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"preempt" poems
Two fine films: The Lost City and Blood Diamond. I joined Blood Diamond during a village massacre and said to my wife A gun in every home. Those devils would think twice before razing the village and seizing the boys. A well-regulated militia. The local militia the most interesting moment in a strong film with motive (economic, emotional), action (chases,       fights) and a **** sexless love story. Use of violence by the local militia for a limited purpose: protect the       community, the young from the janjaweed. The crop from the **** Limited scope and defensive posture but armed and coordinated, cooperative, the men (and the women)       side by side. Warriors at the gate, you will not run, you will not bargain. Just violence = limited scope, defensive posture. Great music. Cuba, Africa. The Lost City, when the communists tell the club owner under threat       of violence No saxophones in the band. The saxophone! Invented by a Belgian--Look what the Belgians are doing in the       Congo! When the state's violence is turned against the citizenry for non-violent acts. This quiet neighborhood, July, undergirded by violence, force. That's a given-- any farmer, custodian, EMT will tell you that. Without just violence Gandhi's scope, and King's, might be vanishingly limited, negligible (but not non-existent)?                                                        Regarding King the matter is simple -- he was non-violent but dependent upon federal force to counter the South's violence. No doubt without the larger force, the non-violent would be       overwhelmed by southern violence. Here, non-violence was a tactic, not an ethic. Gandhi, however, had no violent partner to protect him from the       British. Or did he? 1. There was the potential violence of the population, which Gandhi     restrained but could release which the British feared, and 2. It was the restrained (limited scope) violence of the British that     allowed Gandhi to exist rather than be extinguished--this restraint     was a (British) cultural imperative (limited scope) as well as     emanating from Britain's view of India as a protectorate and     valued citizen of the United Kingdom (defensive posture). What about violence or threat of violence to compel compliance with       community as in mortgage foreclosure, driving without license, drug possession. Perhaps it is necessary violence to maintain orderly commerce, the       common space, and preempt bad behaviors associated with       otherwise neutral, private acts. The defensive posture is the common good; the limited scope is       forgoing deadly force. But the citizen, too, must maintain a disciplined, armed non-violence, in case the state (the janjaweed) engages in an unjust, autoimmune       violence. Hence, a gun in every home.
0
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 9:56 AM UTC
robert-ronnow
A Gun in Every Home
Two fine films: The Lost City and Blood Diamond. I joined Blood Diamond during a village massacre and said to my wife A gun in every home. Those devils would think twice before razing the village and seizing the boys. A well-regulated militia. The local militia the most interesting moment in a strong film with motive (economic, emotional), action (chases,       fights) and a **** sexless love story. Use of violence by the local militia for a limited purpose: protect the       community, the young from the janjaweed. The crop from the **** Limited scope and defensive posture but armed and coordinated, cooperative, the men (and the women)       side by side. Warriors at the gate, you will not run, you will not bargain. Just violence = limited scope, defensive posture. Great music. Cuba, Africa. The Lost City, when the communists tell the club owner under threat       of violence No saxophones in the band. The saxophone! Invented by a Belgian--Look what the Belgians are doing in the       Congo! When the state's violence is turned against the citizenry for non-violent acts. This quiet neighborhood, July, undergirded by violence, force. That's a given-- any farmer, custodian, EMT will tell you that. Without just violence Gandhi's scope, and King's, might be vanishingly limited, negligible (but not non-existent)?                                                        Regarding King the matter is simple -- he was non-violent but dependent upon federal force to counter the South's violence. No doubt without the larger force, the non-violent would be       overwhelmed by southern violence. Here, non-violence was a tactic, not an ethic. Gandhi, however, had no violent partner to protect him from the       British. Or did he? 1. There was the potential violence of the population, which Gandhi     restrained but could release which the British feared, and 2. It was the restrained (limited scope) violence of the British that     allowed Gandhi to exist rather than be extinguished--this restraint     was a (British) cultural imperative (limited scope) as well as     emanating from Britain's view of India as a protectorate and     valued citizen of the United Kingdom (defensive posture). What about violence or threat of violence to compel compliance with       community as in mortgage foreclosure, driving without license, drug possession. Perhaps it is necessary violence to maintain orderly commerce, the       common space, and preempt bad behaviors associated with       otherwise neutral, private acts. The defensive posture is the common good; the limited scope is       forgoing deadly force. But the citizen, too, must maintain a disciplined, armed non-violence, in case the state (the janjaweed) engages in an unjust, autoimmune       violence. Hence, a gun in every home.
