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"persisting" poems
if i believe in death be sure of this it is because you have loved me, moon and sunset stars and flowers gold crescendo and silver muting of seatides i trusted not, one night when in my fingers drooped your shining body when my heart sang between your perfect ******* darkness and beauty of stars was on my mouth petals danced against my eyes and down the singing reaches of my soul spoke the green- greeting pale- departing irrevocable sea i knew thee death. and when i have offered up each fragrant night,when all my days shall have before a certain face become white perfume only, from the ashes then thou wilt rise and thou wilt come to her and brush the mischief from her eyes and fold her mouth the new flower with thy unimaginable wings,where dwells the breath of all persisting stars
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121k
If I Believe
Metallic-, ionic-, covalent bonds. Persisting still proving, able to break. The forces assured, the pressures endured, the attraction unequal, results left uncured. Surely there exits an unbreakable bond, created by a wand from a paranormal pond. A connection not so rare, sharing DNA in our hair. A bond assuring trust, selflessness and care. Not even death, can break a bond that strong and this may seem unfair, science points to wrong but this is no illusion, my doubts are less than low I do not have to prove, what I already know. Its far beyond a feeling, description left unknown. This bond is right beside me, never am I alone. I do not need an idol, I do not need a god. Impossible to forge a key, it's not that type of lock. My brother is my hero, my brother is my rock.
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Jun 9, 2013
Jun 9, 2013 at 12:12 PM UTC
Bond, brother bond
Lithe, pharmaceutical muscles regulating microfiber hairs Draw from the primitive neglect and sin A clarinet changes the chemistry of champagne Inside Humanity again A stock infection of planets and galaxies and their debris Small enough to be e coli and atomic dreams Beading with the warmth of breath, persisting, Naming dragons and archers in the infinity, The cocktails brew people at the seams Their sentences clapping the breeze Into a day, or a season, or her hand leading
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Sep 5, 2018
Sep 5, 2018 at 9:50 AM UTC
Circadian rhythm
Something awful happened late last night, And here I lie awake at six AM Upon the sand of Santa Monica. The cars drive by, but I don’t notice them. I used up all my gas to get away From the ****** pond on my bathroom rug. It’s more than bleach can handle and I’m scared That I’ve found a more seductive drug. Fish intestines line the pier and I Feel no misery for gutless souls. The rocks are caked in birdshit, kelp and shells And, as if in mourning, the cormorant calls. Upon the rusty handrails, seagulls gossip Just like feathered girls with brains, persisting To trumpet my depravity in savage squawks, And to harass the rest of us for existing. The white-wimpled, cruel, sadistic nuns Choose an injured sea lion as their prey. Cowardly, they flee at his sharp barks– It’s guts that will decide who wins today. ***** creep over the brown-furred body. Fighting for its life, it bites the shell And kills its fellow lifeform.  When given The chance, I’ll defend myself as well.
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Aug 24, 2012
Aug 24, 2012 at 1:50 AM UTC
Feather and Fang: A Study in Humanity
you are the aftertaste of coffee. after the jumpstart, the palpitation, here you are, sadly bittersweet. you are the persisting vision of a falling star. its trail of light remain before me even after it’s long been gone. i’ve tried to catch it with my feeble hands, only to grasp nothingness. you are the aftermath of an earthquake, of which i found myself at its epicenter. even after rebuilding, i found that nothing is as it was. you are the tune that keeps playing over and over again inside my head. i’ve being lss-ing over your memories, singing a song i’m not sure if i’ll ever hear again. you are an aftertaste, a persisting vision, an aftermath, an lss that i wrap around myself, holding me together, keeping me from falling apart. for j.e. 100314
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Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 3:15 PM UTC
melancholy
Thank you God for existing, Thank you for the beautiful trees. Thank you for persisting, And thank you for creating me. Words can not describe, The new joy I have in You. What can I fear with you by my side, Caring for me when I am most blue? I hear snores from my roommate, And see first light of day. So I sit here and contemplate, What next I could say. Perhaps only time will show, What You have upon me bestowed.
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Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 10:16 PM UTC
Morning Joy
This wasn't the first time But it will be the last time I create an identifiable pain To numb the persisting wounds, That I let my hollow stomach Swallow all of my sorrows, That I go to bed hungry Struggle to wake up again, Just to Pace around my kitchen Afraid to open the refrigerator, I promise this is the last time, It's always the last time, Please let this be the last time..
