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Jamie Riley Apr 2018
They look out from the terrace.

At the borders of sight
live rocky hills behind brown
and golden and olive crop
under a cloudless sky.

Sun beams brighten motley roofs
on tessellations which blacken beige
in blurry air.


An artificial cloud.

“Look,” she points, “Let’s go!”

She takes him and they fly down stairs,
diving like sparrows
into the street.

Boys sprint across pavements and climb;
men vault over fences in time
for news to reach ears.

“They’re coming!
"¡Ya vienen!"

Excitement and fear.

The rattling of cow bells
and galloping nears.

Men bait and dodge horns
and escape through doors
and up and over
red wooden bars.

Sticks beat on the concrete ground
and drive the mute beasts's sounds.

Seconds away –
until the last,
he side steps into a house;



he runs through the foyer
and up the stairs
around a corner.

Long strides

too fast to follow.

She chooses left and
sings soprano
when doors won't budge

She turns and the fear is paralysing.




He­ hurdles the stairs
and explodes
when it rams her
to and fro,
thrashing her head
against the wall
where horns
sin and gore
cement and brick.

He clasps the tail
and heaves its hide from
side to side as
hooves smash
crates of wine -
they slip and slide
in fractured glass;
he finds a horn
and yanks the head!
He's yanked instead
near dead before the men
arrive down stairs
to punch and kick it;
strike and stick it
smack and hit it;
'til it
fits and quits
and flees the foyer,
fast and frantic,
flying flustered
by the frenzy,
finally finding



"¿Que ha pasado?
  ¿Quien ha sido?
  ¡El Balbotin
  y la Chicha!
  ¡Que una vaca
  les ha pillado!"

"¿Estas bien?"

Dizzy she's there
with searching hands
and scolding.

"Podria haber sido peor"
This poem is about an incident which happened to my Grandparents, Fermin Yanguas Ochoa and Raimunda Ramos Frias.

It was during a bull run in their village (Fitero) in Navarra, Northern Spain. 1972
Terry O'Leary Sep 2015
Though still within our infancy,
we strive to thrive, but woefully
we flash and flaunt our 'primacy',
display our trophies pridefully.

Our terra firma ecstasy
destroys survival's harmony,
lays waste to life on land and sea.
Mankind, thy name is vanity!

By doubting Nature's regnancy,
defying laws with levity,
we strain our spheroid's symmetry
(perhaps a fatal fallacy?)

for, swallowed in the 'world of we',
we feed on vain insanity
with thoughts beyond eternity -
so strange when looked at mortally.

No use to seek a remedy
ensconced in ancient prophecy
for if not handled skillfully,
as clay we'll pay the penalty.

The Moguls rule with cruel decree,
control the crowds like puppetry,
pursuing greed addictively
with no accountability.

The wind, it reeks of Royalty
(awash in waves of perfidy)
while blowing ’cross the peasantry
(eclipsed in clouds of treachery).

The Queen, well steeped in snobbery,
sits, preening proud Her pedigree,
on throne of sculpted ebony
while sipping Sect immodestly;

to sate Her Regal Majesty,
a caviar clad canapé
is served with golden cutlery
by maidens bent submissively.

The King is bailed from bankruptcy
by Knaves who hoodwink artfully
the down-and-outer evictee
who wallows in their lenity.

Forsooth, the Money Monarchy
exalts the dollar dynasty
engaged in highway robbery
by Peacocks plumed in finery.

Yes, Jesters and the Fools agree
to truckle to duplicity
and laugh about it witlessly.
Long live the peon's penury!

To champion an oddity
(like two times twelve is fifty three)  
one reaches to theology
through paths of circularity.

In bygone trials of travesty
the doubters, draped in blasphemy,
endured the pain and agony
inflicted by the papacy.

Inspired by the Trinity
fanatics bent cosmology
in geocentric fantasy
while Bruno burned for heresy;

and aged women, randomly
accused of wicked witchery
by justice framed in infamy,
were racked and shown no clemency

That epoch of credulity
(when savants fostered sorcery
and practiced ancient alchemy)
arose in dark age quackery

as clerics dripping piety
(while raging, raving rabidly)
pervaded thralled society
with callous inhumanity;

'repent', they bellowed, 'verily,
forsake the world's iniquity,
live lives of want and chastity,
and give your gelt to God through me'.

The Masters make a mockery
of freedom and democracy
by holding down the uppity,
released from shackled slavery,

now fettered in a factory
else strewn across the Bowery,
still chained in bonds of bigotry,
immersed in seas of poverty.

And colliers, tapping balefully
in sunken-mine solemnity,
yet thrum a mournful monody
some call the digger's elegy.

To children, pale and raggedy
(behind a day of drudgery),
the boss man, oh so gallantly,
bestows a penny, niggardly;

though some are fed (belatedly),
their eyes recede in apathy
while bellies bulge, inflatedly,
with mothers watching, wretchedly.

When met with health adversity
or broken bone infirmity,
the pauper dangles helplessly
with no insurance policy;

and those engulfed in lunacy
are ailing blobs left floating free
in ******-dream obscurity -
a mired madhouse odyssey.

Ignoring mankind's unity,
the rich and poor dichotomy
breeds dismal doomed finality,
eventual nihility.

Renewing days of chivalry,
wild warriors fighting valiantly
bring freedom neath the gallows tree
while blending blood and burgundy

to toast the slaughtered enemy,
and so convince the colony
to cede with smile on bended knee
and yield her diamonds, silk and tea.

At first they call the cavalry
and then again the infantry,
so proudly primped in panoply,
with arms from finest armory

(embraced in hands so tenderly
bestow benign atrocity) -
and soon atomic weaponry
will extirpate posterity.

Misusing high technology
(to feed the face of gluttony)
depletes our Rock of energy,
now slowly dying thermally.

Our gadgets breathing CFC
fuel ozone holes' immensity
while cloud bursts, raining acidly,
wilt woods in their entirety,

and rivers, tainted chemically,
polluted biologically,
refill our cups methodically
and drown our souls organically.

Adjusting genes mechanically
may well blot out the bumble bee
annulling fruits' fecundity,
but brings big bucks reliably.

We wager perpetuity
to revel momentarily
in shadow-like obscurity
ignoring the futility,

but if we bet unknowingly
on fickle fate's contingency
and thereby act haphazardly
we're doomed to lose the lottery.

The modern day bureaucracy
abuses trust egregiously ,
embeds itself in obloquy
and offers no apology.

It paints the past in reverie
to camouflage the tendency
to strip away our privacy
which paves the path to tyranny.

With earlobes lurking furtively
that listen surreptitiously,
and eyeballs peering piercingly
we've lost cerebral sovereignty,

and those who dare to disagree
must hide away in secrecy
else crowd a black facility
(with water board anxiety).

