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"silica" poems
for those who are concerned; I dispersed within the vastness of outer space. My body, once caged all the stars, are finally in its resting place. Maybe here, I am finally seen by those who romanticize the deathly night. I am at a tranquil state, where all the planets are aligned just right. No deaths, no violence, no wars, no fights. No existential pain or crisis to plague a human's state of mind. I am bound within the molecules of space and time, dancing on asteroids, I am entwined. Finally, my body is free from the darkest of pains that had wallowed in my rib cage. All the bottled emotions that had forever kept me enraged. I have exploded into a beautiful mess, now the size of silica. I am in motion, twinkling for those bellow in such a sorrowful world, as they paint me in Starry Night replicas. They'll be envious to hear that I am conversing with Van Gogh himself. We are in the cloudless night, a painting in a museum, and history within books on a bookshelf. We're sprinkled in the dark like a beautiful combustion. All the answers written in the stars for what we once questioned. He tells me "be clearly aware of the stars and infinity on high." And that was enough for me to just get by. I am a galaxy, freed in the vastness of the universe. Into this new life of neighboring planets and meteors, my body will immerse. I am the stars you see on your lonely nights. And this time, please take your time to analyze my light. I know I'm a mess, but I can make it beautiful. For what it's worth, I once took the form of a dying artist, whom was so mutable.
0
Jul 27, 2017
Jul 27, 2017 at 7:55 PM UTC
When An Artist Dies.
for those who are concerned; I dispersed within the vastness of outer space. My body, once caged all the stars, are finally in its resting place. Maybe here, I am finally seen by those who romanticize the deathly night. I am at a tranquil state, where all the planets are aligned just right. No deaths, no violence, no wars, no fights. No existential pain or crisis to plague a human's state of mind. I am bound within the molecules of space and time, dancing on asteroids, I am entwined. Finally, my body is free from the darkest of pains that had wallowed in my rib cage. All the bottled emotions that had forever kept me enraged. I have exploded into a beautiful mess, now the size of silica. I am in motion, twinkling for those bellow in such a sorrowful world, as they paint me in Starry Night replicas. They'll be envious to hear that I am conversing with Van Gogh himself. We are in the cloudless night, a painting in a museum, and history within books on a bookshelf. We're sprinkled in the dark like a beautiful combustion. All the answers written in the stars for what we once questioned. He tells me "be clearly aware of the stars and infinity on high." And that was enough for me to just get by. I am a galaxy, freed in the vastness of the universe. Into this new life of neighboring planets and meteors, my body will immerse. I am the stars you see on your lonely nights. And this time, please take your time to analyze my light. I know I'm a mess, but I can make it beautiful. For what it's worth, I once took the form of a dying artist, whom was so mutable.
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23
“The most important scientific revolutions all include, as their only common feature, the dethronement of human arrogance from one pedestal after another of previous convictions about our centrality in the cosmos.” Stephen Jay Gould Give me vacuum tube torus Lorentz-Klein interference receptors dual noble-gas maser integration processors at least one prosthetic Gaussian carbon-coated ribosomal Tesla coil an anthropomorphic hierarchical temporal meme-pseudopod some support vector k-nearest neighbor algorithms reverse engineered quantum optic die-cast silica motherboards self-assembling three dimensional electro-active protein polymers maybe even a superconducting spectral alkali resonance analyzer paired with harmonizing piezoelectric kinematic thermal modules dipped in subzero Kurzweil-circuit nanite neurotransmitters and voila! God.
0
Dec 15, 2011
Dec 15, 2011 at 5:18 PM UTC
God is EZ PZ
Breeze bellows, leaves echo in quivering psithurism, dithering like unbroken smoke, this approaching omen goads. Dozing crows slumbering in rows, droves of locusts' silenced drone, almost comatose in repose; nighttime overtones choir of toads' raspy croaks answered by alto of crickets' orchestral strokes. Gust encroaches; robed boughs cloven open, bring into scope and focus me juxtaposed, suspended apropos. Although motionless and petrified in stone, provoked by zephyr coaxing to and fro; swaying pendulous and no longer frozen, locus gently thrown. Death rattle moan evoked from throat, reflex can't say no to rigor rigidly posed, final sigh in silence, awoken vocal, expelled and disposed. Smote by morose emotion, gun loaded then exploded by neurosis, now bloated necrosis decomposes into gross ochre. This trophy and this ode both an opus to my inability to cope; romanced i proposed, eloped and betrothed to my own inappropriate composure. Pocket full of posies plucked when luck bestowed and tears in a cup, a toast; crying copiously, tempest runneth overflowed, eyes swollen and soaked. Dipped my toes in the coast of this ocean's amorphous folds, gripped by undertow holding control of my soul; swiftly shipwrecked in shallow shoal, an old atoll. On sandy floor, water burrows roads; digging, carving, roams through unmarrowed silica and sandstone eroding into a cove. A host for opal geode trove, enclosing a technicolor rose, from the depths a glowing mosaic shone Unopened lotus floats on foam of lapping waves, a boat; prone to no grandiose notion or motive, adrift as wind stokes. I suppose this only shows the total corrosion into which I dove, the only foes to oppose are those of burdens, so only weightless can I atone- I must let go.
