"resuming" poems
resuming vogon poetry
altering website logos
pretending everyone cares
playing "east hastings"
asphyxiating well-nigh denouement
depicting twitter status
obfuscating coincident deletions
translating from Sḵwx̱wú7mesh
assuring Sḵwx̱wú7mesh exists
painting skwiḵw's mother?
decrying micropolitical maelstrom
imbibing fireball fountain
inundating lexical foofaraw
crafting poetic wonders
desiring other mediums
remaining practically invisible
ending internet-only depression
drafting noetic blunders
requesting astute clique
blazing perilous trail
aging ominous grisaille
depicting kmart realism
seeking darker groups
increasing pre-weekend laughter
appropriating communist symbols
making lone chuckle
offending worldwide communists
colonizing hello poetry
colonizing parallel universe
relaxing e-migration policies
пить чистую водку
photographing abduction scene
¿losing consistent format?
increasing bluebird insignia
avoiding frivolous legalities
striking astraphobic comments
assuming near-universal automation
lowering latent inhibition
traversing oneiric plane
laxwadding afebrile loodies
wallscaping pitchsourced chthonicities
closing one-star conveniences
sharing alien-looking alphabet
writing system downtimes
Sep 13, 2015
Sep 13, 2015 at 7:42 PM UTC
1576
The Spirit lasts—but in what mode—
Below, the Body speaks,
But as the Spirit furnishes—
Apart, it never talks—
The Music in the Violin
Does not emerge alone
But Arm in Arm with Touch, yet Touch
Alone—is not a Tune—
The Spirit lurks within the Flesh
Like Tides within the Sea
That make the Water live, estranged
What would the Either be?
Does that know—now—or does it cease—
That which to this is done,
Resuming at a mutual date
With every future one?
Instinct pursues the Adamant,
Exacting this Reply—
Adversity if it may be, or
Wild Prosperity,
The Rumor’s Gate was shut so tight
Before my Mind was sown,
Not even a Prognostic’s Push
Could make a Dent thereon—
3.1k
resuming textual trip
testing experimental procedures
visualizing model tsunami
augmenting facetious environment
catching abstract architecture
noticing rhythmic exchange
projecting subtextual database
airhorning reggae royalty
adding atypical party
resolving twitter question
noticing emotional mission
awaiting emotional dialect
installing metaphorical experiment
intensifying animated trip
displaying dynamic victory
programming abstract development
releasing emotional exchange
deriving fata morgana
glorifying referential sequence
intensifying facetious map
noticing harmonic trip
observing radical ratio
compiling nomadic message
predating google rebranding
reticulating facetious panda
using hyperreal feedback
exploring virtual panda
speculating graphic gallery
throwing mundane exception
targeting graphic experiment
replenishing emotional trap
localizing asemic animal
dropping rhythmic trip
propagating immortal experiment
displaying lowercase database
invading orange bubbles
crashing animated trip
running conceptual topography
remembering collapsed buildings
crashing hyperreal coverage
propagating hyperreal stipulation
finishing western library
envisioning neon tessellation
reciprocating network likes
processing animated device
releasing haptic quality
examining building seven
awaiting rhapsodical ratio
sampling death sauce
sensing lowercase clone
examining symbolic tour
processing potential development
encapsulating spatial lottery
displaying digital paragraph
reticulating theoretical source
perpetuating western paragraph
transmitting monochromatic structure
anticipating ambient quality
transmitting asemic environment
intensifying atomic quality
remastering history poem
keeping future light
hypothesizing eternal game
using future library
rearranging masonic language
transmitting masonic development
continuing ceremonial ritual
questioning party's legitimacy
deferring western coverage
finishing asemic hypertext
mollifying ostentatious presence
synthesizing allegorical icon
forming categorical unions
sketching app wireframe
programming immortal repository
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 6:52 PM UTC
redefining awkward definiens
endorsing victorious evening
clamoring hawk-like intonations
conjecturing additional goals
optimizing ambient network
winning illinoisan night
trapping hacked-up events
warping æsthetic remnants
resuming inaudible overture
rallying auric-state net-work
defying anti-punk technophobia
eliminating cavalier homies!