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58
I am keening In lament bewailed at this notion. Contempt for structure, value and discipline is acceptable. Jeremiad A parent can't parent but would be praised for "friending" rather than tending to their child's growth. Hippie tricksters and hipster is all the craze with new age bad zones and soft tones Then everyone moans and claim the lack of parenting is to blame when they go columbine and spray bullets to deal with the torment. I'm sick of the news and its pro no rules avocation Sick of the pop trend of life is always a dead end Sick of fly by night "let them be and hope they make it" attitudes When a little hug and a quick "let me show you" can make our youths guide the progress rather than tear it down. I little input is appreciated, accepted and acknowledged But not mandatory Be good be rewarded, be bad be without Very self explanatory. Those in between that goal are an obstacle not a hero I want greatness for my child Not mediocrity to a zero. Parent with your experience and regulation Not google and trending See the end and before you begin and preempt the blind pretending. Cuz today is not ok When we fear tomorrow Cuz yesterdays ways were forgotten. From one father to the next -Alexis J Meighan-
0
Oct 22, 2012
Oct 22, 2012 at 11:25 PM UTC
alexis-j-meighan
My Jeremiad
I am keening In lament bewailed at this notion. Contempt for structure, value and discipline is acceptable. Jeremiad A parent can't parent but would be praised for "friending" rather than tending to their child's growth. Hippie tricksters and hipster is all the craze with new age bad zones and soft tones Then everyone moans and claim the lack of parenting is to blame when they go columbine and spray bullets to deal with the torment. I'm sick of the news and its pro no rules avocation Sick of the pop trend of life is always a dead end Sick of fly by night "let them be and hope they make it" attitudes When a little hug and a quick "let me show you" can make our youths guide the progress rather than tear it down. I little input is appreciated, accepted and acknowledged But not mandatory Be good be rewarded, be bad be without Very self explanatory. Those in between that goal are an obstacle not a hero I want greatness for my child Not mediocrity to a zero. Parent with your experience and regulation Not google and trending See the end and before you begin and preempt the blind pretending. Cuz today is not ok When we fear tomorrow Cuz yesterdays ways were forgotten. From one father to the next -Alexis J Meighan-
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27
As a teenage boy I used to fall asleep at night listening to the graveled voice of Ernie Harwell fashion for me word-images of the exploits by a band of superheroes called the Detroit Tigers. In those semi-lucid moments before slumber, I could see the shimmering outline of my destiny: you see all American boys are meant to be Tigers. So imagine my confusion, when I fractured the right talus bone my Junior year of high school, even putting on weight around the middle, where no athlete worth his pin stripes would gain. My karma had begun to take on mass. I began to acquire knowledge, as the only perceived defense against some parallel universe impinging upon reality. Oh, I had everyone convinced, even my keenest teachers believed I was destined to make my mark in scholarly pursuits. But no one saw the crying ego of one meant to be a Tiger, nor how that bottled up the emergence of the Man. Never reconciled, the Man curled up in fetal dormancy. Lifespan became synonymous with interstellar drift. And every encountered star of knowlege was dwarfed, having long ago collapsed of its own gravity. Still the heavens of knowledge are auspicious, so I looked outward, when all the answers lay concealed within. Only as my life left the outskirts of occluded reality did I then begin to inherit from my instinctual id, begin to listen to disconsolate internal voices, who had known me all along, perhaps better than myself. The thing is ... the stage has long been set on middle-age, what props lie about are encrusted with patina, laden with a dust impossible to gauge or preempt, made worse by the lack of cast, save one. Neither Beckett, nor Pinter, could have absurded this. So, when my acts strike you as quixotic, when I cut with a penknife through propriety, it's because I finally remember what it meant to be a Tiger.
