"recharged" poems
Gwyneth Paltrow’s ****** Candle
may be completely sold out,
but it's not the only bizarre product she sells – how about jade eggs that can be inserted into the ****** and “recharged” with the light of a full moon?
All things considered, the candle is pretty much on-brand...
Jan 14, 2020
Jan 14, 2020 at 7:37 PM UTC
when in stillness
undying screams within explode
anxieties crawl like bugs
under the skin
of which the world is deaf n blind
when in stillness
callued demons awake
trashes revealed
clogging up the mind
for hundred years or so
when in stillness
they melt away
energy recharged
vibration flows the vines
lightness comes up
eyeing n eyeing n eyeing
the mind pattern n sensation
with full awareness of which
free from cravings or aversions
to stillness and equanimity we sync
May 9, 2017
May 9, 2017 at 2:07 PM UTC
The Aurora Nova Misson:
Oct 19th 2201
Zero hour 8am.. Aurora solar system... 4 planets sustaining life..
We see their sun.. The state of its supernova has already begun. We have to act fast! And toward the sun we went.. To calm the anger inside of it.. To prevent supernova.. To save the 4 planets that sustain life.. As we get there we see the levels of pressure start to drop.. The sun is calming on its own it seems! But something else is doing the job for us.. Something that got there first.. It was then we saw it.. It had wings made of blue light.. It was a creature of my childhood fairytales.. A dragon! He would dive into the sun fixing whatever was wrong with it.. But he wasn't alone.. Thousands of others came out of the sun leaving it recharged with solar energy.. They then gathered together.. Their wings shined like the sun itself and they blazed off into the stars.. Seems they also heard the cry for help.. The S.O.S among the stars.. They just got here faster than we did..
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 3:34 PM UTC
Don't be silly
ofcourse I am a ******
who has freakish tendencies
and uses jibber jabber language
and makes absurd analogies
like how fried Oreoes, when converted into global currency, is worth one hundred Indian virgins.
Fact:
I am awkward. I make people feel uncomfortable
and they can never follow my train of thought
because it leaves at 4pm from Seattle and will end up in Atlantis at approximately 3,000 BCE
(unless you take wind resistence into account).
I would sometimes rather sit alone and read a book
than go out and have "fun" with people
and I can become very irritable when around humans for too long
and then my brain becomes unfriendly and my demeanor becomes elderly and dry
and jokes are not funny but just tiring and childish
and then I know it's time for my nap
which does not involve sleeping, because that's more of a miracle than walking on ceilings
so I mostly sit, eyes open staring and sorting out thoughts,
filing away emotions and sensory experiences until I feel recharged and have enough bars
to go out and play again.
May 28, 2012
May 28, 2012 at 11:21 PM UTC
'No,' she said, as we waited, 'that’s not right.'
Not fading, but returning, rising through
full spectrums of radiant light until,
to the human eye it appears to fade
(pale white to a silver grey)
but it simply steps into a vision
that is reserved for keener eyes than ours.
(like ultraviolet)
Not fading, but transforming, travelling
at a speed forever known as its own.
Always keen to get home in a fit state
to enjoy a few hours with its feet up
by the ebb and glow of its evening fire
(red with blues and greens)
before rising, rested, to greet the dawn
recharged with the full force of the sunrise.
(bold yellow and blood orange)
No, not fading. That fails to see the truth
that it’s taking paths through deeper shadows
(purples and blues mostly)
which our deceptive eyes struggle to grasp
and in our weakness, it is lost to us.
Then she gasped, and I saw that she was right,
the light didn't fade, but it stepped ahead
waiting at the next bend of hope’s rainbow.
(a glow of pure gold)
Oct 6, 2022
Oct 6, 2022 at 5:17 PM UTC
The thing you do to a discharged cell,
Or to the socks that have too much of a smell,
What is it? Doesn’t it ring a bell?
