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Aaron LaLux Mar 2018
This whole country is a crime seen,
3rd Eye’s blurry need some Visine,
driving home with one headlight,
can’t see straight hit the high beams,

feeling like a Wallflower that’s lost all power,
praying for peace while they continue fighting,
and I know I can’t stop all the violence,
but that won’t stop me from trying,

can’t get through to the new school,
try memes,
can’t get the truth through to these dudes,
they keep denying,

I mean what does it mean,
when a black kid’s not even safe in his own yard,
assassinated in his grandmother’s backyard,
story retold by the grandma of Stephon Clark,
trained killers hunted him down and ****** him,
maybe he would’ve survived if his skin was a little less dark,
maybe to see the light first we need a spark,
trying to keep it together even though things seem to be falling apart,

the use of deadly force is often excessive,
but penalties on the killers are rarely enforced,
as if a police officer’s badge is a license to ****,
it’s not any less savage because they’re in uniform,

what does that say of our society,
when boys getting killed my men is the norm,
and us kids are sick of it more than a little bit,
school shootings cop shooting what’s going on,

and where are our leaders at times like this,
I mean shout out to Emma Gonzalez,
I respect her heart and congratulate her courage,
but why do adults have to learn from kids,

where are our role models,
where is the love,
global warming it’s heating up,
still kids get killed in cold blood,

this is not a front,

I’m not fronting,
I’m not faking,
I’m whole foods,
they’re all bacon,

fat no protein,
facts no smoke dreams,
fact is these pros need practice,
because this whole country’s a crime scene,

every day another cover up,
got cameras on every block,
still when a kid gets shot,
it seems like the body cams are always covered up,

how can it be 2018,
where we’re constantly under surveillance,
yet we never see the footage of cops,
when they shoot civilians,

and I’m trying to stay patient,
but I’m running out a patience,

and it’s not just cops killing kids,
kids are killing kids too,
but most people don’t even want to hear about it,
let alone actually get up and move,

wanna know how many people have been killed by guns,
millions and millions in the United States alone,
and no one is safe not even a 22 year old kid,
siting in the backyard of his grandmother’s home,

this whole place is a Danger Zone,

this whole country is a crime seen,
3rd Eye’s blurry need some Visine,
driving home with one headlight,
can’t see straight hit the high beams,

feeling like a Wallflower that’s lost all power,
praying for peace while they continue fighting,
and I know I can’t stop all the violence,
but that won’t stop me from trying…

∆ Aaron La Lux ∆

New Book FREE Here: www.scribd.com/document/367036005
Claudia Ramirez Apr 2013
All the passion became nothing but insanity siting there in the shower
Staring you down letting you know you cannot scrub it off
Knowing every inch of your body and mind are infected
Feeling so lost and confuse
Yet at the same time feeling nothing
It just stares at you with without saying a word
Staring deep in to your soul with does eyes
Eyes some might call beautiful
However, you know they are more than that  
They are the eyes of everything
The eyes of hope
The eyes of blame
The eyes of the beautiful illusion called love
Siting there under the water that turns darker every passing moment
It just stares at you waiting,
Waiting for the moment when you look away
For the moment you blink
For that one second
So that everything humans know as insane, chaotic, delusional
Even evil, it can all come to you
Just letting know how bad in the head you are
Because after all….
There is no one else…
It is just you and the running water
I was in the showere and all of the suden I realized something I really hope I hadn't.....
Hope you guys like
who the hell doesn’t want to be a Jedi
seriously you can control the force and **** siting  
on you couch playing cod all you want is the Mt due in the fridge an don't want to get up
force that **** over to you
like really come on you think this stuff is for nerds
no its not don’t think for one seconded that you didn’t liked something nerdy
hid it from your friends *** they thought it wasn’t cool because you have
you may not remember but you did.
there had to be a moment were you wanted to be a Jedi or join the rebellion or even the empire.
But now you all act to cool for ****
why not go back to you child hood and remember how much fun you had
playing lightsabers, wands and Nurf stuff
also when you came upon an automatic door an acted that you used the force on it
am I right or am I just a fool
I know every generation had their wish to be’s.
Maybe you weren’t a WARS fan
maybe you were a Treckie
or one for the Doctor and his big blue box
or a Wizard with an owl
but at least once in your life you were a nerd
or a fanboy or a fangirl over what you saw as the coolest thing.
Now once again who da hell wishes they were a fracking Jedi,
star fleet officer, a companion of the Doctor or even a student of Hogwarts
Raise yo hand now.
Sometime everybody's gonna throw you down
Talk **** and look at you as a clown
Life is just a big bowl of soup
Everyone's in a group and I'm siting in ****
Well I couldn't give a ****
And I wouldn't give a ****
People spike their ego and stick to it