0
Dec 1, 2012
Dec 1, 2012 at 7:15 PM UTC
brian-oarr
We All Die Unhealed
As a teenage boy I used to fall asleep at night listening to the graveled voice of Ernie Harwell fashion for me word-images of the exploits by a band of superheroes called the Detroit Tigers. In those semi-lucid moments before slumber, I could see the shimmering outline of my destiny: you see all American boys are meant to be Tigers. So imagine my confusion, when I fractured the right talus bone my Junior year of high school, even putting on weight around the middle, where no athlete worth his pin stripes would gain. My karma had begun to take on mass. I began to acquire knowledge, as the only perceived defense against some parallel universe impinging upon reality. Oh, I had everyone convinced, even my keenest teachers believed I was destined to make my mark in scholarly pursuits. But no one saw the crying ego of one meant to be a Tiger, nor how that bottled up the emergence of the Man. Never reconciled, the Man curled up in fetal dormancy. Lifespan became synonymous with interstellar drift. And every encountered star of knowlege was dwarfed, having long ago collapsed of its own gravity. Still the heavens of knowledge are auspicious, so I looked outward, when all the answers lay concealed within. Only as my life left the outskirts of occluded reality did I then begin to inherit from my instinctual id, begin to listen to disconsolate internal voices, who had known me all along, perhaps better than myself. The thing is ... the stage has long been set on middle-age, what props lie about are encrusted with patina, laden with a dust impossible to gauge or preempt, made worse by the lack of cast, save one. Neither Beckett, nor Pinter, could have absurded this. So, when my acts strike you as quixotic, when I cut with a penknife through propriety, it's because I finally remember what it meant to be a Tiger.
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36
I am keening In lament bewailed at this notion. Contempt for structure, value and discipline is acceptable. Jeremiad A parent can't parent but would be praised for "friending" rather than tending to their child's growth. Hippie tricksters and hipster is all the craze with new age bad zones and soft tones Then everyone moans and claim the lack of parenting is to blame when they go columbine and spray bullets to deal with the torment. I'm sick of the news and its pro no rules avocation Sick of the pop trend of life is always a dead end Sick of fly by night "let them be and hope they make it" attitudes When a little hug and a quick "let me show you" can make our youths guide the progress rather than tear it down. I little input is appreciated, accepted and acknowledged But not mandatory Be good be rewarded, be bad be without Very self explanatory. Those in between that goal are an obstacle not a hero I want greatness for my child Not mediocrity to a zero. Parent with your experience and regulation Not google and trending See the end and before you begin and preempt the blind pretending. Cuz today is not ok When we fear tomorrow Cuz yesterdays ways were forgotten. From one father to the next -Alexis J Meighan-
0
Oct 22, 2012
Oct 22, 2012 at 11:27 PM UTC
alexis-j-meighan
My Jeremiad
I am keening In lament bewailed at this notion. Contempt for structure, value and discipline is acceptable. Jeremiad A parent can't parent but would be praised for "friending" rather than tending to their child's growth. Hippie tricksters and hipster is all the craze with new age bad zones and soft tones Then everyone moans and claim the lack of parenting is to blame when they go columbine and spray bullets to deal with the torment. I'm sick of the news and its pro no rules avocation Sick of the pop trend of life is always a dead end Sick of fly by night "let them be and hope they make it" attitudes When a little hug and a quick "let me show you" can make our youths guide the progress rather than tear it down. I little input is appreciated, accepted and acknowledged But not mandatory Be good be rewarded, be bad be without Very self explanatory. Those in between that goal are an obstacle not a hero I want greatness for my child Not mediocrity to a zero. Parent with your experience and regulation Not google and trending See the end and before you begin and preempt the blind pretending. Cuz today is not ok When we fear tomorrow Cuz yesterdays ways were forgotten. From one father to the next -Alexis J Meighan-
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27
