"pacifistic" poems - Hello Poetry

(the tics will talk 'til twelve o'clock) When we make time, When we listen: The theistic preach deistic talk; The atheistic preach pragmatic talk; The agnostic preach proleptic talk; The heretic preach shismatic talk; The mystic preach prophetic talk. (the mesianic and satanic never stop) When we have time; Then we listen: The optimistic teach hypnotic talk; The pessimistic teach sarcastic talk; The altruistic teach empathetic talk; The idealistic teach synergistic talk; The pacifistic teach semantic talk; The body politic teach charismatic talk; The technocratic teach robotic talk; The romantic teach poetic talk; The critic teach cathartic talk; The moralistic teach dualistic talk; The ascetic teach platonic talk. (the artist would rather not talk) When we find time, Do we listen: The lunatic speak quizzotic talk; The neurotic speak pathetic talk; The chauvanistic speak monistic talk; The nihilistic speak ballistic talk; The hedonist speak narcissistic talk; The futuristic speak galactic talk. (the minimalist hasn't the time to talk) Just don't. Look. Some tic reset the clock.

0

Mar 7, 2014

Mar 7, 2014 at 12:15 AM UTC

francie-lynch

Apocalyptic Talk

(the tics will talk 'til twelve o'clock) When we make time, When we listen: The theistic preach deistic talk; The atheistic preach pragmatic talk; The agnostic preach proleptic talk; The heretic preach shismatic talk; The mystic preach prophetic talk. (the mesianic and satanic never stop) When we have time; Then we listen: The optimistic teach hypnotic talk; The pessimistic teach sarcastic talk; The altruistic teach empathetic talk; The idealistic teach synergistic talk; The pacifistic teach semantic talk; The body politic teach charismatic talk; The technocratic teach robotic talk; The romantic teach poetic talk; The critic teach cathartic talk; The moralistic teach dualistic talk; The ascetic teach platonic talk. (the artist would rather not talk) When we find time, Do we listen: The lunatic speak quizzotic talk; The neurotic speak pathetic talk; The chauvanistic speak monistic talk; The nihilistic speak ballistic talk; The hedonist speak narcissistic talk; The futuristic speak galactic talk. (the minimalist hasn't the time to talk) Just don't. Look. Some tic reset the clock.

35

There’s a battle raging through my head, So much that it knocked me off my bed. There’s a war raging through the thoughts; Diverse and dismayed neither I can sort. Haste is the time that spent wasting Entertained by such pacifistic maiming. Ideating the norm and realizing the storm had just started as I shut the squirm. Conscience speaks the threat at hand, the head does not agree the time it spanned. Where there are more things on heaven and earth; there are more dreadforth than my brain sports. The enemy lurks the darkness in me, passing by the realm of my inability. I had to open eyes wide to invite the Light while at the same time shut from plain sight. Recall the Words spoken to me, realize there is much for me to see. The villain emerge from the dark of the moon - the cerebral crater dormant from the day’s form “You – are not – real. You are just a figment; an imagination, a fantasy, one that I let you haunt me.” The One I know died for, Lived and loved me through the core. Lies no longer seem redemptive nor elegant nor sped; Flee not the grace and flee the grave though instead. Jolt to wake myself up, admonition that all along I was held at a stop. The battle becomes the sleep yet decided; settled more for the Love had invited.

0

Mar 3, 2014

Mar 3, 2014 at 12:39 AM UTC

arominized

The Battlefield of the Pacifists

There’s a battle raging through my head, So much that it knocked me off my bed. There’s a war raging through the thoughts; Diverse and dismayed neither I can sort. Haste is the time that spent wasting Entertained by such pacifistic maiming. Ideating the norm and realizing the storm had just started as I shut the squirm. Conscience speaks the threat at hand, the head does not agree the time it spanned. Where there are more things on heaven and earth; there are more dreadforth than my brain sports. The enemy lurks the darkness in me, passing by the realm of my inability. I had to open eyes wide to invite the Light while at the same time shut from plain sight. Recall the Words spoken to me, realize there is much for me to see. The villain emerge from the dark of the moon - the cerebral crater dormant from the day’s form “You – are not – real. You are just a figment; an imagination, a fantasy, one that I let you haunt me.” The One I know died for, Lived and loved me through the core. Lies no longer seem redemptive nor elegant nor sped; Flee not the grace and flee the grave though instead. Jolt to wake myself up, admonition that all along I was held at a stop. The battle becomes the sleep yet decided; settled more for the Love had invited.