Yes, sans responsibility,
our marble in this galaxy
will crumble in catastrophe
ere ever reaching puberty…
Perched upon a corporate throne,

We march into the great unknown

As wasted words of gossip drone

And steel replaces brick and stone.
Soon you find yourself alone

In crowded streets with a global phone,

Doing a random strangers bidding.

A means to an end they say,

As poor men die while rich men play,

When honest work brings modest pay,

And doesn't last 'em through the day

Though profiteers in moral grey 

Flood the airwaves to in turn say,

"Our wealth simply paves  the way,

Tomorrow is your salvation day,

You want peace? Then war is only fitting."

Look and you will see

Money buys democracy,

The Citizens United, see?

If we knew the truth, would we agree?

Those answers are not  going to be

Yes or no but more likely

Maybe, perhaps, or possibly,

Because in reality,

Right and wrong are just kidding.

To those who fret the plagues we face,
Yet believe we can change this place,
Who stifle doubts about the Human Race,
And yearn to be together in this chase,
With subdued pride and envy, in every case,

Seeking common goals to found the base,

May we lay the evil plots to waste,

For evils clients who once stood are now sitting.

The time is now, make a stand
Pull our heads out of the sand

Call their bluff with a hidden hand

Of virtue they don’t quite understand,
Defy procedure’s they have planned
Unite across the lines that brand,

Refuse all prejudice, none may be accepted.

Some know for they already looked

And the flow of money keeps them booked,

Takes but once to have them hooked,

Setting the table with food uncooked

For others whose foundations shook

Are pitted against the small time crook

Hoping only that we be protected


Hark the sounds of rebellious cries

For those that call, they realize

All that lives sure enough dies
But when displeased we close our eyes

To the masters of disguise

Who think their profit justifies

The invisible hand growing in size

While their strings attached go uncorrected

They kept us quiet all the while

Waiting with numbers dialed

To put the innocent to trial

Lining up in single file

To be cast into the same old pile

None willing to lay down their tile,

Casting shadows upon their guile,

The double agent mercantile,

Lobbying candidates to endorse.

All I ask, is to what do we base belief?

Dying children get no relief

Oil poisons the coral reef

Prophecy of the fallen chief

Given a thought but a bit too brief
Together a tree, alone but a leaf
Although it is all who feel the grief

Of our actions consequential course

Corrupted elites discuss our goals

So we continue to dig our holes

To depths that darken souls

Rigging markets to decide our roles

Assumptions made so that greed controls

They draw their graphs till the pencil dulls

Then add a factor, see how that goes

Without even the slightest feeling of remorse

Growth is sacred, but is it moral?

Strengthen reason yet we quarrel

Over falsities of ***** oral

Arrangements like that of floral

Remedies but not doctoral

Blood of fallen lives pastoral

Remind that we’re all mortal

But all thereafter bear the force.

So please tell me at what cost?

In a moments past our objectives lost

Compassion was our hand now tossed

Lines we’ve drawn, lines we’ve crossed

How much dirt can be washed

From our conscience we exhaust

Before shattering glass of fate we sloshed?

Working from the scattered pieces back to the source

It is us who blindly lead the strut

We are the source and nothing but

Whose center point is one giant rut

Where false desires cracked and cut

And the selfish feed an endless gut,

When our culture begins to split and jut,

We might finally ask... It was all for what?
Inspired by the great Bob Dylan. I refer you to the song “It’s Alright Ma’”
To Paint a Water Lily

A green level of lily leaves
Roofs the pond's chamber and paves

The flies' furious arena: study
These, the two minds of this lady.

First observe the air's dragonfly
That eats meat, that bullets by

Or stands in space to take aim;
Others as dangerous comb the hum

Under the trees.  There are battle-shouts
And death-cries everywhere hereabouts

But inaudible, so the eyes praise
To see the colours of these flies

Rainbow their arcs, spark, or settle
Cooling like beads of molten metal

Through the spectrum.  Think what worse
is the pond-bed's matter of course;

Prehistoric bedragoned times
Crawl that darkness with Latin names,

Have evolved no improvements there,
Jaws for heads, the set stare,

Ignorant of age as of hour—
Now paint the long-necked lily-flower

Which, deep in both worlds, can be still
As a painting, trembling hardly at all

Though the dragonfly alight,
Whatever horror nudge her root.
1SP Mar 2014
Her presence cannot be denied,
She stands tall and strong with pride;
You cannot overlook her magnitude,
Because she has beauty with attitude;
What a woman,
What a woman indeed,
What a strong Black woman,
For her just even be.

She defines the essence of perfection,
In each notable fashion without exception;
Highly cognizant of her forefather and mothers,
Therefore she paves paths for so many others,
What a woman,
What a woman indeed,
What a strong Black woman,
Even for a crazy world to see.

Her smile is like heaven's gate open,
Bringing joy to all who are chosen;
A lady of strength beyond any measure,
And a heart too big for one person for treasure;
What a woman,
What a woman indeed,
What a strong Black woman,
Who wound up inspiring me.
Michael Ryan Mar 2016
They are the heart givers
and the breath takers
without them I cannot live
but just like my exgirlfriend
they can't seem to find
where they left their compassion.

I cannot breathe
but that is only because it cost too much to live
understanding their desire of money
it pains me to know greed
not of my own will be the cause of my death.

That in my generosity I forgot
planting trees does not grow the greens they seek
and the carrots sprouting are ones they eat
not the ones they don't wear to the office
but dance around their family with.

Education was supposed to be their gravity
and with each ounce of knowledge
built an anchor to the moon
because instead of humanity
they've become a celestial star
whose imagination wanders
outside the orbit of those who may be suffering.

A broken hearted soul
paves the waiting room with their corpse
because while in the void
something had to go and
it wasn't the money
but a man that couldn't
afford to keep his heart going.
Heart problems, but eventually a problem that I can't afford to fix.
Hope,  A dangerous thing I might think.

Wins wars, Kills thousands, influences stocks, Keeps people alive,

DRIVES GREED, inspires the young, slowly  coaxes  suicide,

starching the past and paves the futures paths.

It can be exploited and Used, broken and bruised.

Shining through the darkness while strangling the few.

Its rain every day.
The lonesome star peaking through the clouds on a dreary night.

It’s the glimpse of sun following the darkness.

Revolution is its son and independence are it its daughters.

Knowledge that there’s more or that it’s all over, Knowledge of the Unknown.
Its leaving the light on when no one’s coming home

Its tears that are not wasted, every drop alive with expression.
It’s lingering scents of distant memories, people and places.

Its wanting. Waiting. Needing.
It’s all over. Or is it?

It’s Hope
Quite dangerous indeed.
Cain Oct 2012
Once again a still sunrise,
Quite too much to my surprise;
Now no longer the same reprise,
Never believing in fate's demise.

