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DP Younginger Nov 2014
My shoelaces flap side to side like one of those car-dealership inflatables arms-
My veiny stompers pump puddles of pure procrastination from perceptive sprinting-
Underneath the tune-buds, I cannot hear my sneakers scraping the scrap rocks of gravel-
To my left- a hooting owl habitats itself in a hushed game of charades-
To my right- a slick tree frog flies freely from a lofty leaf and lands in the lagoon-
Elapsed images of elastic languages fill my mind with everlasting wisdom-
Entertained by the watercolors, my canvas curdles and secedes the state of mind-
Pressing harder- the curtain continues to close as I chase the condescending daylight-
Pressing softer- the tuner in my temple turns into a terrorizing shriek from my tibia-
ERR Dec 2012
Writhing, the screeching leviathan demands
And I cave to save the aching from tricky time slopes
Pained craving
Wavering but
Hit and
It’s all loosey goosey goodness
Sensing silent magma pulse, whoosh the tummy tingles
Droopy ears gape-face giggle no more nowadays
A stern turn in old age the silly phase of
Too bright, neon common numb tongue rambles
Secedes into introspective
Crowded walks, broken talks strung into threats clustered and
Flung like monkey **** at many-stabbed ego, Brutus?
Strangers will eat you
The professor thinks I’m funny because
I know the answers in class
The other day Dingus
And Whoseewhatsee tried to alley mug and hurt and end
And money!
No, rocked nose ran dude! Fine
Trying not to fear the outdoors, though
The arthropods and phantoms tell me ***** jokes
And not to eat my candy

Books melt into soupy mercurial elixir
I slurp them and belch
Educating myself in a barn ******* knowledge
On loud faces; empty meat
Where you can hear the jingly metal
Thing when you shake it, it’s dead no flower
They don’t always like me
But
I’ve got the jeepers creepers behind my peepers
And a million lightyears to burn
Truth is worth dying
Four **** sow
Izzeny thing these daze
Maybe it was a bust from the start but there’s
Always art
Quieting the plague that revealed
Not so good after all

Tiny thorns and all-consuming
Waves of red-get-out wrenching, gutted like a fish
Overcome, that never went away or found
A place to sit
Memories arthritic grind a grim gray whetting stone
Reduce with juice-cloud, grape teeth cough will never find a home
His season o' sorrows had seceded;
- the joy crept in reluctant an' slow, though,
- because he was aware the cycle'll be repeated.
Yay- t'was one thing that he did, certainly, know:
- that - with the blustery an' bone chilling snow
- will be brought along another season o' sorrow.
For now, though, he'll enjoy the golden suns glow.
March Twenty-Fifth, Two-Thousand an' Seventeen
Axion Prelude Sep 2018
fate befalls coarse dissonance
heartfelt plight, undoing thralls
stalwart cries beckon home
staunch hope redoubtably prevails
pithy, barren, crass, vile
Morose echoes, tinged denial
bemoaning daunting harrow

withered bridges surmise winter's defeat
water flowing effortlessly beneath
ineptitude solemnly secedes
decaying frost bereaves Sun's kiss
a new day.
RyanMJenkins Dec 2012
I've been coasting quietly with an eye on society.
One eye's looking out for the hazards tryna blind me.
While my third eye is looking in, using intuition to guide me.

Sympathetic responses in an exchange for a shot at your wonder bra
I try to veer my course away trying not to expose those manipulations I saw
In myself I invest as a capital and so I'm brushing all the ******* off.

Your 8th pair of shoes?  Yes, another great investment.
I can't help but be disgusted as I bring on feelings of resentment.
So I let go, I gain control, and set my gaze ablaze on another page to vent.

Everyone's in the know, but the quantity of info is so little.
I can't help but scoff as what's viewed as importance is really artificial.
Eye can rise above, but at the same time I'm still in the middle.

Disrespectful kids, with blind belligerent parents.
You want change?  Just look at how your time's spent.
Calmly, look into the past and focus on where the care went.

The assumed superiority is a widespread, and welcomed disease, I'm sick of it.
Most of the privileged majority are better than everyone else and I'm right in the thick of it.
I've gotta change my ways in this maze, now that I've realized how I was depicting it.

The attitudes on display to all,*
While you carry around your expensive worthless items at the mall.
Almost makes me wish your exterior reflected what's inside.
The sneers with pride show that to none you abide.
Sitting on your high-horse, yet ungrateful for the ride.

I'm repulsed by the ****-don't-stink mentality.
In a game of the minds I'd love for some to battle me.
Bring your inner ugly to light and not even find it challenging.
This has snowballed into one big calamity.

Which means it's time to step back and breathe.
If I let it best me then only anger breeds.
So now I close my eyes, and shut out any lies as my mind secedes.
Just work on yourself, Ryan, for only then can the collective truly succeed.
All feels right
The pain secedes
The future’s bright
The guilt precedes

The sleepless nights have now passed
Onto soundless slumber
I want you here
For we understand.

I relate, and so can you
From me to you,
Please save me from the blue
And fill my heart with color

Vibrant beating of our souls
Seamless to one’s own
Forever in your arms
Is the place where I belong
Middle Class Nov 2014
My kettle sits on the stove,
My mind blends with the walls painted beige.
It secedes.
The thoughts are bound and timed.
Though released, half remain inside.

