"overthrowing" poems
I'm speechless
That's my approach as you approach me
And usually I'm too focused on finding the perfect words
To penetrate the simple space I provide
So when beautiful girls intentionally invade my atmosphere
My need for speech is satisfied
Your beauty speaks sufficiently for two
So while I'm struggling for oxygen, I hope you recognize
Your presence is all I've ever needed to breathe easily
I'm stuck
Between unexpressed elegance
And helplessness
My mouth is screaming out
But frozen completely shut
I'm worried my compliments
May be complications
That my suggestions
Might suppress my objective here
We typically rely on our words
To settle the score
As if you and I are in overtime
Of a tie ballgame
Looking for phrases to frame the scoreboard
With an absolute victor
But I was hoping that you'd be willing to join forces
To break through the proverbial force field
That prohibits rivals from overthrowing obstacles
Because I've always believed the input overpowers the outcome
What if it were possible
To eliminate our speech
So our ears could erase the need to draw conclusions
We don't etch our words in pencil
Our words are enunciated in permanent marker
Brutally beating through our eardrums
Rhythmically reminding us
That silence can be more sweet sounding than any set of syllables
All I know is I'm hell-bent on remaining a straight shooter
My arrows will always be designed for the bulls-eye
But lately I've been questioning my targets
They haven't been painted red and white for all the world to see
They've been camouflaged by constricted communication
Secretly searching for statements that haven't met the airwaves yet
So I'd much rather absorb your definite thoughts
Than accept your remarks as absolute
The truth is
I'm not sure
What needs to be said.
The syllables I've learned to form
Don't apply to situations where
Words remain inherently absent.
And too often we force our hand
To make phrases appear
Where they don't belong.
But something about
Silent speeches is appealing to me.
Because the power in your eyes reduce
The need for any type of sound.
And the shock waves your steps make
As you inch closer to mine
Create the sweetest melodies.
So all I will tell you is this:
Let's leave words out of this.
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 6:53 AM UTC
Reaching out for what delivers its existence
The thirsty tree extends its limbs further to the sun
An encounter craved, but still valuing its bestowment
Forever longing anxiously for that connection
The summer winds carrying this hopeful firefly
Emitting the lonely light that calls out for another
Releasing these signals in hopes of discovering you
Again a flicker and finally the mate is matched
Sprinting to the sea, the relentless river runs
Passionately carving its way through the slighted landscape
Obviously enraptured by its desirous charge
Awaiting the second its frenzied rush reaches home
Like the sun now churning our eager energy
Overthrowing senses with this rampantly raging need
Overwhelming magnetism lures us toward temptation
Inescapably mesmerized by this sensation
Profound in nature, driven by this timeless dance
Sophisticatedly conjoining into fulfillment
A base for these unbridled electrical impulses
The quintessence of our fusion now realized
We are the union of two wandering forces
Ignition progresses affectionate meditations
Quietly absorbing the synthesizing of segments
Once unrelated, now entangled eternally
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 2:17 PM UTC
To be perfectly honest this was one of the more difficult poems to string together for the sheer fear of possibly jinxing it,
as there appears to be a pattern to every story involving a boy and me lately,
which begins with the same overrated butterflies in the stomach sensation followed by a poem,
sleepless nights, cigarettes, ***** and a tragic ending.
So having reached the poem stage my instincts and the part of my brain receptive to pain are already bracing themselves,
I can feel them clenching in my gut.
As this three nights stand situation burns the lines between a ***** call, friendship with benefits and something to the extent of a budding romance,
my expectations are protesting against being so fiercely oppressed,
frankly they are getting out of control,
as the dislike of not wanting to be clingy, chivalry of not wanting to subdue to any labels nor the fear of yet another heartbreak itself,
are no longer sufficient to keep these rising hopes in place.
Ironically, when I think of you I think more of who I become when I'm with you, than actually you,
even though I do sincerely adore you. Very much.
I'm bemused by how comfortable I feel in my own skin,
naked and burnished, next to your warm, ivory touch.
Each time you trail your fingers down my body and take in a quick breath as if you were seeing me for the very first time,
I treasure the look in your eyes for later in the week when the going gets tough.
I idolize your rough, blistered, bleeding palms with all its calluses for they mirror my own much subtle bruises,
representing our shared interest, commitment, strength and transformation.