32

You're so dangerous with your profane paraphernalia Your pelvis postures pandering favor The line of your stomach embossed by the fire is like a pasture for me So paranoid with your pacifistic lust As you proceed to please me with your posture so slightly And I attempt to pursue oh so politely You make me perk up like a peacock just with one peak You're aware of every petty palpitation you can feel just under my sleeve You play me like a piano, so plush with your lust politics Pandering for a pardon of my ***** talk poignancy I part you like Pluto from your orbits serene hum I'll pleasure you, pleasure you until you're purple like a plum A pastimes poetises to be written with pleasing lead You plan every move like a predator in my bed You're polarizing, plump, and pampered like a pageant doll Pilfering every plausible pause with a pose of voice, your moan Seizing the post with your post - modern pompous pouncing Prompted like Pisces to postulate your prognosis Lifting your posterior like the pun of a phaliccy Pillaging me like a pandemic, a plague Something to be paraded by paganistic plauds Your pale skin is like playwear for sins You're pinning me plastered with the play of your grin Such a pretty motion picture to paint in the prison of your promise

0

May 17, 2014

May 17, 2014 at 1:41 AM UTC

ZWS

P****

You're so dangerous with your profane paraphernalia Your pelvis postures pandering favor The line of your stomach embossed by the fire is like a pasture for me So paranoid with your pacifistic lust As you proceed to please me with your posture so slightly And I attempt to pursue oh so politely You make me perk up like a peacock just with one peak You're aware of every petty palpitation you can feel just under my sleeve You play me like a piano, so plush with your lust politics Pandering for a pardon of my ***** talk poignancy I part you like Pluto from your orbits serene hum I'll pleasure you, pleasure you until you're purple like a plum A pastimes poetises to be written with pleasing lead You plan every move like a predator in my bed You're polarizing, plump, and pampered like a pageant doll Pilfering every plausible pause with a pose of voice, your moan Seizing the post with your post - modern pompous pouncing Prompted like Pisces to postulate your prognosis Lifting your posterior like the pun of a phaliccy Pillaging me like a pandemic, a plague Something to be paraded by paganistic plauds Your pale skin is like playwear for sins You're pinning me plastered with the play of your grin Such a pretty motion picture to paint in the prison of your promise

24

Normal The word pertaining to the behavior of the majority of the masses, yet I refuse the title like unmixed blood cells, pushing the average in me back until I’m taken by my higher self, my true form. But you wouldn’t know much about that. You can’t wait to get home to watch TV or play your video games. It’s normal. Higher Whether through drugs or levitation, getting high is easy. However, the average cannot reach this level, they cannot display this power. Only we can, us being the lyrical miracles that the world has once craved and the world being those around us that give us our inspirations. Higher. And I guess I’m a space shuttle. Yet I have felt no high in chemicals, no uplifting in elevators, just the heightening fuel that ignites in my brain. Yet some can’t take the heat of a burning mind filled with questions. But can you? We are poems, poetry, poetic expressions. But it’s a dual edged blade of which we have all found. We’re all special, from A.D.D to suicidal, we have the experience to write tragedy. From love to loss we have the reason to write about romance. Love, fear, heroics, sadness, strength, all poetic expressions to us. We are poets The people who everyone looks at for supporting. Some of us are tough, some of us are pushovers, and some of us are pacifistic. Yet the reality of our gifts open up a new world for us. We are poems Our writings speak to our souls, that’s one more connection from our brains to our hearts and the entities beyond. I write about it and you understand where I come, my point of view. My pain, your inquiry, yet to hear it being read is poetic justice to our emotions. We are communications No, I don’t mean through phones or emails. I’m talking through spirit. You see a poet down, you help, period, as we are one and the same in heart. A symbol of independence to those who forget the meaning of the word. But we’re a community and a family, so I love you like a brother or a sister because of the natural familiarity between us. We are poetic. Our lives are filled with instances where we simply need to express. Oh, the sweet and sour irony. Our day to day experiences speak for our poetic natures. Whether jamming to Taylor Swift or Tracy Chapman or Migos or even Luke Bryan, musics tell our moods and words tell our stories, our tales, our liveliness and oneness with our selves. Poetic beings are we, and we are Poetic