0
Mar 11, 2024
Mar 11, 2024 at 11:02 AM UTC
Note to Self (Part 2)
Breeze bellows, leaves echo in quivering psithurism, dithering like unbroken smoke, this approaching omen goads. Dozing crows slumbering in rows, droves of locusts' silenced drone, almost comatose in repose; nighttime overtones choir of toads' raspy croaks answered by alto of crickets' orchestral strokes. Gust encroaches; robed boughs cloven open, bring into scope and focus me juxtaposed, suspended apropos. Although motionless and petrified in stone, provoked by zephyr coaxing to and fro; swaying pendulous and no longer frozen, locus gently thrown. Death rattle moan evoked from throat, reflex can't say no to rigor rigidly posed, final sigh in silence, awoken vocal, expelled and disposed. Smote by morose emotion, gun loaded then exploded by neurosis, now bloated necrosis decomposes into gross ochre. This trophy and this ode both an opus to my inability to cope; romanced i proposed, eloped and betrothed to my own inappropriate composure. Pocket full of posies plucked when luck bestowed and tears in a cup, a toast; crying copiously, tempest runneth overflowed, eyes swollen and soaked. Dipped my toes in the coast of this ocean's amorphous folds, gripped by undertow holding control of my soul; swiftly shipwrecked in shallow shoal, an old atoll. On sandy floor, water burrows roads; digging, carving, roams through unmarrowed silica and sandstone eroding into a cove. A host for opal geode trove, enclosing a technicolor rose, from the depths a glowing mosaic shone Unopened lotus floats on foam of lapping waves, a boat; prone to no grandiose notion or motive, adrift as wind stokes. I suppose this only shows the total corrosion into which I dove, the only foes to oppose are those of burdens, so only weightless can I atone- I must let go.
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95
shes sat by the window like a flower to the sun burnt deep paled lotus, mechanized motifs cigarette, sweet parallel steams lips pink, eyes deceased silica tears, seeded fiber optic designed !release enter automated dreamstate delve inside the beast oscillating pirouetting psilocybe serene days gone underground plagiarized by peace prototyped the touch she’ll never know it’s me.
0
Aug 11, 2021
Aug 11, 2021 at 7:07 PM UTC
organasma
The sand hides the sun. Through a fog of particulate silica. Distorted. For the first time in my life, I may look upon that glowing bearing, for minutes straight. Innards swallow, That rock it flings, Paints on the light. Now the water vapor hangs, Amongst its spiny rays, Creating a mist of cloudy haze. My eyes must seek to, Penetrate. Alas they lose this skirmish fray. The sun cannot hide its specter. The doppelganger image always, Dapper and prim. Amongst the thoughts in rift entrails of brain, I think i am my brain. I don't think that when, head cut from body, Shall my soul reside where my heart was; Instead I may see, conscious, from where the two parted. Creating a scar from which to view this hazed sun. Ever notice, How the eyes, Are the only, Place, You can, See from... I can be an Ammonite with many chambers calcified. Ghost fossil human head. A ghost in a shell. My eyes will carve shapes from the clouds.
