"persuaded" poems
The joyful heart is the buoyant heart—
empowered to rise above its circumstances,
unweighted, unburdened, unbound,
tied only to that which would lift it higher,
untethered from anything which would
pull it down, pull it under or suffocate it.
It's the free heart, quiet and at rest
yet jubilant and uncontained,
the celebrating heart, the praising heart,
the thankful heart, the heart set on pilgrimage,
bent on adventure, journey and romance.
All the while it's a waiting heart
because it's a yielded, led heart—
a heart which doesn't run ahead of the LORD
but willingly, quickly to the LORD—
a heart that though eagerly anticipating each
twisting turn, next horizon and changing path
keeps its eyes fixed not on the scenery
but forever on the Shepherd
because it's a heart persuaded
that He alone is the Great Reward
for which it has always been looking.
True joy is only ours when we find an endless
source of satisfaction, and of these I know only One!
The secret to all joy is to crave Him above all else.
The joyful heart is the one addicted fully to Him,
desperate for Him to the expense of all else,
willing to sacrifice everything to have that craving satisfied.
Joy and idols, I have learned,
do not easily reside together in the same heart.
So if I find that joy is chased away
the most likely culprits are my own desires.
What am I wanting more than Jesus?
For if intimacy with Him is the supreme goal of my life
then nothing can arise which I'm not enabled to bear with joy.
There is, I suppose, nothing so reliable as suffering and loss
to expose all of the hidden idols within me.
It's surely those who have suffered the greatest
and most frequent losses for Christ who are also
most capable of knowing the deepest and most abiding joy.
For it's when we've been stripped bare of everything else
that we begin to know for certain that our joy is based
not on the temporary blessings of our circumstances
but only on the presence of the Eternal Blesser Himself.
Sometimes He offers to us all that is in His right hand,
but for any with eyes truly opened to see
the most precious of times may be those
when He offers to us only the intimacy of His right hand.
Rivers of sadness can open up
into wide gulfs of endless delight and
are often the very courses needed to carry us there.
When all is lost, we find to our amazement
that, even so, we still have ALL
and no one can rob us of it.
When He takes everything from us
He proves Himself to be EVERYTHING to us.
Jul 26, 2017
Jul 26, 2017 at 4:11 PM UTC
Kashmir is not just beautiful
It was also free of violence,
Not too far back in history,
That did occur just 7 to 8 centuries ago.
Then they poured out of Central Asia,
Hordes getting bigger with each wave,
Eliminate they did the original people.
In 1320, it was Zulju raiding Kashmir,
Then Rinchana, a Tibetan Büđđhïst refugee, he took over.
Rinchana had Shah Mir as his Minister,
Shah Mir persuaded Rinchana to Islam.
After Rinchana, his son was set to be the ruler,
However, Shah Mir killed this lawful successor.
In 1339, Shah Mir became the first Muslim ruler of Kashmiri lands,
Initially, they did not dare harm the original Hïnđū inhabitants.
Then it was just Muslim kings for few centuries and slowly the Hïnđū heaven slipped into Muslim hands.
Now we know what is the ground reality,
The demography became Islamized over centuries,
All arts and crafts stand dwarfed by violence,
What they aim is an Islamic State, an Islamic Earth.
Aug 10, 2019
Aug 10, 2019 at 7:14 AM UTC
William Zanzinger killed poor Hattie Carroll
With a cane that he twirled around his diamond ring finger
At a Baltimore hotel society gath'rin'
And the cops were called in and his weapon took from him
As they rode him in custody down to the station
And booked William Zanzinger for first-degree ******
But you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears
Take the rag away from your face
Now ain't the time for your tears
William Zanzinger, who at twenty-four years
Owns a tobacco farm of six hundred acres
With rich wealthy parents who provide and protect him
And high office relations in the politics of Maryland
Reacted to his deed with a shrug of his shoulders
And swear words and sneering, and his tongue it was snarling
In a matter of minutes on bail was out walking
But you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears
Take the rag away from your face
Now ain't the time for your tears
Hattie Carroll was a maid of the kitchen
She was fifty-one years old and gave birth to ten children
Who carried the dishes and took out the garbage
And never sat once at the head of the table
And didn't even talk to the people at the table
Who just cleaned up all the food from the table
And emptied the ashtrays on a whole other level
Got killed by a blow, lay slain by a cane
That sailed through the air and came down through the room
Doomed and determined to destroy all the gentle
And she never done nothing to William Zanzinger
But you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears
Take the rag away from your face
Now ain't the time for your tears
In the courtroom of honor, the judge pounded his gavel
To show that all's equal and that the courts are on the level
And that the strings in the books ain't pulled and persuaded
And that even the nobles get properly handled
Once that the cops have chased after and caught 'em
And that the ladder of the law has no top and no bottom
Stared at the person who killed for no reason
Who just happened to be feelin' that way without warnin'
And he spoke through his cloak, most deep and distinguished
And handed out strongly, for penalty and repentance
William Zanzinger with a six-month sentence
Oh, but you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears
Bury the rag deep in your face
For now's the time for your tears
7k
The perfectionist loves to hear his voice,
He is the respected critic inside,
He is the learned one,
The educated and the educator.