Your new found superpower to completely eradicate my necessity to socially smoke when socializing with you, speaks for itself really,
and we haven't even got to the laughter, the banter, the top notch sarcasm, the conversation, the warmest embrace,
breakfast ending in a ridiculously serious spectacle of coffee making,
which I thoroughly enjoy from the best seat in the kitchen wearing your shirt which fits me far more perfectly,
and the skip in my step as I head home.
So when the day comes for the revolution, of my expectations, overthrowing this rather tiresome governance of fear,
I just might pop the question, will you be my forever one night stand? ,
in the hope that you might just say yes...
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 4:19 PM UTC
The sun sank in the tendrils of the winter winds
Light quickly faded
The long night begins
What is our hope for the spring to come beyond this winter?
The old rulers are dying, their grasp weakened
Their desperate ****** clawing for power falters
What will the youth of the world build?
Overthrowing the gray tired old men with no vision
Will there be a new light glowing in an abandoned barn?
An opening of joy to a time of new growth?
It is now dark in the cavern
The animals have bowed their heads
Fearing the burning world that surrounds
Glaciers melting, deserts blowing
Is there a song that will lead us to
A new morning, Sagan's galaxy rise?
With a billion suns shining?
Or will we crouch in the corners again
Fighting for any lethal advantage
Sacrificing the world?
We should pray
Dec 21, 2011
Dec 21, 2011 at 10:54 PM UTC
High ground
I concede to you
in the disproportion of a time allotted to you
for the choice of robe to grace
a glorified cameo around your flesh
like a sheet designated for an overthrowing
in an honorary statue's unveiling
Liturgy is looming in the bathroom
already hot-boxed in the metal waterfall's
mist of moisture and the mountain range of bubbles
I have settled comfortably into in wait
High ground
awaits your hallowed prance
into the concealed languish of your man's
dangling imagination
I salute you with incentive
through a lowering of eyes made necessary
by your towering above my horizontal soak
I'm beseeching you to wield royal sway
over the humility of my reclined posture
with the hidden scepter of your body
fated to dictate the pace of my
anticipated knighting
The gentle thud of fabric on linoleum
incites a turning of my head to take in
the litany of parts available to my
frenetic feels and jumbled focus
Stationary in your naked smile of proximity
you extend to me excessive time to entertain options
as I coat myself in lukewarm opportunities
and rise to meet you for a bathing in my excess wetness
I accelerate my exit to negate the bubbled tribuataries
sliding to the floor to meet the remnants of your mystery
The wall is cold and you protrude
haplessly to meet the rapid chilling of my undried frame
Warmth is of the essence
Fingers split your hair in celebration
of our uniform heights and I feel you slouch
signalling our first hint of friction
and a twitch in my diviner of your cradle of essential warmth
Do you realize you now rescind creative license?
Or have you filled the snare of your intentions?
Now your balance shivers in the mercy
of my curled leg of leverage
and an coiled arm collecting your ambrosial attributes
like an ice cream scoop
Uniform heights allowing eye contact
makes optional the visual acknowledgment
of my elastic hunting in the smooth field of your breast
with a dancing thumb
I connect and latch onto what is now
our binding axis and shuffle eye contact
with the universal rhythm of a pelvic power ballad
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 10:54 PM UTC
The moon, a sweeping scimitar, dipped in the stormy straits,
The dawn, a crimson cataract, burst through the eastern gates,
The cliffs were robed in scarlet, the sands were cinnabar,
Where first two men spread wings for flight and dared the hawk afar.
There stands the cunning workman, the crafty past all praise,
The man who chained the Minotaur, the man who built the Maze.
His young son is beside him and the boy's face is a light,
A light of dawn and wonder and of valor infinite.
Their great vans beat the cloven air, like eagles they mount up,
Motes in the wine of morning, specks in a crystal cup,
And lest his wings should melt apace old Daedalus flies low,
But Icarus beats up, beats up, he goes where lightnings go.
He cares no more for warnings, he rushes through the sky,
Braving the crags of ether, daring the gods on high,
Black 'gainst the crimson sunset, golden o'er cloudy snows,
With all Adventure in his heart the first winged man arose.
Dropping gold, dropping gold, where the mists of morning rolled,
On he kept his way undaunted, though his breaths were stabs of cold,
Through the mystery of dawning that no mortal may behold.