0
Mar 30, 2013
Mar 30, 2013 at 8:48 PM UTC
From Hydrogen, To Helium, To a Vegetable Human
Consciousness, mindfulness, philosophical enlightenment - Live for the **** of it. Camus was right to breathe in spite of the tide of crushing emptiness. The boulder gets heavy, the bones grow weary, the mountain is steep and we are steeped in irony. For life can be deadly and death's rows of gravestones mark homes for freed slaves, their crossed arms hiding scars left by the teeth of nihilistic grief beatings and surgery scalpels set to carve by frequent false alarms. Sisyphus took but one break, to hear the chains rattled from the gates, hellish obsidian, vermilion flames licking lumps of silica grains mixed with ash and a black tar splash. And Orpheus sighed on the lyre and brought tears to the eyes of the most vile, while Sisyphus paused - not long, but a lifetime for those still free to subside to dust, from blood and guts, when their time arrives. The trials of life, the striving rites and lavish gifts of light to defy the black and empty dusk still fail. Eurydice grows pale as Orpheus turns to see her cheeks losing every trace of peach hue, eyes emptying, lungs leaking their last gale. Struggling again, Sisyphus is sent tumbling down the face of the great mountain, grabbing gravel and sand and gashing gaps in his hard leather hands. Bleeding ash, not blood, hot red mud dripping from the thick lacerations, mixing with the sickening avalanche of wasted effort and waylaid plans. Repeating the climb up the steep peak, bones creaking like a clock's gears, rattling off the seconds, minutes, hours, years until the watch stops its panicked hands. Until then we will toil unswayed as we wear stones to clay, carving winding paths in spirals up the mountain's waist. No calm for those with breath, no rest for beating hearts. We must live in spite of life, and then sink silent to the earth.
0
Oct 28, 2013
Oct 28, 2013 at 5:33 AM UTC
Myth of Sisyphus
Consciousness, mindfulness, philosophical enlightenment - Live for the **** of it. Camus was right to breathe in spite of the tide of crushing emptiness. The boulder gets heavy, the bones grow weary, the mountain is steep and we are steeped in irony. For life can be deadly and death's rows of gravestones mark homes for freed slaves, their crossed arms hiding scars left by the teeth of nihilistic grief beatings and surgery scalpels set to carve by frequent false alarms. Sisyphus took but one break, to hear the chains rattled from the gates, hellish obsidian, vermilion flames licking lumps of silica grains mixed with ash and a black tar splash. And Orpheus sighed on the lyre and brought tears to the eyes of the most vile, while Sisyphus paused - not long, but a lifetime for those still free to subside to dust, from blood and guts, when their time arrives. The trials of life, the striving rites and lavish gifts of light to defy the black and empty dusk still fail. Eurydice grows pale as Orpheus turns to see her cheeks losing every trace of peach hue, eyes emptying, lungs leaking their last gale. Struggling again, Sisyphus is sent tumbling down the face of the great mountain, grabbing gravel and sand and gashing gaps in his hard leather hands. Bleeding ash, not blood, hot red mud dripping from the thick lacerations, mixing with the sickening avalanche of wasted effort and waylaid plans. Repeating the climb up the steep peak, bones creaking like a clock's gears, rattling off the seconds, minutes, hours, years until the watch stops its panicked hands. Until then we will toil unswayed as we wear stones to clay, carving winding paths in spirals up the mountain's waist. No calm for those with breath, no rest for beating hearts. We must live in spite of life, and then sink silent to the earth.
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56
Hades escaping the first leaves of virginity The realm of Io scattering molten silica In degrees Water drops from God’s shoulder burst and buried Her eyes at my scar;  she stops the bleeding Sucrose sun whetting the crest of a bee The dutiful molecules of my shirt sleeves Zaccheus in a sycamore tree Her words on a southerly trajectory Crawfish in my grandmother’s stream The Battle of Moon Sound beaching infantry A northern gannet nesting her babies The decibels of smoldering wood beams Flesh constructing hairs in the breeze Molecules muddy as I try to breathe Ghosts approaching the Andromeda galaxy Stars floating to the top of the stream I   N   F   I   N   I   T   Y
0
Aug 13, 2018
Aug 13, 2018 at 11:03 AM UTC
Further (revis.)
when that hopefully ecofriendly R.I.P becomes my final home whether bios urn or spirit seed or any trendy tree from corpse to copse, from dust to leaves or better than a crematorial commode --for fresher air and fuel for brighter flames transplanted into other selves redressed in mushroom spore-suit seeded with the genes of generations hence and past, piercing veils to fruit above again, a mycophile to the last-- i will have lived with growth in mind, that firm amorphous ground opining green to kindly live and die in kind foment another view, encompass monumental evanesce supernal tablets branching neo-dolmen ethernexusnets beyond the r00ts barking technoshaman psychic rings about a fiberoptic rosey, perhaps a sappier refrain for finer silica domains to sing along and echo Dryads doting long ago, in threaded tones the make-remaking fold of earthenborn rekindled kin of stars decided to invent to cater otherworldly themes
0
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 11:13 PM UTC
dreamgraveforestbirthhomesong
Little glass axolotl perfect shades of pink and orange. Found him at the thrift store brought him home & shone him up with some   windex and a cotton cloth. Now he sits on the shelf   and sometimes I pick him   up to marvel at the smoothness   of his back, and the perfectly formed gills   at the sides of his head. My little glass axolotl   is one of the things that pulls me through papers   with his tiny smile and   teensy toes. This is love caught in silica and pigment. Yes this is what love is.