A beautiful constructor,
The finishing touch
To the artist's hand.
The voice is always a partner,
He will always be there to help
The artist, comfort is taken in his ability.
The artist needn't forget,
There are many voices on the side,
Awaiting for their time to speak,
Each one has its time,
All varying in their patience and duration.
The artist sees what he hasn't before:
The voice of support; the voice of love; the voice of decision; and the voice of passion.
There is always time to contemplate his flaws
And he wants to reassure himself:
Perfection is not a demand, but a quest,
One of beauty and one of joy.
Perfection is the beauty in imperfection.
The pursuit of achievement is one to relish, it is not to be rushed or
Ceased, it is a running walk, a walking run, a sitting stand, a moving still.
It is every step he has made.
The artist looks behind and sees
His effort, he is proud to have experienced
His triumphs and his trauma
The voice of comfort will be there all the way,
She is a gentle quieter spirit that deserves as much an ear.
When all voices have calmed and subsided,
Her tenderness remains.
I remind the artist of his friends,
I remind him that the critical voice is the voice of nature,
The physical laws unchanged.
He is the driving force to stasis and movement in the age worry and indecision.
"Do not be overwhelmed" I say to the artist,
You are one of many.
You are with friends.
The voice of change encourages the artist to evolve and to smile,
The voice of happiness allows peaceful living and awareness.
The tiger belongs to nature,
not to be feared, but to be respected
and understood.
Do not despair, do not relinquish hope,
Hope is the shining beacon in a world of anguish.
Hope is the angel shining her torch ever so bright.
Hope is the window that allows pain and suffering to see the light of day ,
Hope allows oneness.
The artist moves his brush: an effortless stroke,
A flicker of joy,
A tear in his eye.
He once was old,
Now is young.
He learns to enjoy
The work he has done,
He can now enjoy the work he does,
He is enjoying the work he is doing.
He enjoys his life.
The state of mind, it is a fickle hatchling.
Able to be pursued and persuaded,
also able to be liberated.
The artist is free,
His thoughts can pass,
His fear will subside,
His body can move,
His heart will follow
And the mind will allow.
Spirit be set free,
Bird do fly,
Artist do paint,
You,
You are.
Peace within oneself is peace with others.
The artist is brave, he is a soul that stands tall in the face of adversity,
He is a sleepless enigma in his room at night,
He is the passionate one,
The artist and his love affair with the critic outshines his charisma,
The love for the sophisticated darkness,
His love for the melodrama,
His quest for knowledge,
Perhaps the only knowledge is
Ignorance.
Blissful unawareness.
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 11:20 AM UTC
I meander about the countryside,
Coming upon a fishing city.
They call it Riften,
Home of the thieves.
The guard that stopped me,
Persuaded with a shakedown.
I didn't believe him,
And persuaded back with venom.
The gates opened,
Before thy words.
Revealing a peaceful city,
With many souls.
I roam the marketplace,
Searching for supplies.
Before I make my journey.
To Ivarstead.
A man of charm and price,
Spoke with me.
He sought a job to be done.
He asked me?
Break the law!?
Seriously?
He nodded quietly.
I sigh,
Agreeing to do as he asked.
My friend faendal has taught me well
Of thievery.
This dark elf,
A Argonian lizard.
I took the ring to deliver.
Brynjolf spoke of snow elves,
And an elixir.
As I put the ring,
Into Brand-Shei's pocket.
Escaping the shadows.
The task was done,
And he asked me.
To join the Thieves Guild.