minding icelandic anniversary
winging ersatz excuses
kicking ecstatic nerves
denying lackadaisical event
questioning upper echelons
brûlant en calice
Sep 7, 2015
Sep 7, 2015 at 11:18 AM UTC
forging sagacious epoch
activating neural station
escaping hokey-pokey jiggery-pokery
transcribing ineffective fragments
digesting bear news
opposing usual exhaustion
deferring oxter reference
cascading style sheets
containing double readings
mumbling lorem ipsum
locating moose jaw
enforcing meticulous patterns
deconstructing vertical centering
manifesting additional destinies
deleting !important statement
craving sleep paralysis
receiving cryptozoological vibrations
lightning fast collapse
distracting tunnel vision
culling deadbeat sequentialists
overanalyzing twitter analytics
acquiring arbitrary relevance
spinning ping-pong sign
floccinaucinihilipilificating
floccinaucinihilipilificated
floccinaucinihilipilification
interjecting ****** holophrase
minifying conventional language
securing downpour refuge
admiring octopus chandelier
resuming party music
taking mental trip
encountering ersatz telesthesia
denigrating bygone grudges
maintaining elevated composure
ignoring neurotypical haters
eliciting cryptic emotions
foreshadowing triple crown?
experimenting acrostic restriction
noticing ubiquitous "threes"
aggrandizing loyal legion
favoring ursine narratives
finding oblique resilience
yielding orchestral undulations
Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 12:51 PM UTC
Desktop In The Charismatic
THEOLOGIAN ESSENCE <[email protected]>
BONE STIRS ....'
ASSEMBLIONAIRE BEYOND MAGICIAN WOLVES
INVISIBLE GRAND OUTPOURING AMNESTY SURROUNDS....'
Desktop In The Charismatic
Dream into refuge all plantation
Dream into cog all wheel
Dream into bracing all consultative
Dream into rocking all regent
Dream into preferable all chariots
Dream into luxurious all absorbs
Dream into contagious all enthusiasm
Dream into communal all welding
Dream into universal all anatomy
Dream into reality all rings
Dream into searchingly all mysteries
Dream into artillery all mechanisms
Dream into colony all proportions
Dream into miracle all compositions
Dream into artistry all pursuit
Dream into alliance all admiral company
Dream into fragrance all new extensions
Dream into vast volume habitation all invests
Dream into carrying devotion all per excellence
Dream into grace-going all shepherd rewarding
Dream into oasis all resuming acquaintance
Dream into cross over all answering wonder.
Your Invades-Of-Veins,
SURETICE TONGUE
Email: [email protected]
Click here to Reply or Forward
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Desktop In The Charismatic
SAMUEL DAVID <[email protected]>
11/9/17
to hydee1982
Desktop In The Charismatic
Dream into refuge all plantation
Dream into cog all wheel
Dream into bracing all consultative
Dream into rocking all regent
Dream into preferable all chariots
Dream into luxurious all absorbs
Dream into contagious all enthusiasm
Dream into communal all welding
Dream into universal all anatomy
Dream into reality all rings
Dream into searchingly all mysteries
Dream into artillery all mechanisms
Dream into colony all proportions
Dream into miracle all compositions
Dream into artistry all pursuit
Dream into alliance all admiral company
Dream into fragrance all new extensions
Dream into vast volume habitation all invests
Dream into carrying devotion all per excellence
Dream into grace-going all shepherd rewarding
Dream into oasis all resuming acquaintance
Dream into cross over all answering wonder.
Your Invades-Of-Veins,
Samuel-David O. Armstrong
Email: [email protected]
+2348131914240
Click here to Reply or Forward
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Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 7:27 AM UTC
1669
In snow thou comest—
Thou shalt go with the resuming ground,
The sweet derision of the crow,
And Glee’s advancing sound.
In fear thou comest—
Thou shalt go at such a gait of joy
That man anew embark to live
Upon the depth of thee.
1.9k
The urban legend going round the mummy club
A woman
On a tube
Breastfeeding her baby, 5 months old, under her t shirt.
Not **** out
No feminist flags waving
No brazen cocky smile.
Just a hungry baby and a mother made by nature
And some milk
"Put em away Love", slurs an ugly man halfway down the carriage.
The other passengers are divided.
Some sink deeper into their headphones, under their broadsheets.
The others are ready for revolution, sit up straighter and plan an attack phrase or a protective move.
But this is what she's been waiting for since she so triumphantly became a successful, proud breastfeeder.
With a wet plucking noise she pulls her baby from the ****** where he was so contentedly feeding, where his warm little head was halfway to milky coma dreamland.
And she holds him aloft, her grip is confident and full. No one is afraid she will drop him, but he does not want to be there.
