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"paled" poems
goodby Betty,don’t remember me pencil your eyes dear and have a good time with the tall tight boys at Tabari’ s,keep your teeth snowy, stick to beer and lime, wear dark,and where your meeting ******* are round have roses darling,it’s all i ask of you— but that when light fails and this sweet profound Paris moves with lovers,two and two bound for themselves,when passionately dusk brings softly down the perfume of the world (and just as smaller stars begin to husk heaven)you,you exactly paled and curled with mystic lips take twilight where i know: proving to Death that Love is so and so.
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Goodby Betty,Don’t Remember Me
She broke my heart again It failed as she skipped out of reach It’s okay Little things can go unnoticed How big can a heart really be? She gave it a kick as she stumbled over it That paled in comparison when she stepped on it I gift wrapped my heart I even sang a little tune as I tied the bow She had that look though A little moue of surprise and a stutter My heart dropped and I leaned back Bracing myself always feels like it should help But, then she broke it Kicked it Stepped on it Scuffed it for sure It got a little blurry I knew as soon as she said “We can still be friends right?” cc062911
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Jul 2, 2011
Jul 2, 2011 at 7:25 PM UTC
Again
Her eyes so bright; Do you ever wonder where the sun goes at night? The rain, dancing on the pavement in no specific arrangement. Luminous flames eat away at sharp skewers, Her eyes silver-grey, clashing with the tables of steel. Barbecue roasting, impaled through the middle The pain paled in comparison to watching you smile. A toast to me, myself and I, a glass of sweet solitude. I watch tall wine glasses clang drunkenly together, alone. A pin drops in the distance; no silence to accompany it. Unnoticed it goes, by the arrogant lords and goddesses. Pick a flower, compliment her hair; devil may care. She's walking away, I tell her 'Ma'am, have a nice day' Left alone to stumble back home, sipping champagne royally; Mockery. Spilling champagne and it swirls down the drain I tilt my head back, laughing carelessly all the way.
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Jul 5, 2015
Jul 5, 2015 at 6:44 PM UTC
Stains and champagne.
In the evening sky he hung in celestial glory I thought he came early As the blue paled he became brighter Luminous, white and bold I loved him dearly I held him in my hands and heart cupped his fullness in my eyes He moved with me I watched captivated I stood in his golden light and beauty soaking in silver slivers into my soul from my skin Now he lives in me and I in him
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Jun 14, 2017
Jun 14, 2017 at 11:59 AM UTC
Moonstruck
This siren that sings out my name Calls me abroad to oceans untamed Over waves and under cloud churned skies Through rain and hell my vessel flies Through turmoil and treachery, beyond it all Still I hear her haunting call Drawing me on, begging me to haste Through starry darkness, past time and space Adventure is the song she sings Of life and stories, these incredible things To compare her allure, all others have paled The answering of her call I’ve never failed Onward to her melody I will always run Forever she sings, this chase never done.
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Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 3:05 AM UTC
The Siren
Within this restless, hurried, modern world We took our hearts’ full pleasure—You and I, And now the white sails of our ship are furled, And spent the lading of our argosy. Wherefore my cheeks before their time are wan, For very weeping is my gladness fled, Sorrow has paled my young mouth’s vermilion, And Ruin draws the curtains of my bed. But all this crowded life has been to thee No more than lyre, or lute, or subtle spell Of viols, or the music of the sea That sleeps, a mimic echo, in the shell.
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4.3k
My Voice
Ah, paled and faded leaf. of spring agone, Whither goest thou? Art speeding to Another land upon the brooklet's breast? Or art thou sailing to the sea, to lodge Amid a reef, and, kissed by wind and wave, Die of too much love? Thou'lt find a resting place amid the moss, And, ah, who knows! The royal gem May be thine own love's offering. Or wilt thou flutter as a time-yellowed page, And mould among thy sisters, Ere the sun may peep within the pack? Or will the robin nest with thee At Spring's awakening? The romping brook Will never chide thee, but ever coax thee on. And shouldst thou be impaled Upon a thorny branch, what then? Try not a flight; thy sisters call thee! Could crocus spring from frost? And wilt thou let the violet shrink and die? Nay, speed not, for God hath not A mast for thee provided.