There wasn't a clue
Not a person knew
Emotions were starving
When I needed help, I used to look for you

It's like you didn't exist
Not a single trace
Wish I could still say a lil' somethin' to your face

Always when I needed you, you were never there
You were living a dream and I was in a nightmare
Everyone is never who they seem
You and I were never on the same team
Just sugar coat it with cream

My milk and cookies are there for me
No one else is around
To pick me up off the ground
But I don't give a ****
Cause I got milk and cookies

It's been a while since I heard
Last time it somehow resembled a ****
Things used to be so great
Right before I walked out that gate

This was only a one way ticket
After that all I heard was a cricket

But I still wanted to hold on
I turned to look back but you were gone

This problem was never solved
All my friendships dissolved
Guess I didn't fall in orbit to revolve

My milk and cookies are there for me
No one else is around
To pick me up off the ground
But I don't give a ****
Cause I got milk and cookies

I'll never submit
Cause you'll never admit
To all the *******
These cries seem unfit
all rights reserved
jeffrey robin Mar 2015
before dawn

//

(                            Ain't no need a coffee
                 •                   All dreams are emerging
                                   )            From shadows unto shadows

////

Let us see

If MAN shall appear

<>!

Say hey hey

Ain't YE got no pride anymore ?

( • )

Ain't YE got the

Brains you were born with ?

///

Tell me what the ******* are doing !?

idiotic slave !!

••

••

In the holy diner

Sacred hour ( resting place )

In the heart of the children screaming

In the face of the whole earth starving

From the darkness of the night

To the darkness of the day

Look ! It's you emerging

Once again

I see you there

••

The eternal waitress

Holy angel dressed in white

Comes to touch my shoulder

And plant a kiss within me

And breathe the god right through me

And I know that it's alright

••

In the stillness

Siting  in the diner before dawn

Soon I shall be born

a MAN emerging

A lovely man upon the street
Constitutional

Morning constitutional
What does it have to do
With the Supreme Court?

If it's been a few days
While siting reading the news
It's a great ruling coming down  

Vacating the lower courts ruling
And wiping the slate clean
Is a release to enjoy
I'll start my day
Flush with success  

Copyright 2016
Richard L Ratliff
ZigZag Sep 2013
Sitting on a river bed with little flowers in my head, floating in a empty dream never ending melody.
Speaking in different tongue, only to the Earth and Sun,
children of the Moon will come, we sent the wind for them.
Carrying all of our welcomed friends, to where I sit on the river bed with little flowers in my head, floating in a empty dream never ending melody.
Speaking in different tongue, only to the Earth and Sun,
children of the Moon will come, we sent the wind for them.
Carrying all of our welcomed friends to where I sit on the river bed with little flowers in my head, floating in a empty dream never ending melody.
Speaking in different tongue, only to the Earth and Sun,
children of the Moon will come, we sent the wind for them.
Carrying all of our welcomed friends to where I sit on the river bed with little flowers in my head, floating in a empty dream never ending melody.
Speaking in different tongue, only to the Earth and Sun,
children of the Moon will come, we sent the wind for them.
Carrying all of our welcomed friends to where I sit on the river bed with little flowers in my head, floating in a empty dream never ending melody.
Prabhu Iyer Apr 2014
It used to live on the hilltop
where a lone bell tolled
by the temple:
but the Deity is long gone
and the bell mourns
in the valley wind on empty
afternoons, now.

I went searching for it:
in late summer, the koel
would sunder open the vaults
of heaven and bring
some down for us mortals
haunted by death.
The koels are long gone now.

Peace,
peace.

Lady siting silent in the evening
staring vacant into the sky,
after a day of labour:
can you give some to me?

I thought it was in education.
But that is stored now, in
almirahs where moths
eat way what humidity cannot.

I thought it was in a position.
But they don't matter, now
a ladder ascending
to nowhere,
vanishing mid-air.

Old man, smiling past hope
that has broken like
your lost teeth:
can you give some to me?

I asked the urchin
playing in the ditch after the rains,

he said: 'follow me, I know where
it lives', and he led me to
a ***** pond lined with plastic
and all our civilization's refuse,
and jumped in.

