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r0b0t Jul 2014
There is a fine line between obsession and love
and suffocating myself
with a pillow will not solidify that.
Bob Horton Feb 2014
The Earth was ours.

We filled its fertile fields full of
Plants of our own choosing: our own design.
To provide for ourselves we drained the Earth
Because the Earth was ours.

We populated the islands that
The Earth had built for us from its own skin.
Like parasites we kept it alive for our needs
Because the Earth was ours.

Then one day the Earth spoke:

You who crawl over my face,
Unthinking for the blemishes you build.
You till my skin and plough my bones, you drink
My tears and feast on my flesh. Slowly, my fiery
Vengeance has brewed, bubbled upwards
And wrath shall be known.

It will begin as a rumbling.
You will think I tremble with terror at your might
But the movement of your monuments is more my
Laughter at your lowliness. The hallways of your houses
Will be hewn by themselves as my body convulses to be rid of the
Sickness of you. You will sound your two-tone Armageddon sirens
In vain as my thunderous thoughts tumble your towers
Fragment your foundations. Break your brick walls.
Stone on stone will spark, igniting infrastructure
And your cities will burn.

But it is just the beginning.

I will bury you.
I will bury you in the fire of my fury.
I will bury you in the ashes of my anger.
You will solidify, screaming, into silent stone.
You will choke, child-like, on my smoke.
You will die by my hand: your home.
And I will bury you.

And this to me is easy.
I am greater than all you build from
My body. So I use my body to wreak ruin:
Reduce your greatness to rubble and dust
Because the Earth was always mine.
I was always my own.
This is a spoken word piece, the latter part after "The Earth Spoke:" is meant to be screamed.
Leah Apr 2016
My art teacher used to say.
“Don’t add the black paint until you’re ready for a finished product”
and I never listened.
So I painted with my black paint
a little too soon,
a little too much,
a little too dark,
a little too passionate,
a little too addicted,
to the night,
I always enjoyed the starry sky.
My art teacher used to say
“Keit, I know that you love her, I see it, you two are my favorite couple”
and I never listened.
So I broke her heart at night
as she gripped her chest
while I did,
as she hid her heart
while I bit,
as she held her tongue
while I kissed,
as she ran from me,
while I chased.
I always enjoyed the lustful parts,
but I miss the gentle parts more.
My art teacher used to say.
“black is dominance,
black is overwhelming,
and black is torture,
but black must be controlled”
but I never listened.
Because it never made much sense, I didn’t make much sense of anything except for her. I tried to make sense out of a human being, my human being. A lover, my lover, and you know what the trust it all about?
People don’t make sense.
Love has no sense of direction.
People are chaotic.
Love is chaos.
People are nature’s kiss,
Love, the lips.
People are timeless.
Love is timed.
She was natural.
I was the ******* disaster.
There is a quote out there that goes,
and you’ll know why people are named after storms, why hurricanes are named after girls and you know what?
She wasn’t any of those things,
I was.
I was the earthquake that
shook her buildings down
and they crashed into her heart;
that explains the cracks.
I was the wildfire that
burnt through her magical forest
and the rabbit lost more time;
that explains Alice in wonderland.
I was the calm eye of the storm that
had one sweet angle and 20 more reasons to **** her over;
my insides said I love you,
but my outsides and I hate you
that explains the obsession,
this hopeless romantic poetry *******.
I was a flood,
and her eyes the land,
her eyes the gates,
her eyes the drowned city.
I was the big bang,
and her soul the many universes
within universes, the many stars
followed by comet showers,
the wishing stars that never came true,
the first time the moon met the sun,
love at first sight, forever separated,
the moon crashing into the sun,
night and dat never being one
until dawn came and twilight clouds
rained her name and my name
was shot across the enos of lightyears
and no one hears my scream in space
except for her an she does care,
but these type of blackholes
**** up everything!
They destroy everything,
a still painting dripping with black paint and I wanted to lover her
and all of this time I thought
that she was the black paint,
but it was me, who was the paint.
And I took all of her light,
a black hope in space
kissing the suns of my theory
one last time,
into the darkness they went
and back to the darkness
that they came from.
And my art teacher used to say
“Don’t add the black paint until you’re ready for the finished product.”
I finally listened.
So I let go of her a few days ago.
I told myself that I needed to stop.
Stop talking to her like she was
the sunset we all adored
and how her eyes meant the world,
and it it meant that she’d wink
butterflies into the pit of my stomach,
I’d die as a self-imploding star.
So I stopped myself from being
more black paint, I crossed out
her face with my own fingers
and kissed her one last time.
My art teacher used to say
“because this black is undoing, you cannot paint over it with white the black is so dense, it’s raw, it’s real it stops all hints of color under it over and over it. Because this is art and art is life, art is poetry and art is love, because art it everything and anything”
So I became the nights she had to sleep alone, so I became the nights I cried to sleep, so I became free from her love and I finally understood my art teacher, I finally understood my ex.
“Black paint is the purest color and lightest of color if used correctly with the right amount of care and tender”
Add a little black with white
and you’ll have grey.
Add a little black with red
and you you’ll have my bleeding heart.
and a little black and blue
and you’ll have her bruised lips.
And a little black with yellow
and you’ll have her eye color.
add a little black to my soul,
and you’ll have lust.
Add a little black to my heart,
and you’ll have her.
And I could swear I head my art teacher say.
“You’ll let go of her one day when you’re ready, you’ll add red aver all of your paintings because they’ll remind you of her lips, it’ll be you favorite color, you’ll ad blue over your roses because red has too much passion, it’s on fire and sometimes we have to appreciate the beauty of weirdness, poetry and art is weird, the best kind, you’ll add pale yellow for her skin tome and you’ll add dark, dark brown near lonely tree trunks because it’ll remind you of her eyes that cried every night because you didn’t know how to love, young kids finding slipped pants unhooked bras more satisfying than adding black paint to solidify a relationship that could’ve been, and you’ll add your last drop, the finishing touch, you’ll be the black paint, and she’ll be the finished product.”
And I finally listened.
I finally listened to art teacher.
So I let you of, baby.
The world is your canvas
and I was the black paint.
His lips your new black paint,
and you, his unfinished product.
Ah, Coventry, thou art but dead now-to me;
Thy life is not alive, and thy winds are too cold
Thou art as filthy as dust can be, and eyes might see;
Thy hearts are too bold, and to greed-your soul hath been sold.
And I want not, to be pictured by thy odd art;
For than oddness itself, 'tis even paler, and more odd;
And 'tis not honest, and full of disputing fragments;
Gratuitous in its earnest, talkative in each of its sort.
Ah, Coventry, I shall go, and catch up-with the strings of my story,
Which thou hath destroyed for the sake of thy fake harmony;
And in my tears lie thy most fragrant joys, and delightful sleep,
Which thou findeth tantalising, but idyllic-and satisfactory.
Ah, Coventry, go away-from my sight, as I solve my misery;
T'is misery thou hath assigned to, and dissolved over me,
I bid thee now fluently blow away from my face;
With a spitefulness so rare, and not to anyone's care nor taste;
And doth not thou question me, no more, about my tasks-or simply, my serenity;
For thou hath fooled me, and testified not-to my littlest serendipity,
You who claimed then, to be one of my dearest friends;
And now whom I detest-cannot believe I trusted thee back then.
And my soul! My soul-hath been a tangled ball-in thy feeble hands;
Colourless like a stultified falsehood, blundering like a normal fiend.