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Faded Leaf Of Spring
A boat, beneath a sunny sky Lingering onward dreamily In an evening of July -- Children three that nestle near, Eager eye and willing ear Pleased a simple tale to hear -- Long has paled that sunny sky: Echoes fade and memories die: Autumn frosts have slain July. Still she haunts me, phantomwise Alice moving under skies Never seen by waking eyes. Children yet, the tale to hear, Eager eye and willing ear, Lovingly shall nestle near. In a Wonderland they lie, Dreaming as the days go by, Dreaming as the summers die: Ever drifting down the stream -- Lingering in the golden gleam -- Life what is it but a dream?
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Epilogue to Through the Looking Glass
A BOAT beneath a sunny sky, Lingering onward dreamily In an evening of July -- Children three that nestle near, Eager eye and willing ear, Pleased a simple tale to hear -- Long has paled that sunny sky: Echoes fade and memories die: Autumn frosts have slain July. Still she haunts me, phantomwise, Alice moving under skies Never seen by waking eyes. Children yet, the tale to hear, Eager eye and willing ear, Lovingly shall nestle near. In a Wonderland they lie, Dreaming as the days go by, Dreaming as the summers die: Ever drifting down the stream -- Lingering in the golden dream -- Life, what is it but a dream? THE END
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A Boat beneath a Sunny Sky
On the first day, he was pushed robust in his stance, the other forced, this boy down the spiral staircase of the Catholic church, the school had renovated, the Spring before Isaac had begun his studies, at the high school. Ballet was his passion, Latin was the language that so effortlessly, fluently was spoken from his lips in class as he smiled at his Professor, another victory accomplished in academia so proud were his parents, of their blue eyed boy. Jonah was the reject, the older brother he had been kicked out of school, not once, but twice, and was often found with a joint, his unshaven face wrapped around one of the girls, from the all girls school that ran alongside Isaacs all boys. Issac was hurt, a further blow to his stomach, rendered him broken as a waterfall of tears ran down his bruised and cut face, so ashamed as other pupils laughed, staring, pointing until the final bell rang as they fled from the high ceilings and narrow corridors. Wrapped in a ball, he waited for all halls and students to clear, and as he rolled over, picking himself up he took to the washroom, knowing he needed to be presentable for his mother waiting for him at the school gate brimming with pride, at her boys scholarship. All his dreams, mystical and serene, Romeo and Juliet fluid streams of poetry of Elliot, Poe, Hughes and of course Wilde and those love letters of Beethoven math, biology, all paled into insignificance he was born a writer, a dancer, a drawer, sketching and typing his heart to a page, prose a future love would read. Johan saw his mother's car pull up as he raced and giggled with Saskia leading her astray, he promised her all the things those boys always did, and of course not to break her sweet sixteen heart, unlike other boys as his mother smoked another Camel, the two lovers jumped into his truck, Johnny Cash blaring from speakers laughing hysterically, the world at their feet. By 4pm, Isaac was ready to leave school, tentatively walking out the main door, down concrete slabs as steps, no predators in sight he couldn't hide the dark circles under his eyes that formed as bruises, knowing he was fortunate to have not been damaged further by the haunting before last period. Walking to the gates, he listened through headphones; Tchaikovsky his release his home his saving grace. © Sia Jane
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Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 6:53 PM UTC
a moral evil
On the first day, he was pushed robust in his stance, the other forced, this boy down the spiral staircase of the Catholic church, the school had renovated, the Spring before Isaac had begun his studies, at the high school. Ballet was his passion, Latin was the language that so effortlessly, fluently was spoken from his lips in class as he smiled at his Professor, another victory accomplished in academia so proud were his parents, of their blue eyed boy. Jonah was the reject, the older brother he had been kicked out of school, not once, but twice, and was often found with a joint, his unshaven face wrapped around one of the girls, from the all girls school that ran alongside Isaacs all boys. Issac was hurt, a further blow to his stomach, rendered him broken as a waterfall of tears ran down his bruised and cut face, so ashamed as other pupils laughed, staring, pointing