"reamin" poems
Look into mirror
Your rose has faded away
And skin time has much bruised
Do you think
injustice has been done to you?
It was to be; it is inenvitable after birth
Only our virtues reamin intact
So much divine power they contain
Time never lashes them for decay
And God and angels take care of them
They are our immortal gold
And with them our soul goes back to its place
Mar 2, 2014
Mar 2, 2014 at 2:01 PM UTC
Ma Bonny Breeks is Buggert
a wordy pair they were
was havin' a jink an' ******
an' split ma favorit pair
made me raize an' made me rair
man a was mad reamin'
fien-ma-care be buggert
set me to a-screaming
I had ta' pang my muckle belly
fair rax'd it in yin breeks
need a'skyrin pair the noo
Ta hoord will tak' ten weeks !
Jan 27, 2011
Jan 27, 2011 at 9:18 AM UTC
Our life is not as it once was.
We wonder, we hope and we dream...
But in the darkness, everything has changed...
But yet reamins the completely the same.
We are living creatures, there are many of us,
yet we are alone...
We listen and we hear your wonders,
but we reamin in the shadows.
You will fear us, yet you love us...
Just remember we are here...
09/08/04
redone/11/14/09/ac
Nov 29, 2009
Nov 29, 2009 at 7:44 AM UTC
polluted our minds have become
ending, our lives have begun
wasted, our lives will reamin
hopeless, our minds are stained
forever, our hearts will long
theoretically, we dont belong
lifeless, people now seem to be
alone, we all live miserably
savages, now humans are known
persuading ourselves that weve grown
dark, in our shadows we live
compassion, we lost the will to give
jobs, we all have lost
prices, we are raising the costs
words, they all sound the same
hearts, no one cares to tame
trust, the city lives in doubt
love, most of us live without
Jan 25, 2010
Jan 25, 2010 at 11:33 AM UTC
Ears of wax consume themselves
with other flames of old
unbeknownst to the mouth so bold
to waste its breath beneath
a pale moon so cold,
hoping to shed a light
into the great unknown.
The lips of ****** red
sing tales of the future,
the eardrum silent to their call,
enamoured with its own infatuation
for the silence of downfall.
What good is it, then,
to sing atop your lung
of dreams and hopes
that will reamin unsung?
Oct 10, 2015
Oct 10, 2015 at 8:33 AM UTC