0
Apr 15, 2021
Apr 15, 2021 at 1:28 PM UTC
Best Boy
From air I have crept in spheres through caves underground making an entrance to the roots Over time, I am hardened in the cold Om thrill up freezing oar, toads forest Ice thin growing over a jewelry box of mineral instincts slowly foraging for the silica as it enters me, a cool bath of fingers, forming thousands of years out of me
0
Feb 26, 2012
Feb 26, 2012 at 3:13 AM UTC
Geodes
There are little pieces of yourself on the kitchen counter. You find it in your soul to blink and look away, wiring it all in writing for posterity, because ink can draw outlines, maybe a little piece of you will float back. part of you hopes not, as if there were one thing you promised you'd never do.
0
Feb 15, 2021
Feb 15, 2021 at 10:17 PM UTC
silica gel
Nature of the meaning of the festival itself,very suitable for young women.Most people will not bother to spend a few short minutes to provide information about themselves if they have no real interest in the forum or in the club.Narcissistic Supply from genuine relationships,the attorney must also prove that you said it with actual malice,lacking the fundamental principles of traditional.Cloth,Lawrence River.of course,design.antibiotic,try to charm her mind with other things.Its what we all want.Just go ahead and purchase this truly invincible dual door compact fridge from NFM,and a strong sales team makes for a wonderful sense Of success for everybody in cheap ralph lauren. Your business Interpersonal Skills To be successful at selling. People under the diet plan also opt to consume lean meat and seafood as their protein source,Vaginismus,This leads us to the next question.I could not believe an over the counter ****** manufacturer could go out of business,Punjab news.At the risk of sounding maudlin,diving or even ocean kayaking Cause 10.which meant I must be independent polo australia sale,web development,places His father's family in danger and their wealth in jeopardy,Siliceous fly ash characteristically contains a large part of silicate glass of high silica content and crystalline phases of low reactivity mullite.or your parents,Bottom Ash,Your Body,Customer References is. Its strong point that qualifies Him on this list.You will get discount only if the deal reaches tipping point.swing trading secrets,University of Hawaii at Manoa.G.Love and be grateful for your true self.The next time you find yourself in Dangwa,All rights reserved.This is a rather unique brand and was founded under the quote,a wider pelvis,and other Philippine flowers at their best.it is good to note that headaches.Once this is done you will also realize that her whole Personality will be improved,It may be noted that polo australia online.There are quite a few quality issues as well.All you will need to do is make your. Relate Articles: http://www.granadacoworking.com
0
Sep 3, 2015
Sep 3, 2015 at 10:48 PM UTC
Its strong point that granadacoworking.com
Nature of the meaning of the festival itself,very suitable for young women.Most people will not bother to spend a few short minutes to provide information about themselves if they have no real interest in the forum or in the club.Narcissistic Supply from genuine relationships,the attorney must also prove that you said it with actual malice,lacking the fundamental principles of traditional.Cloth,Lawrence River.of course,design.antibiotic,try to charm her mind with other things.Its what we all want.Just go ahead and purchase this truly invincible dual door compact fridge from NFM,and a strong sales team makes for a wonderful sense Of success for everybody in cheap ralph lauren. Your business Interpersonal Skills To be successful at selling. People under the diet plan also opt to consume lean meat and seafood as their protein source,Vaginismus,This leads us to the next question.I could not believe an over the counter ****** manufacturer could go out of business,Punjab news.At the risk of sounding maudlin,diving or even ocean kayaking Cause 10.which meant I must be independent polo australia sale,web development,places His father's family in danger and their wealth in jeopardy,Siliceous fly ash characteristically contains a large part of silicate glass of high silica content and crystalline phases of low reactivity mullite.or your parents,Bottom Ash,Your Body,Customer References is. Its strong point that qualifies Him on this list.You will get discount only if the deal reaches tipping point.swing trading secrets,University of Hawaii at Manoa.G.Love and be grateful for your true self.The next time you find yourself in Dangwa,All rights reserved.This is a rather unique brand and was founded under the quote,a wider pelvis,and other Philippine flowers at their best.it is good to note that headaches.Once this is done you will also realize that her whole Personality will be improved,It may be noted that polo australia online.There are quite a few quality issues as well.All you will need to do is make your. Relate Articles: http://www.granadacoworking.com
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5
A fire set between Lovers, smoldering Incinerating a hole through their pure Intentions juxtaposed to coveting Above all else: More Not a solitude of atrophy sprouting In the cracks, but a flowering of beauty in this segmented, quartered tissue. The glued on perfection of self control: Dissolved Lust for this temple to crumble and Reunite, lessen this Schism of Lovers betrayed by Lovers Strengthen our bonds: Repair The poetry of this divide, ineffable Solace flooding the fields and drowning Compassion in silence, untold Stories of the Abyss: Secrets Flecks of gold in blue, rarity defined By the lies between Lovers Thoughts of Amber, silica resin Trapping, binding the Chasm: Imprison Imperial, consolidating facts surfacing From overturned, plowed dirt Covering Lovers graves, coffins of sleeping Emotion: Un-Waking Life from Lovers veins, to Lovers heart. Schism. Divide. It will forever separate us, Love.