until the final bell rang as they fled from the high ceilings and narrow corridors. Wrapped in a ball, he waited for all halls and students to clear, and as he rolled over, picking himself up he took to the washroom, knowing he needed to be presentable for his mother waiting for him at the school gate brimming with pride, at her boys scholarship. All his dreams, mystical and serene, Romeo and Juliet fluid streams of poetry of Elliot, Poe, Hughes and of course Wilde and those love letters of Beethoven math, biology, all paled into insignificance he was born a writer, a dancer, a drawer, sketching and typing his heart to a page, prose a future love would read. Johan saw his mother's car pull up as he raced and giggled with Saskia leading her astray, he promised her all the things those boys always did, and of course not to break her sweet sixteen heart, unlike other boys as his mother smoked another Camel, the two lovers jumped into his truck, Johnny Cash blaring from speakers laughing hysterically, the world at their feet. By 4pm, Isaac was ready to leave school, tentatively walking out the main door, down concrete slabs as steps, no predators in sight he couldn't hide the dark circles under his eyes that formed as bruises, knowing he was fortunate to have not been damaged further by the haunting before last period. Walking to the gates, he listened through headphones; Tchaikovsky his release his home his saving grace. © Sia Jane
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63
"O day! he cannot die When thou so fair art shining! O Sun, in such a glorious sky, So tranquilly declining; He cannot leave thee now, While fresh west winds are blowing, And all around his youthful brow Thy cheerful light is glowing! Edward, awake, awake-- The golden evening gleams Warm and bright on Arden's lake-- Arouse thee from thy dreams! Beside thee, on my knee, My dearest friend, I pray That thou, to cross the eternal sea, Wouldst yet one hour delay: I hear its billows roar-- I see them foaming high; But no glimpse of a further shore Has blest my straining eye. Believe not what they urge Of Eden isles beyond; Turn back, from that tempestuous surge, To thy own native land. It is not death, but pain That struggles in thy breast-- Nay, rally, Edward, rouse again; I cannot let thee rest!" One long look, that sore reproved me For the woe I could not bear-- One mute look of suffering moved me To repent my useless prayer: And, with sudden check, the heaving Of distraction passed away; Not a sign of further grieving Stirred my soul that awful day. Paled, at length, the sweet sun setting; Sunk to peace the twilight breeze: Summer dews fell softly, wetting Glen, and glade, and silent trees. Then his eyes began to weary, Weighed beneath a mortal sleep; And their orbs grew strangely dreary, Clouded, even as they would weep. But they wept not, but they changed not, Never moved, and never closed; Troubled still, and still they ranged not-- Wandered not, nor yet reposed! So I knew that he was dying-- Stooped, and raised his languid head; Felt no breath, and heard no sighing, So I knew that he was dead.
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A Death-scene
"O day! he cannot die When thou so fair art shining! O Sun, in such a glorious sky, So tranquilly declining; He cannot leave thee now, While fresh west winds are blowing, And all around his youthful brow Thy cheerful light is glowing! Edward, awake, awake-- The golden evening gleams Warm and bright on Arden's lake-- Arouse thee from thy dreams! Beside thee, on my knee, My dearest friend, I pray That thou, to cross the eternal sea, Wouldst yet one hour delay: I hear its billows roar-- I see them foaming high; But no glimpse of a further shore Has blest my straining eye. Believe not what they urge Of Eden isles beyond; Turn back, from that tempestuous surge, To thy own native land. It is not death, but pain That struggles in thy breast-- Nay, rally, Edward, rouse again; I cannot let thee rest!" One long look, that sore reproved me For the woe I could not bear-- One mute look of suffering moved me To repent my useless prayer: And, with sudden check, the heaving Of distraction passed away; Not a sign of further grieving Stirred my soul that awful day. Paled, at length, the sweet sun setting; Sunk to peace the twilight breeze: Summer dews fell softly, wetting Glen, and glade, and silent trees. Then his eyes began to weary, Weighed beneath a mortal sleep; And their orbs grew strangely dreary, Clouded, even as they would weep. But they wept not, but they changed not, Never moved, and never closed; Troubled still, and still they ranged not-- Wandered not, nor yet reposed! So I knew that he was dying-- Stooped, and raised his languid head; Felt no breath, and heard no sighing, So I knew that he was dead.