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Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 9:05 PM UTC
Empty stomach, empty promises
Faith is believing before seeing, Faith is hoping for the best on your last hope, Faith is holding on even when you run out of rope, Faith is persisting, Knocking till something happens either the door opens or it breaks down, Faith is fear in defeat!
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Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 3:43 PM UTC
FAITH
I hold you in my heart For my arms just shan’t From the very early start This sickly sweet torment A quench-less thirst A hunger I cannot Fill Loving anguish, turned curse Is for you what I feel As I daze in your eyes so green I am consumed with you The most beautiful I have seen And ache the very touch of you The heart alone has its reasons To succumb to such forbidden devotion Unbearable loving emotions Secret I dare not to mention You are the treasure I hide to keep Buried in my chest’s own heartbeats The one & only so many do seek The one who would make me complete A barely audible whisper Surround my thoughts of lust & sin A dream state I relish to linger Shivers overtaking my skin Desire of lips tenderly touching Hands passionately holding A sweet embrace quietly waiting Patience Painfully persisting… So close, yet away from my reach I will be waiting for all seasons passing Shall life be kind to grant me my wish I vow to give you my heart forever loving What is meant to be Will always find its way So I hope, beg & pray Fate to bring you to me one day ...I hold you in my heart...
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Jul 31, 2012
Jul 31, 2012 at 9:10 AM UTC
I Hold you in my heart...
In the crease of her fingers Is where she held me. A history of thought, Filtered. Flaked off at the end. It was her fingers I felt most comfortable. That I could truly do anything. Stuck between her middle and pointer finger. Held high, upright. Unprecedented in eclipse. She'd press me to her lips. Resuscitated. Flaked at the tip. Scatter ash Where I felt most alive. Nestled in the bend of her fingers. My building without escape. She'd set fire to my head. & like a mad man I'd lay still. This smoke, a place I wanted to be. Our bad habit persisting Day in and day out. The only fact perhaps we truly have. I'd unravel in loss of responsibility, The nook of her fingers, A universal sense of comfort. Withered down. Tossed to the wind. Our history made short, Recognizing that we were doomed from the start. Smoking in front of the no smoking sign, A habit we can't put down
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Oct 8, 2018
Oct 8, 2018 at 9:29 AM UTC
No Smoking Sign
A ***** drills inside my core It nags, graps, pans, the hands They knot in spins and twists My crux left at the river side Breathing,gasping fast, faster Body out in the open rawness Persisting resistance of the force An outward shield winning Winged left,right, up, down Another day, a greater pace A passive taste, ranting in haste In bricks ***** all I taste is hate All walking in dead silence Heads shouting with dreams A roll of sweet and sour sate Echoes of taxes and budgets How will they evolve us? Snatching more from pockets The rockets burst to mock us Pulling our all to fund them Nuclear bombs creating tombs Distribution of lies and wars Missiles disposing as lyrics An objectification of reason Figure brushes on magazines Incisions of bits and **** hoots To boost of the hot posed *** No truth is scaffolded as real A psychological brainwash Pollutes and limits indefinately
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Mar 16, 2016
Mar 16, 2016 at 2:59 PM UTC
!!!!Indefinite Indoctrination !!!!!
You will never begin to comprehend The fear I have in just existing. I want it all to meet its end The dark thoughts always keep persisting. Will you ever understand The world I see through twisted eyes The silent stares that reprimand And touches I'll forever despise? The things that haunt me are unseen To everyone except for me; My demons come with just routine For one to sympathize, I plea.
