's what they say So if you want to have a future Why not start out with today? Tomorrow is a zephyr It moves fast and it's gone For the future is the present by the time you count to one So, take your bucket full of wishes And your bucket full of dreams Don't wait until the future It isn't what it seems My future's now my present And my present will soon go I don't dream about the future When I get there...I won't know
0
Oct 4, 2015
Oct 4, 2015 at 9:56 PM UTC
Dream about the future
I'll run my fingers over you The lines overlap as if they know you so well Your breath was numbered by them. Your death was my comfort I lay myself indeed not in your arms For those were the branches of yours Cut down and embraced by millions. They sprayed you with chemicals You cried but no one has heard it For in every pain, you are numb And they linger in your countless tremor. The hammer pressured you Every impact was brought to disgrace Those silver yet rustic points Made your skin bleed with tears. I found you affectionate For every time I'm near you I felt so good Now I can't live without you Hold me in your arms and sing me lullabies. (6/3/2014 @xirlleelang)
0
Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 10:44 PM UTC
Old Wooden Bed
I will forgive you if you leave me alone. They say it is easier to love than hate But there is too much hurt to turn back time. We are shadows passing through the night No one will care If we don't overlap. © Maria Francine
0
Jul 16, 2015
Jul 16, 2015 at 12:12 PM UTC
Estranged
there was no poem neath my pillow no poem on my tongue, none from eye envisionaries, no dew gift from my grassy emissaries, parting residue of an unknowable finger touch nothing stirring, the mother muses mushing their shushing noises, only breathy quietude, an airy surround sound tissue, the cadence of intermingled hearts, the mother and the child two awakenings, one instantaneous, the other restless unhurried slow, but within an impatience to intersect, the overlap is love stars crossing, impatience weaponized to make momma aware her companions refreshed status, a needy for love’s suckling, embrace of fresh baked smiles from hot heartedly hearth furnaces thus a-born a new poem, a welcomed well coming, in words, the alliance of alliterated words from the interlacing of the mother’s chest heaving and the sniffling joy of a five year old boy reimagining the dreams that crossed from mother to son, and back again, requiring composition and joint authorship of them *the only and only true authentic authorship, mother and child, their owned unique duality of singularity*
0
Feb 7, 2019
Feb 7, 2019 at 2:30 PM UTC
There was no poem welcome neath my pillow (mother and child)
There isn't a place for us to exist in the day. The magnanimous sun reveals too much for common eyes to see. But come night, dimmed lamps be our aide. We sink into each other with little reservation. We overlap, intertwine and merge. Inadvertently blending into darkened backdrops, we get absorbed in our very own shadowplay.
0
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 12:51 PM UTC
Shadowclad
I think I've always been alone . . . At least, as long as I can remember. But there's a part of me,                        that still feels so connected -- To something near the source,                         At the core of somewhere true. Where we exist without our existence's limitations. Where duality, begins to mean overlap,                          And both fiction and fact,                          One and yet another,                          Things like "this" and "that"                          Are the same, still . . . Innocently unseparated,                          In this place near to creation. Maybe it's just my brain . . .                         I do have a habit of creating dualities. "Together, or apart? No," I think.                        More like doubting infallibility.               -------------------------- So when I say I've always been alone, I have to ask myself:                                               "Have you really?" "*Of course you haven't been. But who you are right now, is no longer that you . . . At least . . . not fully*."                                       "*So, if I was alone then,                                        Does that mean that I                                        might not be any longer?*" "Oh, no." I explained back to myself, "*I think you misunderstood me. It's just . . . That you'll never truly know, Until there's nothing and nobody*." -------------------------- That's a haunting truth to tell yourself,             When you're off in your own head. At least I won't be alone in my regret,                          When I'm among the dead. I'll find community in that.   Surely,  that's the place to which I feel so connected! The place where maybe two of myself is enough                       to make just one of me feel, Like I'm worth something more, than more or less,                       In a place that's neither there, nor here . . . At least, there, if I don't feel connected,                      To myself, I may feel near.