I returned, disgusted.
peace please!
2aftermidnight May 2014
Condotti, Setting in a street named after someone mysterious in this century, or what more no one cares, filled with history, cared by the worst and the best hidden stories, those streets are filled with voices of the past mixed with noises of the future, siting here in the steps of *Condotti staring at the people that about to become from the past, at the people that will be the study of the most mysterious and un-logic humanity, even me i'll be one of those lost voices that been lost in the streets of Condotti.
I will make a balloon for you...
My sister's eyes are smiling
Knowing you in all the rays of the sun
Being alive with you all the times
Giving me flight to the blue skies
with smiling jasmine flowers
with the whiteness of dandelions
and the rainbow of my sister's laughter
How people are more beautiful, there
I will make a balloon for you...
Putting on children's clothes,
We steal all the tears and smiles from them
I'm dreaming,
My sister
falling on the ground
from my father's and mother's hands
Running to her...
Cleaning the dust on her hat and dress
Taking her hands
Walking together
Finding her small hands
in the darkness of my heart, like a light
I'm crying,
Traveling, back to the past
Telling her : you don't know how much
you've grown up now!!!
A time that cannot be repeated anymore...
Friday morning,
Waking up with tears
I'm dreaming...
Siting alongside the flowers with you
I can kiss your lips for the first time
Your eyes are innocent till now, ''my God of jasmine flowers''
I love you
I love you
I love you
Giving your kind heart to God
and never leave you alone
Remembering a beautiful girl
Having black hair
in the scorching evenings of summer
wearing golden earrings
Siting on all the unhappy bicycles and
Making love to them
Not having the warmth of your eyes,''God of jasmine flower''
My mother, laughing at your hands
I love the song of birds...
I will make a balloon for you
under the shadow of the trees
which I've made my house
Somewhere that I've drawn eyes
Now, I'm seeing white clouds, round
Please, do not take pencil and paper from me...

...بادبادکی برایت خواهم ساخت
چشمان خواهرم خندیده اند
در تمام اشعه های خورشید
تو را می شناسم
در تمام زمان ها
با تو زنده خواهم بود
مرا به سوی آسمان های آبی پرواز بدهید
با گل های شاد یاسمن
با سفیدی قاصدک ها
...و رنگین کمان خنده های خواهرم
چقدر آدم ها آن جا زیباترند
...بادبادکی برای تو خواهم ساخت
لباس های کودکانه به تن می کنم
تمام اشک ها و لبخندهایشان را دزدیده ایم
خواب می بینم
خواهرم
از دست پدرومادرم
به زمین می خورد
من به سمت او دویده ام
خاک های روی کلاه و لباسش را پاک می کنم
دست هایش را گرفتم
با هم راه می رویم
دست های کوچکش مانند نور
در تاریکی قلبم پیدا می شوند
...دارم گریه می کنم
به زمان گذشته سفر کرده بودم
به او گفتم : تو نمی دانی
!!! الآن چقدر بزرگ شده ای
...زمانی که دیگر تکرار نمی شود
صبح جمعه
...با گریه از خواب می پرم
خواب می بینم
با تو در کنار گل ها نشسته ام
دیگر می توانم برای اولین بار
لب های تو را ببوسم
چشم هایت تاکنون معصوم بوده اند
'' خدای همیشه گل یاسمن من''
دوستت دارم
دوستت دارم
دوستت دارم
من قلب مهربان تو را به خدا می سپارم
و هیچوقت تنهایت نمی گذارم
دختری زیبا را به خاطر بیاور
که موهایی مشکی دارد
در عصرهای گرم تابستان
با گوشواره های طلایی در گوشش
روی تمام دوچرخه های ناراحت می نشیند
و هم آغوشی می کند
گرمای چشم های تو را ندارد
''خدای گل یاسمن''
مادرم به دست های تو می خندد
...صدای پرنده ها را دوست دارم
...بادبادکی خواهم ساخت
زیر سایه ی درختانی که خانه ام را ساخته ام
جایی که چشم ها را نقاشی کشیده ام
...دیگر ابرهای سفید را گرد می بینم
خواهش می کنم
مداد و کاغذم را از من نگیرید
Paul Roberts Nov 2010
I sit..... my face melts into my coffee cup....
self pity demons raise  up from the tablecloth
and slam my head on the table top..again..and again.
My heart kicks at the chestwalls that keep it from its freedom.
I am out of here it screams!
Why am I still just siting here?
A whisp of freedom promise is still ringing in my head....
wonderful words she had said.
Slam..slam , the demons smash my head on the table top.
Are you done yet? Are you still siting here?
We can do this all day. Move, say something!
Self pity is not your path...your the mover, the motivator...
the one who always has the right answers to someone elses happiness.
Why not you this time?
The heart quits kicking at my chestwalls..either it is tired or it feels me
mulling over the questions.....perhaps a chance, perhapes one more go around .
I see images in my coffee cup of couples holding hands, young and old alike....so happy, so together, so....in love?
Still other images emerge...families still doing things together... camping, fishing, movies...so real...so like I planned it....
slam! Slam!   The demons are not letting up......Ok , I know what they want.....but first I need a fresh cup of coffee, this one has too many memories  floating around in it.
Perhapes I should make that call, write that letter....just go.
Paul Roberts: Turn the Page
Innocent Nov 2014
If it's to be
It's up to me

Everything in me wants to flee
To the top of the tress
Where I can live and be free

