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Daniel Crase Mar 2014
Where will this take us now?
Is it us who outruly guiding us as we march dramaticly to the next room?
Will it be us who slams the door shut, or will we be boxed in with some automatic door opening and closing as more and more people come right in? Will we move along romanticing every little acomplishment we do, or will we morbidly and silently stubble on as we are poked and proded to keep moving? Will we finally rest as we see fit, or will we be told we have done enough? We all can easily anwser this in a way most people would generaly. We could stubernly and pridefuly declare that nothing shakles and moves us from one feeding trough to the next. We could so easily be just another rebel with a hollow cause that eagerly awaits to rip open the binds of all those around him, and finally take his spot in the limelight of respect and admirition. We can continue to dream and strive to be the philisophical moses of our generation, and lead our fellow brothers and sisters into a time where we all walk at our own pase, we all slam the doors we ourselves opened, and take any path we wish to travel in a way we feel best suits us. We could all be the one to hold on to the chains, or let the cattle go, but all of us are simply black sheep. So again I ask, who? I do not know, but I non the less seek an anwser.
Where will this take us now?
Ray Suarez Dec 2015
The mother feels
Accomplished.
Finished.
By the the birth of the child.
Then the rest of the life
Weighs down on him.
I have seen it.
I have felt it.
And on her death bed
At least he will
Be there.
And that idea will be passed
Through generations.
But I do not like children.
I do not like putting others
Under pressure.
So who will hold my hand
When my time comes?
I carry
All the love
In the world
With nowhere
To place it.
The Dedpoet Dec 2015
There are thousands of us here
In this small part of the internet.
We are thousands,
Voices of all natures.
I wonder how many in all
The corners of the world?
Here alone are thousands
Which plant seeds of philisophical change
And the evolution of our society.

How many words will it take
To declare the state of humanity
As the world goes deaf and blind?

Every once in a while I see a poem
With a national headline,
Some black kid shot by a white cop.
Then the poem disappears,
The poet and his or her fellow
Writers retreat inward
Jumping into nothingness
Of feelings and self loathe.
We carry a banner with a million
Words and nothing to say in unision.
Oh God, is this the path of the poets?

But suddenly I realise
And I see I am just as shallow
As the next,
The pulse of the world will not
Beat with poets,
Though poets can be the racing pulse
Of change.

Let the poets unite on common ground!
Cry out against something in unision.
We are thousands of voices
That cannot yell.
How many of us here on the internet?

How hard is it to rise against
The machine and bring
About change truly to the soul,
To see ourselves rise up
With our words?
What we speak we will write,
What change we write
Will give birth to humanity.
AJ Jul 2013
I've been stuck reading a deranged book
Where twelve year olds are *****,
And a small child is more philisophical than my professor.
It makes me want to become "Manda and the Giant Peach".
But instead I grab a steak knife and a peach from the fridge.
I listen to the rain on the tin roof.
It is a deafining constant.
It's the soundtrack to infinity.
Every other time you blink
You're naked in a bathtub in a mental institution,
With some lady named Mrs. White
Looking down at you as you throw a fit.
I throw good fits.
I hate to blink back to my peach and my knife and my book.
I might as well just throw another fit
And throw the peach away.
Oh Mrs. White?
JMac Jan 2013
I was raised on a montage
Standing with roses on top of a grave
Sentimental afterfacts that neither care to give
Discipline that neither can ignore
Cyanide adorned curtain cats

Pictured in red and iridescent
Topped with normal cleansers and beauties
Saught all in fall and in the summer
The winter and the spring

Easter Egg knocks between broken wings
Philisophical differences on just cause
Topped with Red

Dynamite in far away caves
Fortune’s mistreatment

Piece of pie
Yea I'm loungin' I got my man Donald Byrd
I wanna give a big shout out to my little man Miko he's 2 years old
He's away visiting his grandmom but I miss him dearly
Check it out
If I rhyme this you will find this situation shall advance
You could take a glance or dance
Elevator lyrics to arouse the crowd
Now tell me who's the man to show you how
Many legacies of brothers who get buzy
And I do it fluid til the suckers get dizzy
Saying peace to the blackbirds 125th street
And check the flow that's unique
For loungin', mellow out and just loungin'
Loungin', loungin', mellow out and just loungin'
Can't refuse this, never lose this, it's the choice this
'Cause my voice is the smoothest
Dominating to your boys 'cause I've been around doing work
And sold tons of others ****
Donald Byrd word on the track, quite exact
Giving you the format, Jack
See we gotta pave the way and display
How to loungin', loungin'
Mellow out and just loungin'
Loungin', loungin', mellow out and just loungin'
Peace to the pioneers but I gotta try to clear
My throat, check out what I wrote
You can't tap into this unless you know the roots
Word shoe like light absolute
For real so now you gotta know the deal
For loungin', just loungin', mellow out and just loungin'
Loungin', loungin' mellow out, check it ou and loungin'
Loungin', loungin', mellow out and just loungin'
Loungin', loungin', peace to Brooklyn where I live
Realistic, kind of mystic when I kick this
You should witness the slickness
Of the hornplayer and the dope rhymesayer
Quite emotional and inspirational
Philisophical and yes very logical
Teaching you the method for loungin'
Everybody knows they have times when they wanna just lay back
kick their feet up, y'know
listen to some good music and just lounge
That's right, I said lounge
Guru Featuring Donald Byrd -  loungin
Michael John Jul 6
i
i

after being sober for
nigh on forty year-let me say,
to wake of a morn and feel
not a bottle of *****-still,
a pleasure..

ii

i peruse the word or
pick some bagatella..
consider the philisophical
with a gentle breeze-
o time is real..!

iii

then, consume eggs and
do not puke..
inside my cranium not
a nuclear bomb-
half a life..

iv

time ago..
shaking like a leaf
where did the time go?
i don´t know..
some thief..without

v

prints-a few lines!
(and less a few ivories)
but still here,
listen,no-one is more surp-
rised..

— The End —