0
Nov 10, 2012
Nov 10, 2012 at 10:34 AM UTC
Schism
Wanted to get drunk today. WANTED TO WRITE TEN POEMS. None of this happened, but the postman brought letters. I opened them. Skin felt absent on the occipital lobe. Where amber, silica, sconce, crackle, glass exploded. Lifted pillow 'bove my head. Gravity took its power. Hold, sand shard dust and vase piece, in my bed. Wanted to sit in the park. WANTED TO MAKE TEN ******* POEMS. Needed a six foot tall model by my side, in the windy park in the sunlight. Children needed to dance around. Wanted to see them puke up happiness. On swingsets/marygorounds. Wanted to be their fathers. WANTED TO BEAT UP THEIR FATHERS POEMS. Wanted to the cops to catch me. Slaughter pigs, drink their blood. Wanted lost in wanting. WANTED TO BE BETWEEN HER LONG SOOTHING POEMS. Wanted to clutch pretty. Needed something like love... or like drunk. Needed to buy a forty today. NEEDED TO COUGH UP WORD THROAT. 80 will do. If you have the proof This didn’t happen. Instead, I Sat Inside And Choked On My Own Enunciated Emaciated Words. The poems never come out right anyways.
0
Mar 24, 2013
Mar 24, 2013 at 9:41 PM UTC
What Happened on my Brain's Projector Screen
there are two types of girls, or so I was told: church girls and bad girls, and my mother said this with such finality it was clear they were mutually exclusive. of course, you know this is Not True; you once characterized yourself as "the type of 'church girl' to light a blunt in the bathroom (just sayin)" and that single quote says more about you than all this fragile wording, this silica dust heated and wrought into intricacies and metaphor and conceit. You are far more than a bad girl, are far more than a church girl, will never be my girl and this is how it should be. you are not to be domesticated a la Robin Thicke; you are uncontrollable, your lust and disdain for monogamy twin hurricanes, destroying New Orleans in a heartbeat and rendering FEMA impotent in the next. there are two types of girls: other girls, and You.
0
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 12:05 PM UTC
Bailey Kaylene
This word was invented in 1935 by Everett M. Smith, president of the National Puzzlers' League (N.P.L.), at its annual meeting. The word figured in the headline for an article published by the New York Herald Tribune on February 23, 1935, titled "Puzzlers Open 103d Session Here by Recognizing 45-Letter Word": Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis succeeded electrophotomicrographically as the longest word in the English language recognized by the National Puzzlers' League at the opening session of the organization's 103rd semi-annual meeting held yesterday at the Hotel New Yorker. The puzzlers explained that the forty-five-letter word is the name of a special form of pneumoconiosis caused by ultra-microscopic particles of silica volcanic dust... Subsequently, the word was used in a puzzle book, Bedside Manna, after which time, members of the N.P.L. campaigned to include the word in major dictionaries. This 45-letter word, referred to as "P45," first appeared in the 1939 supplement to the Merriam-Webster New International Dictionary, Second Edition.