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 8:46 AM UTC
~
late winter’s dusting,
on tarnished ores;
a dreamer’s seeds,
these rails once bore.
rain-washed colors,
on sun-warped steel;
their conjured hopes,
an age once real;
oxidized
by rust and time
blackened timbers,
no longer bind;
what still remains
are worn out ties,
a distant memory,
of centuries gone by,
now mere after-sighs.
structures standing,
but just by chance...
a gust may blow them down;
these buildings where
men’s dreams once danced,
now a ghost, this town.
though no soul is left inside,
still a body here resides.
so long ago
her carried goods,
these rails rode,
to distant homes,
built dreams of wood;
like dandelion wishes,
scattered... gone,
tracks going nowhere,
now a fading ode,
just another dusty song.
for advancing progress
never fails to leave
someone's dying dream behind.
~
*post script.
Oregon’s hills and back country hide these relics of a time when a nation’s spirit was fed by the sounds of industry, steel and steam, the whir of saws, and men calling, “timber”... long before the age of wood and rail were left in a saw-dusty bin of history by the sweeping hand of time. i could easily be persuaded that this change was for the best, yet this can't erase the longing sense, left beneath my breast... advances do not come without leaving something or someone behind.*
Mar 12, 2017
Mar 12, 2017 at 4:11 PM UTC
I used to make fun of
Those naïve, lovesick girls
That stared out windows
Daydreaming of the boys
Who they'd been silly enough
To give their hearts to
I swore that I would never be
So foolish as to fall,
For with falling comes feeling
The crushing pain of loss
When it all undoubtedly
Hits the ground
But how could I predict
The sensation that would come
When you so suddenly
Found your way behind these
Walls I'd built so high?
You with those eyes and that smile.
How easily you persuaded me
Out of my cynicism.
My firm grip loosened
When I heard you sing that night
And I felt myself begin to fall,
Not knowing if you'd catch me.
Now I am that lovesick girl
Who stares out windows
Daydreaming of the beautiful boy
Who holds her heart
So carefully in his hands,
Silently hoping
That he'll decide to keep it.
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 2:56 PM UTC
cheap perfume, dreadful news, i pay my dues while
miss drunk and deluded decides to trip all over my shoes
i'm her champagne flush, a nicotine rush, and her unrequited crush
but the only thing i ever notice is how the crowds hush
when you start humming tunes, singing blues, like you always do
your smile subtle, warm, holding far more joy than it ever used to
i sold your ring to the highest bidder, but my best friend actually likes you
he persuaded me to donate it all, it’s what you would've wanted me to do
so while tonight is all cheap perfume, dreadful news, and paying dues
when miss drunk and deluded once again steps all over my poor shoes
it's easy to smile and stay calm because i'm drunk and deluded, too
and when i dance with my eyes closed, i am slow waltzing with you
Jun 14, 2023
Jun 14, 2023 at 2:07 PM UTC
488
Myself was formed—a Carpenter—
An unpretending time
My Plane—and I, together wrought
Before a Builder came—
To measure our attainments—
Had we the Art of Boards
Sufficiently developed—He’d hire us
At Halves—
My Tools took Human—Faces—
The Bench, where we had toiled—
Against the Man—persuaded—
We—Temples build—I said—
4.2k
The Great Debate started,
Parliament was the open forest,
electors were divided into two groups—
Sir Fox's, and
The Lion's,
The first group wanted to overthrow the Lion
from the sovereign head of the forest,
It was a tough job to confront Lion directly,
So, Sir Fox, appointed a Monkey as the Chief campaigner,
and that monkey appointed other monkeys in the business,
Scaring them with a story of vanishing trees, and living on
the land increases the mortality rate if Lion Party continues.
Monkey, the chief campaigner exclaimed,
“We are not living in the rule of law but in the rule of Lion,
All are equal, but the continuous target of a particular community,
Like a beautiful deer, by another community in majority
should be banned, Deers bring historic and aesthetic
significance to the forest
And need to be treated as the same,”
Deers bellowed gleefully hearing this.
Cows felt hurt,
their exclusion from Monkey’s speech
proved to be a setback to the Fox’s Party,
Cows were the most targeted community
by the Carnivores, everyone in the forest knew,
Potential voters were lost to Lion’s Party.
Polarising speeches of Chief continued,
It brought Rhinoceros to its side,
Seeing rhino in political rallies,
Hippopotamus chipped in,
To counter the increasing weight
Political advisor of Lion, i.e, Tiger,
persuaded Elephant to become an official
member of their party.