Connect with nature
Be a baker, teacher or a Sergeant major
Rule the kingdom
With baby Lincoln and a trio of fearsome pilgrims

Swing from branch to beach
The sand, the water and the sea
Is this where I'm meant to be
Siting under a coconut tree drinking Chablis

Sunning with sea creatures
Feeling like a cheater
The heat and the sun
Making this a home run

Knowing it's where I'm meant to be
Me and all my heart is set free
Jacob Sykes May 2013
poisoned well of the antichrist littered with ground cover
picking out ****** flecks of gravel
blacktop kneeskin
patience pieces of scattered space time
to go back to the future of continuity
lack of genius ingenuity
and the suckling of the pig entourage

riding in a flat top hatchback
cadillac of the daily grind
upperclassman japan onii-chan
brother in arms from anotha motha
hug from afar colliding with crackpot theory

terrible fantasia cooling bricks in soggy sun
swallowed his pride with a glass of self-worth
and these ***** don't cook like they used to
I don't look like I used to
warped veil of camouflage chameleon leather
with a ****** level of automobile salesman

tried to get closer to god
ground him up, picked out the stems
twisted him into thin paper
touched flame to his finger tip and a son of Adam was born

gum shoe gaze
or the emptiness felt at the end of reasonable doubt
correctional text messaging system
sent from hoarse corpses
tenderly poignant in their ****** coffins

will think for food
cries from an outdated MENSA
over ***** and under-appreciated
siting on hunched shoulders to get a better look
to be a martian in a plain port

wharf warehouse whaling boat
red tide in a Shanghai *******
floodgates made of bitter premise
that last bit of purple yam
**** Okonkwo
Things Fall Apart fell apart due to faded highschool ambitions and bloodshot eyes
cruel like the shade of off-cerulean

champagne fizz tickles at the soft meat of his tarnished throat
and silver tongue
as the matchstick framework
so fragile in comparison
fizzles out on drenched sidewalk
while cigarette ash floats by
like gray gnats
Diana May 2012
Beat,beat,beat goes the drum
The heart quietly lerking in the shadows
Time paces and the day will come
Siting waiting listening to the echos
Beat, beat,beat goes the drum
How does it feel the drummer boy says
Soundly and coldly you feel  destroyed
Listening as the drum plays
Left feeling empty and broken hearted
Beat, beat, beat goes the drum
emily grace Jul 2015
the haze of summer hung in the air
blurring the lines between our bodies
buried in the white sheets
on the three-season patio day bed
where i learned how
your body felt when i moved my hand across the light skin of your torso
and no matter how warm the temperatures got
i'd still wrap my arms tight around you
like you were a towel in need of wringing

we shared iced tea
siting in the chaise lounges
the sun setting a crimson outside our window
you told me of the time you landed yourself out on the street
strumming your guitar for money
until you finally found your footing
when i came and took you in
which is where we found ourselves on this porch into the early hours
summer haze billowing the curtains as a breeze rolls in
the night the only illumination in your eyes

you revealed to me that you were in love with me
the idea of what i had become to you
and how you love the sound of my voice at two in the morning
scratching the surface of your rough facade
breaking into something that was seemingly impenetrable

you meant the world
to someone so little and unimportant
that as the fall came and went
and winter set in
your imprint on this bed still lingers
even though your feet left my threshold
too many days ago
Can you tell me have I lost my mind?
Seeking other lonely to be my guide.
Streetlight prophets have all your answers for a price
Turning all your coppers into fortified signs.

I keep on dreaming of you and of you only
Speaking your name as though it's something I hold holy
But can you tell me does the sky get lonely
.. Siting all alone up there

Sing me songs of love and revolution
In a rage of fury and absolution
The alley oracles keep searching for solutions
To find fortune in hearts weakened by contusions.
They sing...

Find me love sweet like sacramental wine
For my penance I'd pay any price
Give me strength to pursue my paradise
And the wisdom when I find it to recognize
That the only thing missing in my life
Was someone to walk beside.

They sing...
Can you tell us have we lost our minds
Seeking other lonely to be our guides
To navigate and hide us in the streetlights
As we lay awake looking for a sign.
Eclipsing Moon Oct 2011
Chapter Three



Déjà vu- poem by Muse


My life, sometimes I ponder,

God.....did he fashion my hands and skin from another?

Am I just a recovered tired vessel,

refurbished lung and breath, reassembled, to be something fragile?

My fears and defects I feel are not my own,

borrowed and rented maybe, from someone once known.

Your voice just a proverbial song.

It feels ancient, but like an undercurrent, it carries me along.

My story perhaps is a plagiarism of you,

a reincarnation of what I might answer, and what I might do.

With every deliberate ill-mannered step,

someone before me, has already passed, lingered, and slept.