And in the stark light of the carriage, arms and legs chilly and free in the air he begins to flail them about. His voice throws out mews to every window of the carriage, turning into scratchy shouts as his protest gets stronger.
Until the baby, in a blue furry jumper, little bear ears for cute effect, is screaming.
Red faced, and with tonsils and tongue vibrating in the storm of his voice.
Arms and legs swimming frantically, looking for the bank of the river where warm mummy sits.
And over the storm, mummy looks over at the swaying, squinting man and shouts,
"WOULD YOU PREFER THIS?"
In one movement she cradles the yelling blue cub, shushing and quietly speaking to him as only a mother can, offering her ****** to his mouth until his round fuzzy head is bobbing and his mouth quietly busy resuming his meal.
"Or this? " She looks over at him.
The man mutters to himself and looks away. At the next stop he gets off the train, tripping down the step onto the platform.
The mother releases the challenge in one large breath.
She looks up at the two young men sat in front of her.
They are smiling, staring in awe. Choking and speechless one of them starts to applaud her.
Clapping her and shaking his head, his mate joins in.
Feb 17, 2017
Feb 17, 2017 at 6:01 PM UTC
Dennis was a citizen
A denizen, a resident
Of somewhere near a motorway
A hideaway most opulent
Ensnared amid the railway
And trail ways for motorcars
A haven from the modern day
The takeaways and trendy bars
But shattered in the summer morn
His rest was torn by hammering
Invading what was once inert
So to his curtains clamouring
He banished each to either side
He threw them wide with knuckles white
And saw in front of his abode
Across the road, a building site
A certainty within his mind
Did slowly wind his purpose tight
And with a grim determined jaw
Across the floor he took to flight
Descending stairs without a care
His morning hair resembling
A dandelion set to seed
In need of disassembling
He strode across his dining room
And snatched a broom which lay by chance
Against the table by the door
And held before him like a lance
He mounted his beloved bike
A cycle like no other made
And on a builder set his sight
With all his might and unafraid
He charged his foe at quite a rush
And with his brush, the builder smote
And leaping from his trusty steed
He did proceed to stop and gloat
Before resuming in his spate
The builders mate did turn and run
To raise the dragon, JCB
It roared with glee and wheels spun
So Dennis, though his ears resound
With just the pound of noble heart
Did firmly stand and face the beast
His brow was creased and feet apart
He struck the creature savagely
And stubbornly with just his head
And that, according to the news
Was what the paramedics said
The End
Apr 5, 2013
Apr 5, 2013 at 6:30 AM UTC
It is September and my personal fruit fly has returned
From his long vacation,
And is happily perched on the rim of my wine glass
Polity hopping off whenever I reach for a sip,
Quietly resuming his place when I set down my glass.
I can hardly resent his microscopic intrusion
Especially when I find that he and a partner have ended
Their wandering keratinous lives
And are now jointly denting the meniscus of my economy class Chardonnay.
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 12:44 AM UTC
The bees took their brethren back,
veterans of the poppy fields.
I supposed it had been a gang war:
rival hives congregated for the conducting of a quick mess.
The buzzing echo of last hurrahs went back and forth,
ripping through the war-marred air.
All the pomp in young yellow coats was bled out,
the limp black blood of limp bodies staining the survivors with black stripes.
Busy bees,
no pollen-love today,
just the broken hours of cleaning up a quick mess.
Bodies are collected,
damages inspected,
and small minds prepare for the resuming of a honeyed life tomorrow.
Yet, to the wail of queens,
crying in cricket language at mass wakes,
I think to myself:
How many flowers stand awaiting
the coming of lovers that will never come.
Jul 26, 2012
Jul 26, 2012 at 3:16 PM UTC
THREE MONKS
Morning sunbeams danced on the ripples
Sparkling on the majestic flow of Mother Ganga.
Noisy crowds of pious pilgrims from all corners,
Pestered by ash-smeared, bargaining priests,
Rushed towards the sacred waters for a holy bath ,
In a hurry to wash off their numerous sins
And save themselves from Yamadharma's* wrath.
Three solemn-looking monks in saffron robes,
Moved briskly past the motley crowds,
Looking for a less noisy, cleaner spot.
At a distance, they saw a colourful launch,
Carrying pilgrims across the vast expanse,
When, all of a sudden, the launch tumbled
And scrambling pilgrims, in panic jumped
Into the river flowing fast over hidden rocks.
Seeing their desperate struggle, the surprised monks
Took a hasty plunge and swam towards the sinking launch
And pulled some of them towards the sandy shore,
While one of the sturdy monks carried on his back,
A woman clinging to the side, breathing hard
And left her after she recovered composure.