Once again awaits the sun,
Otherworldly; waits for none;
Terrestrial battles with wars unsung,
The time is now, and has begun.

Once waves of calamity striking the coast,
Now sinking caravels with swift riposte;
This paves the insanity to roads of most,
No graves on marvels without a host.

My ambiguous ocean, bounds not to the throes,
An effluent river asks not where it goes;
But through frigid winters it finally froze,
Yet two rigid reasons -- it once again flows.

Your guess is as mine, for nobody knows,
This mess is divine, and to us it bestows;
Thrown into disaster, yet much room for prose,
We are the ship-masters -- and everyone rows.

So set my oars down, and go for the sails,
Open your eyes, ears & mind; there is no trail;
Wandering didactic wisp you will find, futility of 'fail',
Galactic inhale, cosmic exhale, maybe then will the true path unveil.

So leave nasty mates; abandon the ship,
No mutiny required, just let the wreck tip,
As though through spread fingers they suddenly slip,
Though red feelings linger, you find your own grip.

Then leave folly habits -- straight at the shore,
Shut it & lock it, and close the **** door;
There always are options -- endless possibilities to explore,
Just activate your wings, open wide--soar.

Glad once again, for another sunset,
What you pursue is what you will get;
So forget calumet, anisette & cigarettes,
Simply don't fret -- paint vignettes with no regrets.
Henry Akeru Aug 2018
A barrage of societal Pressure,

The quicksand beneath Success.

Who paves the way

To the narrow curves with thorns,

Family or Foes?

Thin air provides the deceitful mask of comfort

Nothing is real.

Life is almost as dead as a shadow.

And non-existent. Supported by a strand

We are all dark matter. We are Rusty.

Yet we hold on to hopeless Hopes

And dark dreamy dreams.

Who is the puppeteer?

When will one's role end?

For now, we swing with the strings of manipulation

Until the shadow fades into the Night.
the futility and uncertainty of life.
Many a green isle needs must be
In the deep wide sea of Misery,
Or the mariner, worn and wan,
Never thus could voyage on—
Day and night, and night and day,
Drifting on his dreary way,
With the solid darkness black
Closing round his vessel’s track:
Whilst above the sunless sky,
Big with clouds, hangs heavily,
And behind the tempest fleet
Hurries on with lightning feet,

He is ever drifted on
O’er the unreposing wave
To the haven of the grave.
What, if there no friends will greet;
What, if there no heart will meet
His with love’s impatient beat;
Wander wheresoe’er he may,
Can he dream before that day
To find refuge from distress
In friendship’s smile, in love’s caress?
Then ’twill wreak him little woe
Whether such there be or no:
Senseless is the breast, and cold,
Which relenting love would fold;
Bloodless are the veins and chill
Which the pulse of pain did fill;
Every little living nerve
That from bitter words did swerve
Round the tortured lips and brow,
Are like sapless leaflets now
Frozen upon December’s bough.

On the beach of a northern sea
Which tempests shake eternally,
As once the wretch there lay to sleep,
Lies a solitary heap,
One white skull and seven dry bones,
On the margin of the stones,
Where a few grey rushes stand,
Boundaries of the sea and land:
Nor is heard one voice of wail
But the sea-mews, as they sail
O’er the billows of the gale;
Or the whirlwind up and down
Howling, like a slaughtered town,
When a king in glory rides
Through the pomp and fratricides:
Those unburied bones around
There is many a mournful sound;
There is no lament for him,
Like a sunless vapour, dim,
Who once clothed with life and thought
What now moves nor murmurs not.

Ay, many flowering islands lie
In the waters of wide Agony:
To such a one this morn was led,
My bark by soft winds piloted:
’Mid the mountains Euganean
I stood listening to the paean
With which the legioned rooks did hail
The sun’s uprise majestical;
Gathering round with wings all ****,
Through the dewy mist they soar
Like gray shades, till the eastern heaven
Bursts, and then, as clouds of even,
Flecked with fire and azure, lie
In the unfathomable sky,
So their plumes of purple grain,
Starred with drops of golden rain,
Gleam above the sunlight woods,
As in silent multitudes
On the morning’s fitful gale
Through the broken mist they sail,
And the vapours cloven and gleaming
Follow, down the dark steep streaming,
Till all is bright, and clear, and still,
Round the solitary hill.

Beneath is spread like a green sea
The waveless plain of Lombardy,
Bounded by the vaporous air,
Islanded by cities fair;
Underneath Day’s azure eyes
Ocean’s nursling, Venice, lies,
A peopled labyrinth of walls,
Amphitrite’s destined halls,
Which her hoary sire now paves
With his blue and beaming waves.
Lo! the sun upsprings behind,
Broad, red, radiant, half-reclined
On the level quivering line
Of the waters crystalline;
And before that chasm of light,
As within a furnace bright,
Column, tower, and dome, and spire,
Shine like obelisks of fire,
Pointing with inconstant motion
From the altar of dark ocean
To the sapphire-tinted skies;
As the flames of sacrifice
From the marble shrines did rise,
As to pierce the dome of gold
Where Apollo spoke of old.

Sea-girt City, thou hast been
Ocean’s child, and then his queen;
Now is come a darker day,
And thou soon must be his prey,
If the power that raised thee here
Hallow so thy watery bier.
A less drear ruin then than now,
With thy conquest-branded brow
Stooping to the slave of slaves
From thy throne, among the waves
Wilt thou be, when the sea-mew
Flies, as once before it flew,
O’er thine isles depopulate,
And all is in its ancient state,
Save where many a palace gate
With green sea-flowers overgrown
Like a rock of Ocean’s own,
Topples o’er the abandoned sea
As the tides change sullenly.
The fisher on his watery way,
Wandering at the close of day,
Will spread his sail and seize his oar
Till he pass the gloomy shore,
Lest thy dead should, from their sleep
Bursting o’er the starlight deep,
Lead a rapid masque of death
O’er the waters of his path.

Those who alone thy towers behold
Quivering through aereal gold,
As I now behold them here,
Would imagine not they were
Sepulchres, where human forms,
Like pollution-nourished worms,
To the corpse of greatness cling,
Murdered, and now mouldering:
But if Freedom should awake
In her omnipotence and shake
From the Celtic Anarch’s hold
All the keys of dungeons cold,
Where a hundred cities lie
Chained like thee, ingloriously,
Thou and all thy sister band
Might adorn this sunny land,
Twining memories of old time
With new virtues more sublime;
If not, perish thou ldering:
But if Freedom should awake
In her omnipotence and shake
From the Celtic Anarch’s hold
All the keys of dungeons cold,
Where a hundred cities lie
Chained like thee, ingloriously,
Thou and all thy sister band
Might adorn this sunny land,
Twining memories of old time
With new virtues more sublime;
If not, perish thou and they!—
Clouds which stain truth’s rising day
By her sun consumed away—
Earth can spare ye; while like flowers,
In the waste of years and hours,
From your dust new nations spring
With more kindly blossoming.