0

May 12, 2015

May 12, 2015 at 11:20 PM UTC

Poeticjustice

poetic

Normal The word pertaining to the behavior of the majority of the masses, yet I refuse the title like unmixed blood cells, pushing the average in me back until I’m taken by my higher self, my true form. But you wouldn’t know much about that. You can’t wait to get home to watch TV or play your video games. It’s normal. Higher Whether through drugs or levitation, getting high is easy. However, the average cannot reach this level, they cannot display this power. Only we can, us being the lyrical miracles that the world has once craved and the world being those around us that give us our inspirations. Higher. And I guess I’m a space shuttle. Yet I have felt no high in chemicals, no uplifting in elevators, just the heightening fuel that ignites in my brain. Yet some can’t take the heat of a burning mind filled with questions. But can you? We are poems, poetry, poetic expressions. But it’s a dual edged blade of which we have all found. We’re all special, from A.D.D to suicidal, we have the experience to write tragedy. From love to loss we have the reason to write about romance. Love, fear, heroics, sadness, strength, all poetic expressions to us. We are poets The people who everyone looks at for supporting. Some of us are tough, some of us are pushovers, and some of us are pacifistic. Yet the reality of our gifts open up a new world for us. We are poems Our writings speak to our souls, that’s one more connection from our brains to our hearts and the entities beyond. I write about it and you understand where I come, my point of view. My pain, your inquiry, yet to hear it being read is poetic justice to our emotions. We are communications No, I don’t mean through phones or emails. I’m talking through spirit. You see a poet down, you help, period, as we are one and the same in heart. A symbol of independence to those who forget the meaning of the word. But we’re a community and a family, so I love you like a brother or a sister because of the natural familiarity between us. We are poetic. Our lives are filled with instances where we simply need to express. Oh, the sweet and sour irony. Our day to day experiences speak for our poetic natures. Whether jamming to Taylor Swift or Tracy Chapman or Migos or even Luke Bryan, musics tell our moods and words tell our stories, our tales, our liveliness and oneness with our selves. Poetic beings are we, and we are Poetic

19

Black Cold's dark servant where nightmares are born lifeless, chilling Red Love's fierce anger heated licks of flames lurid, twisted White Hero's pure rage warrior of the blessed blinding, holy Blue Sky's transient calm pacifistic mind passing, soothing Grey Storm's middle ground fog's muddled embrace clouding, shifting Brown Life's steadfast fort earthen defender steady, sturdy

0

Jun 1, 2010

Jun 1, 2010 at 2:15 PM UTC

OnlyEggy

Spirit's Color

Black Cold's dark servant where nightmares are born lifeless, chilling Red Love's fierce anger heated licks of flames lurid, twisted White Hero's pure rage warrior of the blessed blinding, holy Blue Sky's transient calm pacifistic mind passing, soothing Grey Storm's middle ground fog's muddled embrace clouding, shifting Brown Life's steadfast fort earthen defender steady, sturdy

24

Mirror is merciful Lambs sleep in the willow Rough leaves carry heaven up Delivering the sinner Cold black mirror still love his lips Lamb off the living Hearts over Hearts asthma Hearts lie with no one Hearts frozen Hearts mirror Hearts asthma Parts Madonna Hearts eczema Part scoundrel I will walk low Harsh eczema I die past a week Hearts nirvana I don't need no lessons now Hearts taking over I wish I could wake up Hearts over Hearts eczema Hearts asthma **** your theory, and just **** everything Love must be ashes, that's blood in the blue forest Ya it's the age of pure ahead of us Hearts over Hard seller Mercy I have in the imaginary nation of us You don't want me here jerking off Your force, I was sorry I saw the mirror I thought off when it was all over Heart scold ya Oh I am every man Watch no longer and in the shadows corpse scamper Who moves even slower? Part suffer Move **** all day monkeys Hearts scamper The holy case of us Hearts worth of love In there walks the sheep Part scabbed up I was sad and got blue Hearts taking over Hearts never Hearts never I done some bad and I've killed obviously no sweet people, hogs, and dogs, pets I have no beef with them Offered me the exit till they locked me in Harsh scalper Harsh scalper Lock in here with nuts that are just like me Love must be a pacifistic There's blood in the small forest Out here in the near cosmos Delivering the sinner All woman in the center iiiiiiiiii I fear hes lost his nerve I'm over living it I'm over living it iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii iiiiiiiiiiii IIIiii'mmm delivering the sinner AAAaaalllll woman in the center In swimming willows Luxury feast on the edge of love Luxury feast on the edge of love Mirror in the sonnet Mirroring us and them I heard he'd lost his nerve I'm over living it I'm living it

