"perpetuates" poems - Hello Poetry

"perpetuates" poems

Pathetic parasite of a woman perpetuates love indefinitely, a plague upon hopelessly romantic people. A performance. Smiling, always. Hates good news and sleeps around, sleeps surrounded in black light. Wearing sunglasses. Her day is nighttime. She breathes aesthetic, instagram posts to survive. But thrives, only. The numb gummed princess cries every day and yes. She said it, even a hundred times but language proves flexible. Same words mean different things and we obviously don’t speak the same language. I meant mine. I didn’t know she’d sell hers for snow. Fame. Attention from strangers. Welcome home. Winter came and stayed, love never lived here.

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Dec 8, 2017

Dec 8, 2017 at 2:23 PM UTC

Pathetic parasite of a woman perpetuates love indefinitely, a plague upon hopelessly romantic people. A performance. Smiling, always. Hates good news and sleeps around, sleeps surrounded in black light. Wearing sunglasses. Her day is nighttime. She breathes aesthetic, instagram posts to survive. But thrives, only. The numb gummed princess cries every day and yes. She said it, even a hundred times but language proves flexible. Same words mean different things and we obviously don’t speak the same language. I meant mine. I didn’t know she’d sell hers for snow. Fame. Attention from strangers. Welcome home. Winter came and stayed, love never lived here.

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The impoverished wasteland That keeps you from changing the world Will never be your home Not if I'm here You don't know how much people will try To drive you away To keep you ''where you belong'' A waiting place The place I so desperately fear Not for me; I'm not one of ''them'' But you are; according to the authorities I can hide: we don't have race wars here But how can you avoid it if the government perpetuates it? I nearly shed a lone tear The Canadian Ghetto It's where you're destined to stay If they, we, I let you fall If the people convince you you're inferior But you have nothing to fear. I'll won't stop making you Braver Smarter Stronger Aware And when all is said and done And they've taken your ability to give a **** You still won't surrender And I'll shed a joyous tear.

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Oct 22, 2014

Oct 22, 2014 at 10:38 PM UTC

The Canadian Ghetto

The impoverished wasteland That keeps you from changing the world Will never be your home Not if I'm here You don't know how much people will try To drive you away To keep you ''where you belong'' A waiting place The place I so desperately fear Not for me; I'm not one of ''them'' But you are; according to the authorities I can hide: we don't have race wars here But how can you avoid it if the government perpetuates it? I nearly shed a lone tear The Canadian Ghetto It's where you're destined to stay If they, we, I let you fall If the people convince you you're inferior But you have nothing to fear. I'll won't stop making you Braver Smarter Stronger Aware And when all is said and done And they've taken your ability to give a **** You still won't surrender And I'll shed a joyous tear.

Continue reading...

Women are born with heavy feathered wings Hands that hide starlit craters Celestially they spin in infinity and find each other Stroking the softness, in awe at the wonder of the unashamed mystique That perpetuates newly hatched faces A world without the incessant need for reassurance Which towers intimidatingly over the forest border Small ordinances that keep themselves airless No longer striving for the greater force of flight Clipping away their feathers with garden shears, hosing down the blood Tuscan architecture abandoned countless ages ago Ancient in idea and aesthetic I’ve wandered many miles to reach such exotic visions that have been dead for so long The heads of kings lined up on the edge of a waterfall Their bodies still holding onto the swords they clipped their wings with long ago A little further, a river emerges and spills cold water from the azimuth of God There was a communicator present at the time of cleansing, unbeknownst to me To accept ones sins is to be cleansed of them, don’t you agree? He asked this with shaking shoulders, his robes unraveling to reveal the scars on his chest One for each pectoralis I looked away in tragedy I enter the wooden gate, into the Macedonian fortresses of old My torso has been replaced with a harp, which I feel these princes pluck so sensitively I hear the timber echo throughout my chest and vibrate in my throat My back has merged without consent to a beast that bends backwards The harp strings have been torn I am now mute Raising the weary head of the sleeping dog and the sleeping disdain I slept in an isolated piece of land untouched by human hands And sank into the forest floor In which the grass and all living creatures decided I had left the physical form My eternal resting place

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Jul 24, 2018

Jul 24, 2018 at 5:54 PM UTC

Charcoal Feathers

Women are born with heavy feathered wings Hands that hide starlit craters Celestially they spin in infinity and find each other Stroking the softness, in awe at the wonder of the unashamed mystique That perpetuates newly hatched faces A world without the incessant need for reassurance Which towers intimidatingly over the forest border Small ordinances that keep themselves airless No longer striving for the greater force of flight Clipping away their feathers with garden shears, hosing down the blood Tuscan architecture abandoned countless ages ago Ancient in idea and aesthetic I’ve wandered many miles to reach such exotic visions that have been dead for so long The heads of kings lined up on the edge of a waterfall Their bodies still holding onto the swords they clipped their wings with long ago A little further, a river emerges and spills cold water from the azimuth of God There was a communicator present at the time of cleansing, unbeknownst to me To accept ones sins is to be cleansed of them, don’t you agree? He asked this with shaking shoulders, his robes unraveling to reveal the scars on his chest One for each pectoralis I looked away in tragedy I enter the wooden gate, into the Macedonian fortresses of old My torso has been replaced with a harp, which I feel these princes pluck so sensitively I hear the timber echo throughout my chest and vibrate in my throat My back has merged without consent to a beast that bends backwards The harp strings have been torn I am now mute Raising the weary head of the sleeping dog and the sleeping disdain I slept in an isolated piece of land untouched by human hands And sank into the forest floor In which the grass and all living creatures decided I had left the physical form My eternal resting place