see updated banner photo ~~~~~~~~ *my phone informs me your turn to turn, one year old my iPad delivers me a photo, goodness of a creme cupcake, all over your face I see sprinkles, blessed Joseph-coated-multi-colored sprinkles, blessings sprinkled upon on the visage, of my child of my child, my grandson. sorry, it feels so good, gotta say it like you, one, one, one (shush! I can too count!) like you, one mo' time, my grandson... someday you may stumble on the Internet reservoir, this histoire, where memories never disappear, from somebody's server and my this, my creme word decorating, adorning this little mini-cupcake of just ours. if you walk the streets of my city of poems, you will find a poem prayer, I once uttered, after turning down an invitation from the East River to join its swift currents carrying away hard strife, to the Atlantic Ocean graveyard. three words denied the seductress the toll she was charging that day, smart kid you guessed it, my future grandchildren. there will be days when the crush will prove too much, I know it's coming, no use denying that all my blessings sprinkled cannot preempt your heartbreak and soul ache. but I will write these words, and sprinkle them upon your forehead when no one, especially those parents, are looking, thus protecting you from yourself, too oft, a human's greatest enemy. if I can not grasp your hand, let my words gasp you into understanding, that in the future someday, you will say just like your old poppy, my future grandchildren, and* stay thy hand from the worst temptation *t'is of man's nature, the ability to forget, different ways of foreseeing better days.... so to see the future's betterment turning your way, just say, my future grandchildren*
0
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 7:41 PM UTC
nat-lipstadt
Sprinkles for Alex
see updated banner photo ~~~~~~~~ *my phone informs me your turn to turn, one year old my iPad delivers me a photo, goodness of a creme cupcake, all over your face I see sprinkles, blessed Joseph-coated-multi-colored sprinkles, blessings sprinkled upon on the visage, of my child of my child, my grandson. sorry, it feels so good, gotta say it like you, one, one, one (shush! I can too count!) like you, one mo' time, my grandson... someday you may stumble on the Internet reservoir, this histoire, where memories never disappear, from somebody's server and my this, my creme word decorating, adorning this little mini-cupcake of just ours. if you walk the streets of my city of poems, you will find a poem prayer, I once uttered, after turning down an invitation from the East River to join its swift currents carrying away hard strife, to the Atlantic Ocean graveyard. three words denied the seductress the toll she was charging that day, smart kid you guessed it, my future grandchildren. there will be days when the crush will prove too much, I know it's coming, no use denying that all my blessings sprinkled cannot preempt your heartbreak and soul ache. but I will write these words, and sprinkle them upon your forehead when no one, especially those parents, are looking, thus protecting you from yourself, too oft, a human's greatest enemy. if I can not grasp your hand, let my words gasp you into understanding, that in the future someday, you will say just like your old poppy, my future grandchildren, and* stay thy hand from the worst temptation *t'is of man's nature, the ability to forget, different ways of foreseeing better days.... so to see the future's betterment turning your way, just say, my future grandchildren*
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67
Helicopter seeds descending from tree houses and resting in ponds shadowed by shaken needles; —I awoke from a dream this morning— Forests in fiery oranges plagued by pine beetles and a man fishing in the dusk, a sole fish he arouses. —such a dreamin' I had me— How about them men in the mountains, hermit'd, high, isolated, and pensive with pens in ink, draftin' a'lookin' after their suicide notes: —it was nonsensical, such nonsense— I can feel my bones aching, my finger bones aching. Don't you apologize, fish, for biting bait lest the others hear that I commiserate   amongst the fishes in the lake water: "She could have a mother; she could be a daughter!" I feel that boom; I know that boom: That's Thunder's yellow rumble a'stumblin' 'cross the oak-wood floors of my room– That's naked, **** clothes strip'd. A pile and a bundle, my bones are aching. That's a candle left burning, that's saints speaking in tongues, that's men hung like curtains on rungs– This world is getting old, times are a'turning. That's a taxi cab afterlife, a mail-order wife, that's pills on the floor of a Motel 6 in Reno, that's forty-four hundred lost playing keno. We can't always be lucky, who calls that a life? My joints are a'sprainin' aching with the preempt of a storm. That's writer's block and cramped hands, cramped hearts, that's a hovel heated by an oven, heads found in hot ovens, that's the hillside and the glens past where the track bends but just before the dens of monsters that I swear I left behind that night. —dreamin' a'dazin' and days in always let my demons out— That night I hid another razor in the rafters thinking, "My thoughts I'll bury." I ran away to sell maps of the human heart en Algérie.