My soul, has it lived before?

It seems to be the same narrow path, but a different revolving door.

Seeking answers in restorative dreams,

this body, however temporary, is not what it seems.

My thumbprint a reminder of her,

your girlish vision, a familiar relic, with a haunting blur.

Is this a case of refuted Deja vu?

Or just maybe, she's a vicarious spirit, that has been there too.



I.... felt as If  I was dropped into the middle of the park like a tornado touched down and regurgitated my entirety into the dirt.

Siting and looking around I thought to recover my senses from the last years worth of experiences and the seemingly odd and recurring ???types of things. A kind of Déjà vu of someone elses life.They must have been a mystic because they seemed to see…I seemed to see…as thru a proverbial glass darkly.

I found that peoples thoughts and memories were easily seen and felt in their presence and that their entire life histories were… Mine ..just for the looking or rather thinking of the thought to trigger their inner most secrets. The intricacies of their lives and the interrelated woven tapestry of their Dharmas and Karmas were unfolded to my mind and knowings as one continuous scroll of life.

Invigorating and compelling to be part and parcel to the workings of Life , but confusing and tiring keeping up and interacting as a vocation.I was supposed to be a Home Design specialist with a hobby of -White Lite WICCA….Hobby of the weekend I chuckled to myself.

Well ,now I was fully awake and centered again ..and as I rose from my place in the dirt I noticed I had been sitting as was far too familiar as of late and pondering the strangeness of my life…in the middle of a strange place , not remembering how I got there or why. Well so much the bother ,I was here now and I believe my calendar says I have , oh yes an appointment I’m late for already. Up I get and brushing myself off,I head out in the direction for my Meeting with a small company of Artists decorating their loft and space for exhibiting their recent works. Clover- Wolf was the odd name of their business.

Well maybe a quick design idea there…wolfs head over a four leaf clover…hmm well maybe not, Lame at best.







prev chapter


© 2011 Eclipsing Moon-blood red
Sitting by the sea
What a site to see
waves the gulls the rocks and shelves
a volcanic sea
places for life to hide themselves
from the coming tides
looking to the sea helps me to think of friends
to think of things of past
Help me to relax and find the hidden treasure siting by the sea.
Fah Sep 2013
With distance
the distaste only grew ,
with time and foreign lands my tree of wisdom only grew
from the confines of meditational winter sprung forth with the seasons change a fresh spring
that led to summers bloom and now with autumns orange face upon us i find myself back where i began ,

where i ran , it seems i was running back
where i thought i had no map , there was something pulling me to a home of sorts
more than one , too many to name , in people who live and in places that breathe
where i roamed , where i broke down walls triumphantly pulling the bricks and letting the river flow through the once more
no more ****** damns to hold back the floodwaters

i had an inkling i was running off borrowed time
or at least credit
death on credit
death in reverse
birthed rebirth
again and again

yet here i am still in deaths ruptured flow -
the unconditional love ran out mother ,
it ran out and you used it up
you used it so , i know you needed it
so from my child’s heart uninteruppted i let that one go
i held it aloft so you would know that no matter what you do , you are loves loved love

you are loves , loved love
but , it all came crashing down around my ears and around my throat a noose with no name
but a holy ghost escaped my lips in angry overtones = this argument for arguments sake
and tears hot on my cheeks filling up my mouth with anti-septic salt water drops
that doused my locks and you said “come back to me when you can speak without crying”

tears are but distilled wisdom and i am your teacher
i am your child - for a reason , i learnt much from you but how much more can you learn from me..
for i am not you - but a part - apart
and the smoke fills my eyes blurring the lines between reality

but i had enough , respect is intended - always
but i have respect in myself and that’s what you taught me.

That’s why i smile at people on the bus and talk to strangers ; because
everyone is reaching their own goals, shining their own light and love is shared , mother , love is shared.
and i try to love
but love seems to be distant
i love

four men

one - island man
two - island man
three- island man
four - out way somewhere i don’t know , never have graced , hope to grace and maybe touch his face ,

is this wrong? is this why i sit up at night with restless dreams
because whenever i see any one of them my heart turns to shreds
and i recall what that love is one more time
one more time
on more time

one - touches and lunch
two - dinner without touches, yet.
three - cheesy beans and laughter lines
four - astral planes baby ,

it’s raining again .
i’m siting under a tree in holloway
next to a knoll with hot chocolate , passport photos and cigarettes

are they not all one and the same
whom would i devote my entirety to , would you take it?
would you take it?
could you take it?

where do we stop?
why not stop..why stop. stop. what? stop loves riptide ?
not likely , not by chance , but by simplistic design
no i will not go
i will stay

please, please.. please.