0

Apr 19, 2016

Apr 19, 2016 at 4:10 AM UTC

leal-knowone

WHITE GIANT OVER LIVING IT

Mirror is merciful Lambs sleep in the willow Rough leaves carry heaven up Delivering the sinner Cold black mirror still love his lips Lamb off the living Hearts over Hearts asthma Hearts lie with no one Hearts frozen Hearts mirror Hearts asthma Parts Madonna Hearts eczema Part scoundrel I will walk low Harsh eczema I die past a week Hearts nirvana I don't need no lessons now Hearts taking over I wish I could wake up Hearts over Hearts eczema Hearts asthma **** your theory, and just **** everything Love must be ashes, that's blood in the blue forest Ya it's the age of pure ahead of us Hearts over Hard seller Mercy I have in the imaginary nation of us You don't want me here jerking off Your force, I was sorry I saw the mirror I thought off when it was all over Heart scold ya Oh I am every man Watch no longer and in the shadows corpse scamper Who moves even slower? Part suffer Move **** all day monkeys Hearts scamper The holy case of us Hearts worth of love In there walks the sheep Part scabbed up I was sad and got blue Hearts taking over Hearts never Hearts never I done some bad and I've killed obviously no sweet people, hogs, and dogs, pets I have no beef with them Offered me the exit till they locked me in Harsh scalper Harsh scalper Lock in here with nuts that are just like me Love must be a pacifistic There's blood in the small forest Out here in the near cosmos Delivering the sinner All woman in the center iiiiiiiiii I fear hes lost his nerve I'm over living it I'm over living it iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii iiiiiiiiiiii IIIiii'mmm delivering the sinner AAAaaalllll woman in the center In swimming willows Luxury feast on the edge of love Luxury feast on the edge of love Mirror in the sonnet Mirroring us and them I heard he'd lost his nerve I'm over living it I'm living it

81

you know it needs the thumb, index, middle and ring fingers to clasp the eroticism of the neck for the geese to fly in man inverse to the hellish fires of emotion that have no sense of temperament? even the existential french philosopher sartre was fooled by what the common man conquered deemed the end of rome... but the conversion gave us the long standing byzantines: saint who never warred and so warring turned to sainthood, but the man was rags to riches fraud, as archaeology - that thing above history proves: can't deny the papyrus came from india when it was found in egypt by a real shepherd: unless you're in it for the money... and not the fact that pharisees would not have thrived unto exdous for muscle the 2nd time, so why such intellectual diversity and thriving under roman rule... because there was no dislocation? the conversion of constantine empowered 2nd rome, byzantine fabrics of jewel of sainthood than never took to taking an acorn for some reason... western rome was overrun with orcs, northern folk previously not conquered when julius caesar looked and the women of gaul and said: easy **** soldiers... easy **** brit girls easy too, but have to pierce the membrane of fickleness that mediates man conquering and man scheming (paedophiles). of course women are worth the conquest... but in a western society what wages "justifiable" as war outside of itself... inside it there's a sexist war of pacifism of one *** *** changes... you name it... in a society that exports war and imports pacifism you will only get angry women and confused men... pacifistic war is far from the pacific, it's horrid... woman gets all the weapons: **** **** nakedness, ***** and ******* man gets confused with what war is actually for: profit... so he earns his share... honestly... even though he's not warring... so woman lives longer... becomes entombed with inheritance... gets ken barbie the 2nd ******* of flamboyant killjoy mansion investments... and it's equal: the worst sexism is one that demands a pacifism of one *** but not both; and we're living in a time when masculine sexuality is pacified, and where feminine sexuality is warring... easily duped by womanising wolves that would reincarnate the third ***** somewhere far from germany... like syria.