Perish—let there only be
Floating o’er thy heartless sea
As the garment of thy sky
Clothes the world immortally,
One remembrance, more sublime
Than the tattered pall of time,
Which scarce hides thy visage wan;—
That a tempest-cleaving Swan
Of the sons of Albion,
Driven from his ancestral streams
By the might of evil dreams,
Found a nest in thee; and Ocean
Welcomed him with such emotion
That its joy grew his, and sprung
From his lips like music flung
O’er a mighty thunder-fit,
Chastening terror:—what though yet
Poesy’s unfailing River,
Which through Albion winds forever
Lashing with melodious wave
Many a sacred Poet’s grave,
Mourn its latest nursling fled?
What though thou with all thy dead
Scarce can for this fame repay
Aught thine own? oh, rather say
Though thy sins and slaveries foul
Overcloud a sunlike soul?
As the ghost of Homer clings
Round Scamander’s wasting springs;
As divinest Shakespeare’s might
Fills Avon and the world with light
Like omniscient power which he
Imaged ’mid mortality;
As the love from Petrarch’s urn,
Yet amid yon hills doth burn,
A quenchless lamp by which the heart
Sees things unearthly;—so thou art,
Mighty spirit—so shall be
The City that did refuge thee.

Lo, the sun floats up the sky
Like thought-winged Liberty,
Till the universal light
Seems to level plain and height;
From the sea a mist has spread,
And the beams of morn lie dead
On the towers of Venice now,
Like its glory long ago.
By the skirts of that gray cloud
Many-domed Padua proud
Stands, a peopled solitude,
’Mid the harvest-shining plain,
Where the peasant heaps his grain
In the garner of his foe,
And the milk-white oxen slow
With the purple vintage strain,
Heaped upon the creaking wain,
That the brutal Celt may swill
Drunken sleep with savage will;
And the sickle to the sword
Lies unchanged, though many a lord,
Like a **** whose shade is poison,
Overgrows this region’s foison,
Sheaves of whom are ripe to come
To destruction’s harvest-home:
Men must reap the things they sow,
Force from force must ever flow,
Or worse; but ’tis a bitter woe
That love or reason cannot change
The despot’s rage, the slave’s revenge.

Padua, thou within whose walls
Those mute guests at festivals,
Son and Mother, Death and Sin,
Played at dice for Ezzelin,
Till Death cried, “I win, I win!”
And Sin cursed to lose the wager,
But Death promised, to assuage her,
That he would petition for
Her to be made Vice-Emperor,
When the destined years were o’er,
Over all between the Po
And the eastern Alpine snow,
Under the mighty Austrian.
She smiled so as Sin only can,
And since that time, ay, long before,
Both have ruled from shore to shore,—
That incestuous pair, who follow
Tyrants as the sun the swallow,
As Repentance follows Crime,
And as changes follow Time.

In thine halls the lamp of learning,
Padua, now no more is burning;
Like a meteor, whose wild way
Is lost over the grave of day,
It gleams betrayed and to betray:
Once remotest nations came
To adore that sacred flame,
When it lit not many a hearth
On this cold and gloomy earth:
Now new fires from antique light
Spring beneath the wide world’s might;
But their spark lies dead in thee,
Trampled out by Tyranny.
As the Norway woodman quells,
In the depth of piny dells,
One light flame among the brakes,
While the boundless forest shakes,
And its mighty trunks are torn
By the fire thus lowly born:
The spark beneath his feet is dead,
He starts to see the flames it fed
Howling through the darkened sky
With a myriad tongues victoriously,
And sinks down in fear: so thou,
O Tyranny, beholdest now
Light around thee, and thou hearest
The loud flames ascend, and fearest:
Grovel on the earth; ay, hide
In the dust thy purple pride!

Noon descends around me now:
’Tis the noon of autumn’s glow,
When a soft and purple mist
Like a vapourous amethyst,
Or an air-dissolved star
Mingling light and fragrance, far
From the curved horizon’s bound
To the point of Heaven’s profound,
Fills the overflowing sky;
And the plains that silent lie
Underneath the leaves unsodden
Where the infant Frost has trodden
With his morning-winged feet,
Whose bright print is gleaming yet;
And the red and golden vines,
Piercing with their trellised lines
The rough, dark-skirted wilderness;
The dun and bladed grass no less,
Pointing from this hoary tower
In the windless air; the flower
Glimmering at my feet; the line
Of the olive-sandalled Apennine
In the south dimly islanded;
And the Alps, whose snows are spread
High between the clouds and sun;
And of living things each one;
And my spirit which so long
Darkened this swift stream of song,—
Interpenetrated lie
By the glory of the sky:
Be it love, light, harmony,
Odour, or the soul of all
Which from Heaven like dew doth fall,
Or the mind which feeds this verse
Peopling the lone universe.

Noon descends, and after noon
Autumn’s evening meets me soon,
Leading the infantine moon,
And that one star, which to her
Almost seems to minister
Half the crimson light she brings
From the sunset’s radiant springs:
And the soft dreams of the morn
(Which like winged winds had borne
To that silent isle, which lies
Mid remembered agonies,
The frail bark of this lone being)
Pass, to other sufferers fleeing,
And its ancient pilot, Pain,
Sits beside the helm again.

Other flowering isles must be
In the sea of Life and Agony:
Other spirits float and flee
O’er that gulf: even now, perhaps,
On some rock the wild wave wraps,
With folded wings they waiting sit
For my bark, to pilot it
To some calm and blooming cove,
Where for me, and those I love,
May a windless bower be built,
Far from passion, pain, and guilt,
In a dell mid lawny hills,
Which the wild sea-murmur fills,
And soft sunshine, and the sound
Of old forests echoing round,
And the light and smell divine
Of all flowers that breathe and shine:
We may live so happy there,
That the Spirits of the Air,
Envying us, may even entice
To our healing Paradise
The polluting multitude;
But their rage would be subdued
By that clime divine and calm,
And the winds whose wings rain balm
On the uplifted soul, and leaves
Under which the bright sea heaves;
While each breathless interval
In their whisperings musical
The inspired soul supplies
With its own deep melodies;
And the love which heals all strife
Circling, like the breath of life,
All things in that sweet abode
With its own mild brotherhood:
They, not it, would change; and soon
Every sprite beneath the moon
Would repent its envy vain,
And the earth grow young again.
As a pale phantom with a lamp
Ascends some ruin’s hainted stair,
So glides the moon along the damp
Mysterious chambers of the air.

Now hidden in cloud, and now revealed,
As if this phantom, full of pain,
Were by the crumbling walls concealed,
And at the windows seen again.