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52
Belinda lived in a little white house, With a little black kitten and a little gray mouse, And a little yellow dog and a little red wagon, And a realio, trulio, little pet dragon. Now the name of the little black kitten was Ink, And the little gray mouse, she called her Blink, And the little yellow dog was sharp as Mustard, But the dragon was a coward, and she called him Custard. Custard the dragon had big sharp teeth, And spikes on top of him and scales underneath, Mouth like a fireplace, chimney for a nose, And realio, trulio, daggers on his toes. Belinda was as brave as a barrel full of bears, And Ink and Blink chased lions down the stairs, Mustard was as brave as a tiger in a rage, But Custard cried for a nice safe cage. Belinda tickled him, she tickled him unmerciful, Ink, Blink and Mustard, they rudely called him Percival, They all sat laughing in the little red wagon At the realio, trulio, cowardly dragon. Belinda giggled till she shook the house, And Blink said Week! , which is giggling for a mouse, Ink and Mustard rudely asked his age, When Custard cried for a nice safe cage. Suddenly, suddenly they heard a nasty sound, And Mustard growled, and they all looked around. Meowch! cried Ink, and Ooh! cried Belinda, For there was a pirate, climbing in the winda. Pistol in his left hand, pistol in his right, And he held in his teeth a cutlass bright, His beard was black, one leg was wood; It was clear that the pirate meant no good. Belinda paled, and she cried, Help! Help! But Mustard fled with a terrified yelp, Ink trickled down to the bottom of the household, And little mouse Blink strategically mouseholed. But up jumped Custard, snorting like an engine, Clashed his tail like irons in a dungeon, With a clatter and a clank and a jangling squirm He went at the pirate like a robin at a worm. The pirate gaped at Belinda's dragon, And gulped some grog from his pocket flagon, He fired two bullets but they didn't hit, And Custard gobbled him, every bit. Belinda embraced him, Mustard licked him, No one mourned for his pirate victim Ink and Blink in glee did gyrate Around the dragon that ate the pyrate. But presently up spoke little dog Mustard, I'd been twice as brave if I hadn't been flustered. And up spoke Ink and up spoke Blink, We'd have been three times as brave, we think, And Custard said, I quite agree That everybody is braver than me. Belinda still lives in her little white house, With her little black kitten and her little gray mouse, And her little yellow dog and her little red wagon, And her realio, trulio, little pet dragon. Belinda is as brave as a barrel full of bears, And Ink and Blink chase lions down the stairs, Mustard is as brave as a tiger in a rage, But Custard keeps crying for a nice safe cage.
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Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 5:15 AM UTC
The Tale of Custard The Dragon by Ogden Nash
Belinda lived in a little white house, With a little black kitten and a little gray mouse, And a little yellow dog and a little red wagon, And a realio, trulio, little pet dragon. Now the name of the little black kitten was Ink, And the little gray mouse, she called her Blink, And the little yellow dog was sharp as Mustard, But the dragon was a coward, and she called him Custard. Custard the dragon had big sharp teeth, And spikes on top of him and scales underneath, Mouth like a fireplace, chimney for a nose, And realio, trulio, daggers on his toes. Belinda was as brave as a barrel full of bears, And Ink and Blink chased lions down the stairs, Mustard was as brave as a tiger in a rage, But Custard cried for a nice safe cage. Belinda tickled him, she tickled him unmerciful, Ink, Blink