Hate speeches increased in numbers
Giraffe, the bearer and upholder of law,
Overlooked everything,
the long neck looked tilted towards
an ideology.
Rumours became truth,
truth became rumour
Monkey was good in it,
And an army of monkeys were excellent.
Parrots, Pigeons, Peacock,
**** Cuckoo, Cat,
Loved the importance they got,
Disseminated the Fox loving songs.
The listeners felt threatened,
They had an enemy living between them
and they were considering them friends,
They thanked the Parrot, Pigeon, Peacock
for pointing them out.
Now, biped hated quadruped,
Quadruped hated reptiles,
Reptiles did the same to amphibians,
And in this way the whole animal kingdom
danced in chaos,
The fiery speeches of Sir Fox helped
in creating illusion,
The slogan of the Man as a common enemy
was changed to, Feline as a common enemy,
Felines joined Sir Fox’s Party,
And Canines ran to Lion’s Party,
Obvious was difficult to observe
Obscure was easy to see.
to be continued
Oct 23, 2021
Oct 23, 2021 at 3:22 PM UTC
I do not own a motorbike,
Never been a member of the Third *****
I’m not Italian, French or gay,
(No homophobe, just not built that way).
I’m not Tom Jones or a member of Queen,
I’m not going back to the seventies in a time machine.
I’m not a backing dancer for Madonna,
Talc on my legs “I don’t wanna”.
So why do I own a pair of leather trousers?
This was definitely a mistake,
Like breaking wind on a first date,
Swearing at the boss at the crimbo celebration,
Being caught by parents doing a ****** gyration.
Persuaded to buy them, through the mist of lust she had taste,
I found out too late, she was highly religious, chaste.
Good quality, not cheap, never worn,
Could be used in transvestite ****
Does anyone want a pair of leather trousers?
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 5:05 AM UTC
My French Gem
The Rose tickler
finely handwritten
The movie part gave
her the sign life
crossed over gem
French kiss the morning
The burst of Kaleidoscope Sun
Double touched but forbidden
On the Cheetah necklace chase
The French Lieutenant
her body and lips moonstruck
On her chaise
To get over it another work of art
that got more attention
To revive her from drowning in
the gem scattered like a
benevolent
blue splat philanthropic
Looking more into his unknown
diving suit mixed
with envy green how she got mixed into
the stranger of Poison Ivy
Her love didn't show all her
attributes God spiritually well
She went to the pastry heart
how it flaked all
over like crystals
He was patiently sitting but got persuaded
That little gem of the lounge
Her firey gem was the canary
that got his tongue
Her gem stands taller
The crafted lines of quality in the
Pillars
"Le Bonheur De Vivre Gem-Art"
French kiss went inside the darker side of the painting
He's transformed.
Shape heart delicate uniform.
"Parisians on a mission
A kiss is a serious manner
LOVE" Gem birth opens her
He modifies her rainbow
Artwork of brush yellow
twinset platter hello fellow
the essence beloved to follow
So worth her wait being watched
By the crystal rock, he loved her
going up in spirit or she falls for him
The gem to be it
Magical modernly gem -fit clock.
See through hands meditation harp.
Lebonheur De Vivre fine art sharp.
Lips movement beyond hearts.
Le-bonheur De Vivre gem arts.
Artesian heels tapping boots.
Fall for Autumn love cahoots.
Beloved, divinely he's the healer.
The picture spoke she's the winner.
Wilderness he glides kisses prints.
Pushing her waves hints.
Everlasting one thought he's guessing?
Art never part beautify stem.
Eyes so genuine he's her gem.
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 9:26 AM UTC
JIMMY large nose natural hipster totally informed clever funny sincere yet aloof
JOEY tall tan lanky physique long thick brown hair in braid striking good looks yet self-unaware
SHANNON athletic build attractive brunette accomplished poet so good she doesn’t need to prove it emotional sensitive tough
ANNE Joni Mitchell good looks bohemian self-effacing impulsive submissive *****
ACT 1 scene 1
a deserted chic indie reception area somewhere present 8:30 PM
JIMMY (singling out Anne) you’re so beautiful i want you so bad
ANNE oh yeah you’re sweet to say that
JIMMY i mean it you symbolize hope inspiration in me
ANNE hope? oh god
Anne looks away runs fingers through her hair
JIMMY hear that song over the speakers?