Standard lines for a futurist agnostic
The present presents a snowy rustic
But what of the faces and spaces that speak to me.
Have we not all been what we wanted to want to be?

My arms reach into the blue
Solitude,
Magnitude,
Saturated markets in the human condition
Intoxicating predispositions in an ideal so sober.
I awake to a lukewarm kettle, nothing boiled over.
ekaj revae Apr 2014
Clarification thru all things
tangible and real,
size-able and unceasing
      

      I see the dream thru
        the senseless belief
      
     mis-matched communication
     and halt,

      crying then for a logic,
      for a decree
      for windows to open
     (the in of me)

    think then and
    pause,
  
dislodge this pause
to a fine dime
of half-stricken guilt
while
I reckon\
     the all reckoning
            all expansive
            all the way human
    novelty

of experiment shuddering awake
the night
the fingers wading
and waiting

and so on,

to grow back

thru the rot
thru all the art
of a passion
of supernatural focus
to subjection

supernatural
  objection for
concentration

for a patience
to speak slow like
in old contemplation

groove suspends
balance secedes
and the moon rocks
the roots the river

and the beats,
always the beats
the blues,,
the pulse,,,

the music in
my rhythm's remedy
pulse

all expansion
piercing
the salt of it

burning clear
and clean
always stamping the gates
of iron wounds
to observe the observer
is to love and to serve her

as her bottom lip secedes from the top,
i still my thoughts til they stop

To belong to the observer
is to long observe her

It is to experience her analysis,
brushing her hair in wait for her synthesis

Covered in logic and reason
her critique or thought comes out
and though it can bring painful change in season
hearing it is the only righteous route

To listen to the observer
is to be challenged by her

to take her challenge is to listen with humble ears
to take her challenge is to gain wisdom for years

This is what it means to love and to hold her
to observe my beautiful, sweet observer
Skyler M Oct 2017
Can you believe in the sea,
As it crashes up against the pleading soldier,
The tender mind can't take it no more,
As the sun comes down,
The beast come out.

The pleading soldier,
Locks away his treasures,
And bury's his own doubt,
Killing his morality.

With guns lighting up the stale air,
The pleading soldier makes his way,
Through enemy lines,
He can't get a shot on the general.

Bombs blow him away,
As the nights becomes the morning,
The fighting finally secedes,
Into the pleading soldier's mind.
Payton Hayes Mar 2021
Ice
Ice
Beautiful, yet beastly.
Creeping translucent tendrils of cold.
Frozen, frigid fingers pointing down.
Crystalline and gelid shivs poised to ****.
It is only day two of the ice storm and there is
expectedly, more to come.
The weight of the world rests upon delicate, weary boughs, and though they're strong, they were not made for this.
Limb after limb encased in ice, cracks and secedes from the once-great behemoths —remarkable evergreens, landing in a crashing heap, only to be collected once the thawing ends.
One tree, if not the most important of them all, is kept under careful surveillance—24/7 watch.
She is called Survivor—for weathering a different kind of storm— though now, 25 years later, will she survive this? She has already lost one great branch, and others now cannot bear the weight of frozen glaze on their spindly arms.
Electricity is yet another danger to many others of her kind.
Fire and ice alike threaten to claim them.
This poem was written in 2020 and is inspired by the great Oklahoma Ice Storm of 2020. There is a reference to Oklahoma's Survivor tree in there somewhere ;)
Ayeglasses Jan 2019
A small wavelength swells on the night sky.
Forming a faint droplet before smoothly departing.
I feel the cold next to my left eye and I close it out of habit.
Blinding, I keep it closed;
I can discern the crack of their impact on the pavement.
Evaporating away, letter by letter. Thought by thought.
It is different, but it is the same.
All these memories becoming part of the same air in my lungs.
Friendships that were once stars.
Falling to the earth as the light secedes from my eyes.
It is being alone, that will blind me.
Am I becoming him?
V
KorbydAngyle Apr 2022
what am I a robot?

As tons of mega drugs spurn only binary language

Entirely the waste, waste basket, metal wire mesh, of my life, secedes to its volume as quintessential vocation rehabilitation and cohabitation

The lips fletched silk umber cord spool by clutches of spindly metatarsals programs by Judas spikes, virtues

Lost at last, circular processing units freak, just for show when the I in I.O. ablebody blasts through the lashes holding rickety flood gates...
of a horde of bugs

Shouldn't errors accent the daily reboot with appropriations to new partitions rather than partisan boots remurk the embattled sludge of one's wean at toxic 'gov'

The question of self realization, ever thoughts go, then and RAM, yet with the soldered mesmerizing synchronous ROM, keeps Iolo moon degree feckless, vibes returning again for more speed

Mainly blotted out in psychedelic ringing, the final whistle of the cooling fans lose their ply on reality, and the foray's pace of limbs crashes into objects affirming... that the truth I define me I was born a robot, to be, I was fashioned of parts of complexities yet live abstractly and mechanically

What am I a robot?
Cyclone Jan 2020
Ambition in his mission was heart of a ****, prohibition soul driven was colder defense, bolder your glimpse in a sense may make it seem tense, but all these problems to your tolerance makes solemn so it's calm and dense, your offence was the way you cater, you knew the taper path you took by saying prayers would dissolve betrayers, your appreciation secedes with form of lead, withdrawing from the wrongs that preceded and just retreaded.

— The End —