and Mustard, they rudely called him Percival, They all sat laughing in the little red wagon At the realio, trulio, cowardly dragon. Belinda giggled till she shook the house, And Blink said Week! , which is giggling for a mouse, Ink and Mustard rudely asked his age, When Custard cried for a nice safe cage. Suddenly, suddenly they heard a nasty sound, And Mustard growled, and they all looked around. Meowch! cried Ink, and Ooh! cried Belinda, For there was a pirate, climbing in the winda. Pistol in his left hand, pistol in his right, And he held in his teeth a cutlass bright, His beard was black, one leg was wood; It was clear that the pirate meant no good. Belinda paled, and she cried, Help! Help! But Mustard fled with a terrified yelp, Ink trickled down to the bottom of the household, And little mouse Blink strategically mouseholed. But up jumped Custard, snorting like an engine, Clashed his tail like irons in a dungeon, With a clatter and a clank and a jangling squirm He went at the pirate like a robin at a worm. The pirate gaped at Belinda's dragon, And gulped some grog from his pocket flagon, He fired two bullets but they didn't hit, And Custard gobbled him, every bit. Belinda embraced him, Mustard licked him, No one mourned for his pirate victim Ink and Blink in glee did gyrate Around the dragon that ate the pyrate. But presently up spoke little dog Mustard, I'd been twice as brave if I hadn't been flustered. And up spoke Ink and up spoke Blink, We'd have been three times as brave, we think, And Custard said, I quite agree That everybody is braver than me. Belinda still lives in her little white house, With her little black kitten and her little gray mouse, And her little yellow dog and her little red wagon, And her realio, trulio, little pet dragon. Belinda is as brave as a barrel full of bears, And Ink and Blink chase lions down the stairs, Mustard is as brave as a tiger in a rage, But Custard keeps crying for a nice safe cage.
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62
As Dusk Slowly Grasped The Day In Cold Hands, Blue Birds Snuggled Into Their Nests Of Soft Hay, Clouds Rolled In--Tucking In The Frosted Lands, Ducking Into Sleep Fragile Flowers Waited To Play, Eager For The Day Robins Closed Their Tired Eyes, Ferns Sway In A Befuddled Wind--It's Mind Whirling, Gregarious Crickets Shake Away Their Frosty Ties, Homesick Linnets Wings Spread--Elegantly Swirling, Illuminating The Night Sat The Paled Lonely Moon, Jubilant It Is Though, Upon It's View From The Sky, Kissable Caterpillars Lounge In Their Cocoons, Lost In Sleep They Dream Of The Clouds So High, Mother's Of The Nocturnal World Lead Their Young, Northward To Play In Wheat Filled Prairies, Organic Love Loomed Where The Branches Hung, Promenading Inside A Wind Smelling Like Berries, Quietly The First Few Drops Of Rain Fell, Ricocheting Off Of Budding Leaves, Sweet Mother Earth Caught Everything In Her Spell, Tonight A Sacred Lullaby Is Whispered By The Trees As, Untamed Ligtning Struck The Frozen Ground, Vibrating The Sky Thunder Crashed, Water Swam Through The Air Creating No Sound, Xenon and Nitrogen Screamed While They Clashed, Yet No Gentle Creature Was Awakened--Grasping ZZzz's Under The Year's First Shower
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Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 9:36 PM UTC
The First Rain--A To Z (Nature Poem)
shes sat by the window like a flower to the sun burnt deep paled lotus, mechanized motifs cigarette, sweet parallel steams lips pink, eyes deceased silica tears, seeded fiber optic designed !release enter automated dreamstate delve inside the beast oscillating pirouetting psilocybe serene days gone underground plagiarized by peace prototyped the touch she’ll never know it’s me.