0
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 12:50 AM UTC
brad-lambert
Days In
Helicopter seeds descending from tree houses and resting in ponds shadowed by shaken needles; —I awoke from a dream this morning— Forests in fiery oranges plagued by pine beetles and a man fishing in the dusk, a sole fish he arouses. —such a dreamin' I had me— How about them men in the mountains, hermit'd, high, isolated, and pensive with pens in ink, draftin' a'lookin' after their suicide notes: —it was nonsensical, such nonsense— I can feel my bones aching, my finger bones aching. Don't you apologize, fish, for biting bait lest the others hear that I commiserate   amongst the fishes in the lake water: "She could have a mother; she could be a daughter!" I feel that boom; I know that boom: That's Thunder's yellow rumble a'stumblin' 'cross the oak-wood floors of my room– That's naked, **** clothes strip'd. A pile and a bundle, my bones are aching. That's a candle left burning, that's saints speaking in tongues, that's men hung like curtains on rungs– This world is getting old, times are a'turning. That's a taxi cab afterlife, a mail-order wife, that's pills on the floor of a Motel 6 in Reno, that's forty-four hundred lost playing keno. We can't always be lucky, who calls that a life? My joints are a'sprainin' aching with the preempt of a storm. That's writer's block and cramped hands, cramped hearts, that's a hovel heated by an oven, heads found in hot ovens, that's the hillside and the glens past where the track bends but just before the dens of monsters that I swear I left behind that night. —dreamin' a'dazin' and days in always let my demons out— That night I hid another razor in the rafters thinking, "My thoughts I'll bury." I ran away to sell maps of the human heart en Algérie.
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42
Its the reason I stayed in that relationship So mean. Abused and and used, But I thought I saw the light I thought "I don't know when I will see you again but I have hope." Cried for all the world to see It was a lie Its probably why I believe in one night stands There is no hope at an end of an organism Thats probably why; When you said I was beautiful I stradled your body called you a liar in mid moan I don't believe in anything anymore I don't believe in the future I don't believe in him And I sure as hell don't believe in hope At least as a good thing Its trickery and mischievous Its a preempt smile And a downward spiral Its a lie
0
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 2:57 AM UTC
nebraska-sinclair
Hope
Its the reason I stayed in that relationship So mean. Abused and and used, But I thought I saw the light I thought "I don't know when I will see you again but I have hope." Cried for all the world to see It was a lie Its probably why I believe in one night stands There is no hope at an end of an organism Thats probably why; When you said I was beautiful I stradled your body called you a liar in mid moan I don't believe in anything anymore I don't believe in the future I don't believe in him And I sure as hell don't believe in hope At least as a good thing Its trickery and mischievous Its a preempt smile And a downward spiral Its a lie
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21
With just a heartbeat's pause, Every prior object sought, And all the toiling up til now; That mattered; now does not. Who are we to yearn for more, Then but delight of day? Be it burden or a privilege, To remember yesterday? And lo, if it calls out to you! Just a single backward glance, Might just forgo tomorrow, From destiny ....to chance. So within the pause; just...be, At peace and hold thy breath. Unknown how many lie between, The next until thy death. You may not breathe as deeply, As you did breathe a year ago, But do not preempt this moment, Nor mourn the ones that go. The heartbeat's pause is timely. Perfected, proper, prime. Each second unassuming, More or less of time.
0
Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 8:17 PM UTC
deanena-tierney
More or less of time.