0

Jan 4, 2016

Jan 4, 2016 at 8:16 PM UTC

removed.polaroid-scrabble

lack of imagination

you know it needs the thumb, index, middle and ring fingers to clasp the eroticism of the neck for the geese to fly in man inverse to the hellish fires of emotion that have no sense of temperament? even the existential french philosopher sartre was fooled by what the common man conquered deemed the end of rome... but the conversion gave us the long standing byzantines: saint who never warred and so warring turned to sainthood, but the man was rags to riches fraud, as archaeology - that thing above history proves: can't deny the papyrus came from india when it was found in egypt by a real shepherd: unless you're in it for the money... and not the fact that pharisees would not have thrived unto exdous for muscle the 2nd time, so why such intellectual diversity and thriving under roman rule... because there was no dislocation? the conversion of constantine empowered 2nd rome, byzantine fabrics of jewel of sainthood than never took to taking an acorn for some reason... western rome was overrun with orcs, northern folk previously not conquered when julius caesar looked and the women of gaul and said: easy **** soldiers... easy **** brit girls easy too, but have to pierce the membrane of fickleness that mediates man conquering and man scheming (paedophiles). of course women are worth the conquest... but in a western society what wages "justifiable" as war outside of itself... inside it there's a sexist war of pacifism of one *** *** changes... you name it... in a society that exports war and imports pacifism you will only get angry women and confused men... pacifistic war is far from the pacific, it's horrid... woman gets all the weapons: **** **** nakedness, ***** and ******* man gets confused with what war is actually for: profit... so he earns his share... honestly... even though he's not warring... so woman lives longer... becomes entombed with inheritance... gets ken barbie the 2nd ******* of flamboyant killjoy mansion investments... and it's equal: the worst sexism is one that demands a pacifism of one *** but not both; and we're living in a time when masculine sexuality is pacified, and where feminine sexuality is warring... easily duped by womanising wolves that would reincarnate the third ***** somewhere far from germany... like syria.

47

I hate ******* happy songs. You know the ones that encourage you to sing along? I hate those ******* happy songs. You know the ones that get stuck in your head all day long? With those repetitive melodies, That bash the eardrums like a hammer. Those **** happy songs. With their optimistic audacity, That tries to infect me like a cancer. I just don’t understand? Talking about sunshine and rainbows. The type of **** I cannot stand. When the government is listening to our convo’s in our condo’s. Selling the info on demand. I just don’t understand? Clapping all our hands. Or dancing like a maniac, Which makes me think your either high, Or just plain mad. I hate ******* happy songs, You know the ones that encourage you to sing along? I hate those ******* happy songs. You know the ones that get stuck in your head all day long? With those repetitive melodies, That bash the eardrums like a hammer. Those **** happy songs. With their optimistic audacity, That tries to infect me like a cancer. I just don’t understand? They’re not even remotely realistic, The type of I **** I just can’t stand. With words that are not only dumb but simplistic. I can’t tell if they are pacifistic or sadistic? Torturing me with things I will never have. I just don’t understand? Clapping all our hands. Or dancing like a maniac, Which makes me think your either high, Or just plain mad. I hate ******* happy songs. You know the ones that encourage you to sing along? I hate those ******* happy songs. You know the ones that get stuck in your head all day long? With those repetitive melodies, That bash the eardrums like a hammer. Those **** happy songs. With their optimistic audacity, That tries to infect me like a cancer. Yeah those **** happy songs. That are way to long. You know those **** happy songs. That get wedged up one’s *** Like some thong. You know those **** happy songs. That the radio puts on repeat all day long. You know those **** happy songs. That bounce back and forth in your head like ping pong. Yeah, I hate those ******* happy songs! Oh, lord please just end this song!... Thank, you!

0

Dec 21, 2019

Dec 21, 2019 at 1:15 AM UTC

ClassyJ

Not Another Happy Song!