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Aug 11, 2021
Aug 11, 2021 at 7:07 PM UTC
organasma
My tires went over the cracks in the road As I drove by people standing on the sidewalk Exchanging words, emotions, dreams I passed them on my way to the cul-de-sac To exchange money, drugs, humanity The pedestrians penetrated me With piercing eyes of persecution They thought they hated me for being there But their hatred is what led me there They injected hatred into my life The way I injected ****** into my arm They injected banality into my life The way I injected ****** into my brain They injected austerity into my life The way I injected ****** into my heart They prayed that my sedation was of a more permanent nature Before that they prayed for the permanent sedation of my ****** nature Wanting me to be fully awake But not fully alive They snuck into my mind And exchanged emotions with emptiness I snuck into their house And exchanged furniture with emptiness They exchanged words with the police Who exchanged my freedom For everyone else's peace of mind But the exchange between the excommunicated Exacerbated my exiled existence The steel bars placed before me Paled in comparison To the bars that surrounded my heart And faded from memory When the Xanax bars entered my system Until I couldn't walk anymore Making me Professor X Hiding out with the other mutants Trying to lecture the world That zombies turn to demons If the exchange isn't examined When they exit their enclosure Sidewalk standers turn to explanations more elementary Eliminating empathy While elevating themselves above us This is the epitome of our exchange
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Jul 7, 2017
Jul 7, 2017 at 3:55 AM UTC
Exchange
My tires went over the cracks in the road As I drove by people standing on the sidewalk Exchanging words, emotions, dreams I passed them on my way to the cul-de-sac To exchange money, drugs, humanity The pedestrians penetrated me With piercing eyes of persecution They thought they hated me for being there But their hatred is what led me there They injected hatred into my life The way I injected ****** into my arm They injected banality into my life The way I injected ****** into my brain They injected austerity into my life The way I injected ****** into my heart They prayed that my sedation was of a more permanent nature Before that they prayed for the permanent sedation of my ****** nature Wanting me to be fully awake But not fully alive They snuck into my mind And exchanged emotions with emptiness I snuck into their house And exchanged furniture with emptiness They exchanged words with the police Who exchanged my freedom For everyone else's peace of mind But the exchange between the excommunicated Exacerbated my exiled existence The steel bars placed before me Paled in comparison To the bars that surrounded my heart And faded from memory When the Xanax bars entered my system Until I couldn't walk anymore Making me Professor X Hiding out with the other mutants Trying to lecture the world That zombies turn to demons If the exchange isn't examined When they exit their enclosure Sidewalk standers turn to explanations more elementary Eliminating empathy While elevating themselves above us This is the epitome of our exchange
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45
A cool December morning! Today I rose much earlier than usual I watch the night stealing away Like an accused convict under cover Sunlight peeks through the leaves. In the haze of overhanging mist, Only the blurred silhouette of trees in sight The crows have begun their raucous call The leaves of grass are misted with dew A cool zephyr blows from the south Clouds float like shredded cotton Even Sirius, the brightest star has paled Life is slowly beginning to unfold And men like shadows have begun to move The sun has now climbed to the Eastern hills In scintillating glory like a mighty king Shattering the mist with his lance like beams He exults like a victorious warrior His crystal rays rouse the sleeping birds And they begin their chorus in wondrous rhyme I enjoy the sweetness of this lovely morn In serene silence, I stand and watch The light that slowly fills the Earth, Dispelling all trace of overhanging darkness!
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Dec 8, 2016
Dec 8, 2016 at 7:28 AM UTC
A December Morning
(when first I learned my intellect paled by compare,) I, did not weep, for my eyes with love keeps reminding with every glance, my intuition is where my value lay… <> of course, it a genius creative choreographer, Lar Lubovitch, to remind of the obvious I forget
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Dec 4, 2023
Dec 4, 2023 at 9:00 AM UTC
intuitive intellect
Holding her rose She stands, waiting to plead her case But I can see the pain As it rushes over her face Its thorns pierce her hand, Yet she holds it in place Blood dripping from the stem Like the tears from her face Hidden from view Her rose is veiled But now the time comes And her face is paled Its thorns pierce her hand, Yet she holds it in place Blood dripping from the stem Like the tears from her face Struggling to tell Yet struggling more to conceal Another day must pass Until she unveils how she feels Its thorns pierce her hand, Yet she holds it in place Blood dripping from the stem Like the tears from her face Her blood falls to the ground In its brilliant, scarlet hue But her rose remains concealed And it seems there’s nothing left to do Holding her rose It’s all she has left Grasping it tightly Her life remains bereft