ANNE yeah
JIMMY it’s “Home” Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes very cool check out rough trade east version on youtube
ANNE yeah right
Anne blows air out her nose looks away in Shannon’s direction
SHANNON (singling out Joey) do you read?
JOEY yeah some
SHANNON what are you currently reading?
JOEY uh a text about economic international relations
SHANNON hmmm interesting do you ever read literature or poetry?
JOEY nah not much
SHANNON like movies?
JOEY yeah sure some
SHANNON what’s you’re favorite movies?
JOEY “The Devil Wore Prada” “Eddie” “I’m Not There” i don’t know there are tons of movies i enjoy
SHANNON interesting
JOEY i need to ask Jimmy something excuse me
Joey walks across area to Jimmy
JOEY that western shirt looks so cool on you
JIMMY thanks yeah it’s a hip shirt what up dude?
JOEY oh god Shannon is hitting on me she’s way too full of herself way too available
JIMMY hmmm nice toned body bet she’s a tiger in the hay
JOEY not interested
JIMMY me neither but i could be persuaded honestly i’m blown away with Anne
Anne approaches Shannon
ANNE Jimmy is a conceited **** he thinks he’s so cool Shannon you look so beautiful this evening your hair complexion
SHANNON funny I felt so blah all day what did Jimmy say to you? he’s not my type but not so bad if only he had Joey’s looks Joey’s shy sweetness look at Joey over there his eyes lips he’s so **** I think I’m falling in love and yet i recognize falling in love requires a huge territory of untried tolerance
Anne’s fingers stealthily pocket Shannon’s tortoise-shell comb while Shannon observes Joey fawning over Jimmie across room
ACT 2
refer to ACT 1 scene 1
Jul 3, 2010
Jul 3, 2010 at 6:15 AM UTC
An empty pub is the worst place to be,
In a city, Where even gods stay a bit longer every year,
Perhaps persuaded by the halcyon laughter of that half dressed street urchin,
Who has learnt to celebrate her comical existence,
In the pregnant underbelly of a false saint,
Who refuses to give birth to anything but naked poverty.
Small wonder the gods have never chosen to intervene in the city of joy,
After all its the fault of these urchins who refuse to abandon their filthy smiles,
And have the audacity to peak through the walls that we annually paint,
With the victorious colours of human values.
But why do they peek,
Isn't their world filled with the unmatched profoundness of black and white photography?
Isn't their world the home to poetic muses and romantic poverty ?
Indeed, why do they peek ?
Before the label on the bottle in front of me,
Makes you judge the potency of what I utter,
Let me tell you why.
For them our world is a constant theatrical which has run different shows annually,
Yet the only complaint they have perhaps is that the genre of the shows,
Have somehow never changed.
Its always been the darkest of satires,
Like the running satire in which half our society,
Sitting safe within the beautiful walls ,
We built around our indomitable prosperity and culture ,
Indulges,
In the hysterical condemnation of a man,
Who wants to build a beautiful wall on a different continent .
To protect the same
You know, I don't speak urchin-tongue,
But I have always had the gift to read feelings I shouldn’t,
And something tells me the urchins have titled this theatrical,
“Moral ************
But that’s not all,
An empty pub is the worst place to be in a city which refuses to let you give up hope,
And gently reminds you with every drink
That even when the rest of the world is out there dancing,
To the drum beats of happy endings and ephemeral farewells,
There’s one place that will never close its doors on you.
The only thing is.
The place isn’t the home you never ended up building with her,
It’s just an empty pub.
And that is why an empty pub is the worst place to be.
Oct 27, 2016
Oct 27, 2016 at 3:13 AM UTC
Nero was an Emperor
A very unkind one
He wanted everything as he planed
He decided to burn down a city
Which people really loved
Nero burnt down the city and got the blame
Was Nero going to be blamed forever?
NO!
He then accused the Christians
The innocent Christians did nothing wrong
But still got the blame
So Nero persuaded the people and them it was the Christians
Who caused the fire
But it wasn’t true
And then came the persecution of the Christians.