Now he shouts, now he sings in the rapture of his wings,
And his great heart burns intenser with the strength of his desire,
As he circles like a swallow, wheeling, flaming, gyre on gyre.
Gazing straight at the sun, half his pilgrimage is done,
And he staggers for a moment, hurries on, reels backward, swerves
In a rain of scattered feathers as he falls in broken curves.
Icarus, Icarus, though the end is piteous,
Yet forever, yea, forever we shall see thee rising thus,
See the first supernal glory, not the ruin hideous.
You were Man, you who ran farther than our eyes can scan,
Man absurd, gigantic, eager for impossible Romance,
Overthrowing all Hell's legions with one warped and broken lance.
On the highest steeps of Space he will have his dwelling-place,
In those far, terrific regions where the cold comes down like Death
Gleams the red glint of his pinions, smokes the vapor of his breath.
Floating downward, very clear, still the echoes reach the ear
Of a little tune he whistles and a little song he sings,
Mounting, mounting still, triumphant, on his torn and broken wings!
2.4k
A loose brick in a castle wall allows the wind to seep through,
Carrying with it the whispers of the outsiders
The soft spoken words influence the beings within
They begin to come alive and demand to be free'd
Overthrowing the king and breaking down the wall
All protection is lost now, through the rubble they crawl
Out into the world
With no fear of rejection.
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 10:54 PM UTC
On that western isle, bathed in gold-
Drenching sun, my only, giddy love,
Weaved a daisy chain and crowned
Herself, above the clouds and purple-
Violet seas, her grace, topping yellow-
Sparkled weeds, to flower, marching
In fealty, round her red, reign of crown,
Soon, after new mornings impromptu
Coronation, misty, bluer, eyes felt slow
Distant dread, the subtle, burning fate,
The inevitable nights of overthrowing
And fade of love's noble, corona light.
Were I shaper of dream, I would build
A grand labyrinthian castle of granite
Stone to contain that day— I would
Conjure a moat, impervious to shifting
Time, the mute corruption of sorrows
Waking.
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 3:43 PM UTC
Darkness sets in with mankind,
throughout time words will transform the inferior man into the superior man.
The age of name calling will emerge.
Barbarian,
savages,
uncivil,
Let me stop for a second...
Telling the world another man is unimportant shouldnt take away the fact that he is still a man.
Name callers need peace while overthrowing others who also play a role in mankind by dissecting their own consciousness.
They have a need to
belittle,
discredit,
transform,
transform into something greater,
even though it's all in the mind that one is greater.
Truth be told wars are pushed forward to the masses by name calling the enemy,
Imagine looking a man in his eyes and calling him a cockroach,
for whatever reason one will feel like he is now squashing a bug,
yet no bug is present.
History will tell a story about mankind no matter the name.
Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 12:36 AM UTC
I've been quite busy of late,
Work and life got me in that state.
Poetry got put on hold for the time being,
But an observation and a chance encounter got the poet bleeding.
This little flower I saw standing strong and shining bright,
Smiling and dancing in the bright sunlight.
From a bud to blooming and bursting with energy,
This little yellow flower making use of the soil and water synergy.
Then came a day where a little worm came her way,
Caressed her delicate little petals and made her sway,
His words rang through her senses and made her petals flutter,
Little did she know his dark intentions were from the gutter.
He talked about the little details of her beauty,
This poor little thing fell for cutie patootie.
Then one day without any warning,
He started nipping at her petals after adorning.
She thought it was not intentional as he pleaded forgiveness,
But then he started nipping, biting and eating with swiftness.
She bore all the pain as he continued with filling his tummy,
She thought he would soon go back to being her lovesick dummy.
Down to the last leaf she was when the wind started blowing,
Off the worm flew , the wind his fat overgrown body overthrowing.
With time her beauty she restored to her past glory,
Took care and made sure she did not fall for the same story.
Along came a bee buzzing his way in,
With her every move his heart over n over she would win.
He tried to make conversation with this pretty little thing,
Tell her how he felt about her and got him buzzing.
Her scars grew red again from her past encounter,
Fearing this moment she had built walls around her.
Her response to this stranger was heartless and cold,
Any advances he'd make she'd curl into herself and enfold.
No matter how much he tried to convince her,
Her walls wouldn't budge, for him to deter.
All he wanted to do was be with her,
But at this point everything was so blur.
She had advanced in life far ahead,
Achieved what she dreamt of in nature's bed.