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Somewhere constant I count my blessings and submit to nature Sacrificing my physical self to the soul of summering Fall Mother Nature on menopause whisking out hot flashes with a cold shoulder turned on innocence The trails here wind me back in time A place for believing in a higher self without the stigma of belief Some mystical "nonsense" you'd have to see to believe Stranger than the fiction we lived before Autumn turned to ashes to embers and reignited hearts with an amalgam of inspiration Grace is the only constant The unheard rhythm We lose our minds trying to find in the chaos The thrill in the chase to drop the four-on-the-floor somewhere on the journey Hope perpetuates in rhythm Everything here is coming together for my highest good Or That's how my mantra overrides my manic imagination Subliminally stuttering steps A path to within From only out here I walk back to the graves of trees where I parked my car over Hollowed out and haunting my attachment to the Earth Grounded by ghosts The echos in the silence of Singing Hills *This is my worship. This is my tribute.*

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Oct 11, 2013

Oct 11, 2013 at 6:46 PM UTC

Somewhere constant I count my blessings and submit to nature Sacrificing my physical self to the soul of summering Fall Mother Nature on menopause whisking out hot flashes with a cold shoulder turned on innocence The trails here wind me back in time A place for believing in a higher self without the stigma of belief Some mystical "nonsense" you'd have to see to believe Stranger than the fiction we lived before Autumn turned to ashes to embers and reignited hearts with an amalgam of inspiration Grace is the only constant The unheard rhythm We lose our minds trying to find in the chaos The thrill in the chase to drop the four-on-the-floor somewhere on the journey Hope perpetuates in rhythm Everything here is coming together for my highest good Or That's how my mantra overrides my manic imagination Subliminally stuttering steps A path to within From only out here I walk back to the graves of trees where I parked my car over Hollowed out and haunting my attachment to the Earth Grounded by ghosts The echos in the silence of Singing Hills *This is my worship. This is my tribute.*

Continue reading...

It caught me off guard, this sudden feeling of loss, this sense that something beautiful was gone forever. I didn't know what to do with it, this overwhelming idea that now, out of neglect or shame or starvation, a work of art had withered away into nothing. I suppose that I'm beginning to understand that the world isn't a narrative, it's not a story by an author with a plot and a hero. This is the essential fallacy taught to children with a streak of the hopeless romantic in them: the desperate belief that somewhere out there is a place for people who live their lives waiting for King Arthur instead of Jesus. And even now, with every word comes the terrifying truth that my babbling is going to change absolutely nothing, not a single atom is going to **** an electron on the completion. I won't feel better, the situation won't change, you the reader aren't going to say EUREKA!!!! at the end of it, so what's the point? Expression, that is the point of it, and to be be completely blunt about it all, I hope some one I love and admire will read this and say the typical things that are said when people are honest on public forums. Do I have a point? No, not really. So what do I do with this loss, this empty fireplace in my soul? I drink and smoke and **** it away, stay so busy that I don't have time to consider it, this knowledge that the fire has gone out. How typical of me, how unoriginal and bourgeoise to write another ode to the trials of the individual. Who am I to feel loss and pain when my stomach is full and my needs are met? Aren't I another servant of economic output? Should I not donate time and money to a cause more worthy of respect than a withering example of excessive individualism such as myself? No, and what's more, **** you society, **** you for taking away the only haven I ever had: my head. **** you for marketing my imagination, for inventing a bunch of ******** about responsibility for the greater good, for poisoning the little freedom I do have with feelings of uselessness. And most especially **** you for your greatest crime of all; implanting this feeling of guilt whenever I do anything with my own well-being in mind. You have created a system that perpetuates itself on shame and output, you have killed the desire to create for it's own sake. **** you, and I'm going to unplug from you if it's the last ****** thing I ever do.

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Jul 16, 2013

Jul 16, 2013 at 10:06 PM UTC

jon-daniel-shierling

It caught me off guard, this sudden feeling of loss, this sense that something beautiful was gone forever. I didn't know what to do with it, this overwhelming idea that now, out of neglect or shame or starvation, a work of art had withered away into nothing. I suppose that I'm beginning to understand that the world isn't a narrative, it's not a story by an author with a plot and a hero. This is the essential fallacy taught to children with a streak of the hopeless romantic in them: the desperate belief that somewhere out there is a place for people who live their lives waiting for King Arthur instead of Jesus. And even now, with every word comes the terrifying truth that my babbling is going to change absolutely nothing, not a single atom is going to **** an electron on the completion. I won't feel better, the situation won't change, you the reader aren't going to say EUREKA!!!! at the end of it, so what's the point? Expression, that is the point of it, and to be be completely blunt about it all, I hope some one I love and admire will read this and say the typical things that are said when people are honest on public forums. Do I have a point? No, not really. So what do I do with this loss, this empty fireplace in my soul? I drink and smoke and **** it away, stay so busy that I don't have time to consider it, this knowledge that the fire has gone out. How typical of me, how unoriginal and bourgeoise to write another ode to the trials of the individual. Who am I to feel loss and pain when my stomach is full and my needs are met? Aren't I another servant of economic output? Should I not donate time and money to a cause more worthy of respect than a withering example of excessive individualism such as myself? No, and what's more, **** you society, **** you for taking away the only haven I ever had: my head. **** you for marketing my imagination, for inventing a bunch of ******** about responsibility for the greater good, for poisoning the little freedom I do have with feelings of uselessness. And most especially **** you for your greatest crime of all; implanting this feeling of guilt whenever I do anything with my own well-being in mind. You have created a system that perpetuates itself on shame and output, you have killed the desire to create for it's own sake. **** you, and I'm going to unplug from you if it's the last ****** thing I ever do.