Because You adhere to that policy so very well…
The thing you do to a flower that’s dead,
So also to a pencil that’s out of lead,
The same unfortunate fate of a broken wooden bed,
A habit of yours that lies imbibed in your head…
The death call for a tire with no air,
The plight of a writer who has lost his flare,
The epitaph of a man about whom nobody cares,
The cold obsoleteness of all your stares…
The gills of a fish outside of water,
The remains of a pig after its meaty slaughter,
The detriment of someone devoid of fun and laughter,
You certainly know about all this better…
A Kingless queen in a match of chess,
A game of chance without a single guess,
A heart beating oh so loveless,
Their method of disposal is at your prowess…
Use and Throw, Use and Throw,
That’s the way you always go,
Use and Throw, Use and Throw,
That’s all the love and affection to me you did show…
For all the compassion, all the regret,
I’m an expendable? Do I know you? Have we ever really MET?
It’s just made me even more sad and upset…
After trying to make your everyday new,
I’m wound up being Use and Throw to you,
I’m use and Throw, insipid, inarticulate,
A used tissue can’t undo its sealed fate….
But if I were any of these above things,
Of which my lonely aching heart sings,
A battery could be recharged duly,
The smell of socks would get the heavy laundry,
A flower would find soil to unwither and bloom,
A pencil refilled with lead to avoid its impending doom…
All of these things I know I can do,
But I also know I can never ever have you,
Because all YOU did, was use, then you Threw…
After my usefulness I meant absolutely nothing to You…
Use and Throw, Use and Throw,
As tears and blood into my discarded tissue does flow…
I was nothing to you, I have nowhere to go…
After all to you I was just.. USE AND THROW….!
Jun 2, 2011
Jun 2, 2011 at 5:49 AM UTC
T'was the Time when Light hasn't come
Thus filled the Air with Old-Smelling Rhum
Or Gas-Lamps, or Candles of Wax
Do make this Darkened City a mass.
The Source of Great Power has fell
This Time unknown which we cannot tell
The Heat as the Night, how Great it was
When Cooling Converters has made its loss.
People complain, here and there
For Power to return, unable to Dare
At this rate in which they have had Enough
It's now their Turn to be so Rough.
Banners flow in tiles across
The Head of whom around is Boss
Saying, "Power come! Power come!
Hear me now, don't be Dumb!"
As the Night comes with Loser Heat
The Rebellious Mass was still hard to beat
Sources say to drive them out
Not by Force, but by Pout.
"We've had Enough!" the People said
Thus they storm to the Company's Head
Defense Forces pull them back
But the People threw them in the Stacks.
Just then, in Time's time an Electrician
Came through. Stating:
"All is well's tripe! I've cleared the Electric Hue!"
The People heard, but didn't say a Word
To realise: "We have dumped ourselves like birds."
Forgiveness, they spoke. And Cooler Thoughts
Do process
Clearing-up the Debris; And brooming-out the Mess.
Lights have returned; The Power recharged
Peace has settled once again; With the Culprit
At-large.
Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 12:43 PM UTC
I can feel it in my bones.
I can feel it in my teeth.
Emanating from some place buried deep underneath.
I can hear it in your words.
I can taste it on your lips.
Electricity,
recharged by your kiss.
My body is a conduit.
A key tied to a kite string.
I'm thinking of every wish I've wasted on pennies never spent.
Hopes and dreams thought up then tossed.
They're all coming true tonight.
I found my way while staying lost.
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 1:40 AM UTC
We wake up to that alarming sound,
Pick up the cellphone
Scroll, Scroll, Scroll
Unread messages, missed calls
The darkness and lonesome of waking up,
Covered, Isolated,
but recharged from the constant stimulus
and daily overload of the senses.
Eyes feel weighted,
Stretching open as if rubber bands hold them shut.
The sound of TVs, Music, Cars,
Technology
Dressing well, presentation is key.
The anxiety of fulfilling plans, responding to emails, presenting your body to wherever it needs to be.