i want to dance , with you who are you?
an enigma of epic proportions

i read somewhere that if a poet falls in love with you then you will never be forgotten
forever imortalized in their sonnets
and yes , it is true

lover why so shy? why so elusive , who is your soul
won’t you quietly tell me of the bruises won’t you tell me your secrets
and let me smooth down your shorn hair

two.

this world was made to share
and so is my love
so it is my love ,

we are wounded healers
and my , have i never heard anything as poetic as that.

but i cannot stay lone with all this love as it burst forth because it is mine. mother .
it is mine.

so.

dinner.
i am back again , and it's stared to rain again
but i see blue skies clear
John B Apr 2014
Pardon me miss I was just siting in the wing

Observing how you tend to check your phone when one rings

Now I'm no expert on that, at least what I mean

Is if I was the one comeing id not stop for anything
The door as well, A real shame...
Michelle Lynne Apr 2014
I remember the first time I laid my eyes upon your dark, golden-highlighted ringlets siting haphazardly on your nimble head. They were positioned above your flat, south Asian face, as if some wayward artist took his paintbrush and, in a fit of creative chaos, splattered and sputtered paint across a blank and endless canvas. Your hair represented the kind of sweet, quiet entropy that people needed in their lives. The great offense the artist had committed by being so reckless with such a delicate subject could be forgiven, however, because he surely acted as such simply because he had previously exhausted himself whilst meticulously creating your enrapturing eyes. Round cerulean orbs, speckled with bits of yellows and greens with a péridot ring centered around a pitch black pupil that represented the contents of your dispassionate heart. This is not an accurate description of the man who holds my unrequited love, however. You have achieved this sort of romantic, majestic rendition of beauty through the bias of my foolish heart and through my patronage of the arts. A typical person would do much better to portray you as nothing more than a hellish brute who is in desperate need of a haircut and a perhaps a larger assortment of clothing rather than torn, raggedy jeans and hand-me-down heavy metal t-shirts.
Sacrelicious Mar 2012
Siting quietly at the

crowded station.  

Waiting for

this feeling

to stop racing like

a train.

On the tracks of my strung out heart.

I'm trying to forget your name.

Just let me get my drink on

and

I

should

be good on that.

Colder than January's breathe,

the silence of our empty room

has made me bitter.

January's Breathe.  I'm cold cause you left my heart open.
Jimmy Hegan Nov 2015
It's for me on the  tree He endured agony,
What a beautiful thought to my soul;
It was love and for me, what a sight Calvary,
It was there that He ransomed my soul.

Dearer than gold , dearer than gold,
Yes , the Saviour  is  dearer than gold,
Dearer  than  gold , dearer  than gold,

There is no other plea, and for sinners like me,
How enticing Thy Word to my ear,
When Thou came seeking me that as mortal to be,
Perfect love hath now cast out all fear.

Through the stripes laid on Thee, there is healing for me,
Balm of Heaven my sickness to cure,
Thy compassion I see, reaching wide as the sea,
For Thy promise is steadfast  and sure.

Though the ages I'll know of the sufferings , He bore,
Mercy soundeth  like  harps out  of Zion,
And the sages of old , they shall sing of this lore,
All the glory to Judah's great Lion.

Let the sinner now know, Christ hath crushed the great foe,
Cruel  Satan, thy siting is  no more,
Hoist the banner to show that through faith we shall go,
And that boldly , through Jesus our Door.**

,
Ayeshah Apr 2010
never felt a body so hard,

muscles

rippled every inch of you,

your hands so strong,

molding me to you,

caress deeply massaging my body.

i feel you on top of me-
solid hard pressing down,

touching me here mmm and here.

playing with my pressure points,

dancing over my egregiousness zone.

you've seductively molested
my mind while secretly
tantalized my pleasure zones,

your a walking talking aphrodisiac.

sleek like a dark panther,

flexing your biceps
as you work my body,

teasing me as your pelvis
and manhood softly grinds
up on my buttocks,

where your half sitting.

i feel you rise swelling and all
i can do is lay here guessing,

thinking impure thoughts
of what we could be doing,

your half siting on me,

knees bent
close to my waists,

my arms at my sides

Sorry baby i had to touch you,

feel your power as
you stroke me seductive.

Sweet gentle ****  masseur  

your
technique has me craving  

your hands on my umm hmm,

I want to now feel you between
me
flexing as you probe in me deeply
with your
"Afro"disiacs

flex with in me as you move
in sync with me, harder oh please

YES!

caress my velvety walls as my own muscles

constrict & contracts pulsating from your

*******'tics touch and tense up.

Sir  please, Sir  move deeper
while i move with you.

that's what I want toy say
&
beg of you to do,
thats what I'm thinking

but I wont say a thing.