Continue reading...

You are witnessing a prodigious talent and promise, and to a lesser extent but still to the degree whereby it should keep you awake at night writhing in cold sweats, your life, slip agonisingly through your open and clammy palms. Promise means so little if not actualised. You have been granted chance after warning after fortuitous escape yet have blithely spurned every omen and will one day fall, swiftly and perhaps terminally. You are almost certainly depressed. You say you love your girlfriend, and you mean it wholeheartedly when you do, but you worry that the relationship perpetuates as without her there would be no reason to rise with the sun. Even if the relationship is unstable, and at times verging on the unhealthy, you believe you love her but are too great a coward to consider decisive action if that belief is to reside or subside. Your friends range from kind and honest yet deeply flawed to somehow toeing an inextricably thin line between dependability and duplicitousness. Conversations with a certain few of your friends necessitate decrying every undercooked ethos you've every conned yourself into believing you hold (you could well be the most hypocritical liberal to walk the earth, for you are innately and irrepressibly selfish) yet you still nod placidly as your conscience squirms. Grotesquely, like a beaten spouse, you crave the gaze of those who have treated you with the most insulting derision, but are too proud (of what?) and, a running theme, too cowardly, to stoop to a simple detante. You must change, for it pains you on a most base level to have to accept the feeble, whimpering, simpering spectre you have become. You must be bold, brave, unashamed in your convictions, anything but pursed and silent lips. You have a voice, and you must now speak loud enough for them to hear, for that which has become blunted must be whetted, sharpened, readied for battle to be unsheathed at an utterance. Heed the signs and change, for our sake. You, a milksop who attentively notes the sophistry of courage, you can still be brave, and you must be. For one day you will be swelled with a courage and fortitude to fill your sails taut, enough to leave this place, forget these people and bear you away.

0

Sep 7, 2012

Sep 7, 2012 at 8:08 PM UTC

You are witnessing a prodigious talent and promise, and to a lesser extent but still to the degree whereby it should keep you awake at night writhing in cold sweats, your life, slip agonisingly through your open and clammy palms. Promise means so little if not actualised. You have been granted chance after warning after fortuitous escape yet have blithely spurned every omen and will one day fall, swiftly and perhaps terminally. You are almost certainly depressed. You say you love your girlfriend, and you mean it wholeheartedly when you do, but you worry that the relationship perpetuates as without her there would be no reason to rise with the sun. Even if the relationship is unstable, and at times verging on the unhealthy, you believe you love her but are too great a coward to consider decisive action if that belief is to reside or subside. Your friends range from kind and honest yet deeply flawed to somehow toeing an inextricably thin line between dependability and duplicitousness. Conversations with a certain few of your friends necessitate decrying every undercooked ethos you've every conned yourself into believing you hold (you could well be the most hypocritical liberal to walk the earth, for you are innately and irrepressibly selfish) yet you still nod placidly as your conscience squirms. Grotesquely, like a beaten spouse, you crave the gaze of those who have treated you with the most insulting derision, but are too proud (of what?) and, a running theme, too cowardly, to stoop to a simple detante. You must change, for it pains you on a most base level to have to accept the feeble, whimpering, simpering spectre you have become. You must be bold, brave, unashamed in your convictions, anything but pursed and silent lips. You have a voice, and you must now speak loud enough for them to hear, for that which has become blunted must be whetted, sharpened, readied for battle to be unsheathed at an utterance. Heed the signs and change, for our sake. You, a milksop who attentively notes the sophistry of courage, you can still be brave, and you must be. For one day you will be swelled with a courage and fortitude to fill your sails taut, enough to leave this place, forget these people and bear you away.

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I want you… I want you instinctually and primitively. Spiritually and physically. I want to give you portions of me that I’ve never shown anybody; that will become distinctively yours - recognizable only to you and you alone. I want to submerge you in a realm of ******** gentleness that perpetuates an aggressive kindness, that stimulates, and soothes every aching, yearning, desire that flows through your body. Continuously… I’m telling you what you already knew, that I will always be there for you, and you will never again feel alone or abandoned. I want to give you complete and total satisfaction. I want you and every little idiosyncrasy that makes you unique, that others have critiqued, because they didn’t understand. I want to show you that I can… I want to dwell in the depths of your being. I want to unravel your complexity. I want to give you vibrations in the form of a currant that arouses sensationally, at a frequency that makes you hum melodies of ecstasy uncontrollably as you call out for me. I want to initiate an explosion of soft convulsions from the warmth of my mouth penetrating every inch of your body rhythmically. I want the waters from the spring of your masculinity to drown me, and then I want you to save me. I want to embrace you each night and wrap you in between soft warm thighs, and welcoming arms under moonlight, until your torso is wet, drenched with sweat, until each kiss drips from the tip of your lips, and I caress your back with my fingertips. I want to make love to you the way an angel would if she could. I want to show you heaven and ethereal visions without limita-tions or specifications. I want to give you happiness and pleasure unparallel, unlike any-thing either of us has ever felt, seen, or could create in our dreams. I want to protect you from harm beneath my wings. I want you to believe in me… I want you to come into my life.