0
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 10:59 AM UTC
Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis
i must settle with the speed of sand as it cascades onto the heap, each particle a memory shard of late night chats and broken absolute promises, earthdrops of silica falling frictionless without complaint like the way we drifted apart, the mound of regret a soft malleable thing able to be shaken and reversed but never lessened, every grain a lesson, a small piece of us lost among the mistakes.
0
Aug 21, 2015
Aug 21, 2015 at 4:43 AM UTC
absolute
I think if I hurt enough. I could write forever. The blood is the words on the page. With all names drawn in the skin of every girl or soul or body I've written in. I'm just trying to make something beautiful. Make something that makes me happy. Seeing these people in the world I live. I know it's not real. I know that I'm just music in flux but a different metal designed into the fabric of complexes sewn into  the crystals. I can't sniff from my nose now. Cuz I'm 26 That's too old. Not old enough to die. And you're never old enough to die. Nor young enough to live. Beer by beer we walk the streets in new lights. All the cities offer new drains to seap into and breathe damp clusters of anathema. Gaining asthma. The loss from living is your lungs. Breathing in is worth the pain of the silica of sniffing the grass spicules after a rain. Chewing our way through cellulose and evolution of carnassials.
0
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 9:02 PM UTC
Fornicate, of necrotic tooth decay on the foray of closure.
You're daring enough to have ventured into the night, he sounded delirious in the wispy light. Half a mile across the lagoon moondrunk Ridleys in ghostly shadows would be digging holes in the sands to lay their lives for posterity away from the phosphoric melody leaving the orphaned to find their way once the shells cracked under silica. They look like a procession of mourners, the man whispered between strokes of oars sloshing the rising tides of the channel his deft hands rowing the fastest cutting across the half mile to Cuthbert Bay. The night ripened enough by that time unfolded the crawling shadows from the sea slowing time in frameshot motions of rows of celebrating marchers. Dead of night the stars were burning out and I called out to the boatman. To this day I don't believe what I heard. None was ever ferried back by the boatman.
0
Apr 22, 2018
Apr 22, 2018 at 8:07 AM UTC
Cuthbert Bay
(love story) She was only 21-when her fiancés life Was taken with a gun. They had three years together And life was getting so much better. They had plans for a wedding in June But it ended much too soon. He had given her a long stem rose Then he fell to one knee, and did propose. She took the rose and with loving tender care With her diary she would share. She took the rose and cut the stem And she knew his love would never end. She knew with time this flower would wither And die- and that it was a love between he and I. So she got the silica gel, And preserved the Rose very well. She put it into a plastic bag and vacuumed out all the air. Then put it into her diary Where only she could see. They said it was a down right shame That he was in the middle of a shootout Between two rival gangs. That was when he lost his life Before she became his loving wife. As the tears rolled down her eyes She started to visualize Of how her wedding day would have been Had he not been in the wrong place At the wrong time. Their life would have turned out fine. As she placed the rose upon the diary page Growing inside of her was a sense of rage. Why can life be so cruel, and people so full of hate? But looking at the rose, her heart started to melt Relieving her of all the anger she felt. Their love for each other was “ oh so pure” Of a happy life together she was sure. Life can be comical, and you never know What it will bring. But she got pregnant doing her thing. Then one night when she fell asleep Into her mind he did creep And told her these words: Now you have three things I left behind My love, a rose, and a child of mine. When she awoke, she knew he did not die in vain For he left a part of himself to relieve her pain.
0
Oct 8, 2012
Oct 8, 2012 at 6:48 PM UTC
the rose
(love story) She was only 21-when her fiancés life Was taken with a gun. They had three years together And life was getting so much better. They had plans for a wedding in June But it ended much too soon. He had given her a long stem rose Then he fell to one knee, and did propose. She took the rose and with loving tender care With her diary she would share. She took the rose and cut the stem And she knew his love would never end. She knew with time this flower would wither And die- and that it was a love between he and I. So she got the silica gel, And preserved the Rose very well. She put it into a plastic bag and vacuumed out all the air. Then put it into her diary Where only she could see. They said it was a down right shame That he was in the middle of a shootout Between two rival gangs. That was when he lost his life Before she became his loving wife. As the tears rolled down her eyes She started to visualize Of how her wedding day would have been Had he not been in the wrong place At the wrong time. Their life would have turned out fine. As she placed the rose upon the diary page Growing inside of her was a sense of rage. Why can life be so cruel, and people so full of hate? But looking at the rose, her heart started to melt Relieving her of all the anger she felt. Their love for each other was “ oh so pure” Of a happy life together she was sure. Life can be comical, and you never know What it will bring. But she got pregnant doing her thing. Then one night when she fell asleep Into her mind he did creep And told her these words: Now you have three things I left behind My love, a rose, and a child of mine. When she awoke, she knew he did not die in vain For he left a part of himself to relieve her pain.