Enslaved by the concept of time,
the necessary effort to find time for you,
but the feeling of losing, and the learned mentality that tells you to be lazy is to sit.
In this quiet realm,
listening to ones own thoughts and wondering:
how many of these are a result of influence?
Where am I?
Where is me?
Everyday we wear this armor,
ready to battle,
but seeking
peace,
tranquility.
When was the last time you noticed the birds chirp?
The patterns of wind, as is winds up,
and as it winds down.
As it quiets down enough to hear a pen drop,
and then it leaves you for a moment.
The cold as it triggers goosebumps and lifts the hair on your arms.
The annoyance of grass,
irritating your bare skin as you sit on it,
but you choose tolerance.
And all of this provokes the realization,
of the constant loop you are in.
To get here you have to escape.
The expectations of each one of your roles,
Son or Daughter, Man or Woman, Friend or Foe, to choose you or someone else,
Human.
The appoinments of life,
the need to insistingly value your time,
the sin of escaping your daily routine.
Days like these
A machine constantly in motion
To be the free bird that fights for survival,
where a meal is never guaranteed.
Or to be caged,
and fed by the social constructs,
and partake of what is given to you.
Either way,
A loop is a loop.
Feb 10, 2024
Feb 10, 2024 at 12:34 AM UTC
From Grassy Fields to Azure Blue
Albuquerque a special time soulful sojourners came to release aloft what others find easy to scoff oh
Thy heavenly breeze from earthen habitation all sounds are found in thee laughter and tears the
Sobbing Goes to throbbing depths clouds pewter gray they show your needs and how hard you pray
Some are blessedly light others are weighed and bowed there are streams of air but the spirit too has
The lift and fall some is shear others are tender they hold all that is dear love hopes and dreams in them
You see the atmosphere as if you were sky riding at fiesta time strings of silver red golden black ribbon
They represent light hearted feelings the gust of joy that blows across many a yard and home from this
Dispositions of those that live there are discerned and carried outward and upward into playful days
Bathed in sunlight recharged with all the embodied love that continues through mankind dark shadows
Also are known their gloom are forever fixed with heartbroken tomb but just from earth the higher it
Rises its burning tears begins to fall as tender rain that mixes with tears and it not to be explained
But from this mixture golden memories derive their uncommon essence the loss is then to celebrate
Tendrils that drift across the sky when they briefly touch the ground though it be tearful a smile is
Left and in it the loved one is blessed honored and assured the swirling wind holds so many promises
Of happy tomorrows where the word separation has been expunged it no longer is a part of reality
You crossed the night train trestle your voice was the mournful whistle that announced the dear passing
Of love that went higher you were given a gift wrapped in pain but within it explained far greater truth
Than the limitation of earth’s love alone you are now aboard these sky ships as you rise your burdens
Grow Lighter your vision is enabled to see grandeur and great vistas the pulsating earth winks from
Homes far below you appear as bubbles on the wind in the moonlight glow in it is you’re refreshing
Enjoy the ride
May 2, 2012
May 2, 2012 at 4:05 PM UTC
I wonder
If she asked about me
Or if you told her
If your guilty conscience finally got the best of you
Shook you until my name bled from your mouth
Maybe
You never even mentioned me
At all
Maybe you didn't have to
Maybe it was easy
Maybe you woke up one morning
And decided that what you already had
Was much better than what you were going after
Maybe you finally understood what I meant
When I said I wasn't worth it
I never wanted to come between
But you welcomed my interference with open arms
Promised me oasis in desert future
And I caved
Because I have always been weak
Because I have always had a soft spot for guys with tattoos and turbulence
Our plane crashed long before takeoff
And somehow
I am still awaiting closure
Spend time telling myself you still think of me
Convince myself I'm still in your head
You already did the forgetting
You managed to do so with such ease
So effortlessly
Maybe you erased my number
Swallowed my image
And then trained your mind to delete
Programmed me into your brain as nothing more than homewrecker
Remember it was you
Who invited me in
In the first place
Gave me the hammer
And told me to start breaking
I split myself into two for you
Emptied out parts I kept deep inside
Poured myself in your hands
Painted my skin transparent
Confided about the night I was taken without permission
You promised
To never hurt me
Like he did
But disappointment is a certain kind of ache
It does not go away overnight like you did
You should have told me to begin with that we,
Were just a game you were playing
While your real life recharged
I am sorry
That I ever held my tongue for you
There will be no remorse
I can not grieve over something that never was
Our existence
Ceased before it began
So I,
Am back to placing caution tape around my body
Back to glueing my lips quiet
I wonder
If you sleep easy at night knowing how you left me
Knowing that I am still questioning
I know
She didn't ask about me
She didn't have to.