I'm going to lay here on my stomach-

enjoyably mesmerized  at the care you take

with me &  your expertises

as you massage peace back into me.

relaxing me while i lavishly day dream

of us becoming more then just  a 1 hour  session

of  You the sensual  Masseur

&

I the lustrous  wishful thinking client

whose mind  has already taken
a leave of absence

Only when it comes to you.

Mmm Day Dreaming.......


Always me Ayeshah
Copyright © Ayeshah K.C.L.N 1977-Present YEAR(s)
All right reserved
Raven Mc Chim Dec 2021
Holding onto the old days that won't repeat
Excepting a magic to happen
But at the end everything goes downhill
Maybe letting go of the old memories doesn't hurt much.
But hoping those memories to repeat is a mere imagination
Because
Memories happen not created
You made me feel that remembering those doesn't hurt.
But here I'm siting alone for seeking your precence
while I stare at the sky filled with stars
Now moon is filling your company
Walking with me and hearing my rants and talks.
Will you come and be with me again. I will take good care of you.
Jonah Lavigne Nov 2013
what is death?
is it good
or is it bad
most are scared
but not me
i would welcome death
with open arms
like and old friend
but not today my love
you hold me from him
you keep me alive
our love keeps me alive
with out you
i would be nothing
so i ask again what is death
is it torture
a lifetime without
your smile
your face
your voice
a night time
of nothing
blazing hot
or would
you be waiting
for me
siting and waiting
siting and waiting
in our own paridise
death
would be a doorway
one life
with you
for another
Reverie Dawson Apr 2015
I'm tired of me looking at myself and hating what I see.
I'm tired of crying when no one is around.
I'm tired of waiting for that one person to see that I'm hurting.
I'm tired of hoping, praying, screaming that someone could hear me.
It's like I'm in this big white box that has enslaved me.
Unable to see if anyone is looking at me or crying for me.
Unable to hear my screaming cries that ties me to this...cold and damp earth.
This earth filled with people dying, crying trying! trying so hard to fly away from all this.
I'm tired of pretending everything is going to be alright.
I'm tired of lying to myself, hiding, tying to fight my own mind.
Striving trying to laugh at those small but big things that are cutting me down, and tying me to this chair beating me.
All those colors I used to see in that big wide open space is gone.
Those stars bring me deep into my mind were I'm lost and wounded.
I'm tired of hurting.
Seeing anyone else hurt with me like this.
I break for them.
I can't do anything about it.
So I'm here writing this down, siting on my small bed and trying to block out this world.
Crying to myself.
Writing again and again and again.
Is that really all I can do?
I'm painting myself a picture of how I wish everything was.
And it's draining.
I'm failing.
Sean Kassab Dec 2012
I found myself siting in the sand, my back against a Hesco bastion, writing on an old familiar note pad. I imagined myself at home, sitting against the old oak tree that grew in the back yard, grass tickling my bare feet in the humid summer breeze. The old cheap pencil I was using had bite marks on it and the eraser was long gone but it wrote just fine and made a scratching sound against the grain of the paper that I found soothing as I filled the page. It was my escape after all…writing. It took me away from the day to day stress of southern Afghanistan. I thought about that as I wrote…how people needed a way to escape. I’ll admit to thinking about all kinds of things, that’s just what writing does for me. It makes me think. It makes me want to tell stories of love, pain, sorrow and joy. It makes me want to abuse my notepad with doodles and tear stains long after I forgot what I was doing in the first place, which wasn’t the point anyway. It wasn’t important “what” I was writing. It was important “that” I was writing, because the joy is in the doing.
Zulu Samperfas Jun 2013
"You never get closure in an abusive relationship"
the advocate looked at me, softly, as she could waiting to see the hard news
soak in
the other women in the room were silent
Their "hes" were still around town, coming in and out
interfering, lying low, but at least paying attention,
abandonment is worse than punishment I thought
I was on the other side of the world, a reverse time zone
falling into the abyss
He took my wedding ring and engagement ring out of my luggage
then brought it up the stairs to me
and waited for the shuttle to come
I hugged him, but he didn't hug back, he shoved the bags inside
I was crying, he was stone cold, he payed the driver of the "sherute"
the shuttle to the airport in Hebrew, people stared but I didn't
care anymore, I was so used to people staring as he now
spoke to me and offered me a cigarette in front of the Mercez Horev, the mall
siting on the ***** concrete benches watching the line of people having
their bags checked before going in
Here I was smoking like I'd done my army service and gotten bored
and smoked to relieve the boredom and the stress
then something would go wrong and he'd get up, screaming at me
in English, and I'd run after
I didn't look at anyone in the sherute but I just knew they felt sorry for me
as we pulled away, after twelve years together, the last I saw of him
was him heading down the stairs
and now, the people at that job
I am learning new things in my classes
and, for one crazy moment I think:
I want to share this with them
so I write to my former boss
and that's the last thing he would ever want from me
He is the smart one, I am not, no one is smarter than him
He will never listen to me
Like I hugged my husband
not knowing he'd stolen my engagement ring and my wedding band
just like the Tel Aviv lawyer told me he would
the end. you never get closure in an abusive relationship
Abby Lock3 May 2017
My plant is siting
on top of my desk
and silently growing
without evidence.
It never tells me it needs to be fed
so it sits there and grows
until it is dead.