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Sep 1, 2010

Sep 1, 2010 at 7:21 PM UTC

bianca-j-walker

Come Into My Life

I want you… I want you instinctually and primitively. Spiritually and physically. I want to give you portions of me that I’ve never shown anybody; that will become distinctively yours - recognizable only to you and you alone. I want to submerge you in a realm of ******** gentleness that perpetuates an aggressive kindness, that stimulates, and soothes every aching, yearning, desire that flows through your body. Continuously… I’m telling you what you already knew, that I will always be there for you, and you will never again feel alone or abandoned. I want to give you complete and total satisfaction. I want you and every little idiosyncrasy that makes you unique, that others have critiqued, because they didn’t understand. I want to show you that I can… I want to dwell in the depths of your being. I want to unravel your complexity. I want to give you vibrations in the form of a currant that arouses sensationally, at a frequency that makes you hum melodies of ecstasy uncontrollably as you call out for me. I want to initiate an explosion of soft convulsions from the warmth of my mouth penetrating every inch of your body rhythmically. I want the waters from the spring of your masculinity to drown me, and then I want you to save me. I want to embrace you each night and wrap you in between soft warm thighs, and welcoming arms under moonlight, until your torso is wet, drenched with sweat, until each kiss drips from the tip of your lips, and I caress your back with my fingertips. I want to make love to you the way an angel would if she could. I want to show you heaven and ethereal visions without limita-tions or specifications. I want to give you happiness and pleasure unparallel, unlike any-thing either of us has ever felt, seen, or could create in our dreams. I want to protect you from harm beneath my wings. I want you to believe in me… I want you to come into my life.

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There you are, still; untouched By the wind, waiting for somebody To save you from oblivion. Your Solitude in time and space Perpetuates memories of childhood, Enough to engulf the eyes with tears And the heart with hopes. In many Times, the wandering whims of mind Return to you like a tired traveler Longing for rest and renewal. Because Your presence is a poignant portrait of Possibility and providential.

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Sep 18, 2013

Sep 18, 2013 at 1:30 AM UTC

There you are, still; untouched By the wind, waiting for somebody To save you from oblivion. Your Solitude in time and space Perpetuates memories of childhood, Enough to engulf the eyes with tears And the heart with hopes. In many Times, the wandering whims of mind Return to you like a tired traveler Longing for rest and renewal. Because Your presence is a poignant portrait of Possibility and providential.

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O! How the winds cry! O! How the earth weeps! O! How the heavens pour forth their tears! Thy face knows no blemish! Thine eyes rich as diamonds Your perfect attributes cause all others to pale in Comparison, like the tapestries of Arachne! O! the Sun wishes to shine as you do! No! 'Tis blasphemy to even but dream Of placing oneself above so fair a maiden. The fury of the Erinyes at those who dare Is apparent to all. O! The thought of not seeing Your impeccable features once again Is maddening!Heartwrenching! But my gaze is like a stain Upon thee. No love is felt But pain is delt Insanity comes upon me. With little hope;much despair For me, I beg, Send a prayer I cannot; WILL not bear the agony Of which is like the apostles upon the stormy sea Whence Jesus remarked "Oh, ye of little faith." I am such a man incapable of receiving Thine divine compliments Which I save myself from with doubt And questioning;O! the torment! I love thee, I try to show it But I am unable to merit Affection in return Time and time again I exult you my friend, Yet how can you receive my words of praise When your words I do but raze? O! The neverending cycle which perpetuates The need for love, which does not abate How can I love you When the thought of self-love is so new? But I feel like to you I do belong Chose me or deny; the point of my song. Oh! How the crucible of love Causes me pain in the heart Self-love does not endure in part Or in whole, but love for those dear And love for those near Is where true love starts.

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Sep 26, 2010

Sep 26, 2010 at 7:48 AM UTC

To those whom I care for, but cannot express

O! How the winds cry! O! How the earth weeps! O! How the heavens pour forth their tears! Thy face knows no blemish! Thine eyes rich as diamonds Your perfect attributes cause all others to pale in Comparison, like the tapestries of Arachne! O! the Sun wishes to shine as you do! No! 'Tis blasphemy to even but dream Of placing oneself above so fair a maiden. The fury of the Erinyes at those who dare Is apparent to all. O! The thought of not seeing Your impeccable features once again Is maddening!Heartwrenching! But my gaze is like a stain Upon thee. No love is felt But pain is delt Insanity comes upon me. With little hope;much despair For me, I beg, Send a prayer I cannot; WILL not bear the agony Of which is like the apostles upon the stormy sea Whence Jesus remarked "Oh, ye of little faith." I am such a man incapable of receiving Thine divine compliments Which I save myself from with doubt And questioning;O! the torment! I love thee, I try to show it But I am unable to merit Affection in return Time and time again I exult you my friend, Yet how can you receive my words of praise When your words I do but raze? O! The neverending cycle which perpetuates The need for love, which does not abate How can I love you When the thought of self-love is so new? But I feel like to you I do belong Chose me or deny; the point of my song. Oh! How the crucible of love Causes me pain in the heart Self-love does not endure in part Or in whole, but love for those dear And love for those near Is where true love starts.