Resuming their walk along the river bank,
Two of the monks appeared rather grim and cold.
Breaking their solemn silence, the frowning monks
Called their companion a big sinner
For he had carried a young woman on his back.
Unperturbed, the robust monk said with a smile,
Although he had carried a drowning woman on his back,
He had left her safely on the river bank
While the scolding monks carried her still in their minds
And they hardly knew what detachment meant !
Startled and rudely awakened, the two monks
Prostrated before Vivekananda, the awe-inspiring saint!
*********** M.G.Narasimha Murthy
*Name of the God of Death in Indian mythology.
Aug 13, 2016
Aug 13, 2016 at 11:26 PM UTC
1160
He is alive, this morning—
He is alive—and awake—
Birds are resuming for Him—
Blossoms—dress for His Sake.
Bees—to their Loaves of Honey
Add an Amber Crumb
Him—to regale—Me—Only—
Motion, and am dumb.
1.3k
Let us commerate this tragedy.
Soil our hearts with fascist taunts and pointed fingers.
Let us put our hands together and bow.
Good, everyone is still standing.
Praise be to nothing.
There can only be one.
And none of these heathens shall strip me of what's due.
For having lived a tough life.
Or fallen from loves favor.
Search yourself for justification.
Another excuse.
To make the day go by a little faster.
With a world filled with sinners.
What.
Can one person really do.
Change.
Anything at all?
For even the previous days.
Turned a blind eye.
Consuming.
Alluding..
Resuming
Right when the ground became solid again.
Regret just bellow the aching mealstrom.
Even as we embark on that familiar road.
And then all that's left to do.
Is to look towards the furture.
As we blink for the past.
Jan 18, 2016
Jan 18, 2016 at 3:50 AM UTC
Where your eyes view comfort, my eyes shy away in fear. Those fingertips you wish to lace with yours, as you lay dreaming on your aged duvet, are the embodiment of an age-old prison. Those fingers lacing mine like thick nylon rope laced through fingertips and wrists. Soft voice infused with poison constricting my body with the force of two angered hands closing around my neck. Harsh lips like fists against malleable skin, leaving ***** stains and marks of possession on a once-white canvas that has marred itself beyond recognition. Insincere words spilling from vacant hearts, swearing of a beauty neither can see, yet you consume the words like a holy salvation. What little comfort lies in a body created for the very intention of torture.
Come with me and seek comfort and love from the fabric from which we were created. The comfort of a universe that lies on your very fingertips. The particles in the center of my right thumb created in a deceased star whose light is just now visible to my eager eye, the atoms vibrating on my stark white scalp arriving on my body after travelling farther in the universe than any human eye has witnessed, the pounding molecules rushing through every inch of my body as a thick red liquid originating in the center of the universe (an unimaginably breath-taking home). These particles have touched surfaces the human mind has yet to dream of touching, yet they have chosen this surface- your body- to faithfully support before resuming their flurry of activity. A deeper love than that that can be provided by an insufficient human body.
May 24, 2013
May 24, 2013 at 1:08 AM UTC
the weight around absence of might
will slowly bury collapsed matter out of
our style
the entrenched wretched waste of verb
is sewn hastily to this fray
out of sight
the pale adventure will pause on a petal
resuming criminal affections of
the retina
one phosphorous bible verse thread
invents one stone knot end
ad infinitum
Mar 13, 2014
Mar 13, 2014 at 6:16 AM UTC
I'm drowning in an ocean
But the water tastes so sweet.
It's not that far around me
But miles beneath my feet.
Everyone is walking on their own bridges,
But their bridges have never been wet.
Their hands are outstretched
and calling my name.
How could they all forget?
"You're the one who pushed me in!"
I yell, as water fills my throat.
As I sink I'm offered one of two things;
A set of gills or a float.
I'm used to being wet now;
Is drowning such a crime?
There's nothing for me at the surface
But resuming my job as a mime.
See, my misery is my harmony,
So if I can learn to breathe in the sea,
Refuse to think, let myself sink,
This might be able to work for me.
So stop putting all your hands out.
Please, you might fall in too.
I've learned to love the water
But the water might not love you.
I love you, Mother, Father, Lover.
I'm sorry for all that I've done.
I know that this may hurt you,
But I'd rather swim than run.
The merchant taps his toes impatiently
And tells me now to pick.
But he should know how this goes by now;
Goodbyes are never quick.