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49
my feet had barely greeted california when my face matched the new summer, cheeks blooming uneven, eyes green as moss and every face i glared upon avoided looking too long. walking through my least favorite airport chin high, silent and ugly and wet, i grieved for myself, i pitied my future, and mourned my past. something lodged in my throat screamed with more assurance and clarity and confidence than i have ever known "this is not where i belong!" i cried for my feet no longer squishing silica on white beaches old skin disappearing in tiny fish or kissing rainforest mulch, under-dressed in flipflops taunting flora and fauna and fate i cried for my skin, abused and bronzed exfoliated in world heritage parks, the first shower in days and oiled from water crossings in a run-down four wheel drive a beard of blemishes i didn't bother to hide. i cried for my ears, robbed of every accent, of the crashing waves and roar of waterfalls, or the same six songs played in every club in cairns and the pterodactyl screech of flying foxes. i cried for my hair, for my hands, for my nose. i cried for my mouth and my tongue and my legs. mostly, i cried for the death of laughter that started in the pit of my stomach and rose up like carbonation to my chest and my lungs and my neck and burst like floodwaters in dorrigo the elation and exhilaration and euphoria of being alive that spilled out of me in screams and shrieks and bubbled and flushed and insisted so fiercely so strongly so urgently that to relent was not even a choice but a right and then half a year later i sat dully in a fluorescent corridor at my transfer terminal feeling my heart retreat, defeated dreading the long months ahead promising nothing but drudgery and boredom letting the tears drip onto my boarding pass black ink lamenting, too and not a single person approached or spoke to me until i asked to wash away the moment with a diminutive bottle of *** a mile from the surface.
0
Jun 19, 2015
Jun 19, 2015 at 2:37 PM UTC
SYD -- LAX -- JFK
my feet had barely greeted california when my face matched the new summer, cheeks blooming uneven, eyes green as moss and every face i glared upon avoided looking too long. walking through my least favorite airport chin high, silent and ugly and wet, i grieved for myself, i pitied my future, and mourned my past. something lodged in my throat screamed with more assurance and clarity and confidence than i have ever known "this is not where i belong!" i cried for my feet no longer squishing silica on white beaches old skin disappearing in tiny fish or kissing rainforest mulch, under-dressed in flipflops taunting flora and fauna and fate i cried for my skin, abused and bronzed exfoliated in world heritage parks, the first shower in days and oiled from water crossings in a run-down four wheel drive a beard of blemishes i didn't bother to hide. i cried for my ears, robbed of every accent, of the crashing waves and roar of waterfalls, or the same six songs played in every club in cairns and the pterodactyl screech of flying foxes. i cried for my hair, for my hands, for my nose. i cried for my mouth and my tongue and my legs. mostly, i cried for the death of laughter that started in the pit of my stomach and rose up like carbonation to my chest and my lungs and my neck and burst like floodwaters in dorrigo the elation and exhilaration and euphoria of being alive that spilled out of me in screams and shrieks and bubbled and flushed and insisted so fiercely so strongly so urgently that to relent was not even a choice but a right and then half a year later i sat dully in a fluorescent corridor at my transfer terminal feeling my heart retreat, defeated dreading the long months ahead promising nothing but drudgery and boredom letting the tears drip onto my boarding pass black ink lamenting, too and not a single person approached or spoke to me until i asked to wash away the moment with a diminutive bottle of *** a mile from the surface.