I hate ******* happy songs. You know the ones that encourage you to sing along? I hate those ******* happy songs. You know the ones that get stuck in your head all day long? With those repetitive melodies, That bash the eardrums like a hammer. Those **** happy songs. With their optimistic audacity, That tries to infect me like a cancer. I just don’t understand? Talking about sunshine and rainbows. The type of **** I cannot stand. When the government is listening to our convo’s in our condo’s. Selling the info on demand. I just don’t understand? Clapping all our hands. Or dancing like a maniac, Which makes me think your either high, Or just plain mad. I hate ******* happy songs, You know the ones that encourage you to sing along? I hate those ******* happy songs. You know the ones that get stuck in your head all day long? With those repetitive melodies, That bash the eardrums like a hammer. Those **** happy songs. With their optimistic audacity, That tries to infect me like a cancer. I just don’t understand? They’re not even remotely realistic, The type of I **** I just can’t stand. With words that are not only dumb but simplistic. I can’t tell if they are pacifistic or sadistic? Torturing me with things I will never have. I just don’t understand? Clapping all our hands. Or dancing like a maniac, Which makes me think your either high, Or just plain mad. I hate ******* happy songs. You know the ones that encourage you to sing along? I hate those ******* happy songs. You know the ones that get stuck in your head all day long? With those repetitive melodies, That bash the eardrums like a hammer. Those **** happy songs. With their optimistic audacity, That tries to infect me like a cancer. Yeah those **** happy songs. That are way to long. You know those **** happy songs. That get wedged up one’s *** Like some thong. You know those **** happy songs. That the radio puts on repeat all day long. You know those **** happy songs. That bounce back and forth in your head like ping pong. Yeah, I hate those ******* happy songs! Oh, lord please just end this song!... Thank, you!

60

It's an itch I won't allow myself to scratch A scar that's begun to scab and I must hit the top of my own hand every time my fingers start to wander towards it again I've placed that horribly depressing doggie cone of silence around myself Thankfully, it's mostly invisible to everyone except me I've built brick walls around my home, I'm not quite sure what purpose they serve anymore, all I know is that when I first started building, it was meant to keep myself from going back to you Now that all too familiar urge has fizzled out and died along with the rest of them That desire to hear you say my name again The longing to feel your fingers dance over my skin in all the places you knew made me cringe with something much hotter than happiness Yes, I won't lie Those walls were meant to keep me from acting solely on impulsive reaching for you again simply out of habit loving you out of routine forgiving you because it was easier than letting you go But now the walls are there to keep you the **** away Don't ever come back for me Don't you ******* dare Don't come to my home Don't show up here with a fist full of roses and a throat full of apologies, wearing I'm Sorry's like body armor against the fire you know is sure to spit out from the mouth you used to love to kiss And do you even recognize my hands? The ones that tidied everything despite my undeniable messiness, the ones that folded things neatly so only to please you, because we both know that I couldn't have gave a **** if that blanket was here or there or anywhere, I didn't care if it was folded or not, I didn't give a **** dear, but I folded that ****** for you, the ones that wrote poems you never even pretended to read, the ones that created masterpieces your eyes only glanced at, never allowing yourself the time necessary to absorb their true beauty because who the hell had time for that? Hello? There were video games to play, babe. These hands that would have moved mountains for you, these pacifistic hands that would have killed for you, fought wars for you, burned themselves on the stove tops for you, picked up all the pieces of myself that you single handedly destroyed for you, and then, like a child, handed them right back to you. Do you recognize these hands, love? These hands that built brick walls so high, I only stopped because they kissed the sky. Don't stop me if you see me, Don't look me in the eye, you packed your bags and left, you don't get to say goodbye.