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LOVE resonates perpetuates proliferates aura embodies reign cloud shines I'll offer you my hand A humbling breeze Earthquakes shake the land expand beneath the sand waves rolling, sunshine raw pure and unclear dissolving fear pouring light fruiting delight tears of nectar sweet perfection ormus affection candlelight reflection sprouting seeds of our intention laughter infection- spreading heading towards my heart tickles as it parts ----- fleeting dogma counterparts I believe in the moment. what it shows to me mama earth writing poems to me, streams trees thrones to me barefeet crush dry leaves, as fear flees these trees teach so lovingly----- so humbling Love Vibrations love lifts altruist light guides inspired minds so shine restruct time align oscillating vibes fractal benign loveshine /

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Dec 8, 2013

Dec 8, 2013 at 10:32 PM UTC

LOVE resonates perpetuates proliferates aura embodies reign cloud shines I'll offer you my hand A humbling breeze Earthquakes shake the land expand beneath the sand waves rolling, sunshine raw pure and unclear dissolving fear pouring light fruiting delight tears of nectar sweet perfection ormus affection candlelight reflection sprouting seeds of our intention laughter infection- spreading heading towards my heart tickles as it parts ----- fleeting dogma counterparts I believe in the moment. what it shows to me mama earth writing poems to me, streams trees thrones to me barefeet crush dry leaves, as fear flees these trees teach so lovingly----- so humbling Love Vibrations love lifts altruist light guides inspired minds so shine restruct time align oscillating vibes fractal benign loveshine /

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A desperate desperado shivering as the sun sets, casts it's silky shadows upon the hollows below. Beneath the cascading denizens of light, a puff of smoke waltzes across the December sky, a patient without his insurance with nothing left but callous empty third-person reassurance, "everything will be better" as she said. But better is always easy when your hand isn't writing the letter. Save your proverbs for an open ear, this one is half deaf and full of itself, despite your intent, your lack of action perpetuates malcontent. After all we're all just passing moments gone and forgotten, evicted, convicted of being a gutless mime, going through the motions, minus a true notion. A confused calculator short circuiting under an oil leak spitting out numbers, complicating already complicated complexities subtracting numerals adding funerals dividing families multiplying tragedies It's just a numbers game, and we can't participate we're just the studio audience, recorded live without any life. Flashing signs tell us when to laugh and when to cry, pre-determined automated messages contrived to convince. And I'm stuck spinning in the corner, with my hands on my head. Senselessly blurting out: Why?! But don't mind me, I'm just another lost soul trapped with my head in the sky.

0

Feb 15, 2010

Feb 15, 2010 at 11:59 AM UTC

A Tall, Long-necked, Spotted Ruminant

A desperate desperado shivering as the sun sets, casts it's silky shadows upon the hollows below. Beneath the cascading denizens of light, a puff of smoke waltzes across the December sky, a patient without his insurance with nothing left but callous empty third-person reassurance, "everything will be better" as she said. But better is always easy when your hand isn't writing the letter. Save your proverbs for an open ear, this one is half deaf and full of itself, despite your intent, your lack of action perpetuates malcontent. After all we're all just passing moments gone and forgotten, evicted, convicted of being a gutless mime, going through the motions, minus a true notion. A confused calculator short circuiting under an oil leak spitting out numbers, complicating already complicated complexities subtracting numerals adding funerals dividing families multiplying tragedies It's just a numbers game, and we can't participate we're just the studio audience, recorded live without any life. Flashing signs tell us when to laugh and when to cry, pre-determined automated messages contrived to convince. And I'm stuck spinning in the corner, with my hands on my head. Senselessly blurting out: Why?! But don't mind me, I'm just another lost soul trapped with my head in the sky.

Continue reading...

Not a moment sleeps when our motion wakes and perpetuates a new arising The greatest races ever run are those without a finish and the hares become confused to which it becomes obvious of why the hero was the tortoise An anti-hero now when a Casio watch measures nano-seconds The western world is exhausted and the road stretches past the horizon and the East have been running long for over 4,000 years and they don't even need an inhaler. So who is laughing now? Well the answer is quite clear; whoever found it funny.

0

Jan 23, 2010

Jan 23, 2010 at 12:51 AM UTC

alexander-lloyd-twyman

The Hare and his Big Mac.

Not a moment sleeps when our motion wakes and perpetuates a new arising The greatest races ever run are those without a finish and the hares become confused to which it becomes obvious of why the hero was the tortoise An anti-hero now when a Casio watch measures nano-seconds The western world is exhausted and the road stretches past the horizon and the East have been running long for over 4,000 years and they don't even need an inhaler. So who is laughing now? Well the answer is quite clear; whoever found it funny.