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Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 8:44 PM UTC
Twisted View
A sign we are, without meaning Without pain we are and have nearly Lost our language in foreign lands, For when the heavens quarrel Over humans and moons proceed In force, the sea Speaks out and rivers must find Their way. But there is One, Without doubt, who Can change this any day. He needs No law. The rustle of leaf and then the sway of oaks Besides glaciers. Not everything Is in the power of the gods. Mortals would sooner Reach toward the abyss. With them The echo turns. Though the time Be long, truth Will come to pass. But what we love? We see sunshine On the floor and motes of dust And the shadows of our native woods and smoke Blooms from rooftops, at peace beside Turrets' ancient crowns; for the signs Of day are good if a god has scarred The soul in response. Snow like lilies of the valley, Signifying a site Of nobility, half gleams With the green of the Alpine meadow Where, talking of a wayside cross Commemorating the dead, A traveler climbs in a rage, Sharing distant premonitions with The other, but what is this? By the figtree My Achilles died And Ajax lies By the grottoes of the sea, By streams, with Scamandros as neighbor. In the persisting tradition of Salamis, Great Ajax died Of the roar in his temples And on foreign soil, unlike Patroclos, dead in king's armor. And many Others also died. On Kithairon Lay Eleutherai, city of Mnemosyne. And when God cast off his cloak, the darkness came to cut Her lock of hair. For the gods grow Indignant if a man Not gather himself to save His soul, yet he has no choice; like- Wise, mourning is in error. Friedrich Holderlin translated by Richard Sieburth
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Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 3:56 PM UTC
"Mnemosyne"
A sign we are, without meaning Without pain we are and have nearly Lost our language in foreign lands, For when the heavens quarrel Over humans and moons proceed In force, the sea Speaks out and rivers must find Their way. But there is One, Without doubt, who Can change this any day. He needs No law. The rustle of leaf and then the sway of oaks Besides glaciers. Not everything Is in the power of the gods. Mortals would sooner Reach toward the abyss. With them The echo turns. Though the time Be long, truth Will come to pass. But what we love? We see sunshine On the floor and motes of dust And the shadows of our native woods and smoke Blooms from rooftops, at peace beside Turrets' ancient crowns; for the signs Of day are good if a god has scarred The soul in response. Snow like lilies of the valley, Signifying a site Of nobility, half gleams With the green of the Alpine meadow Where, talking of a wayside cross Commemorating the dead, A traveler climbs in a rage, Sharing distant premonitions with The other, but what is this? By the figtree My Achilles died And Ajax lies By the grottoes of the sea, By streams, with Scamandros as neighbor. In the persisting tradition of Salamis, Great Ajax died Of the roar in his temples And on foreign soil, unlike Patroclos, dead in king's armor. And many Others also died. On Kithairon Lay Eleutherai, city of Mnemosyne. And when God cast off his cloak, the darkness came to cut Her lock of hair. For the gods grow Indignant if a man Not gather himself to save His soul, yet he has no choice; like- Wise, mourning is in error. Friedrich Holderlin translated by Richard Sieburth
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53
curtains closed, hood up, doors barricaded, windows ******* shut another pipe, another hit, that was a mistake, **** it lie down, close eyes, heart racing, telling me lies, need a mask, another guise panic panic what was that noise? deluded thoughts persisting, mind twisting, panic ever increasing, endorphins releasing lie down, get back up, will this panic ever stop? another pipe, another hit, that was a mistake, **** it (c) mandy rigby 03/13/2014
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May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 2:53 PM UTC
Crack Psychosis
Her face- A thousand suns, A cosmic dance under The ever-expanding escape; The curtains that fall heavily Upon the eyes of oblivion. Her hands- A fox running Through the meadow; The open cages that Confine gloom back Into its prison. Her eyes- An indefinite eternity, Through which both Dark and light speak; The great Illusionist. Her lips- A bitter moonlight Casting its shadow upon Persisting glow; The ripeness of a Mango in its season. Her feet- A battered road Folding upon itself As it struggles to find Its way home; The seeds scattered In every empty hole. Her- A desolate daydream That runs through Unbounded space; The deep ocean trench I’ve completely Drowned in.
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May 7, 2017
May 7, 2017 at 12:02 PM UTC
The Blanks
Consisting of grown, persisting as shown and unknown. Insisting entities, rivalries and sworn enemies! Deformed, forewarned, formed, informed, mourned, performed, reformed and scorned. Dates of great storms! Family tree of hate, horns and thorns. My family tree of gore, horror, more, poor and sore. Perhaps of mishaps galore. Briefly sit back! I’ll roughly take you back… Heck! Back to a time of attack, blacks, slacks and whacks. My family tree of practical, tactical, methodical Aztec. Some beckon and reckon in seconds. A family tree of crime, grime and rhyme. A nation of communication, dedication, dissemination, motivation and procrastination. The splendor of sin of my corruptive, disruptive kin. They rely more on the color of one’s skin. My family tree of abuse and misuse that misuses and seduces! Family tree of warfare and welfare legalities, moralities and family-prodigies. Picture this scriptural twist! Some assist on a kiss. I insist some are idealities in social technicalities. Alcoholics, diabetics, ****** exotic, fantastic, Catholics, eccentric, horrific and poetic. I persist… some gnomes, some roam, some in poems, some with no homes. My family tree of adventuresome, awesome, handsome and troublesome. My family tree of beautiful and bountiful! Some are a handful some handicap some locally and vocally-rap. Some slap, gift-wrap and yap! Some are snuggly, pretty, witty or ugly. In my family tree, some crippled, some with pimples, some with freckles and some that heckle. Some belittle and little, some wrinkled and old. Some are bold and pray to the lord! Some are Frio, meaning cold we were told. Some I say, are poor with no Amor. Some are here no more, in my family tree of Amor.