Until at last, serene and proud
In all the splendor of her light,
She walks the terraces of cloud,
Supreme as Empress of the Night.

I look, but recognize no more
Objects familiar to my view;
The very pathway to my door
Is an enchanted avenue.

All things are changed. One mass of shade,
The elm-trees drop their curtains down;
By palace, park, and colonnade
I walk as in a foreign town.

The very ground beneath my feet
Is clothed with a diviner air;
While marble paves the silent street
And glimmers in the empty square.

Illusion! Underneath there lies
The common life of every day;
Only the spirit glorifies
With its own tints the sober gray.

In vain we look, in vain uplift
Our eyes to heaven, if we are blind;
We see but what we have the gift
Of seeing; what we bring we find.
The power of Averages,
it means a lot
if you can
understand Means, a lot.

Assuming a Normal Distribution,

A Standard Deviation, or σ
defines where about 68% of the data falls;
roughly 34% above and below the Mean.

Two Standard Deviations
defines where a further 28% of data lies;
14% above and below 1σ and -1σ.

Positive 1-Sigma is one Standard Deviation above the Mean
Negative 1-Sigma is one below;
The range from -2σ to 2σ includes  96% of data.
The implications are astounding.

Within 3 Standard Deviations, one finds 99.7% of the data;
Within 4σ, 99.9%, 5σ, 99.999%,
the remainder are generally outliers and other improbable results.

To illustrate:

Suppose we had a group of 100 people,
and we wish to determine average height:
If our Mean height ends up being, say, 180 cm,
with a Standard Deviation of 20cm,
We can suppose that of 100 people, on average,
with a certain Margin of Error that is inversely proportionate to our Sample Size, or n
(for sake of argument, the Probable Error, or γ, is 13.49cm)

4 are taller than 220cm
14 are between 200cm and 220cm
68 are between 160cm and 200cm
14 are from 140cm to 160cm
4 are shorter than 140cm

Statistics is the parent of Probability;
Statistics is the Art and Science of Forecast,
Statistics paves the way for modern Science
Statistics is a powerful weapon in the fight against Ignorance
Statistics, however, are generally and intentionally misrepresented and thus misunderstood.

For increasingly accurate figures,
one must have a larger Sample Size
and a Sample group that is a representative subgroup
of the Whole

This is intentionally abused
by most of the News
you read or see each day on Paper and Screens alike.

If a "Statistical analysis" does not include at least
Margin of Error or Probable Error,
Mean (Average), Standard Deviation, and Sample Size
do not take it as accurate.

Depending on the source,
it could even be deliberately malicious.

Arm yourself with Knowledge.
Liam C Calhoun Aug 2015
She paves the path
Of dynasties carved
With buckets of sludge upon back;
Bent, not unlike her mother’s limb,
But under shinier red flags,
Cloth coated, with lesser blood.

She’d had a hint of gray
She’d not had last time,
She had a newer limp
She’d not had last time,
Her ***** furthered from firm,
Reaching for the ground, a promise,
In years to be wed with,
And yet the underneath
Of it all remained as radiant
As any sun’d ever been;

And come the cloudy day she leaves,
Even mine own eye
Will remain far from dry
As I’d remember freshly cured bacon,
And her tender chopsticks offering life;
She’d saved me once, she’d save me again.
A friend of mine once said, "you can choose your friends, but you can't chose your family." I call ******* on that one. Zhang Jin Mei is my another-other-mother, and I'll never forget her.
Leal Knowone Feb 2015
Say a prayer for the farmer
who has been long pushed away
walk until you find your comfort
in night's fog of minds maze
Ask forgiveness for hypocrisy
as we look into this dark sky
remember blood shed paves way
our souls will never ever die
A dying breed, that the world is killing
Michaela Siaki Jun 2015
The monumental smile
on your continental eyes.

And the impossible question they pose.

I pine in sweet denial,
and build cities from goodbyes.

And reminiscence paves the road.
Tyler Loeslein Feb 2013
Feminism has finally found its way
to the far shores of India.

Pink saris swirl like flooding waters
into the valleys and over the hills
of the hourglass frames of my new heroes,
and never has a color filled me with pride;
like an injection, the needle paves the path
for the vaccine to be pushed into my vein,
supplying me with the surging strength
to fight the infection of female inferiority.

Domestic violence vigilantes, these women work
to right the scales of justice that have been unbalanced,
tampered with behind the closed doors of homes
housing criminal husbands and victim wives and daughters.

The Gulabi Gang march through the streets of India,
laathis tightly gripped in fists fated for force
as they seek out the snakes hiding in their dens,
men guilty of ******, beating, even killing their wives,
defenseless women and young girls prematurely married.

Bamboo rods cut the air as they whistle down,
striking the condemned again and again,
the ruthless gang wreaking vengeance on their bodies,
beating the men that had used patriarchal power senseless,
changing the world for women by demonstrating
the intolerance for actions against equality.
Brent Kincaid May 2016
There are people somewhere
Almost no one knows about
There are girls and women boys and men
Gone beyond the places people care about
And, no one ever sees them again.
They laugh and love and work and share their daily bread
And, live within the fruits of the soil
Smiling at the treasures only found
In the efforts of the ones who toil.

And nobody sings their anthem
Nobody paves their way;
Trees and rocks are neighbors for
The ones who went away.
The ones who went away,
Oh, oh, oh, oh.
The ones who went away.

Somewhere smoke is curling from a handmade home
Someone sits adrift in a song
Tapping toes to rhythms of a timeless beat
And sometimes laughing loud and strong.
Someone no one knows about will sleep tonight
Content with what was done today.
Smiling with a face that seems to say
They wouldn’t have it any other way.

And nobody sings their anthem
Nobody paves their way;
Trees and rocks are neighbors for
The ones who went away.
The ones who went away,
Oh, oh, oh, oh.
The ones who went away.
These lyrics were written about 1972 from some experiences I had living in my car.
Fah Aug 2013
Carcass of an old
Death paves way for
Regeneration - a service gifted
Within one generation
Without alienation
Dips and follies only culminate in the diamond from coal

My heart sits where he sits
Now, I'm the same wounded healer
No night time dealers beware
We know survival skills -
We are soft but we could ****
Touch the hummingbirds wing
Send fear running  
We quick , we cunning

Evade the fortress walls
Tumble the towers with rose petal showers
Weapon of choice - a smile
Business card states that I spread love and he spreads laughter
You know we ain't after cash
But that's the whiplash

We were born to play , so we play it well , better than I'd care to tell
Stay humble leave no room to grumble
Keep the tune light , till we ignite the daytime night

My soul is his soul and his soul is mine
It's not essential so we ignore space and time
No way to express the words that don't flow when the energy exchange is enough to know , my child's father

My lover is harmonies peals and sweet serenading appeals
I , gift , me unto you , the wrapping is golden but the present is still hidden
A surprise for the patient wounded healers healed in each other- ready to heal anew