Continue reading...

Lucid silhouettes melt the air into psychedelic fluorescence, realities cast upon fleshy darkness forgotten by the light of day. Look on with distraught eyes as we dance through dark pleasance. I wonder of God and Lucifer, good times they had in their heyday. We race towards an apparent end; it's no apparition. Return to your mother and her blessings, its time to meditate, you've almost seen reality; can you finally see the evil of your disposition? War, I mean ****** only perpetuates the hate. Coercion and lies spread like wildfire, mystifying mind, body, and soul. Buy that item, it looks cool. Six months later, obsolete, you fools. If you've learned anything in life, don't get ****** at the troll, and don't be scared at the screams at night, just demons and ghouls. My mind is one hell of a maze, just got lost in a schizophrenic phase, or was it spirits in the transparent haze, plunging back into my cosmic gaze.

0

Sep 7, 2012

Sep 7, 2012 at 1:22 AM UTC

Lucid silhouettes melt the air into psychedelic fluorescence, realities cast upon fleshy darkness forgotten by the light of day. Look on with distraught eyes as we dance through dark pleasance. I wonder of God and Lucifer, good times they had in their heyday. We race towards an apparent end; it's no apparition. Return to your mother and her blessings, its time to meditate, you've almost seen reality; can you finally see the evil of your disposition? War, I mean ****** only perpetuates the hate. Coercion and lies spread like wildfire, mystifying mind, body, and soul. Buy that item, it looks cool. Six months later, obsolete, you fools. If you've learned anything in life, don't get ****** at the troll, and don't be scared at the screams at night, just demons and ghouls. My mind is one hell of a maze, just got lost in a schizophrenic phase, or was it spirits in the transparent haze, plunging back into my cosmic gaze.

Continue reading...

Blocos, Bandas, or Escolas! Not only shows the world to play soccer- The country that sweats to let the world drive, alas! One who breeds sweet sweats- Ethanol perpetuates, There strives our Harry Potter. The solitary candy girl sings in the field, You can hear her in the afternoon- A black song of motivation that barely covers her guild. All this and many more, That gives human skin the bitterness of colour- They can be ignored driving downn Sao Polo inside a Maybach Saloon. The same sun, but not the same burn- Sometimes sipping Caipirinha in the beach resort, And then while harvesting with a difficult breath, a farmer gives up a life well fought!

0

Mar 4, 2010

Mar 4, 2010 at 8:40 PM UTC

An Afternoon In Brazil...

Blocos, Bandas, or Escolas! Not only shows the world to play soccer- The country that sweats to let the world drive, alas! One who breeds sweet sweats- Ethanol perpetuates, There strives our Harry Potter. The solitary candy girl sings in the field, You can hear her in the afternoon- A black song of motivation that barely covers her guild. All this and many more, That gives human skin the bitterness of colour- They can be ignored driving downn Sao Polo inside a Maybach Saloon. The same sun, but not the same burn- Sometimes sipping Caipirinha in the beach resort, And then while harvesting with a difficult breath, a farmer gives up a life well fought!

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For 2 years, we've met, until now, I stop. Arranging impassion's unpleasentationships in this 10th year, doubtlessness's equipped to unveil all of his un-friendship. I'll leave here. I leave behind. I'll leave today- & wont return. When you go so far and facetiously thank- what you know to seek forgiveness for Your once full words, empty and blank while guises of gratitude implore. All the cop outs and shifting blame To grow up and then blow away again Us tortured youths, from diamond minds Extrapolate all that we may find Worthy, of exchanging for our flesh's time- Insidiousness perpetuates the implicit crime. All that's perceived within a pill Freckled iris, minds eye's staring still Each kiss, Every smile, im abhorrently ill. no doctor but witch might placate my will.

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May 17, 2025

May 17, 2025 at 8:03 AM UTC

A Final Teaching

For 2 years, we've met, until now, I stop. Arranging impassion's unpleasentationships in this 10th year, doubtlessness's equipped to unveil all of his un-friendship. I'll leave here. I leave behind. I'll leave today- & wont return. When you go so far and facetiously thank- what you know to seek forgiveness for Your once full words, empty and blank while guises of gratitude implore. All the cop outs and shifting blame To grow up and then blow away again Us tortured youths, from diamond minds Extrapolate all that we may find Worthy, of exchanging for our flesh's time- Insidiousness perpetuates the implicit crime. All that's perceived within a pill Freckled iris, minds eye's staring still Each kiss, Every smile, im abhorrently ill. no doctor but witch might placate my will.