With just a heartbeat's pause, Every prior object sought, And all the toiling up til now; That mattered; now does not. Who are we to yearn for more, Then but delight of day? Be it burden or a privilege, To remember yesterday? And lo, if it calls out to you! Just a single backward glance, Might just forgo tomorrow, From destiny ....to chance. So within the pause; just...be, At peace and hold thy breath. Unknown how many lie between, The next until thy death. You may not breathe as deeply, As you did breathe a year ago, But do not preempt this moment, Nor mourn the ones that go. The heartbeat's pause is timely. Perfected, proper, prime. Each second unassuming, More or less of time.
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24
The rising tide brings peace Healing brokenness in this place Sweeps and swirls and doesn’t cease There in the depths of His grace Holding back just on the verge My wounds are only kissed No fears within submerge In merely strumming mist Long drenched by anxiety But completely parched beneath My failing shelter of piety Like a fearful sword in its sheath Now I’m discontent just to be Held in such a mighty hand Longing with pride to use me But immobile at His command Yet grace crashes at the rubble Each rock was a feeble attempt To build above my trouble No carpenter to preempt The cross a simple design Has stood throughout the ages So all this mess I will resign To redeeming force that rages Though this awesome sea I dread It will overcome my doubt If by tattered wood I’m led Until life as loss I count I’m standing in the middle And my strength is growing Beyond this frame so little Here’s where the power’s flowing Now the risen tide of peace Rolling calmly over my face Sweeps, swirls and will never cease Here in the ocean of His grace
0
Dec 28, 2018
Dec 28, 2018 at 2:10 PM UTC
sarah-lane
Ocean of grace
The rising tide brings peace Healing brokenness in this place Sweeps and swirls and doesn’t cease There in the depths of His grace Holding back just on the verge My wounds are only kissed No fears within submerge In merely strumming mist Long drenched by anxiety But completely parched beneath My failing shelter of piety Like a fearful sword in its sheath Now I’m discontent just to be Held in such a mighty hand Longing with pride to use me But immobile at His command Yet grace crashes at the rubble Each rock was a feeble attempt To build above my trouble No carpenter to preempt The cross a simple design Has stood throughout the ages So all this mess I will resign To redeeming force that rages Though this awesome sea I dread It will overcome my doubt If by tattered wood I’m led Until life as loss I count I’m standing in the middle And my strength is growing Beyond this frame so little Here’s where the power’s flowing Now the risen tide of peace Rolling calmly over my face Sweeps, swirls and will never cease Here in the ocean of His grace
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36
preempt my tempt smash the Doric temple down spare the others notice the color of the sky it is not as you remember merged that’s what happened finally influenced by the sea an ocean of wood words fly the only truth available no rhyme reason or snort yeah we suffer appointment while fish drift lazily ‘neath the sun innocence returns for one more night but a long one at that it might be fun becoming darkness the void of being laughter does have a knack, jack, of drifting through time it can be touched Thursday, October 31, 2013
0
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 11:29 PM UTC
jimmy-tee
rhyme reason or snort; I like that line
preempt my tempt smash the Doric temple down spare the others notice the color of the sky it is not as you remember merged that’s what happened finally influenced by the sea an ocean of wood words fly the only truth available no rhyme reason or snort yeah we suffer appointment while fish drift lazily ‘neath the sun innocence returns for one more night but a long one at that it might be fun becoming darkness the void of being laughter does have a knack, jack, of drifting through time it can be touched Thursday, October 31, 2013
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28
he spent in an aim, in a risk to loose, in favor of the game, so gullible to preempt. .................................. a die hard in hope, beyond the scale loves the game, in power he lives, a life too risky to touch. ......................................... playing all his tricks meet another gambler, whose stupidity is beyond repair, but in dismay, he still looses money. ........................................... all he does is to learn, to accept the outcome as always, hope tomorrow will change him, and chance,give unending luck, that shall always grow big, day after day!