0
Feb 14, 2019
Feb 14, 2019 at 2:20 AM UTC
Internal Dialogue (or, Both of Me)
I think I've always been alone . . . At least, as long as I can remember. But there's a part of me,                        that still feels so connected -- To something near the source,                         At the core of somewhere true. Where we exist without our existence's limitations. Where duality, begins to mean overlap,                          And both fiction and fact,                          One and yet another,                          Things like "this" and "that"                          Are the same, still . . . Innocently unseparated,                          In this place near to creation. Maybe it's just my brain . . .                         I do have a habit of creating dualities. "Together, or apart? No," I think.                        More like doubting infallibility.               -------------------------- So when I say I've always been alone, I have to ask myself:                                               "Have you really?" "*Of course you haven't been. But who you are right now, is no longer that you . . . At least . . . not fully*."                                       "*So, if I was alone then,                                        Does that mean that I                                        might not be any longer?*" "Oh, no." I explained back to myself, "*I think you misunderstood me. It's just . . . That you'll never truly know, Until there's nothing and nobody*." -------------------------- That's a haunting truth to tell yourself,             When you're off in your own head. At least I won't be alone in my regret,                          When I'm among the dead. I'll find community in that.   Surely,  that's the place to which I feel so connected! The place where maybe two of myself is enough                       to make just one of me feel, Like I'm worth something more, than more or less,                       In a place that's neither there, nor here . . . At least, there, if I don't feel connected,                      To myself, I may feel near.
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48
Often it's a fine line. Elements of the two will overlap and intertwine. Lust coupled with a prominent ******** Longing, faith and need, founded upon an unexplainably true connection.
0
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 7:40 PM UTC
The Difference Between *** & Making Love !#WARNING MATURE CONTENT#!
Ecstasy mire in its own sorrow, As if a ghost makes love to its shade. The wooden door merely holds the knock; Instead it punches out within the walls, Dispersed as if a blow of clay. There the sound hauls up a craft: Foul of the wooden scent. Just as it intertwines with cloisters, The curves are lined into a silhouette. The mountainous fogs are sharpened, The apex is buttoned and round. The matter it is that shapes the core: The mere marriage of soul and dust. How a flesh can tease its craft, As it gnaws on a clavicle(?) The ghost sips on a river, As if making love to its shade.
0
Feb 8, 2018
Feb 8, 2018 at 4:59 AM UTC
Overlap
two points hurling through the void both independent events happening to overlap just a moment thus I am content with a mere intersection of your plane with mine
0
Jun 13, 2019
Jun 13, 2019 at 12:58 PM UTC
Intersect
is it love or the parasite ? my pilot bulk                       aims for relief        it pursues this via                             your romantic correction in public arena                   a library stair                     (i never prior encountered you) one step as foreigner         the approach and upon a swift internal pendulum i make witless incisions hurried mended sentences directed stuns invasive i demand the compromise                   of your company hastily push at boundaries and you're not so accommodating                                                  but on a further occasion same building we exchange a battering of conversation that    then        matures            into barter-like use of language despite my harassments   a civil cultivation is unearthed tongue within this intelligence effort i lessen loosen my demanding appearance disregard my dignity      a skin suit about the ankles you're open in a vein of similarity    you flesh out your own controls we've progressed quickly there's an aped conduct                  and flashing attitudes this time we share table space a nearby café we have become quite unmanned     repeated meet ups upon humours we adjust small habits     and shake on perceptions where we overlap it becomes    more an overlay of rationalities         than resented promises fast time passes and i move into your living space                                   i pick a wildflower                                                                    and put it in the tiny vase on your dining table we agree on its colour                                               we agree on a book to make our bible material we agree on the pitch of the tinnitus we share the clothes i am to wear i switch to your diet and you cease taking medications we sleep on your lawn like children and bring down the night sky for comfort during the day we wear our sleep               like a lubrication for our chores and go about our productivity               in genuine partnership yet i feel we're just out of reach             of some dark harm we are an excellent sample pair it is all vital we grow stronger the more we quiz it recycling our ********** refine our agreements await further impulses and come closer to plug so.. do we please love       or simply indulge a parasite ?
0
Nov 23, 2021
Nov 23, 2021 at 10:28 PM UTC
a cultivation
is it love or the parasite ? my pilot bulk                       aims for relief        it pursues this via                             your romantic correction in public arena                   a library stair                     (i never prior encountered you) one step as foreigner         the approach and upon a swift internal pendulum i make witless incisions hurried mended sentences directed stuns invasive i demand the compromise                   of your company hastily push at boundaries and you're not so accommodating                                                  but on a further occasion same building we exchange a battering of conversation that    then        matures            into barter-like use of language despite my harassments   a civil cultivation is unearthed tongue within this intelligence effort i lessen loosen my demanding appearance disregard my dignity      a skin suit about the ankles you're open in a vein of similarity    you flesh out your own controls we've progressed quickly there's an aped conduct                  and flashing attitudes this time we share table space a nearby café we have become quite unmanned     repeated meet ups upon humours we adjust small habits     and shake on perceptions where we overlap it becomes    more an overlay of rationalities         than resented promises fast time passes and i move into your living space                                   i pick a wildflower                                                                    and put it in the tiny vase on your dining table we agree on its colour                                               we agree on a book to make our bible material we agree on the pitch of the tinnitus we share the clothes i am to wear i switch to your diet and you cease taking medications we sleep on your lawn like children and bring down the night sky for comfort during the day we wear our sleep               like a lubrication for our chores and go about our productivity               in genuine partnership yet i feel we're just out of reach             of some dark harm we are an excellent sample pair it is all vital we grow stronger the more we quiz it recycling our ********** refine our agreements await further impulses and come closer to plug so.. do we please love       or simply indulge a parasite ?