Aug 16, 2014
Aug 16, 2014 at 3:17 PM UTC
King wing nut fancied himself a fashion savant. No one was ballsy enough to tell him "you caahnt".
He sewed a nice shirt from riverbed dirt.
"Wonderful sire was the obliging blurt.
He stitched a cocked hat made from rooster
Fat.
"Mahvelous sire was the rat a tat tat.
He sewed wooden trousers
to so many wowsers !!!
His stockings were crafted from gobbledygook.
Superlative sire!! and "Oh goodness look"
The Vapid sot laid down on a cot for a nap.
He woke at two,recharged an refreshed.
He stripped down to the skin and proceeded to sew a suit from the thinnest of air.
He stepped to his throne from the twilight zone.
bemused and with hardly a care.
What say ye now said the simplified oaf.
All eyes drifted skyward as he strutted about.
to applause and stifled guffaws.
"Your majesty has outdone himself".
"Leave the rest of your clothes in the closets and shelves.
Nothing more needs be said.
Gassed up and content with an over-sized head.
Jul 14, 2013
Jul 14, 2013 at 11:34 AM UTC
Can a poet write a poem
For the sake writing a poem?
I think he will certainly can
But it becomes mere fun
A poet needs to be emotionally touched
His creativity is incredibly recharged
A beautiful poem is instantly released
And the reader is immeasurably pleased
Unless something touches his heart
There can be no creation of everlasting art
Spontaneous overflow of emotions is poet’s natural part
It makes his poems immensely smart
A poet can't always write at his best
He needs to pass the readers' test
If jaded, he needs considerable rest
His poem becomes the seeting sun in the west
Jan 30, 2011
Jan 30, 2011 at 5:55 AM UTC
Here’s to scrumptious nights.
cats and boots and cats and boots
We went clubbing last night, to recalibrate
ourselves on the dance floor, where magic happens.
cats and boots and cats and boots and cats and boots
To focus on sensory experiences, the beat,
and share in the fun and tangible sense of freedom.
cats and boots and cats and boots
Feel the wave, show your energy, be the wave
cats and boots and cats and boots
be disheveled, swing your hair like a weapon
abandon, silly, self-protecting vanities
cats and boots and cats and boots
flashing lights on dancing figures
make it all seem slo-mo and extreme.
cats and boots and cats and boots
It’s been too long since we’ve done it like this.
Work-worn, I’d lost my lucidity and stumbled badly on a quiz.
Lisa pushed my books onto the floor, declaring, “Get UP, we’re grabbing some bliss.”
cats and boots and cats and boots and cats and boots and cats and boots
failure has a reality, a gravity and pull all the more shocking in relief.
I’d started out the evening gloomy and ashamed - a figure of regret -
but I’m better now, buoyed and recharged and soon I’ll have a plan - hopefully.
cats and boots and cats and boots and cats and boots and cats and boots
There was a guy there, on the dance floor, who looked like a young Leonardo DiCaprio.
We made eye contact, nodding and smiling at each other in motion.