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Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 9:37 PM UTC
POEM ENTITLED: “MY FAMILY TREE OF AMOR”
Consisting of grown, persisting as shown and unknown. Insisting entities, rivalries and sworn enemies! Deformed, forewarned, formed, informed, mourned, performed, reformed and scorned. Dates of great storms! Family tree of hate, horns and thorns. My family tree of gore, horror, more, poor and sore. Perhaps of mishaps galore. Briefly sit back! I’ll roughly take you back… Heck! Back to a time of attack, blacks, slacks and whacks. My family tree of practical, tactical, methodical Aztec. Some beckon and reckon in seconds. A family tree of crime, grime and rhyme. A nation of communication, dedication, dissemination, motivation and procrastination. The splendor of sin of my corruptive, disruptive kin. They rely more on the color of one’s skin. My family tree of abuse and misuse that misuses and seduces! Family tree of warfare and welfare legalities, moralities and family-prodigies. Picture this scriptural twist! Some assist on a kiss. I insist some are idealities in social technicalities. Alcoholics, diabetics, ****** exotic, fantastic, Catholics, eccentric, horrific and poetic. I persist… some gnomes, some roam, some in poems, some with no homes. My family tree of adventuresome, awesome, handsome and troublesome. My family tree of beautiful and bountiful! Some are a handful some handicap some locally and vocally-rap. Some slap, gift-wrap and yap! Some are snuggly, pretty, witty or ugly. In my family tree, some crippled, some with pimples, some with freckles and some that heckle. Some belittle and little, some wrinkled and old. Some are bold and pray to the lord! Some are Frio, meaning cold we were told. Some I say, are poor with no Amor. Some are here no more, in my family tree of Amor.
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12
Unproductivity. What a silly word. What a massive waste of time. While the minutes and even hours race by, And apparently it’s already July. The future is coming. I realize that statement is true yes, but That doesn’t mean I’m any less scared That doesn’t mean I’m any less unprepared. Time moves fast, most of the time that is. However there are those moments Where I’m struggling to stay afloat Resisting the lull of falling behind Persisting despite my hatred of My somehow ever-racing mind I don’t know what to do to slow down I just need more time, time to breathe. Time to relax, time to let life pass me by Maybe just a for a day, where I could get away. I could leave this town, and avoid My suffocating obligations And my equally frustrating Responsibilities and duties . And worst of all, The winner of them all by far, The anxiety that holds my brain hostage. Telling me that there’s no time Yelling at me to focus, to get things done. But all I can do is sit. There, quietly. And stare at the wall directly in front of me For what seems like hours but they’re actually days. And everything seems to be slipping by. Minding it’s own business, and I wish it wouldn’t. I feel as if I’ve lost my tie, my lock to my identity. The person I thought I used to be Dedicated and focused. Is now frustrated and unmotivated What am I supposed to do? I suppose, I’ll continue to sit here. Whether it be at my desk, on my bed. Racking the ideas and words through my head. Over and over attempting to Wait out this unproductivity. And praying that inspiration Won’t take much longer Because I’m afraid I’ve lost what I used to have.
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Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 4:08 PM UTC
Unproductivity.
Unproductivity. What a silly word. What a massive waste of time. While the minutes and even hours race by, And apparently it’s already July. The future is coming. I realize that statement is true yes, but That doesn’t mean I’m any less scared That doesn’t mean I’m any less unprepared. Time moves fast, most of the time that is. However there are those moments Where I’m struggling to stay afloat Resisting the lull of falling behind Persisting despite my hatred of My somehow ever-racing mind I don’t know what to do to slow down I just need more time, time to breathe. Time to relax, time to let life pass me by Maybe just a for a day, where I could get away. I could leave this town, and avoid My suffocating obligations And my equally frustrating Responsibilities and duties . And worst of all, The winner of them all by far, The anxiety that holds my brain hostage. Telling me that there’s no time Yelling at me to focus, to get things done. But all I can do is sit. There, quietly. And stare at the wall directly in front of me For what seems like hours but they’re actually days. And everything seems to be slipping by. Minding it’s own business, and I wish it wouldn’t. I feel as if I’ve lost my tie, my lock to my identity. The person I thought I used to be Dedicated and focused. Is now frustrated and unmotivated What am I supposed to do? I suppose, I’ll continue to sit here. Whether it be at my desk, on my bed. Racking the ideas and words through my head. Over and over attempting to Wait out this unproductivity. And praying that inspiration Won’t take much longer Because I’m afraid I’ve lost what I used to have.