0
Jul 10, 2017
Jul 10, 2017 at 7:14 PM UTC
kfc
Gambler
he spent in an aim, in a risk to loose, in favor of the game, so gullible to preempt. .................................. a die hard in hope, beyond the scale loves the game, in power he lives, a life too risky to touch. ......................................... playing all his tricks meet another gambler, whose stupidity is beyond repair, but in dismay, he still looses money. ........................................... all he does is to learn, to accept the outcome as always, hope tomorrow will change him, and chance,give unending luck, that shall always grow big, day after day!
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23
The void of emptiness The black of night The sound of silence My soul takes flight The questions asked The fights re-lived The fact I'm broken My soul takes flight The love that's lost The time unshared The signs of stress My soul takes flight The tiresome thoughts The preempt plans The truth of loneliness My soul takes flight Foretold is a saying that holds the control They say when in trauma your soul just knows To stop all the thoughts running round in your head, To protect oneself mentally so you don't wind up dead. Your soul chooses for you fight or flight as they say, So I sit and I wait for the choice of the day. For so many years the choice was to fight, Leaving me tired and empty all day and all night. My soul wears the scars so deep yet so clear, Fight or flight brings me loneliness, My one deepest fear. Laurel Selby 01/01/2025
0
Jan 1, 2025
Jan 1, 2025 at 6:44 PM UTC
Wikidink71
Alone
The void of emptiness The black of night The sound of silence My soul takes flight The questions asked The fights re-lived The fact I'm broken My soul takes flight The love that's lost The time unshared The signs of stress My soul takes flight The tiresome thoughts The preempt plans The truth of loneliness My soul takes flight Foretold is a saying that holds the control They say when in trauma your soul just knows To stop all the thoughts running round in your head, To protect oneself mentally so you don't wind up dead. Your soul chooses for you fight or flight as they say, So I sit and I wait for the choice of the day. For so many years the choice was to fight, Leaving me tired and empty all day and all night. My soul wears the scars so deep yet so clear, Fight or flight brings me loneliness, My one deepest fear. Laurel Selby 01/01/2025
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29
Out of sync lately Mistakes have been Gravely Impacting Exacting More making us angry But strangely As yet Undeserving as I Of forgiveness She still seems to find it Inside Amidst dissonance Distance Disdain And decay But there’s no one I’d still rather see Every day I just have to preempt And preclude Provocation Not merely accept It as my Inclination
0
Jul 31, 2024
Jul 31, 2024 at 12:27 AM UTC
michael-marchese
The Provocateur
Out of sync lately Mistakes have been Gravely Impacting Exacting More making us angry But strangely As yet Undeserving as I Of forgiveness She still seems to find it Inside Amidst dissonance Distance Disdain And decay But there’s no one I’d still rather see Every day I just have to preempt And preclude Provocation Not merely accept It as my Inclination
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25
there's a bitter taste in cycles a wilted face in walking down aisles there's a lack of enjoyment in rituals nothing is enticing with knowing the preempt ways of the physical tradition feels abit too mechanical nothing is exciting in knowing what will be written in your will a life - having steps to follow is a dance with less rhythm a dance with movement which is hollow - t.m
0
Jun 3, 2017
Jun 3, 2017 at 7:04 PM UTC
05tm
fruit
there's a bitter taste in cycles a wilted face in walking down aisles there's a lack of enjoyment in rituals nothing is enticing with knowing the preempt ways of the physical tradition feels abit too mechanical nothing is exciting in knowing what will be written in your will a life - having steps to follow is a dance with less rhythm a dance with movement which is hollow - t.m
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14
You do not believe in progress. You believe in the safeguard of Your own Citadel of vitality. You garrison it with your soul . You shield it against oblivion so Your purity persevered. You preempt the impending moment; You pause in the void that you call Your life. This is not what I call progress.
0
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 5:23 PM UTC
harry-cave
Your life
You do not believe in progress. You believe in the safeguard of Your own Citadel of vitality. You garrison it with your soul . You shield it against oblivion so Your purity persevered. You preempt the impending moment; You pause in the void that you call Your life. This is not what I call progress.
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10
Must we always preempt the ending before we let ourselves see a start
0
Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 at 2:38 PM UTC
nicole53p
Untitled
Must we always preempt the ending before we let ourselves see a start
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4