We gyrated, together, sort of, for a second, in our separate orbits - no conversation
I just watched him for a moment or two, sexualizing him like eye candy.
Just seeing him was sensual fun and I wondered what he smelled like.
He had a gritty, sweaty, idealized beauty, like a dancing ‘David’
that no Michelangelo could ever capture in stiff granite sculpture.
The music ended - momentarily - we knew it would start up again
and we were there for it - til 1 or 2 am anyway - then it recranked.
cats and boots and cats and boots and cats and boots and..
Lisa grabbed my hand, jerking me onto the dance floor almost
before I could set down my drink. Eeek! “Slow Down!” I yelled,
but my complaint was lost in the din and my involuntary laugh.
cats and boots and cats and boots and cats and boots and..
.
.
Songs for this:
Dance To This (feat. Ariana Grande) by Troye Sivan
Good Time Girl (feat. Charlie Barker) by Sofi Tukker
Sep 28, 2024
Sep 28, 2024 at 8:14 AM UTC
It is incredibly fragile.
More like a web of hair winding through the city
Than a spider’s web that bounces back.
Electric current run through my veins; support me.
More moved to soak in the sun than taste the flow of a water-dam or take in the scent of a coal-burner.
Knock it down,
Down and out with the lights they go black.
They cannot see, cannot search.
Their voices throw complaints at this power-gone-out,
But I laugh.
Reading with the light of the still-rising sun I smile behind the safety of my book.
I do not need to be recharged,
I’ve got the power of the sun to bring me to stand.
They’ve got themselves depending on breakable things,
Leaning on a dry branch as if it would hold them up as long as they need,
Don’t know that a dry thing will snap if you push it too much.
How easy it would be to bring down a place like this,
All strung together, their failing crutch.
Must be in sync.
Must be connected.
But don’t they know?
Connection disconnects when a sacrificial tree topples and their circuit ceases to exist.
Their power cannot reach their devices and their shoulders fall.
Does anyone have a generator to bring them back to life?
And why won’t they regenerate when the lines are cut?
Come back to life,
Find your power in the sun.
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 7:26 PM UTC
Just call me whatever
But more importantly
Can I call you
Sweetheart, lover, the one
Can I look into those eyes
call them beautiful
Stare at them with warmth
Can I put my arms around you
Hold you and embrace you
Till again I am fully recharged
Can I stand next to you
Admire you because I look up to you
and just smile when our eyes meet
Just call me whatever
But more importantly
Can I call you
Sweetheart, lover, the one
Can I tell you a silly joke
So we can share a smile
crack up with tears of joy
Can I ask you a question
So I can hear your beautiful voice
And learn something too
Can I pretend to be in trouble
So you can come to my rescue
Just call me whatever
But more importantly
Can I call you
Sweet heart, lover, the one
Jun 14, 2011
Jun 14, 2011 at 5:38 AM UTC
Time,
oh time is a silly thing,
it proves things right
and it proves them wrong.
Its’ seemingly long years change you and all that can be touched.
Time-
this illusion we base our lives around, this illusion we obsess over
(don’t deny it, we all do).
It confines us to a routine, to a norm.
The time spent at desks makes us into zombies.
The time spent after chokes us with copious amounts of papers and projects.
But occasionally it grants us a wondrous thing called
wisdom.
It bestows upon us insight and growth.
My always shrewd teenage self has grown to believe that time…
can go **** itself.
I want to fall into a slumber that is a day or two long,
catch up on rest and miss the trials of everyday life.
Of course, once several days pass or several thousand ticks of a clock,
I’ll crave another respite.
Life.
Life is hard.
It’s tiring.
And somehow there is never enough time to
work,
work on the work,
rework the work,
eat,
sleep,
take a couple deep breathes to keep from jamming a stapler into any eyeballs,
be a healthy person,
and do all the things that society tells you to do.
Maybe a designated sleep day would be nice.