Both of us - asleep in our parallel worlds under the umbrella of ambient lighting
A shameless copy of the pure sunlight
That emanates from their bodies
When they collide on the material
Plane .
7 days till take off
I'm getting on our planets aviation transport
I'm coming back - like I said I would
I won't leave you , my crippled longer running on black sand beaches with puppy dog trails... It's ok love , we can walk instead..
Accidents happen and sometimes , trips and falls are just the thing to trigger the changing of karma's old cycles - this time we'll consciously constructively write the play ourselves ...
No wonder I keep bumping into stuff
Baby, I'm coming home.  :)
Ourfirstfarewell Nov 2014
The world tells their young
That abstinence is old fashion, that innocence is over and done.
That to make something of themselves
They must give this much
to someone else
That *** paves the road to success.
What standards should I view best?
Am I a woman now?
Look at me.
trying to understand my insecurity
Wallowing in pathetic purity
They tell me I'll never find love for more than a day
If I can't even let him get to second base.
That I should give my innocence to him,
I should join him in a ****** rhythm.
That I should have fun and forget what the bible has to say,
To find temporary bliss for a night and misery the following day.
Maybe I should fall into the mainstream,
Because popularity should fix my self esteem..
Am I a woman now?
I've tried so hard to lock myself away,
To keep myself pure in the light of day,
But night comes around and leads my thoughts astray,
Maybe *** is just a game we play.
Perhaps I'll test the waters but on the ground my feet with stay
I'll try things out but not go "all the way"
Am I a woman now?
God, I need you here right now.
I went too far and broke every single vow
Of innocence that I pledged to you.
And asking for forgiveness is all I know to do.
Am I a woman now?
Being broken by the worlds expectation,
Being deceived in my contemplation.
Don't ever lose yourself,
Not to birth control or the ****** on the shelf.
Not to boys or to loneliness in the middle of the week,
Be strong, be as much of yourself that you can possibly bear to be.
Because the negativity and hatred of the earth,
Will try to **** your spirit and tell you what your worth.
We're no better than the world and *** is a natural inclination,
But if we are the body of Christ we have a God-given obligation
I'm scared, have I done what I'm supposed to do?
Did I do what's right according to God or you?
Am I a woman now?
That's all I wanted, to be beautiful or gorgeous in someone else's eyes,
But I think I've only accomplished that by the words that humans make into deadly lies.
They looked so appealing and delicious,
But I'd advise you to avoid something so malicious,
Because there's remorse and expensive emotional debt,
When we conform to the world and allow ourselves to forget,
That God made *** a spiritual experience to share as a couple,
Only with each other,
It's a passionate emotion that should be known solely by a significant other,
The two bound by marriage, in spirit, and with rings
So that the world can see  they
Can show the world what each spirit brings
To a relationship in Christ alone
In whom my unwavering worth is known.
Am I a woman now?
--Emily Rutledge
Winter walks beside me,
kisses my skin with frozen lips,
paves my path with ice,
whispers snowflakes,
tells me spring is dead.

Leafless trees scratch a molten sky.
A pale sun caught in gnarly branches
bleeds into the ground,
seeps to the roots of comatose trees.
Spring stirs, winter lied.

@Cristina Umpfenbach-Smyth  2011
Melissa Mhluzi Jun 2015
Ignorance enemy of our lives
Ignorance paves our perception of what life is when our parents are on the picture yet as soon as the picture fades away
Ignorance pushes reality check to sink in and when it does our lives are turned up side down
Ignorance is a state of mind that refuses to know right from wrong
It controls our mind into thinking that it is what it is
It only comes to **** and destroy one's intellectual like the enemy
Yet when it leaves and the friend visits
Questions of sorrow and guilt arise
Why was I so?
Why didn't I?
I could have just
I wish
If only
And only then time will have fled for it has no accomplices,it goes as planned
We are trapped in ignorance so much that we never see the importance of the picture to hang in there
We always walk pass through it as if it will always be there to guide us.
Time and ignorance have trapped the minds of born frees into thinking that is how it is suppose to be living young and free
Chains of ignorance have left uneducated child headed homes
Born frees with no vision
Born frees chasing behind a job instead of a career
Born frees passionate about wages instead of a vision
The unfolding vision of the born frees is yet to be told when the born frees are free from the chains of ignorance the enemy
Amitav Radiance Feb 2015
She walks in beauty
Through the lonely corridors
Glowing hope in her heart
Her smile spreads the magic
A rainbow of colors in
The abandoned heart
Every step she takes
Paves the way with glitters
Her silhouette draped with love
Glistening off the smooth curves
Waiting to be with the lonely heart
Every caress will wipe away
The loneliness of the two hearts
Lonely corridors no more
Beauty has found her destination
Where love knows no bounds
Mehek May 2019
There's a shallow darkness over our minds
That paves the lights like sheer blinds
for the quench of love in our broken souls
There's a fear seeping deep inside our veins
That's often too scared to care
too scarred to share
Sometimes all we need is someone to pull us out from the past
And a little time
to fill up the spaces in our minds.

Amitav Radiance Feb 2015
The morning face
Aglow with warmth
Darkness paves way
To a bright new day
Gossips of the night
Under the starry world
Without inhibitions
Wanton hearts danced
Forayed into darkness
To steal into the secrets
Unwrapped souls
Heartening pleasures
Two reckless souls
Lay there, waiting for new day
To renew the night’s pact
Kissing the morning face
Quivering lips welcome
Beautiful dreams come alive
The crimson blush
Reminds of a fervent appeal
Another day
Shall slip into the night
As will two souls cusp
Yearning for a union
Till, another day beckons
Liz Apr 2014
The aconites
sing of us
in Early January.
Sing their first
song of candled
Sing to the time
between midnight and noon
where coy clouds wake the world
and water reflects medallions
in its glass.

In Early January,
lark the dormant
hedgerows hanging
like pearls
from their delicate
stems. And sweet dew paves
the meadows
in jewellery.

Its cold in Early January.
Sometimes the 6B pencil shadings
of the sky
leak petal-snow
which, despite our coats,
coat us in silver chill.

Early January to me
is in the smokey firework
dust swirling from the
London chimney-stacks.
The tired world is
still sleeping.

Early January
is you.
Squished in your white
blanket while you pour
cereal, morning
breath still misting the
glass on the sill.
Leks Jan 2014
Sublime wildflower

As I lay here awake from juxtaposed sleepless nights of thoughts of you as my own again

I wait..