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77
Limbs overlap and our souls tangle in an      unimaginable infinity Your ragged breath overtakes my whispered        sighs I can no longer decipher where you end and I     begin We lay in clouds of euphoria Basking in the miraculous presence of an                 unknown God and an inevitable death I am barely aware of the hours passing while your fingertips trace the beauty you interpret as     my pale skin Who could have foreseen this tantalizing joining     of flesh Neither you nor I seem to care as we rest in the     other's glorious embrace
0
Mar 29, 2019
Mar 29, 2019 at 12:01 PM UTC
Inseparable
Maturity is knowing what your limitations are…(my daily chore) <> “Maturity is knowing what your limitations are. Maturity is a bitter disappointment for which no remedy exists, unless laughter can be said to remedy anything.” Kurt Vonnegut <> maturity comes when you cannot, even try, to fool oneself, indeed, you preposterousness, make you laugh hardest at your very, fully owned, selfhood preening mirror disguise Is this a poem, a lamentation, a pithy regurgitation of Vonnegut, and you say: “Don’t care, it’s words that gotta come out, be released to empty the heart” a daily excess removal of that daily overflow of the days first words when new day light and nighttime’s REM sleep overlap, and the music starts of a life time of favorites, and like a pleasant thorn direct into your temples brain, the leaking, then the spilling spirals unstoppable onto the pages, and the first true relieving exhalation comes with the excited exorcism of the stones of your life, come outside your body and there is a freshly born stripe upon your face, not yet a scar for it is yet to ripen by healing, but it is your creature for loving…and it is good company with so many prior guests who have checked in, stayed for a moment’s observation, departed after getting an extended checkout time, joining the many who came and went, disappearing in to the internet’s ether, where we one will join them eventually, though you smile at that thought, cause you’re mature enough, baby, an all growled up dude, to know that when you reached that stage, you will be, non-stop laughing at *** serious you imagined you were, and wondering out loud why it took so long to recognize that mirrored visage as one big ole fool with a smile upon his face… p.s so much for that promise to take a break from beating yourself up, but you know what, it is pleasing, in that way when upon the grand occasion of waking up to another unexpected day of living deserves a deep, but rueful, laugh out loud and others’ look at your self and argue to only mischievously agree, you are indeed, still crazy after all these years
0
Jul 8, 2023
Jul 8, 2023 at 8:24 AM UTC
Maturity is knowing what your limitations are...(my daily chore)
Maturity is knowing what your limitations are…(my daily chore) <> “Maturity is knowing what your limitations are. Maturity is a bitter disappointment for which no remedy exists, unless laughter can be said to remedy anything.” Kurt Vonnegut <> maturity comes when you cannot, even try, to fool oneself, indeed, you preposterousness, make you laugh hardest at your very, fully owned, selfhood preening mirror disguise Is this a poem, a lamentation, a pithy regurgitation of Vonnegut, and you say: “Don’t care, it’s words that gotta come out, be released to empty the heart” a daily excess removal of that daily overflow of the days first words when new day light and nighttime’s REM sleep overlap, and the music starts of a life time of favorites, and like a pleasant thorn direct into your temples brain, the leaking, then the spilling spirals unstoppable onto the pages, and the first true relieving exhalation comes with the excited exorcism of the stones of your life, come outside your body and there is a freshly born stripe upon your face, not yet a scar for it is yet to ripen by healing, but it is your creature for loving…and it is good company with so many prior guests who have checked in, stayed for a moment’s observation, departed after getting an extended checkout time, joining the many who came and went, disappearing in to the internet’s ether, where we one will join them eventually, though you smile at that thought, cause you’re mature enough, baby, an all growled up dude, to know that when you reached that stage, you will be, non-stop laughing at *** serious you imagined you were, and wondering out loud why it took so long to recognize that mirrored visage as one big ole fool with a smile upon his face… p.s so much for that promise to take a break from beating yourself up, but you know what, it is pleasing, in that way when upon the grand occasion of waking up to another unexpected day of living deserves a deep, but rueful, laugh out loud and others’ look at your self and argue to only mischievously agree, you are indeed, still crazy after all these years
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41
Seagulls on the beach along them chanting, I exist. A mountain overlap on slaying deranged. Mind-blown, portrait of yore. Sweet Belfast; Antique, unique, ambiguous, get obscene, now!