If we only need 8 hours of peaceful slumber
for every 16 hours of traumatizing wakefulness,
then sleeping for 24 hours would give us
48 hours of working.
Right?
No.
But it’s a proportion,
so theoretically it should make sense.
Which leads me to conclude that 8 hours is not merely enough time to rest.
Unless you’re under the age of 6.
Or you’re retired.
Or in a coma.
Or…
But no.
No, no, no, no, no.
We must keep going.
Like good little soldiers
on and on
for 60 years,
70 years,
80 years?
I’m sorry but that just does not appeal to me.
Why oh why would I want to work my body to unhealthy levels.
Why oh why would I want to exhaust my mind to points of breakdowns
nearly
every
day.
It’s silly to want to have enough time to eat healthily.
And hit the gym 3 or 4 times a week.
And sleep until recharged.
Yes that’s preposterous.
Ridiculous.
Time is an illusion
that is ruining lives.
If we have an illusion
destroying us from the inside out,
does that make us
crazy?
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 5:58 PM UTC
I’ll keep on loving you
Long after you start to
Look like your mother
Though she looks much
Too much like her brother.
I’ll keep on laughing at
The groaner puns you make
And eating the cakes
That taste like meatloaf
From Blavian yak ****
Because that is what,
To me, true love is.
It doesn’t take a wiz kid
To see what nature did
And I am sure I will be
A cartoon version of me
When I get to that stage
Where age has altered us
To having rear-ends like a bus
And skin like the spin cycle
Before the dryer gets there.
We’ll have hair like lint
To match the laundry bent
Of the last four lines.
And I know I won’t mind
Because it’s you I adore
And that is what love is for
To help us ignore the stuff
Like belly button fluff
And farting unashamedly
Even though we are blamedly
Guilty as recharged, stinking.
I am guilty of thinking
Things will continue to get worse
Until the nurse considers ******
When nobody heard her.
Nov 29, 2016
Nov 29, 2016 at 2:27 PM UTC
So here I go again
If you walk
A mile in my shoes
You may feel it as an adventure
If you walk next 10 miles
You may feel something new
And if you walk for a whole week
About 30 miles or more
You will know
The enjoyable way to take steps
And If you walk for a whole month
You will know the core of life
All that one needs
I walk most often
To get myself recharged
Just what I need
Right at that moment
That's me
That's my shoes
And still
An extra mile ahead
Jan 25, 2021
Jan 25, 2021 at 3:25 AM UTC
After working hard for hours and hours
Days and days
Weeks and weeks
And months and months
One would have thought
That I deserved a break
Of course, a short one
But a break nevertheless
However, I was in for a rude shock
Instead of being given a break
I was assigned to a new project
And a huge one at that
Involving oodles of intense research
Followed by a truckload of calls
In order to extract critical information
From a bunch of highly reticent people
And finally
Drawing an extremely complicated chart
Yes, I'd done all this before
But that was nearly a year ago
And going through the same process, all over again
Was always going to be a herculean task
But hey, I was not going to give up that easily
That too right at the beginning of the project
So, I sat to work in right earnest
However, after a few hours of hard research
My head was spinning
And my eyes were burning
Thus, it was a relief to leave the office
However, there was still the small matter
Of commuting back to my home
By the dreaded Mumbai locals
I was squeezed so thoroughly
That, by the time I finally managed to reach home
All I wanted, was to crash on my bed
And sleep; for a long, long time
But hey, I decided to write this poem instead
In order to record my thoughts
And more importantly, provide an outlet
For all those bottled up feelings
So that, by the time the next day arrived
I would wake up with my batteries recharged overnight
Ready to tackle the monumental task in front of me
After all, as the oft-repeated cliche goes
It is better to try and fail
Than not try at all
Feb 13, 2023
Feb 13, 2023 at 11:57 AM UTC
I feel like a phone that has been used all day,
Until it's breaking Point
like it has reached its lowest battery percentage,
until its dead
I feel emotionally drained.