I shed a tear for my friends and family.
I think of every song that I've ever sung.
"I don't want either," I tell him.
And the water fills my lungs.
Apr 26, 2016
Apr 26, 2016 at 9:27 AM UTC
Overslept and tired.
An early start
17 hours a day.
Broken with slashes of sound.
7.43 million Motorbikes in
** Chi Minh City.
The street flowers dying,
no air to breath.
And miles to go before you sleep.
The grass consenting to the dollar,
packs up and leaves the city.
Returning, resuming,
threading your way between
the grey faces.
And the men looking for
someone special today.
The hurt and wounded
pass by quickly.
No soothing hand to pacify
the restless all dark nights.
Some suffer so much.
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 8:13 AM UTC
Lord, it is not in school where the exposed legs
of the daughters
are shown; something I & the wealth of the bridge share; This is a
prophetic dream of an AR15 even as it falls to the ground;
smelling the teen's genital area, Teacher wearing
Readers & Six Machines in **** lingerie; The Alchemist's
married life is this kind of a picture
of her drawers; The standards of shareholders looking on the mountain;
Temperamental eyes are on the new
Christ in Bethlehem when 1 a robot
sitting in bed or unknown; writing a tree, so literary to meet
you in ur soiled Garden trousers, Science,
Park Magic wins the toes of mom who loves
to talk language; Bread X.
Not in school, where
were unloaded two daughters at the feet of the
also shown; I think, This means that the bridge
also dreams of low AR-15 fire
the smell of the earth's DOLE,
Six reader machines wearing...
At least it's **** lingerie & married life is a kind of picture
of drawers in the standard cut so
shareholders can see the mountain's
Temperamental eyes on the new
When a robot Christ in Bethlehem 1
is sitting on the bed or unknown;
He writing a literary meeting tree in
Garden hats, Science
Park Magic wins mom loved toes
speaking in tongues, 10: Bread
It is not in school, where he unloaded &
the girls fell to the feet also shown;
1 think it is down 1 Dream Bridger Pass; The smell of the Earth's AR15; Sorry six readers & machines, &c. or at least a little bit
like wearing **** lingerie in conjugal life;
the image of a kind of banner
the shareholders can see over the drawers
mountain's temporal lights
a robot, where Christ sits on the love buried
In the hard snooch of a young woman
on the couch; He writes to himself
& comes out against a piece of wood;
Now that science is gardening in a straw hat
in the Park, Magic wins the toes, my mom's
love speaking in tongues, 10: Bread
It is not in the classroom, where he unloaded the rifle
& he will divide them, & actually at his feet, there is no [ ],
it has been shown; 1 think 1 is a dream bridge,
But what is the smell of AR-15 fire but that
of the Earth; Unfortunately for those six lonely
readers & the ice machines; at least
a little bit; And to those members wearing lingerie,
married & resuming standard drawers
in the image of the shareholders,
1 second on the Hill; the lights of a temperamental
where Christ sits on the robot love buried;
It is difficult for a young woman; In her snooch
in New Bedford he writes in his novel
It literally that came out of the tree's horticulture
Science Park Magic within a straw hat;
My mom fingers her snooch; That loves to
speak in tongues, 10: Bread
It is not the classroom which causes them to inherit
& as he unloaded the Aaron lifted up, & at the feet
of his own accord that it does not have to be shown;
11 bridges think it is a dream; But why, except
that the smell of an AR15 is of the Earth; unfortunately
Ice machines & only six readers; He said while indeed
members were wearing lingerie & standard drawers
standing in the circle marrying their images to those
of the shareholders; 1, according to the Hill, lights out,
temperamental of the Christ, in the love of the robot
sits by the buried computer; It is difficult for a young
woman; In her snooch, I know that Bedford writes
that he has come under the sway of Rome, Literally;
& that it came to pass, & that from the fruit of the tree
of gardening; The knowledge of the Magic Park,
w/in the straw hat; My mom plunges her fingers
into the woman's snooch of love, the Greek speech
Express: 10: Bread
Sep 27, 2018
Sep 27, 2018 at 11:52 PM UTC
a spider from a tree, comes down to wait
some cardboard figures want all credit, just cardboard
hanging in the balance, which keyboard dictates
no good typing away when the cursor isn't ready
thanks for resuming the channel, almost missed iot
quick decompressing in the cards, else imploding
intricate on paper, makes for easily disconcerted
part-time envoy of laughter, running round circles
to keep cold feet away and every need gloved
come, I hate promises, let's go shopping
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 2:55 AM UTC
I sat in restless chairs
I breathed stilted air
what feeling compares
with feeling squandered?