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There is steeped madness atop mantle piece cliffs as if poised, in reluctant certainty at our hot fate. Somewhere, in the steamy depths of man’s mind, our mind my mind stews and perpetuates fuming intent eroding at the edges, of life for what it is and isn’t or wont be for future tenses and a conceptualizing intensity in a place which hasn’t ever been realized or even moved along a narrow line of directed discourse, dictated dialysis: deviation from the center-ed path of righteous, heavenly glory of the gods, in the clouds, on the prowl in the wicked black of sneering night. For Retribution! For Respiration! For Residual indications on the slick success of cheering fights. and on and on were that they were forever forward still. But were still revisiting things which were never seen in re-wrought thought I thought I saw but not because seeing isn't believing. And believing isn’t anything really but lengthy listless lists and heavy habitual hope. © 2011

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Nov 17, 2011

Nov 17, 2011 at 11:34 AM UTC

Steeped Madness

There is steeped madness atop mantle piece cliffs as if poised, in reluctant certainty at our hot fate. Somewhere, in the steamy depths of man’s mind, our mind my mind stews and perpetuates fuming intent eroding at the edges, of life for what it is and isn’t or wont be for future tenses and a conceptualizing intensity in a place which hasn’t ever been realized or even moved along a narrow line of directed discourse, dictated dialysis: deviation from the center-ed path of righteous, heavenly glory of the gods, in the clouds, on the prowl in the wicked black of sneering night. For Retribution! For Respiration! For Residual indications on the slick success of cheering fights. and on and on were that they were forever forward still. But were still revisiting things which were never seen in re-wrought thought I thought I saw but not because seeing isn't believing. And believing isn’t anything really but lengthy listless lists and heavy habitual hope. © 2011

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I have faith in you, and I know you have faith in me, and solely that is what perpetuates my life. To my guides, I love you.

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May 15, 2022

May 15, 2022 at 8:47 AM UTC

I have faith in you, and I know you have faith in me, and solely that is what perpetuates my life. To my guides, I love you.

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Drops of Clairvoyance Ignite cognition. Fatigue fades to wanderlust. Function yields to Consciousness. Motion perpetuates Will I ever Sleep?

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Dec 16, 2012

Dec 16, 2012 at 6:31 AM UTC

Drops of Clairvoyance Ignite cognition. Fatigue fades to wanderlust. Function yields to Consciousness. Motion perpetuates Will I ever Sleep?

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Slap my hand Bad! Bad boy! Too much demand Too many toys Toss my heart Back and forth Play the part What it’s worth Don’t be mad Are we jealous? What we had Doesn’t tell us The bad ideas Make us scared The hate reveals How we fared I should’ve known Should have seen Karma has grown From being mean Protection has cost Rejection has wisdom All that’s lost Perpetuates with them Now she’s gone So am I I’m not fond Of wrong goodbyes Please help me stand Please bring me joy I’m just a man I’m still a boy

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Nov 29, 2015

Nov 29, 2015 at 11:53 AM UTC

anthony-casamassima

Slap my hand Bad! Bad boy! Too much demand Too many toys Toss my heart Back and forth Play the part What it’s worth Don’t be mad Are we jealous? What we had Doesn’t tell us The bad ideas Make us scared The hate reveals How we fared I should’ve known Should have seen Karma has grown From being mean Protection has cost Rejection has wisdom All that’s lost Perpetuates with them Now she’s gone So am I I’m not fond Of wrong goodbyes Please help me stand Please bring me joy I’m just a man I’m still a boy

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I am adrift upon a sea that always returns to kiss the broken shore. No matter how hard the two collide she always returns for more. I am stranded upon this constant tide that perpetuates a heartache, for no matter how hard I try I cannot become the foam of waves I cannot return time and time again to kiss that perfect stony face. The sea is in love with the shore but must always pull away. Only to return once more with the thundering embrace of a thousand soft lipped waves.

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Apr 23, 2014

Apr 23, 2014 at 6:50 PM UTC

I am adrift upon a sea that always returns to kiss the broken shore. No matter how hard the two collide she always returns for more. I am stranded upon this constant tide that perpetuates a heartache, for no matter how hard I try I cannot become the foam of waves I cannot return time and time again to kiss that perfect stony face. The sea is in love with the shore but must always pull away. Only to return once more with the thundering embrace of a thousand soft lipped waves.

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Small, medium, and large men face adversity. Violence begets violence they say. But with hate... a choice arises. A small man perpetuates. He is not just angry at the world, but at himself. A small man is small in heart, mind and body. no compassion. no free-will. no strength to resist. A medium man avoids problems because he doesn't know how to be a part of the solution. And, a large man fights. He'll fight the system, the power, the oppressor, the instigator, the teacher, the mayor. Not because he is bigger, because god knows… sometimes the largest of men are the smallest of stature... But because a large man has beliefs, morals, and values; all of which trump the latest trend.

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Sep 5, 2013

Sep 5, 2013 at 6:47 PM UTC

Small, Medium, Large

Small, medium, and large men face adversity. Violence begets violence they say. But with hate... a choice arises. A small man perpetuates. He is not just angry at the world, but at himself. A small man is small in heart, mind and body. no compassion. no free-will. no strength to resist. A medium man avoids problems because he doesn't know how to be a part of the solution. And, a large man fights. He'll fight the system, the power, the oppressor, the instigator, the teacher, the mayor. Not because he is bigger, because god knows… sometimes the largest of men are the smallest of stature... But because a large man has beliefs, morals, and values; all of which trump the latest trend.