0

Jan 3, 2016

Jan 3, 2016 at 10:08 PM UTC

sydneynicole

Brick walls from hell

It's an itch I won't allow myself to scratch A scar that's begun to scab and I must hit the top of my own hand every time my fingers start to wander towards it again I've placed that horribly depressing doggie cone of silence around myself Thankfully, it's mostly invisible to everyone except me I've built brick walls around my home, I'm not quite sure what purpose they serve anymore, all I know is that when I first started building, it was meant to keep myself from going back to you Now that all too familiar urge has fizzled out and died along with the rest of them That desire to hear you say my name again The longing to feel your fingers dance over my skin in all the places you knew made me cringe with something much hotter than happiness Yes, I won't lie Those walls were meant to keep me from acting solely on impulsive reaching for you again simply out of habit loving you out of routine forgiving you because it was easier than letting you go But now the walls are there to keep you the **** away Don't ever come back for me Don't you ******* dare Don't come to my home Don't show up here with a fist full of roses and a throat full of apologies, wearing I'm Sorry's like body armor against the fire you know is sure to spit out from the mouth you used to love to kiss And do you even recognize my hands? The ones that tidied everything despite my undeniable messiness, the ones that folded things neatly so only to please you, because we both know that I couldn't have gave a **** if that blanket was here or there or anywhere, I didn't care if it was folded or not, I didn't give a **** dear, but I folded that ****** for you, the ones that wrote poems you never even pretended to read, the ones that created masterpieces your eyes only glanced at, never allowing yourself the time necessary to absorb their true beauty because who the hell had time for that? Hello? There were video games to play, babe. These hands that would have moved mountains for you, these pacifistic hands that would have killed for you, fought wars for you, burned themselves on the stove tops for you, picked up all the pieces of myself that you single handedly destroyed for you, and then, like a child, handed them right back to you. Do you recognize these hands, love? These hands that built brick walls so high, I only stopped because they kissed the sky. Don't stop me if you see me, Don't look me in the eye, you packed your bags and left, you don't get to say goodbye.

50

Non existent smile under the distance of the dusty moon, shook like a tremor before the sun's blues. Wind passed by like a bus operator, softened tension like droopy rain. The road blisters pacifistic valleys. It smothers her beautiful voice Like static radio in deep water.

0

Sep 26, 2015

Sep 26, 2015 at 6:37 PM UTC

daniel-lee-waajid

Depth over Distance

Non existent smile under the distance of the dusty moon, shook like a tremor before the sun's blues. Wind passed by like a bus operator, softened tension like droopy rain. The road blisters pacifistic valleys. It smothers her beautiful voice Like static radio in deep water.

7

I’m the cracks in the ice geist The thief in the night light The reason you can’t even go to sleep When you’re hype Skype The read it and write sleight Of hand with that left heist The best and brightest western spittin’-Spetnaz platoon type The jungle, it’s coming Oh, they want you there runnin’ That whole backwards crazy cooky communally-driven country, That refuses to bow, To the lion’s lie crown, Because the tigress is the Ganga And she’s watered this ground, With cheetah archer princes blue Through pacifistic aestheticians Who still burn to the moon, To feel her Saraswati peace of mind Evoke the monsoon

0

Feb 6, 2018

Feb 6, 2018 at 10:16 PM UTC

michael-marchese

Fuego from Agni

I’m the cracks in the ice geist The thief in the night light The reason you can’t even go to sleep When you’re hype Skype The read it and write sleight Of hand with that left heist The best and brightest western spittin’-Spetnaz platoon type The jungle, it’s coming Oh, they want you there runnin’ That whole backwards crazy cooky communally-driven country, That refuses to bow, To the lion’s lie crown, Because the tigress is the Ganga And she’s watered this ground, With cheetah archer princes blue Through pacifistic aestheticians Who still burn to the moon, To feel her Saraswati peace of mind Evoke the monsoon

19

can't think amidst this chaotic conglomerate coined companionship screaming speakers weak winstons sinful sexes indirect intentions vicious voices as if it's insufficiently pacifistic in this excessive thinking my nemesis feigns friends concoctions contradictions composure i uphold to call when they call upon myself sometimes i get caught giggling by my eyes in solace till sagacious flashbacks attack i reminisce in retrospects those words of his he chose to omit their counterparts which he transmits with infinite tact royalty don't smile signal leave who you lead behind holding their breaths and possessive obsessive over more questions to ask than answers to grasp balance is a task and who if not you is talented at abandoning straight lines that find themselves at last lost alone in intricately tangled tracks - end

0

Jul 16, 2017

Jul 16, 2017 at 2:32 PM UTC

absinthe

no calm only storm

can't think amidst this chaotic conglomerate coined companionship screaming speakers weak winstons sinful sexes indirect intentions vicious voices as if it's insufficiently pacifistic in this excessive thinking my nemesis feigns friends concoctions contradictions composure i uphold to call when they call upon myself sometimes i get caught giggling by my eyes in solace till sagacious flashbacks attack i reminisce in retrospects those words of his he chose to omit their counterparts which he transmits with infinite tact royalty don't smile signal leave who you lead behind holding their breaths and possessive obsessive over more questions to ask than answers to grasp balance is a task and who if not you is talented at abandoning straight lines that find themselves at last lost alone in intricately tangled tracks - end

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