Confident and bold she had become in this time,
Love was all she was left to fear of that feeling sublime.
The bee continued and never gave up,
Every morning to her sweet face he wanted to wake up,
Seeing his stubbornness something changed within her that day,
A leap of faith she took the walls breaking away.
Had she not, she wouldn't really know,
A fruit she would transform into with a lovely glow.
Love has been given a bad name by a filthy few,
But with the right person it can be sweeter than honey dew.
Sep 25, 2016
Sep 25, 2016 at 5:26 AM UTC
So I’m Now An EXPONENT...
of Rhymes That Are POTENT... !!!
No Numbers or Quotient...
Can Limit Their Motion... !!!
INFINITE Like The Ocean...
Or Big Swarms of Locust... !!!!
FOCUSED On SHOWING...
How My Thoughts Be Flowing...
With Notions of Motions...
OVERTHROWING Like Boulders...
Dropped Onto The Shoulders...
of Those Who Are COLDEST... !!!!!!
When It Comes To Them Showing...
More Love For Life’s Soldiers...
YES Those Who Have SOLDERED...
This World For These... JOKERS... !!!
Who Deal In LOW Quotas...
of Hope For... Young Voters... !!!
They Make Things Seem HOPELESS...
But... NOT To EXPONENTS...
of Flows That Are FAULTLESS...
Because They’re NOT JAUNDICED... !!!
They’re STRONG NOT Distorted...
So... Do NOT Export Things...
Like Drugs For Those SNORTING... !!!
Exponents Be FLAUNTING...
SKILLS That Are DAUNTING...
To Those Who Be Courting...
Ideas of... SLACK Talking...
Or.... Lyrical WARRING... !!!!!!!!
Because They Are DEEPER...
Than.... Manic Street Preachers... !!!
What We Do Is Teach Ya...
Like... KRS Teachers... !!!!!!!!
Through More Than Your Speakers...
Exponents Like These Do Not Fear Disease...
Because Our Beliefs Supersede What Is Deemed...
To Be PURE HONESTY By The Powers That Be...
We REJECT... FALLACIES...
But Acknowledge That Grief...
Is Something That’s Seen …
FAR TOO REGULARLY...
By People … BENEATH …
All These HIGH Flying THIEVES... !!!
So RECOGNISE THIS... !!!
Exponents of Lyrics...
Who Write Things Like This... !!!
Are Clearly What’s Known...
As... ABOVE The AVERAGE... !!!
ARROGANCE Is DISMISSED....
But We REALLY FLIP SCRIPTS... !!!
Because......
Whether WRITTEN or SPOKEN...
When Poets Start Flowing...
And Their Rhymes Start GLOWING...
As If They’re... ALL KNOWNG... !!!
Then You KNOW You’ve Read Words...
From... One Of Those KNOW As...
..... " The REAL EXPONENTS ".....
Aug 26, 2020
Aug 26, 2020 at 2:10 AM UTC
*The thing about love is that
It is strategically tragic,
Built to last, made to make you feel,
Feel good and alive, to feel enough,
Gracefully and sudden
Like a gentle kiss, the spreading
Of wings of the soul, the fall
Of listless stars, but
Just as lasting.
I do not know what else to feel
Upon seeing this ocean, except
To remember you with the same
Natural feeling, inexplicable,
Like the color blue catches on
With the bleach of white,
Aiming to accentuate, searching
For the old burn of red
In vain.
And beauty is felt more
Than it is seen. Eyes have
Seen more than they have rested,
And they have seen things best,
While they are closed.
More than sorrow, pain and suffering,
More than sure looped-goodbyes,
It is the serendipitous affection
That rules over all, overthrowing
The flowing madness of passing worlds,
Passing all the lovers by, mad enough,
And mad still, yet the fight
Is worth loving for.
Love is worth fighting with.
Life is worth it. Love
Is priceless, yet, I love you
A little less
Than love itself.
Love never grew, it just stays beside,
Just beside, them, us, blown
By the havoc of life, fate and time,
Drifting amongst the drifters
Surrounding us, dizzied,
Ever-tested, enduring all.*
© 2015 J.S.P.
Dec 26, 2015
Dec 26, 2015 at 12:44 AM UTC
I am
A feather duster.
Clogged with fears
and
Fluffy cobwebs
How odd
There is no more me
Only more
It.