I wait for a breakthrough through your pearl shaped, intricately carved paths and pink marble stone cover you call a brain
But my love..
I am using a chisel made from cotton candy and dead stars made of designer drugs and fragments of my pale fragile heart

As the chistel works its way through marinating the surface of your "brain" I wait attentively in amusement -
The type of amusement a child wakes up early to on christmas morning anxious to open the largest anonymous present under the tree
But unfortunetly he has not eaten yet, he has not brushed his teeth yet, he has not kissed his mother goodmorning yet or fetched dads newspaper under the mistletoe..

I write dispite of the chapters I have left unwritten to write your chapter (4)
I wait despite of the uncertainty my heart feels - I don't listen to him anymore by the way.

Waiting for you is like waiting for Winter again. I love Winter so I wait but in the process I fall in love with the shades of other seasons and that is the issue
My heart paves way to anything close to the words you spoke, the scriptures you wrote, the spaces you poked

I wait..

in lights of my fragile soul - I don't know if you haven't come to realize this already but it feeds of you, you are its daily grace as the bible is to a nun you are its *bible
and my soul, the nun

I await to love you again and I love that because you love me too and the love I have for you mutliplys by a thousand with each of the four letter word (love) mentioned in this here stanza including the one in brackets

I still really really love you

I won't pretend that I intend to stop living but I do intend to stay faithful to the love that you have given me.
As the constellations you have built inside my dark matter still shine/burn bright as our future together


I was listening to frank ocean // sierra leone in the process of writing this
Poetic T Oct 2014
I walk among the poppies
Each one is a story of
Lives were taken far from
Never to see the smiles of
To exhale a last breath in an
Unfamiliar land,
A generation fell, never to experience
What life was meant to give
So cruelly taken away,
They are the hero's
Of old
Let us not forget there noble
For those that fell, created
What our lives are to day,
The poppies are red
Soaked up from the fallen upon the land,
We pay respect to
That paves the way for freedom
That we have each and every day.
Cassandra Romero Jun 2014
From darkness warmth I felt the waves
Heard this heartbeat soothing paves
Flipping around we began to share
This life created here I was felt the air

There he was here with me
In these troubles pain with thee
Felt the burn stabbing wound
Soon it's over through years of this
Took me out and placed me safe

Trials not yet complete
Many nights with no sleep
Although he comforted I was scared
Dreams untold but into his arms he held

Now after all these years
Found the light filled with cheers
Knew right off he was the one
Held me close helped carry on

Brought me joy and gave me peace
New life grew inside of me
Now know the purpose of this life
To give much love protect and raise
Cherish these moments with no strife

Trials not over faced more pain
Crashing on me like huge waves
Days with torment as a friend
Not ones you want but can't escape

Shocking torment these demons follow
Wrestling fighting screaming crying
Filled with anger curled up tight
Uuugh so many wrestless nights

Soon will end as he is here
By my side through all these years
The touch of power I will be healed
In his name the joy revealed

Set free from ******* and chains
My love for him always remains
Demons flee in his name
Warmth and love hit like a train
Smiles laughter singing praise
Thank you lord for being with me always
in my sleep, in the wee of yester-night
The dreams and visions came to me,
From the gods of my land, all the gods,
gods in command of prophecy and vision,
All came to me in a spiritual swarm
They then addressed in dint and power of heaven,
The chief god talked to me, by addressing my name,
In fact my native name, that listen you Opicho son of Simbuku,
Son of Khayongo, son of kimalen the son of kimudwa;
behold America is falling into smithereens,
It will fall and become insignificant like a tomb,
God has refused its evil civilization and filthy,
For it is openly perpetrating perverted sexuality,
Among divine creation; the humanity,
It wants man to marry man and a woman to marry a woman,
It has shamelessly funded gayism, lesbianism and homosexuality,
It has boldly gone against the law of God,
Its civilization impeaches the family institution,
For man marrying a man gives no children,
And a woman marrying a woman gives no children,
This is absolute anti Godliness, and anti-human,
It has replicated ***** and Gomorrah of the old days,
That heavily burned with the evil flame in their flesh,
Due to this perverted ****** civilization
It will become a dead salty stone like Lot’s wife,
For God is going to give strength to the Islamic state,
God will also empower China and Russia,
God will empower Germany and India,
He is going to remove poverty from Africa,
And make Anglo-American power irrelevant
Britain is receding back to insignificance
Scottish feelings for separation will come back,
In full stamped it will come along with Ireland
To render filthy Britain powerless over mankind,
The time has come for the world to  be multi-polar,
In culture, politics and faith; divine diversity,
No single human power will reign the world,
The catholic power is also gone, never to come
This paves way for the supreme deity to come
And reign peacefully over mankind on the earth,
Without **** and terror like that one of Gaza
Committed by Anglo-American faked horn of Israeli.
Grey stone buildings jumble on the promontory.
White cliffs fall to the sea like a bridal veil,
merge with the blue waters of the summer season.
The land lies still, wanting, waiting.
Change of season late in coming.

Cisterns are dry, roses wilting.
A black clad woman walks the garden.
Dry leaves dance suddenly along the paves.
Her tongue licks the faint movement of air,
storm clouds gathers in the East.

After Vespers and Compline
the young nun enters her chamber,
opens the window, pushes back the heavy panes.
Sea fuses into obsidian sky.
Starlight dims behind racing clouds.

She sheds her habit for a white muslin sheath,
beds down on the narrow cot.
A slight breeze rolls over the window sill,
continues though the room, playfully
caresses the woman’s feet, licks her cheek.

A stronger gust follows,
pushes under her sheath,
waves up her inner thighs, caresses her belly,
rustles the stubby hair of her shorn head.
Her toes curl, knuckles turn white.

The storm comes suddenly and strong,
carries dried leaves of roses,
the scent of salty seas, fecund fields.
Her sheath pushed up around her waist,
an offer to a pagan God.

Window panes clank in protest,
waves crash against the rocky shore.
Clouds shed a load of steady rain.
The ****** sleeps, limbs askew,
until the hour of Aurora and Lauds.
Any suggestions for a better title?
j carroll Jun 2015
i only find my solace in half rhymes and soft narcotics
and twice-sung dueled harmonics
keep my tongue between my teeth
and keep my dagger in its sheath
and i guess i should have known
not to let my dark be shown
cause he only wants the light
well i suppose it's only right
nothing grows in darkness
nothing grows in darkness

i can only keep myself contained
in tired metaphors and shame
i just wanted him to know
i could love even his shadow
show my hand and call my bluff
let the edges keep their rough
tell me every single story
spitting off each promontory
nothing grows in darkness
nothing grows in darkness

i'm told that every great disaster
is building up my character
i'm told that every great destruction
paves the way for new construction
but i was never one for artifice
i'm a bare ***** tree as stark as this
i thought you were my home but you were termites
leave me alone and go search for your spotlights
nothing grows in darkness
nothing grows in darkness
silly and simple and supposed to be sung
kj Foster Feb 2016
No Titans left to slay,
Constellations left to claim.

The temples of gods,
swallowed under eons.