I’m not sadfishing,
I was bored at a 5-star hotel.
I’d swum the Atlantic - in the underground pool
and I felt like I was marinating in boredom.
It was as if the loudest thing in our suite was
the sound of my eyelashes flapping up and down.
I wasn’t in solitary confinement,
Lisa was there too - and just-as bored.
She didn’t complain, 'cause she’s ‘New Yorker’ stoic.
So I started complaining for her - for the team.
We’d filtered every boutique,
sampled every eclectic café,
there’s just nothing to do in Geneva.
It is an implacable reality.
Peter (my bf) was at work all day and we were on vacation.
It’s different when he’s around.
He walks into the room and I feel like
a phone that’s been placed on its charger
- the world lights up and I get - charged.
“We should make a list,” I'd announced, “the pros and cons of boredom.”
“No,” Lisa said, “Let’s name fun things.”
“Fruity Pebbles popcorn,” I started.
“Girl panda makeup” Lisa offered,
“Foot massages and bubblegum”
“Cotton candy and sunflowers”
“Holidays and sparkly things!”
- we went on and on and on and -
“kittens” I updogged dreamily, before I switched the subject completely.
“We need to go to Paris!” I pronounced, excitedly.
“Oh yeah?” Lisa asked, with a little side head-bob.
“Actionable intel,” I whispered, “Grandmère wants to see me.”
Lisa gasped, adding, “You’re in TROUBLE,” drawing the last syllable out slowly.
“That would be a first,” I laughed.
“Kisses!” She exclaimed, resuming the game.
I remembered the first time I thought of kissing Peter. The thought was a flash, an emotional Rorschach test and I smiled. It was like a movie kiss, an abstract heaven - not the breathy, ****** kisses of real life.
“Where’d you go?” Lisa asked, grinning.
Some emotions are too thick for words.
.
.
Songs for this:
Good Luck, Babe! by Chappell Roan
Disco Boots by Gavin Turek
Jul 14, 2024
Jul 14, 2024 at 8:49 PM UTC
The burgundy lighting
Is oh so exciting
I'm lush and inviting
For all to see
My body is moving
The dance Im resuming
Cigarette smoke is pluming
Look at me
I dance for hours
Until early hours
For higher powers
Whom pay for me
To leech off my fleet and to preach on deciet to forgive or forget I don't know
The threat is consuming
You hate me? Well sue me
I don't give a **** about what you please
If you were halfway decent
I'd let you get even
In light of the recent events
But I'm just a body
Meat to be discarded
I am not your Bunny
And I am not Holly
May 23, 2025
May 23, 2025 at 3:39 PM UTC
Every night in my room
Door closed
Shades drawn
Darkness reigns the night
Darkness swallows the room
Covered in total darkness
I can’t see anything
I am blinded
Every noise frightens me
But when the morning comes
Light comes with a broom and sweeps darkness away
I pull the shades and light shoots in like a rocket
And fills the place
Like a balloon of light
Encasing the room
Finally!
In light.
During the day
Darkness and light battle
Light pushes darkness
Darkness shoves light back
Shadows work for dark
Following me everywhere
But when i come up here to read
And turn on the bulb
Light laughs in triumph
As darkness slides away
Into the corners
Under the bed
But when I leave the room
Darkness crawls out again
Resuming the battle
Until dark. -Emma Qian
Mar 23, 2018
Mar 23, 2018 at 2:03 PM UTC
Sitting, fishing for compliments,
the pole becomes too heavy.
Simply, blame our biggest fish,
somehow denying advice entirely.
Flirting to concede by the stream,
vaguely dreaming of obscurity.
Spiraling downward, sinking at sea.
Murky depths swallow wholly.
Descending into imagination,
strange thoughts ignite reality.
Strangers in darkness,
awakening the gloom.
Tripping over ideas, centuries old.
Images of heroes manifest.
Ciphering; the will to power,
the endurance to grow.
Their thoughts come in waves.
Nietzsche, Reznor, Sartre and Kyo.
Each a different color, one very bold.
Monochromatic, they highlight.
Lips move, but nothing is told.
Feeling cursed, desperately resuming previous functions.
Trapped in a skinner box, pressing the same button.
Dreaming of thoughts wishful to hold.
Embracing the pain, becomes something gold.
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 3:12 PM UTC