A thing
a material kind of demeanour fling
slash
overthrowing one night plastic wonder
And I have found
myself
hiding beneath oblivion
and
a cheap stock price
Renewed,
exchanged
changed
paid with loose change
a chain of recurring events
Money making
plays me out of my
hiding spot
And I gross
in all vastness
the price times infinite
of what it took to create me
The other feather dusters
they
would be ashamed
to have me sitting with them
Because I cannot begin to
stop wanting more
More than an item of plastic.
a.l.h
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 3:10 PM UTC
Father sees in secret
Praying in the closet
To let the cup pass on
Fulfilling not destroying
The curse of family units
To let the cup pass on
Planting mustard seeds
Overthrowing tetrarchs
To let the cup pass on
People full of dead men’s bones
A generation of vipers
To let the cup pass on
Wailing and gnashing
Once it’s 70 x 7
To let the cup pass on
Convert to little children
Align your heart and mouth
To let the cup pass on
He who isn’t with me
Is surely against me
So let the cup pass on
Sep 15, 2012
Sep 15, 2012 at 12:52 PM UTC
On that western isle, bathed in gold-
Drenching sun, my only, giddy love,
Weaved a daisy chain and crowned
Herself, above the clouds and purple-
Violet seas, her grace, topping yellow-
Sparkled weeds, to flower, marching
In fealty, round her red, reign of crown,
Soon, after new mornings impromptu
Coronation, misty, bluer, eyes felt slow
Distant dread, the subtle, burning fate,
The inevitable nights of overthrowing
And fade of love's noble, corona light.
Were I shaper of dream, I would build
A grand labyrinthian castle of granite
Stone to contain that day— I would
Conjure a moat, impervious to shifting
Time, the mute corruption of sorrows
Waking.
Aug 26, 2012
Aug 26, 2012 at 8:26 PM UTC
I.
Nothing lasts long enough
To out live its time line
So I weave mine into
A concert celebrating the sound
That our bodies beat to
This organic clockwork armada
Of single cell ships singing lions roars
Before time aligns my spine with the dirt
And though I know gray hair will claim crowns
Overthrowing the royalty of youth
These ball headed blessings
Are nothing more then a water park river slide
We must all ride toward oblivion
So my fatal flawed form
Speaks a beautiful broken clock symphony
For these poems to fill up
Facing the future as if it was an old friend
To bed down with
Laughing at how long it’s been
Since we claimed tomorrow
As a carpe diem doctrine
To rock in
And I hope that when the waterfall of my life
Meets rock-bottom-spray-mist-rainbow-prism-old-age-epiphany
My grandchildren will cling to me
Like vines to a towering oak tree
So I can whisper to them through a white Walt Whitman mane
"I may be a washed up old lion
But you
You are the roar of a crescendo
To an aria arranged before the birth of music
As if each note was placed purposely to hang in harmony
With the budding of your bones
They sing in the same key as the fickler flashbulbs
Of the stars you were forged in
Who sweet talk to you in your sleep nightly"
Saying
Listen my lovelies
To the lullaby of the universe
As it sings itself toward salvation
Which when translated into night
Says come gather your dreams
In the concert of my body
Babies
You were born
As a single rift
In the solo
Of some Charlie parker bird flight ascension
So let this bedtime word weaving remind you of the halo about your head
For you
Were born as angels
Back when the big bang band first leaned how to blow
So if you stagnate
Like we all do
Fearing that you are all alone in the prison cell of your skin
Remember the old lions still roaring in your gut
Listen close
For there has never been a moment of silence
And there will never been a moment of silence
Cause there is music buried beneath your bones my children
Come sing in the choir of your forefathers the winds
Your solo is about to begin
Dec 24, 2013
Dec 24, 2013 at 8:32 PM UTC
On that western isle, bathed in gold-
Drenching sun, my only, giddy love,
Weaved a daisy chain and crowned
Herself, above the clouds and purple-
Violet seas, her grace, topping yellow-
Sparkled weeds, to flower, marching
In fealty, round her red, reign of crown,
Soon, after new mornings impromptu
Coronation, misty, bluer, eyes felt slow
Distant dread, the subtle, burning fate,
The inevitable nights of overthrowing
And fade of love's noble, corona light.