0
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 6:59 PM UTC
Belfast
To write down all my fears would take a book. My desires even more. The big problem, however, is where they overlap. To desire what i fear at least seems adventuresome, almost romantic. Scary yes, but exciting. Like a roller coaster ride with a fear of falling, like i do. Adulthood, the scary but most wonderful time of life. Then there is the fear of what i desire. That is a whole other beast entirely. What if my desires are not good for others? What if my desires steer me wrong? What if i follow one path when another would have been better? What if i don't achieve my desires? What if all these existential, angsty thoughts are complicating things and themselves standing in the way? What if? What if indeed.
0
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 8:47 PM UTC
What If?
"i like the world best when our paths overlap,”she said, with a tear.
0
Sep 25, 2017
Sep 25, 2017 at 8:58 PM UTC
my best version has you.
Start with a tin box guitar— plucking tortured notes like he’s known this kind of agony all his life. Stretching bluesy licks that bend and overlap— braiding every bunch of heart strings. We listen. Tune into something that seems to be cooing fluently in a language only the involuntary celibate can speak. No, we’re not getting any. But at least we get this.
0
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 4:25 PM UTC
songs to be sexually frustrated to
Time is of the deception of immemorial agreement... People, friends and family will get together time and time again - To discuss what?!? Most of the time, they petulantly boast about their own personal apotheosis - What does this prove? Where are they going with their abrogated thoughts? The people speak with impetuous pertinence and achieve absolutely nothing.... An asundering of cryptic thoughts that fell into oblivion - This is the sole reason why the inauspicious world will disintegrate and become a history book for worlds to come... When time has come to overlap itself . . . The world's clock stops. . . Your heart stops. . . . Time, the inevitable dimension that will carry on with no remorse When we are gone. . . . When I am gone..
0
Sep 13, 2012
Sep 13, 2012 at 8:59 PM UTC
Time
our shoulders would rest side by side – nowhere to slide away, just room to close in and share body heat. our arms would overlap then uncross; our feet and heads would beat and bob to a rhythm we’d share. our fingers would jump – they would poke and would provoke; grow closer and intertwine. we would share moments – magical ones – if only I had learned this language of music flowing through circles and lines of black and white.
0
Dec 27, 2012
Dec 27, 2012 at 1:30 AM UTC
Piano
Creative expressions, examine artistic talents. Plan it out, count ounces, keep countering the balance. Distant planets i feel more at place with, disgraced by the disgusting face human-race-lift. I'm currently placed here, a pessimistic cynic thinkin sink or swim, who cares? i'm already ****** dippin in it. Deep thoughts dropping, with brainstorm droughts often, countermanding clever cogitation conjured in common; I'm om nom nom-ing, busting every ****** ****** endowed well where it counts never gave a ***** a problem. Now drop that on an album, lay down a simple beat. Sample the same **** over and over on repeat. Call it a hype track, make some mixes, overlap. Over a short duration you can claim to be savior of rap. It's just that easy. Innovative minds depleting, stillborn America with its heart still beating. Patiently waiting.. I'm about to go crazy.. Basically, I better blow up or this hate is gonna take me.
0
Jul 24, 2013
Jul 24, 2013 at 2:43 AM UTC
Homegrown Terror
There is a map, which I cannot read, I trace paths upon unknown lands, foreign names, and broken lines, hoping to reach, somewhere, some place in time. The compass gently spins, And the hourglass bleeds. The map changes a million hands, A million eyes gaze, This way and that, The paths I draw, interlink, Traces criss-cross and overlap, Inks run into each other, And separate by centuries. Time rests among the folds, creases shut out history, between visibles and invisibles some distances decrease. The compass gently spins, And the hourglass bleeds. This map remains before me, still hidden and revealed.
0
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 3:47 PM UTC
The Map
Will you stand with me at the water's edge? As my beats quicken and intensify Likened to the pounding of war drums Fuelling the skirmishes within As my lungs remain obstinate and insatiable Voraciously consuming every breath till they overlap... As if the abundant air wasn't enough As my mind races out in a million different directions Crestfallen thoughts layered upon angry ideals Violated principles versus tattered resolutions Will you stand with me at the water's edge? And watch me as I choose between extinguishing the raging fire that burns in my heart and mind Or drown.
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Feb 4, 2017
Feb 4, 2017 at 2:17 AM UTC
Witness