I give i,-I give, and I give
until I've given my everything.
Until the end I feel like no one cares about
giving me a single thing, I feel used and ignored
and when lm Finally recharged Im being picked up
again...
Mar 4, 2021
Mar 4, 2021 at 3:05 AM UTC
[Verse 1]
How could I be so blind, so as not to see
The flaws that were in you, that I knew there would be
When the spark finally ignited, I thought I had found
Someone I just loved always being around
You went away for weeks, and I thought I would die
To stalk you on facebook, not enough to suffice
I don’t know when this happened, or why I fell so hard
But being with you, and my soul felt recharged
[Chorus]
When was the last time I cried over a guy
Should have known he was a liar, just was in disguise
I don’t know what’s happening or what it all means
At first we were friends, but you meant more to me
When was the last time I felt as I do now?
Why would I let my guard down? I don’t know how
All men are the same, never saying what’s true
But I never once thought that they were like you
[Verse 2]
I thought you were different from all other men
I finally found connection, so much more than a friend
I should have been ready to come crashing down
It’s just that I loved you, loved you being around
Those cold bitter weeks, I longed for your voice
Guess I couldn’t have made a more horrible choice
The years that were behind us, should have enough
To know you would break me, if heat started up
[Verse 3]
Why would I ever have fallen so hard?
Maybe it’s now that I realize I’m scarred
I thought I was cool, comfortable, calm
Turns out I couldn’t have had it more wrong
I’ll never escape my time twisted mind
But no one will help me find time to unwind
You will not listen, nor will you seem to care
I’ll feel like my rock has turned into air
Jan 13, 2011
Jan 13, 2011 at 8:34 AM UTC
I really hate those school Cliche groups
The jocks, the skaters the nerds
How did this childish survival ways bleed into our societies heart
I hate the way it sticks into adulthood
How sad as adults we still have this need to be liked and wanted by peers
So much
So desperate are we
That we
****
Pick
Poke
Sneer
Bully
Seclud
Judg
Hateful hateful world
I want to see strong wild men in the wind standing tall speaking there minds and saving the abused
stood next to them strong Amazonian woman equal and proud
Intellectual characters being right, debating discussing , RANTING on their soap box next to the argumentative and rebellious types
Sticking it to the man with all their might
I want to see the witty and the ****** speak up and say there peace
Socking reality and bluntness to you
Bowling over your cliche
And next to them ...
The advocate of the underdog standing strong
I want you to hear our voices our views our arguments
I want you to stop bending and straighten your spine against the wind of oppression
To enlighten your fire your flame
Soul recharged
Eyes open to the realities and ignorance
To truly take into your conscious brain
The man
The rule
The emperor structure of unfairness of life
Stand against this gale with all your differences
Unique diversities
Proud to be that spark that can only shine like you do
I just want you to be the best you
(C) Ashley Kane
Mar 13, 2018
Mar 13, 2018 at 8:32 AM UTC
Now it is autumn of my hopes.
I had satisfied his lust.
I had recharged his mobile.
I had taken care of his injuries
On the skin and in the mind.
I had dodged my parents too.
I had been treacherous to their trust.
Today I asked him
About the possibility and sureness.
He smiled at my query.
He turned his back
And said in a coarse tone.
Are you fool?
Don't repeat this mistake.
You must be wise.
Moral blunders never get healed.
Mar 30, 2014
Mar 30, 2014 at 5:22 AM UTC
I wake up to the glow of sun shining through curtains and blinds
I stretch my body
stretch my mind
I'm preparing for the day ahead
waiting for it all to start as I lay in bed
I find my muscles sore
the good kind of sore you get when you're not bored
when your mind is stimulated
and your heart has been elated
and your back hurts from rowing
your legs from running, you arms from throwing
the restlessness of spirit that wakes within me in the glow
mind, body, spirit; I'm recharged, ready to go
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 9:19 AM UTC