Jan 5, 2011
Jan 5, 2011 at 8:03 AM UTC
He creeps near to the foot of my bed
With that smirk
Oh he's come to cocoon me away to his army
Of dented men
With cropped souls
He asked
But never said please
To come with him
Where it's warm
I shook my head
He persuaded me
But never said please
To come with him
Where gems trickle down your face
I said no
He insisted
But never said please
To come with him
Where his home was
I refused
He forced me
But never said please
To come with him
When a comforting light pierced through my eyes
I couldn't see what it was
For it was far too beautiful
It sheered the man away
It was so modest
So against the beauty of living
Of looking, of tasting
It was a stoic;
Passionless
It was like the water
So against the grains of sand
Of dirt, of ink
It was a stoic;
Calm
It was so indifferent
So against the pull of pleasure
Of sin, of feeling
It was a stoic;
Strong
It was like god
It was god
For nothing
Would come close
To freeing the devil off the foot of my bed.
Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 2:21 PM UTC
An endless waterfall of emptiness
leave her, love her, hurt her, she does not care
she longs to care but she is covered and bundled in a thick quilt that poisons her everything with “nothing”
something is missing, the tears are missing
she knew she would be okay because of the streams that would flow furiously down her cotton felt rosy cheeks
she knew she would be okay because of the tender most voluntary light tears dancing gracefully across the marbled floor that was her face
but now,
she does not know if she will be okay because of the dessert like dryness of her eyes,
and the solitude her cheeks and lips have felt for quite some time now
something is missing, she is missing
she has been looking for what seems like a million years all over her now pitch black universe for herself
she had colors
she had stars, moons, millions of suns and planets within her
now the color black is the mere most perfect description of everything she has become
the battle between deciding what to feel out of all that she felt is over
she feels as an invisible soul that has passed from our physical world feels;
anger, rage because he is truly incapable of touching those who he stands infront of all day, he cannot do anything about the fact that he is invisible and non existent to all those he wishes to be noticed by
she feels anger, rage because she finds herself incapable of touching her emotions
frustration because tears no longer dance across her face
she feels invisible to her reflection in the mirror because she remembers the image of a person
an actually person
who is able to cry when sad and smile when happy
she is no longer able to show any physical emotion so she sees no reflection
a thick black fog invades her physical body and soul crawling through her eye sockets, her mouth, ears ,nostrils, and pours
it invades her psyche with all its blackness and abducts all the stars, moons many suns, and planets converting her inner universe into endless caves made of millions of tunnels that make love with emptiness and darkness
she has become a maze
beautifully numb, impatiently lost, sedated by absence
she is me, and i,
have been kissed by apathy.
paralyzing me and incapacitating me from myself is what this beautiful demon has done to me
she touched my lips and altered my thoughts
persuaded me into the belief that she would protect me
she told me that if i did not feel i would not hurt
at the time that i fell in love with her i was in a state where i would of taken my life just to end all feelings and confusion within me
she offered her anesthetic kiss,
i took it
as she relentlessly took over me i started to realize…
now i fear it be to late
i know the end to this maze will be the gate to my stars, my moons, my many suns, and planets
and i will run for what now seems an eternity
but i will not give up on my universe
j.e
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 2:31 PM UTC
Taken somewhere unknown,
blindfold over your eyes,
it feels simply beautiful,
your negativity dies.
Continuing your walk,
hear the birds and the trees,
they sound simply beautiful,
there's a soothing breeze.
One step after another,
you smell flowers and smile,
they smell simply beautiful,
you want to stay there a while.
Although you can't see,
here you feel at rest,
here you feel peaceful,
and here you feel your best.
Not persuaded through your eyes,
only knowing what is real,
not able to judge by what you see,
but only what you feel.
The blindfold is removed,
you're extremely caught off-guard,
when you realized you were walking,
around your own back yard.
Jan 28, 2011
Jan 28, 2011 at 6:09 PM UTC
so now im falling, deeper.. faster.. chased by stones made from the cruel words you hurled from your mighty perch.. so high above us all, you peer down your nose like an eagle regarding its prey. cold indifference shines in your once passionate eyes. how often those eyes persuaded me.. how easily they broke down my defenses, allowing you to burrow deep inside my mind, permanently attaching yourself to my soul.. you leeched away at my happiness, a parasitic infestation that left me a hollow shell of what i once was, far from the me i know i could be. it all seemed so worth it then.. carelessly giving you everything i could possibly spare, leaving you in control of every vital part of me.. i was strong once.. now, even i falter before the poorly concealed hatred that is woven through your words. i have all but fallen to my knees before you.. you worked so hard to tear me down that you dont seem to know what to do now that i lay broken on the floor. i have nothing left to give and still you take it all from me.. turn away from my screams, shield your eyes from my tears... dont let my blood stain your shoes.. ignore me as best you can, for you have learned the ***** truth.. even when i can no longer stand, i crawl on hands and ****** knees back to your side, where i patiently await a single kind word that will never come. so smile at my screams, smirk at my pain. it will not deter this pet from her master.
i am your prisoner..
i love you.