My lover is sitting
on top of my bed
and talking of loving,
but my thoughts remain unsaid.
I know our relationship will not survive
he has no chance,
all that I touch dies.
AStarsHeartbeat Sep 2016
I don't know why tonight was so bad
I was doing fine, save for a few bumps in the road
Loneliness hadn't visited me in a long time
But now I'm siting in the garden with her at 2am
And she's watching me break

I've always been happy to be alone
But I hate being lonely
And it feels pathetic
And it feels humiliating
But right now all I can think about are the stars and the salt on my lips
Everything else is long gone
Kenshō Oct 2014
On that shore I sat melancholy and sad.
Thinking about what the wave had taken away,
About what it might bring and what I had.

Sudden emotion rushed like wind.
Overhead that moon lit lantern,
Translating my message to send.

Oh, what a shame to try
To bring you here by my side.
In meaning, over this ocean perhaps you could fly.

To my lonely abiding shore
and sing songs of magic together
a fantasy sheathed in lore.

But now the ink runs low
and the winds of my heart move slow
what I have left had been taken by that ocean wave flow.

If I could send
a slice of my soul etched
with this feather pen,

Perhaps I could meet
this angel I seek.
Siting in reality alone, cold and bleak.
.
Robert Guerrero Jun 2016
These gremlins are messing with me today
Siting on the ***
With a book to read
A video game on the phone
No toilet paper for me *******
I got the bathroom blues
I'm yelping for some helping
Getting nothing but a silence
Oh these bathroom blues
Got me bad
hate when there is no tp
Gemma Aug 2010
I opened a book and flew
to a far distant land
I disappeared from my room and the mundane sounds of everyday
This world was alive, this island of infinite adventures
George, not to be called Georgina
and the other three, and the doggy
I have the faintest memories
Except they aren't quite like memories
I don't remember words, but broken videos and sepia photographs
like I lived all these stories in a a past life
a life where everything seemed monumental-
huts were mansions,
shrubs-forests, people-giants, moments-eternity

Siting on a bed and making shapes out of bugs on the ceiling
on grass that smelled green, making smoke monsters out of clouds

In these idyllic wanderings into imagination
Homework was the tripping hazard
Map Stencils? Arithmetic?  
5+18= STAY INSIDE THE BOX.

When I open the pages now,
its never quite the same,
I wonder how someone could be named ****
and how their parents let them own an island
and why they never grew up.

So I pick up something with more pages
and longer words, and complex thoughts
and subtexts based on isms, and context

But the words stay on the pages
and the pages in my hand
and my bed in my room, with me trapped within
I hear my cellphone buzzing, and a notification about nothing on facebook
So I put a bookmark, never returning.

I think it happens when you're thirteen,
the initiation, rite of passage
they lock up that secret part of your mind
and put the key inside your old journal that you never use (because journals went 'live')
Welcome to the real world! Now you must find yourself!
Who are you? What do you want? What's the quickest way to get it?
Find a path and tread it carefully; don't wander or hover, or smell a water lilly, or stare at a worm, or chase a butterfly.
Just keep moving, till you get to that destination- where you'll find applause. (Oooh..applause they say.)

I'm walking and walking and walking.
But I cant find mansions or forests or giants.
Everything seems so small, so vivid.

I see the builders, not the castle; the tricks, not the magic; the camera, not the fairy tale.
I try to veer off-coarse into the wilderness
I try to wander but my footsteps seem so measured.
I start running and the roots of trees trip me, and the branches
scratch my face.

I fall and open my eyes and see the endless true blue sky.
I think there might have been a lake that glimmered with angeldust,
and I heard whispers of laughter that kept bouncing off the water.
There was something about the wind, like mystery in the air.
I felt on the verge of something, a clue, a challenge
An untitled adventure.

As I began to leave reality behind and lose myself in this strange, faraway land- a key turned, a door shut. The answering machine beeped.

I know now why the famous five stayed young forever.
Phoolmatee Dubay Oct 2014
I am siting here pondering
While pensive about my future
What does it hold?
Do I know?
Or don't I know?
Will I know?

Many questions, many answers
I want to work again
While I can again
This is a goal I want
This is a goal I must achieve

I 'll have to seek it to find it
Not just one I"ll seek
But many until I find the right one
I want to work but I need to find the job I want.

— The End —