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Aug 4, 2011
Aug 4, 2011 at 9:04 PM UTC
Thorns
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, once in October-----<> once in fallen October a yellow far than closer maybe more red than what smells older steps flashback to my death when I tried to find my swept breath maybe ten seconds left my world in mess at the train station still lost in words desperation maybe why I yearn today even for hurt in fascination broken feels hold immortal memories remain unfold maybe ringing phones would again shiver me in cold in your stare felt like I was there maybe letters I missed from gazes tripping down the stairs backs embrace more than a lover's torn trace maybe how sometimes I forget your face when I swear to get rid to not show my heart stops acting in slow maybe longs paled my color once upon a time ago never mine older than wine maybe a one tasted moment time drained my soul and called me helplessly see you living selfishly maybe all in my head in hope of the real of my fantasy maybe the don't leave was a mumble created maybe honey drips cut like knives invaded maybe sweet carries of lots an essence when devastated -------ravenfeels
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Jun 20, 2021
Jun 20, 2021 at 11:53 AM UTC
A Lover's Torn Trace
You could desperate hear me start weeping Ruckus started to crying to crack tangerine holds one still upright auburn as an immortal's loneliness fogged or condemned stays a Sahara burnt hot tambourine a hangover led Arabian a broken record some shattered the bathroom bar. I wonder for my brother's dowry on beds too kempt to be called beds and doorframes and lamps set never high enough to hit again, to stand to kneel to lock to lash to hold to my brother's body now felt to me like the female sold fragile to the greater cities with a vote, he clearly left his Argentina behind no matter how she paled, ended struck. No longer a child or sister to pass as to take guests in alone to stand our married couple's cries an unmuteable radio can't go back to playrooms for imparallel dignities' sake that made all the noise at night worth it to deal with I, don't want to play the rook if no horse of yours' beside. Now once the scarcity of your voice, if even morbid, is to be greeted by me alone, Adam and Eve we have unable to see, just for the empty halls of your decision just for me to hit, your turned leaf hidden agenda of relief, I recognise my faiths of the old of your endless mornings supposedly killed by snoring and your vividness to my thoughts a foreign concept, to note you resurrected out of mind and out of sight the congruence picks me out and slaps me that our cocoon and safe designed for you was nothing short of a coma web in your eyes to begin with instead. ... I look out to my brother's dowry to hold stubborn, fainted in my nook the head of my brother's body to sit on his old air this house keeps like a sari gem he will never long for again.
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Dec 14, 2020
Dec 14, 2020 at 10:10 AM UTC
Jasper for Broken Sands
You could desperate hear me start weeping Ruckus started to crying to crack tangerine holds one still upright auburn as an immortal's loneliness fogged or condemned stays a Sahara burnt hot tambourine a hangover led Arabian a broken record some shattered the bathroom bar. I wonder for my brother's dowry on beds too kempt to be called beds and doorframes and lamps set never high enough to hit again, to stand to kneel to lock to lash to hold to my brother's body now felt to me like the female sold fragile to the greater cities with a vote, he clearly left his Argentina behind no matter how she paled, ended struck. No longer a child or sister to pass as to take guests in alone to stand our married couple's cries an unmuteable radio can't go back to playrooms for imparallel dignities' sake that made all the noise at night worth it to deal with I, don't want to play the rook if no horse of yours' beside. Now once the scarcity of your voice, if even morbid, is to be greeted by me alone, Adam and Eve we have unable to see, just for the empty halls of your decision just for me to hit, your turned leaf hidden agenda of relief, I recognise my faiths of the old of your endless mornings supposedly killed by snoring and your vividness to my thoughts a foreign concept, to note you resurrected out of mind and out of sight the congruence picks me out and slaps me that our cocoon and safe designed for you was nothing short of a coma web in your eyes to begin with instead. ... I look out to my brother's dowry to hold stubborn, fainted in my nook the head of my brother's body to sit on his old air this house keeps like a sari gem he will never long for again.