Were I shaper of dream, I would build
A grand labyrinthian castle of granite
Stone to contain that day— I would
Conjure a moat, impervious to shifting
Time, the mute corruption of sorrows
Waking.
Jun 23, 2013
Jun 23, 2013 at 1:40 PM UTC
On that western isle, bathed in gold-
Drenching sun, my only, giddy love,
Weaved a daisy chain and crowned
Herself, above the clouds and purple-
Violet seas, her grace, topping yellow-
Sparkled weeds, to flower, marching
In fealty, round her red, reign of crown,
Soon, after new mornings impromptu
Coronation, misty, bluer, eyes felt slow
Distant dread, the subtle, burning fate,
The inevitable nights of overthrowing
And fade of love's noble, corona light.
Were I shaper of dream, I would build
A grand labyrinthian castle of granite
Stone to contain that day— I would
Conjure a moat, impervious to shifting
Time, the mute corruption of sorrows
Waking.
Jan 8, 2013
Jan 8, 2013 at 1:25 PM UTC
Life, be not arrogant, though some have called thee
Terrifying and delighting, thou art so; sowing random confusion,
Overthrowing mortals with unequal puzzles of both extremes,
Humans, condemned, to collect travails, improvident provisions,
Live, Life! But only through us, for thy are slave to imprecisions, conflated constant reversible, the free choice of souls' decisions,
Random and inopportune, thy bedeviling choice of hurdles,
Our swelled heads so vulnerable to robbers and roadblocks,
But cannot thou onfess, rare is thy victory, oft thy defeat.
Until we meet thy comrade in arms, our paths irregular coursing,
Of our own choice, so acknowledge thou makest our path to veer,
Impotent prince, 'tis always our hands, arms upon the tiller to steer.
Jun 10, 2017
Jun 10, 2017 at 7:06 PM UTC
fuzzy buzzy flickering light fixtures
court me for days -
tired, unlatched
and in a daze
broken hinges hang from
untapped doorways,
painted with
shattered looking glasses
and laces overthrowing
unseen faces
crawling at ungodly paces,
blind red rages boil over
onto sentient pages to die
on unlit stages,
reeking with rows
of rotting audiences,
decomposing millions of
masterpieces.
sleepless death
undertaken,
like a sorry soul,
to a hole new level
six breaths under
reborn into a dogs tail
clenched between
it's own teeth.
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 9:03 AM UTC
i stop at the t-junction
between your throat and your collarbone
loving people with a t-suppliment
overthrowing any judgement
you forced me up
and squeezed lemon juice down my throat
i'm pretending that this was never real
but feeling my skin flake and peel
do you ever miss the pain of a new scar?
because there is too much space between my fingers
and it feels raw and unwelcome.
there is something alluring about
unraveling string-
loose ends splitting and breaking
forever vanishing into oblivion
May 20, 2021
May 20, 2021 at 1:25 AM UTC
On that western isle, bathed in gold-
Drenching sun, my only, giddy love,
Weaved a daisy chain and crowned
Herself, above the clouds and purple-
Violet seas, her grace, topping yellow-
Sparkled weeds, to flower, marching
In fealty, round her red, reign of crown,
Soon, after new mornings impromptu
Coronation, misty, bluer, eyes felt slow
Distant dread, the subtle, burning fate,
The inevitable nights of overthrowing
And fade of love's noble, corona light.
Were I shaper of dream, I would build
A grand labyrinthian castle of granite
Stone to contain that day— I would
Conjure a moat, impervious to shifting
Time, the mute corruption of sorrows
Waking.
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 12:44 PM UTC
People don't know it,
but I'm subtly overthrowing the world.
I'm in the process of rewriting reality;
of changing global paradigms.
Maybe people don't realize it,
but the world changes every day,
and so do they.
I'm a catalyst of that change;
I'm commissioned with vision;
I choose to follow.
People don't know it,
but I'm subtly overthrowing the world
with love.
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 11:32 PM UTC
Torn down by television, poisoned by ***********
raked by regret and bludgeoned by biography.
Anything but retrospect will happen in your head.
It's crammed full to shut it up then sent to bed.
There are the loudest of riots happening in your brain.
Dictators overthrowing sense and establishing reign!
And you fund them in all of their their warfare!
I can no longer in good consciense send my words there.
You struggle as a product of your fight and the proof is this:
The words are useless.
Dec 15, 2012
Dec 15, 2012 at 9:48 PM UTC