Nov 7, 2012
Nov 7, 2012 at 12:38 PM UTC
555
Trust in the Unexpected—
By this—was William Kidd
Persuaded of the Buried Gold—
As One had testified—
Through this—the old Philosopher—
His Talismanic Stone
Discernéd—still withholden
To effort undivine—
’Twas this—allured Columbus—
When Genoa—withdrew
Before an Apparition
Baptized America—
The Same—afflicted Thomas—
When Deity assured
’Twas better—the perceiving not—
Provided it believed—
2.2k
"At least drug addicts can be sent to rehab and cured."
As if liking a girl is some kind of illness. As if having a gay sister is a fate worse than death. But she was right about one thing, although the mind can be messed with, the heart is not so easily persuaded..
Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 8:59 PM UTC
*And suddenly he finds this--
the season of strange happenings
befall upon him.In Bangkok rains lashed
for three consecutive days without stop.
Huge pythons with strange markings
undulated over waves, that were roads
three days before.A stranger to the town
he feared the fury of river Chao Phraya
but this girl took care of him well,
and when rain paused slightly
she suggested they should eat out.
He left it to her choice, though never knew
much about her, say he was careless.
In that dim-lit restaurant, she said
most unexpected things happen certain days,
and what she said was really true.
She ate his past wholly, so quick
when no one noticed, it was truly smart an operation.
It tastes exactly like Thai cuisine she told him, as if pleased,
full of aromatic leaves of herbs.
He just sat like a zombie, would he understand
the meaning of that sabotage, ever?
As she whispered her words in his ears,
he wanted to contradict, tell her about
coconut milk, pepper and condiments
in which his memories of past were marinated,
like his mom's incredible curries
of fish from Kerala coast.
She pretended she didn't hear
all his memories of spice coast,
she had tactically usurped.
Then a doubt creeped in to his mind
"Is she a banshee, after me?"
She persuaded him to take a stroll
along the bank of Chao Phraya in spate
None would believe him later
his eye witness account of the girl
who ate all his spice land past
jumped in to Chao Phraya turning in to a big fish
and disappeared, never to reappear.*
Oct 28, 2013
Oct 28, 2013 at 1:49 PM UTC
through graceless steps and cleavaged twirls,
girls shared repost with other girls,
and the upper lips of the ladies curled,
as the married men all swooned.
they got bored all too readily,
so drunk their liquid steadily,
synthetically coloured blue and green,
she'd seen the latest advert.
and the boys in their polo shirts,
drunk and high on testosterone,
they took pictures on their camera phones,
and called each other gay.
the male claws began to itch,
for the feeling of **** and the feeling of ****
and the dancefloor was badly lit,
so they knew they had a chance.
sweaty hands and fluorescent teeth,
moved through crowds to find their niche,
and the necessity for niceties,
was shortly overruled.
uninvited gropes from behind,
on bellies of those who looked like they might,
be easily persuaded to bed that night,
without heavy rhetoric.
then came the bartering stage,
those awkward five minutes in which to arrange,
the consummating details, the exchanging of names,
the reality of night.
there were many things to factor in,
tales of lost friends still waiting,
I said we'd share a taxi home,
and she can't walk alone.
and after the barter is all complete,
the scorned pick fights in the street,
the end draws near finally,
so the masses all go home.
some walked home solemnly,
whilst others share the company,
of people they'd knew they'd never see,
after the night is through.
Oct 14, 2012
Oct 14, 2012 at 10:34 AM UTC
Luminous passion flows quite magnificently
A dance crying out to be heard
Persuading your spirit to honor the motion
So sweetly, as it stirs
A remarkable immersion of inspiring sensation
Uncovers a welcoming glance
Softly held on the face of the persuaded spirit
Who hears the cry of the dance
Gratifying spontaneity demands your attention
Be delighted by the cry that is heard
Inspiring the spirit to gently whirl and spin
To a lovely music without words
Beautiful effortless moves of revealing delight
Are honored without any question
By the spirit who hears the lovely persuading music
Of the dance of spontaneity's suggestion
Aug 19, 2010
Aug 19, 2010 at 7:15 PM UTC