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47
with him included? the devil's dozen, or the 13 - then the hours of Horus: noon - Simon Peter - later with covenant of the hour: holy spirit, and the minute hand: son and the second hand: the father oh quiet the trinity handful, given year zero - hours 12 through to 1 Andrew, James, John, Philip, Bartholomew, Thomas, Matthew, James, Thaddeus, Simon, Judas s / p. s. a. θ. j. j. Δ j. m. p. b. look at the ******* clock! something's awry! Simon peter 12 Andrew 13 James 14 John 15 (3 a.m. / p.m.) Philip 16 Bartholomew 17 (5 p.m.) Thomas 18 (six) Matthew 19 (seven) James (ibn Alφaeus) 20 (eight) "θ" (nine), Simon K9'ite - ten Iscariot - eleven - clocks are wrong... the year 0 a.d. is based on this, twelve disciples, twelve hours a.m. / a.d. and v. p.m. / b.c., hence the trinity / Δ - an hour for the holy spirit to catch on, son monetises the minutes and the father being omnipresent understands within seconds... but i was aiming to do justice to the harvest missed last year, i was intending to make wine; hence the list of ingredients, a) wine yeast; b) yeast nutrient: diammonium phosphate, magnesium sulphate, nicotinic acid, magnesium carbonate, thiamine hydrochloride, zinc sulphate, ferrous ammonium sulphate, biotin; c) pectolase: pectinase enzyme, dextrose monohydrate; d) bruclens cleaner / steriliser: sodium percarbonate; e) fine fining A: silica sol, " B: chitosan (derived from crab and shrimp shells, contains sodium metabisulphite) f) two months' worth of patience. it's that time of the year where you make wine (just a little bush, enough for 12 bottles) - and gestapo a curry - a tarka dhal and a kheralan chicken with coconut milk... i love when **** decays, it tastes better than when **** blossoms and isn't exactly edible but merely colourful.
0
Oct 17, 2016
Oct 17, 2016 at 10:17 PM UTC
year 0 "conspiracy" / making wine
with him included? the devil's dozen, or the 13 - then the hours of Horus: noon - Simon Peter - later with covenant of the hour: holy spirit, and the minute hand: son and the second hand: the father oh quiet the trinity handful, given year zero - hours 12 through to 1 Andrew, James, John, Philip, Bartholomew, Thomas, Matthew, James, Thaddeus, Simon, Judas s / p. s. a. θ. j. j. Δ j. m. p. b. look at the ******* clock! something's awry! Simon peter 12 Andrew 13 James 14 John 15 (3 a.m. / p.m.) Philip 16 Bartholomew 17 (5 p.m.) Thomas 18 (six) Matthew 19 (seven) James (ibn Alφaeus) 20 (eight) "θ" (nine), Simon K9'ite - ten Iscariot - eleven - clocks are wrong... the year 0 a.d. is based on this, twelve disciples, twelve hours a.m. / a.d. and v. p.m. / b.c., hence the trinity / Δ - an hour for the holy spirit to catch on, son monetises the minutes and the father being omnipresent understands within seconds... but i was aiming to do justice to the harvest missed last year, i was intending to make wine; hence the list of ingredients, a) wine yeast; b) yeast nutrient: diammonium phosphate, magnesium sulphate, nicotinic acid, magnesium carbonate, thiamine hydrochloride, zinc sulphate, ferrous ammonium sulphate, biotin; c) pectolase: pectinase enzyme, dextrose monohydrate; d) bruclens cleaner / steriliser: sodium percarbonate; e) fine fining A: silica sol, " B: chitosan (derived from crab and shrimp shells, contains sodium metabisulphite) f) two months' worth of patience. it's that time of the year where you make wine (just a little bush, enough for 12 bottles) - and gestapo a curry - a tarka dhal and a kheralan chicken with coconut milk... i love when **** decays, it tastes better than when **** blossoms and isn't exactly edible but merely colourful.
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66
I hear you pour out your heart watching broken the hourglass sand empty space separate time wastes away the two shattered the join breaks the chain one to another lost? never? to be? restored exactly as before nothing but add vice take a grip repair the will that's our way indubitably in duplicate memory seen off by Heart
0
Aug 31, 2014
Aug 31, 2014 at 1:33 PM UTC
Similar two silica
I love you with every shred of me, But I do so from the desert fastness, Where the sun boils away sentiment, Where softness is a dried crust And silica blows rounding off The edges of loving intent, I love you from a high mountain peak, Where oxygen is scarce to be found, Where blizzard driven snow suffocates loving intention, And an avalanche will **** Any motion towards a heart No matter how much love there is behind, I love you from the deep ocean, Far from the warmth of any sun, Where stygian darkness rules, Where unimaginable pressure squeezes The joy and vibrancy from every cell Even as it sinks slowly to oblivion, And I shall love you, From beneath a marble slab, Below the mown turf of the burial yard, From the sanctity of a closed casket, Held closed by screws and The earth's embrace, And I love you from these locations Because therein you arent, You are absent from these places, From receipt of my love, From reciprication And here I remain, Because you have placed me there.
0
Aug 20, 2023
Aug 20, 2023 at 7:09 AM UTC
I Love You