In an age without wonder,
to be born with the heart of a hero,
is to be cursed in a time without villains,

Destined for barbaric purpose,
in a world without adventure.
Armor swapped for silk,
Surrendered swords to philosophy,

Still I believe that somewhere,
between closed eyes and open spirits...
The ancient battles still rage on,
flashes of wars without names.

Where blood shed for valor,
Paves paths for all nations,
to the hall of heroes,
and an eternal feast of celebration.
Cameron Godfrey May 2013
The sky is a shade of angry air
With the false illusion of gray
The kind that foreshadows agony
That never goes away

Skyscrapers high and paves on the ground
Serving as concrete masks
Wallflowers hide as wallflowers do
From people walking past

Never does a color floss
Through trench coats and slacks, all the same
Never does a person pass
Who knows more than your name

For wallflowers hide as wallflowers do
And no one really cares
For those wallflowers grow, ivy on brick
It never moves, but it's there.
"Why do they matter? The sky, the paves, the people who walk them? They don’t. Not to you, they don’t. But they matter to me. I am a noticer. I am The Noticer." - the story I'm trying to write.
Sindi Kay May 2016
Love, love, love
It runs so deep like the roots of a tree
Connecting together

A flower attracting a bee

Love, love, love
Runs so deep
Heals you and cleans you
The way alcohol does a wounded knee

Love, love, love
You will see
When my gramma looks at me

Love, love, love
smells so good
My grammas  baked goods
My grammas pillow case
My grammas hair
And her whole face

Love, love, love
It's everywhere
From the smile formed with her lips
And the softness of her strong gramma hips
To the apron that she wears
And the so tantalizingly familier scent my mother shares


Love, love, love
Paves the way
It will never lead you astray

Love, love, love
It runs so deep like the roots of a tree
It is embedded in you the way it's embedded in me

Love, love, love
Has us entangled
From the inside of beating hearts
To the dirt under the earth.
Love, love, love my gramma
Alan McClure Mar 2015
So, you grew up,
leaving me Peter Panning for gold
amongst the grit of adulthood.
Your guitar gathers dignified dust,
while mine puffs and wheezes
yet another senile song,
an arthritic dog
treading painfully in step
with its selfish, thoughtless master.

I never envied you your brilliance
because it was shared, it was ours
but I've been toasting marshmallows on the embers
far too long.

And now your real life,
the one you've worked for, studied for,
sweated for
(and the one I've studiously ignored)
is to carry you over the sea
and away.
I have no doubt it is still your brilliance
that paves the trail,
But it's for others, now
and that is fine.
I am reconciled,
and full of hope for you and yours.

Let's see now:

G, B minor, C...

There's a song in here somewhere,
I know it.
Josh Koepp Oct 2014
So let's talk about nice guys

The "Kindness paves the path to your *******" Nice guy
The "Holds you tight to touch your ****" Nice guy
The "Can't wait to shed that friendship under the sheets" Nice Guy

And of course

The "Asks you how your day is" Nice guy
The "Walks you to your car just to say goodnight" Nice guy
The "Active listener, no ******* advice giver, forgoes eating dinner because you needed someone to just talk to" Nice guy

Please tell me you can tell the difference
I hate being mistaken for the twin I never asked for
He breaks your Windows and blames it on my good intentions
Somewhere along the line
He triple knotted my kindness to my *****
without my permission 
And now every kind word 
Is heard like a red flag
and thus making friends 
makes wary eyes
My kindness misread
Misheard and mistaken
I've learned Some sounds are better left twirling off of shot glasses than ear drums

Here we are
Guys with hearts of gold,
Sought after like they were made of diamonds
used like iron to build bridges out of our patience,
left to rust once bridges have been crossed,
How quickly brilliance is forgotten
Well trodden is the kindness we so wish we could bury so you might finally appreciate when our beauty sprouts from hardened earth instead of just being there.

You know what we wish was just there?
A Well trodden, hardened body, with biceps as unrealistic as the girls you see on TV
Drastic as the plastic surgeries
Murdering our metabolism
For our own eyes as much as yours
We so wish we weren't the last to get their first chest hairs
Maybe then parties wouldn't mean having to talk to the" are you gay?"s
Who remind us that at least we've come a long way from highschool
Where people used to just assume
With words like fists
That left bruises all the same
And yet I can't tell what is worse
These fists or being set up on dates
That I never wanted
And never asked for

11 days into my first year of college
3 in the morning over spirits and stories I was asked
"So are you gonna ask that guy out?"
my car out of gas from adventures with friends
I was supposed to sleep on her floor
And so i slept on the floor
of the halls common room
I was kicked out at 3:45 and it was raining
I didn't realize there was a wrong answer to that question
The next morning I Texted her and asked if she spelt friendship different than I did

But guys can deal with their own **** right?
And being nice is its own reward right?
I've learned to be grateful for being needed, havent i?

This is the world where I will never not be the nice guy you have been warned about,
You've been warned about every side, angle, shape and size of me
Before I've even opened my mouth
Warned that if you jump the fire pit you'll be burned
Warned not to jump the rose Bush in the garden
But everyone seems to remember trying to jump the fire pit
No one remembers jumping the rosebushes, because no one jumped the rosebushes
And we are patiently waiting, budding while we watch the fires
Be watered

But on the hundredth time one is told to wait for the silver lining rainfall, to wait our turn, soft hearts hardly remain soft but instead harden into a pulsating mesh of muscles tired of beating for other hearts who feed off our blood and give none back
We do it so we know the blood is going somewhere worthwhile, besides our extremities
Just so these two feet might walk a one way street that is so ******* lonely
Aaron Wallis Sep 2013
They flurry fashion clad around him,
Bashed and bumped he is upon his knees,
Nought but an obstacle to their purpose,
Just mechanised utilitarian’s ****** into abstraction.

The mishap stagger jounces loose a depth,
A profundity in a shallow weakened him,
His hollow cavern caves into consciousness,
To behold thumping polychrome dances of light.

The wash of sludge slinks down his hands,
In the puddle on the mid of his legs he gapes,
It is a fall of falls to end his deaden tumble,
As he stands he knows not what next to do.

He had death marched his life to a timber box,
Crafted career, projected home for expected wife and child,
He weighs an unlike life of who knows what,
Just not this one where he supposed he was alive.

Wind begs for his tie and so he lets it free,
Looks to the looming tower block prison,
Through the militia of totalitarian drones,
He runs and he runs and he runs.

Through the bustling paves he is a sketched dash,
It is the most paramount of hurries he’d ever began,
His heart flourished as he saw not where he was going,
Knowing only that he would not ever reoccur.
A proverbial or literal bang on the head can change everything, sometimes we don't even know what it's changed. The world can become madder than the concluding actions you take.
Madness like it all is relative a beholder distinguished.

— The End —