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43
I went on a bike ride down to the shore I could talk about how the sand didn’t compare to you soft skin anymore Or how I’ve never seen the sky so clear it seemed like they knew I was thinking of you I could go on and on about how the children’s laughter paled in contrast to yours But thats only half true You see the sand looked soft, but when you go too close It just clung onto your every touch And though the sky was clear the blue color only reminded me of the way I turned around here Children’s laughter seemed so dim in contrast to your overbearing loud shouts Though the wind felt good running through my hair it lasted shortly before I felt like it was choking me now the faster I went, the more it tried to pull me down Yes, everything reminded me of you and why I left to be by myself
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Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 2:54 AM UTC
Seashore
Dear Sam, Your ex Who happens to be my best friend Opened up to me the other day About how they used to resent me Because of the way you treated them When I entered into poly with you Which is entirely understandable Especially considering that you Decided to tell them something big While you guys were out with friends You just couldn't wait to tell them That you didn't think that you were poly Because you thought you only loved me Yet I never heard this from you **** I never even saw it much Whenever you complimented me You balanced it with one about them Which I thought was fine Because they're a really good person Little did I know that you were Being so abusive to them all the time While telling me how much you love them I think what ****** me off the most About all of this **** Is that I felt that I was done with you I stopped thinking about it all Either I'd processed all I needed to Or I was repressing all the damage Because you caused a **** ton But finding this out? It makes me so ******* angry Because you had them believing That things were great between us And made me believe the same about you two While you emotionally abused and Deeply manipulated both of us On such a level that Certain songs give me anxiety And I get flashbacks of you Of us Sitting in your house in the dark The only light coming from candles Music playing over the speakers An ambient setting that Holds so much pain From both positive and negative experiences Yet those don't even feel like memories They feel like something I saw in a movie Because by the end of those long 6 months You brought me so close to the ground That I still taste dirt when I breathe I hate that you're in my head again Because I was fine before this Before hearing even more Or the torture you put them through And how the pain you inflicted on me The pain that causes dark anxiety Upon seeing any Jeep vehicle Paled in comparison To the ways you abused and hurt them How ******* dare you They were nothing but loving and caring to you I could've screamed with joy when they left you. I hope it burns. I hope you know you're abusive. I hope you think of us often. And I hope you get help And never do this ever again.
0
Dec 7, 2018
Dec 7, 2018 at 3:18 AM UTC
Letters to My Exes #5
Dear Sam, Your ex Who happens to be my best friend Opened up to me the other day About how they used to resent me Because of the way you treated them When I entered into poly with you Which is entirely understandable Especially considering that you Decided to tell them something big While you guys were out with friends You just couldn't wait to tell them That you didn't think that you were poly Because you thought you only loved me Yet I never heard this from you **** I never even saw it much Whenever you complimented me You balanced it with one about them Which I thought was fine Because they're a really good person Little did I know that you were Being so abusive to them all the time While telling me how much you love them I think what ****** me off the most About all of this **** Is that I felt that I was done with you I stopped thinking about it all Either I'd processed all I needed to Or I was repressing all the damage Because you caused a **** ton But finding this out? It makes me so ******* angry Because you had them believing That things were great between us And made me believe the same about you two While you emotionally abused and Deeply manipulated both of us On such a level that Certain songs give me anxiety And I get flashbacks of you Of us Sitting in your house in the dark The only light coming from candles Music playing over the speakers An ambient setting that Holds so much pain From both positive and negative experiences Yet those don't even feel like memories They feel like something I saw in a movie Because by the end of those long 6 months You brought me so close to the ground That I still taste dirt when I breathe I hate that you're in my head again Because I was fine before this Before hearing even more Or the torture you put them through And how the pain you inflicted on me The pain that causes dark anxiety Upon seeing any Jeep vehicle Paled in comparison To the ways you abused and hurt them How ******* dare you They were nothing but loving and caring to you I could've screamed with joy when they left you. I hope it burns. I hope you know you're abusive. I hope you think of us often. And I hope you get help And never do this ever again.
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Like a modern Diana the Huntress Emma exuded appeal She wore liquid black leather outfits designed to reveal not conceal. As a member of TV’s Avengers She was her partner, John Steed’s, ideal. Emma Peel in a Mini was fetching Her clothing set fashion and style. Leaving little to imagination it made many a teenager smile. In time she would leave for theater and do a film as Mrs James Bond Linda Thorson paled in comparison but at least she was not a dumb blond
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Dec 30, 2011
Dec 30, 2011 at 8:47 PM UTC
Watching Emma Peel