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46
Bathing thyself in Lethe, not ingesting, forgetting, yet not reminiscing on thyne torment, though immersing thyself in it nonetheless, persisting on pain and uncertainty. El océano sin agua, ese is what thou art, unable to breathe, unable to control, longing for a hand to halt the quiver. In the midst of submission, thy capture in the seductive dance of the monster, thou utterst sólo una palabra, “help”; the first and final request, yet thy time in Lethe were much too lengthy, not one hand shall be lent to those who menacingly, cherish death.
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Dec 19, 2012
Dec 19, 2012 at 6:19 AM UTC
Daunting Transparency
All I ask is an antidote allowing all adults around the atmospher an appointment about arguing. Because brother basic bodies are bound to believe bragging & bribing basically being broad brings about the best. But be Cautious, cause carpets can't carry couches alone, concrete creeps. Causing careless catholic christians to create children. Don't **** the deranged, dedicate the distaste to the drugs. drinking, and dumb deeds that did it. Even Eminem explains enternal emotions excellently. For fear feeds frusttration, though frustration can find fun in fornitcation. Foul. Focus on friends and family. Getting grouchy gonorrhea grants graves too gorgeous gilrs. Game over. However, having ****** hardly helps handsome happy hands. Indicating interesting intakes, involving inception in indecive individuals. Just joking, jealousy just justifies Jose Cuervo. Kinddling kindness kidnaps king kong's kingdom. Learn like lovers, loathing little, liking largely, letting laughs live loudly. Maning mold mountains out of mud, make missery monogamous with merry. Never neglect the notion of nice. Optimism overcomes others opinions. Personally, persisting perfection probably puts pessimistic patterns in people's personalities. Quietly questioning their quality. Rest assured reading random reactions really is redundant. Searching someones soul secretely sends self salvation. Take turns, tell truths, talk, these things take time, they are talents to be treasured. Understanding ultimatums unlocks unlimited unison.
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May 5, 2011
May 5, 2011 at 1:50 AM UTC
Relationship ABC's
All I ask is an antidote allowing all adults around the atmospher an appointment about arguing. Because brother basic bodies are bound to believe bragging & bribing basically being broad brings about the best. But be Cautious, cause carpets can't carry couches alone, concrete creeps. Causing careless catholic christians to create children. Don't **** the deranged, dedicate the distaste to the drugs. drinking, and dumb deeds that did it. Even Eminem explains enternal emotions excellently. For fear feeds frusttration, though frustration can find fun in fornitcation. Foul. Focus on friends and family. Getting grouchy gonorrhea grants graves too gorgeous gilrs. Game over. However, having ****** hardly helps handsome happy hands. Indicating interesting intakes, involving inception in indecive individuals. Just joking, jealousy just justifies Jose Cuervo. Kinddling kindness kidnaps king kong's kingdom. Learn like lovers, loathing little, liking largely, letting laughs live loudly. Maning mold mountains out of mud, make missery monogamous with merry. Never neglect the notion of nice. Optimism overcomes others opinions. Personally, persisting perfection probably puts pessimistic patterns in people's personalities. Quietly questioning their quality. Rest assured reading random reactions really is redundant. Searching someones soul secretely sends self salvation. Take turns, tell truths, talk, these things take time, they are talents to be treasured. Understanding ultimatums unlocks unlimited unison.
Continue reading...
21
Tied up, words constricting Woke up, wrong place to live in Now I find myself hustling But I can't keep from tossing in My bed at night Don't want to breathe and I've got to fight With all my might crack the walls And shed some light On the wrong side of the long night persisting Inspite of our Hollywood vinyls And pop star idols 'cause at midnight they bite us And drink our love. Imagine work paid off   And you're never laid off, rough appearance Won't make them scoff What if tough heights didn't last long Or burn so strong, didn't scar your tongue, And good fun wasn't modest Like Bollywood's hottest We'd live the lives loudest That we could be proudest of. We forget it all, they've set it small Well we're all not tall, we just bend down Let them move your limbs in any given position Because life's only A luxurious possession after all.