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your heart rate beats uncontrollably you look around and everything is okay . So you scream! silently . on the inside . As though some force is taking control of you. Your mind starts to race and you look across the table at a familiar face, Your okay But not on the inside. They look concerned, they feel the suffering . but can't explain. You can't contain the feeling. Your okay But not on the inside. Your heart want to jump out of your sleeve through the ceiling Are they looking? do they know me? Why do they judge me? Standing in line at the supermarket. Smile, Smile, Smile. No one can see It Your okay But not on the inside. Just a few days ago I was invisible Now I'm alone now, the voices in my head are having their fun and their uncontrollable I lay there I just take it I don't go crazy, physically I just take it I know that It's just me but I can't shake it I'm okay But not on the inside. There's no reason so it scares me and it starts again I'm in the same place a vicious cycle it perpetuates and takes me on a bumpy ride I'm okay. But not on the inside. This fear that keeps me up at night like I'm ready for a fight when the only enemy insight is looking right into my eyes the familiar glitter of my very own brown eyes. I'm okay But not on the inside. sometimes.

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Dec 30, 2014

Dec 30, 2014 at 4:41 AM UTC

Anxiety . Sometimes.

your heart rate beats uncontrollably you look around and everything is okay . So you scream! silently . on the inside . As though some force is taking control of you. Your mind starts to race and you look across the table at a familiar face, Your okay But not on the inside. They look concerned, they feel the suffering . but can't explain. You can't contain the feeling. Your okay But not on the inside. Your heart want to jump out of your sleeve through the ceiling Are they looking? do they know me? Why do they judge me? Standing in line at the supermarket. Smile, Smile, Smile. No one can see It Your okay But not on the inside. Just a few days ago I was invisible Now I'm alone now, the voices in my head are having their fun and their uncontrollable I lay there I just take it I don't go crazy, physically I just take it I know that It's just me but I can't shake it I'm okay But not on the inside. There's no reason so it scares me and it starts again I'm in the same place a vicious cycle it perpetuates and takes me on a bumpy ride I'm okay. But not on the inside. This fear that keeps me up at night like I'm ready for a fight when the only enemy insight is looking right into my eyes the familiar glitter of my very own brown eyes. I'm okay But not on the inside. sometimes.

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To the person who's sexually attracted to children but has never acted upon that attraction: Thank you it's not always easy doing the right thing and I understand the stigmatization you face in a society where advocating killing you is socially encouraged for the forced productions in the privacy of your mind usually stemming from traumatic childhood abuse but don't let them stop you from getting help for the misery and frustration associated with constantly denying one's ****** urges for the sake of others. Nobody is born an angel or a demon walking along we pick up horns or halos midstride often confusing one for the other often trading one for the other often naming one for the other until heavenly hellspawns attack with horned halos. To the person who perpetuates the stigma against those people through edgy internet posts and comments like it's some sort of controversial sentiment that isolates those people until they crack usually just so you can virtue signal militancy so you can feel good about yourself through persecuting others: **** you.

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May 28, 2021

May 28, 2021 at 5:17 AM UTC

There's A Difference Between ********** And Child Molestation

To the person who's sexually attracted to children but has never acted upon that attraction: Thank you it's not always easy doing the right thing and I understand the stigmatization you face in a society where advocating killing you is socially encouraged for the forced productions in the privacy of your mind usually stemming from traumatic childhood abuse but don't let them stop you from getting help for the misery and frustration associated with constantly denying one's ****** urges for the sake of others. Nobody is born an angel or a demon walking along we pick up horns or halos midstride often confusing one for the other often trading one for the other often naming one for the other until heavenly hellspawns attack with horned halos. To the person who perpetuates the stigma against those people through edgy internet posts and comments like it's some sort of controversial sentiment that isolates those people until they crack usually just so you can virtue signal militancy so you can feel good about yourself through persecuting others: **** you.

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We wish that all our troubles would subside, And let the wind change the wave of the tide. But there, our thoughts glamour in sun rays Falling reflections and crashing these bays. Listening attentively, a whistling screech The clamoring tuning to this breech; That caused the waterfalls from these caverns Sheltered crevices of depth and humility Falling all so effortless to answer these calls, That wants nothing less than it all. A request not even a personal petition That lay waste to all conditions. Here at last, this night and every time I cannot fall to slumber here Where days of summer pass time Insomniac to tomorrow’s fears. I just want peace in all of our minds Without the helix of the progressive bind A want less satisfaction with no expectation But to see one another with no deviation Duality perpetuates in our eyes’ receptivity To transcend from it is to venture away from this reality.

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Feb 23, 2010

Feb 23, 2010 at 12:19 PM UTC

We wish that all our troubles would subside, And let the wind change the wave of the tide. But there, our thoughts glamour in sun rays Falling reflections and crashing these bays. Listening attentively, a whistling screech The clamoring tuning to this breech; That caused the waterfalls from these caverns Sheltered crevices of depth and humility Falling all so effortless to answer these calls, That wants nothing less than it all. A request not even a personal petition That lay waste to all conditions. Here at last, this night and every time I cannot fall to slumber here Where days of summer pass time Insomniac to tomorrow’s fears. I just want peace in all of our minds Without the helix of the progressive bind A want less satisfaction with no expectation But to see one another with no deviation Duality perpetuates in our eyes’ receptivity To transcend from it is to venture away from this reality.

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air invisible heart vulnerable Love indivisible fear perpetuates peace regenerates

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May 30, 2016

May 30, 2016 at 6:44 PM UTC

air invisible heart vulnerable Love indivisible fear perpetuates peace regenerates

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