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Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 11:11 PM UTC
Possessions
When someone asked me why I did a certain thing If anything it reminded me of the past and of you for a split second I quickly changed topics in order to avoid me from wanting to talk about you. But when she kept persisting and kept asking. I almost wanted to cry right then and there but then I reminded myself of how strong I was. How even though you hurt me emotionally by stringing me along. telling me empty words with zero meaning now looking back at it But at the time oh how I wanted half of the words that you told me to come true I wanted to meet you for the first time. See you offline. But then when I self-reflected Was when I realized how the way I acted back then vowed never again would I let myself be swayed by pretty words Promising me things until it wasn't what you wanted anymore
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Mar 5, 2018
Mar 5, 2018 at 4:43 PM UTC
Old memories left in the past
I can feel you far from here Blowing smoke from the ice in your lungs Catching rays of summer sun with the palms of your hands Opened, stretching outwards towards the touch of oblivion The flickering of your eyelids to some bashful beat of beauty Serene whispers of music only you and I can hear Your lips caressing the air with a mix of sweet sultry words and ocean salt The tenderness of acacias with the touch of thorns persisting perseverance I can feel you far from here Laughing at the conversation between ocean and seashells Laughing your silver laugh thru pearl white teeth Clenching nervously on your lower lip And tugging at strands of auburn hair Rolling your Mediterranean eyes As your lungs fill with the slithering wisps of beach bonfire smoke The blossoming of stars and the blooming of the misunderstood lotus
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Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 7:48 PM UTC
I Can Feel You Far From Here
Innocent saucer eyes open wide, Sweet budding lavender laughter. We’ll all go down- One by one. Silence aggravates the wreckage Of what I used to be. Into an abyss of false love I’m falling. A love that is mistaken, Shown in the form of tender kisses In detested secret places- On a moldy couch Covered in cat hair. The crippling angst of your fingertips Against my cold youthful cheeks- Tracing the outline of my fatty jaw. Slow circles of smoke escape your chapped crusting lips, As chunks of flesh turn to rotting hostility Against ones own body- The bitterness of the cold turns to sweet comfort As a lovely numbness becomes my regularity, And emotions and physicality become one Persisting to disintegrate- my soul has become a boiling bubble of spoiled milk With the putrid stench of pillaged skin- The devastating devouring desecration of a ravaged--
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Nov 26, 2012
Nov 26, 2012 at 4:19 PM UTC
Like a little ******
The time of year has grown indifferent. Mildew of summer and the deepening snow Are both alike in the routine I know: I am too dumbly in my being pent. The wind attendant on the solstices Blows on the shutters of the metropoles, Stirring no poet in his sleep, and tolls The grand ideas of the villages. The malady of the quotidian . . . Perhaps if summer ever came to rest And lengthened, deepened, comforted, caressed Through days like oceans in obsidian Horizons, full of night's midsummer blaze; Perhaps, if winter once could penetrate Through all its purples to the final slate, Persisting bleakly in an icy haze; One might in turn become less diffident, Out of such mildew plucking neater mould And spouting new orations of the cold. One might. One might. But time will not relent.
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1.7k
The Man Whose Pharynx Was Bad
And I built shrines in my eyes to you to mourn what I never had but still held onto. Dove into an ocean of profound blue only to come out still nothing anew. I look out at fig trees ponder like the Greek’s great Socrates question my disease, the words I can’t release. My life spinning all around him orbitals of light grown dim. Through space you cannot swim from the sins you have been condemned. If I am mad as they say how do I still walk the driveway? Worship on the Lord’s day; get down on my knees and pray? Faithful I am, still, to the life I have lived however disguised. Loving, as I will when all has died. Everything you’ve seen is advertised, a movie set in frames the tape up in flames. How tired she is of playing your games, mouths running to blame. Me? I am just fine. Owing it all to bottles on bottles of sparkling wine, to you and your redesigned view of the dividing line. If you wake a girl from her dreams the gentle chug of a mind’s machine will it break down, by all means? It’s better to let her softly scream. Than distract from the will of inspiration, of art and death's flirtation. Continue the persisting narration speak her mind, give it standing ovations!
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Nov 16, 2018
Nov 16, 2018 at 3:01 PM UTC
Diver on the Deep End