For on thy stilted dreadfulness at night, I hath stepped;
For in front of thy heterogeneous eves, I hath bluntly slept.
I had tasted thy water, and still my tongue is not satisfied;
I had swum in thy pages, but still my blood is not glorified.
Among thy boughs-then I dared, to solidify my fingers;
But still I couldst not bring thee alive, nor comprehend thy winters.
Instead I was left teased, and as confused as I had used to be;
I couldst find not peace, nor any saluted vehemence, in thee.
Ah, I am exhausted; I am brilliantly, and sufficiently, exhausted!
I am like torture itself-and if I was a plant, I wouldst have no bough,
For my branches wouldst be sore and demented,
For my foliage wouldst be tentative and rough.
I hath been ratified only by thy rage and dishonour;
I hath been flirted only, with thy rude hours.
And my poems thou hath insolently rejected,
And my honest lies thou hath instantaneously abused.
Thou consoled me not, and instead went furtive by my wishes;
Thou returned not my casual affection, and crushed my hope for sincere kisses.
I hath solemnly ratified thee, and praised thy music by my ears,
Yet still I twitch-as my sober heart then grows filled with tears.
Ah, thou hath betrayed, betrayed me!
Thy grief is even enhanced now-look at the way thou glareth by my knee!
O, Coventry, how couldst thou betray me-just whenst my time shivered and stopped in thine,
Thou defiled me so firmly; and disgraced the ****** poetry bitterly in thy mind,
As though it wouldst be the sole nightmare thou couldst 'ver find!
Ah, Coventry! Thou art cruel, cruel, and forever cruel!
Thou hath disliked me-like I am a whole scoundrel;
Whenst I but wanted to show thee t'at my poetry was safe, and kept no fever at all;
But no other than an endorsement of thy merriment, and funny disguises for thy reposes.
Ah, how couldst be thou be so remorseful-how couldst thou cheat me, and pray fervently-for my fall!
And to thee, only greed is true-and its satisfaction is thy due virtue,
For in my subsequent poetry, still thou shalt turn away-and scorn me once more;
With menace and retorts simply too immune, and perhaps irksome loath-like never before.

Ah, but how far shall thy distaste for me ever go?
Thou who hath blurred me-'fore even seeing my dawn,
'Fore even lurching forward, to merely glance at my town.
Thou art but afar, and now shall never enter my heaven,
For victory is no longer my shadow, 'tis to which I shall return.
I am like a shame behind thy glossy red curtain,
I am a pit whom thou couldst only befall, and joylessly spurn.
But ah! Still I am blessed, within my imperfection-thou knoweth it not?
I am blessed by the airs-and wealthy Edens of the Almighty, thou seeth t'is not?
He who hath the care, and pride anew-to cut thy story short,
He who hath listened to my cores, and shall deliver me from thy resort.
T'us I shall be afraid not, of thy wobbly tunes-and thy greedy notes!
For humility is in my heart, though probably thou hath cursed me;
And bidden me to let my soul detach, and run astray,
Still I shall find my fertile love, and go away;
I shall bring him away-away from thy abrupt coldness-and headless dismay;
I shall nurse and love him again-like I hath done yesterday, and even today;
And in t'is, I shall carest not for what thou might say to me later-day after day.
For as far as I shall go, my poetry t'an shall entail me;
And thus follow the liveliness, and scrutiny-of my merritorious paths only,
And in the name of Him, shall love thee and rejoice in thee not;
But within my soul, it shall recklessly, but patiently-do them both;
'Tis my very goal it shall accomplish,
And for my very romance, shall it sketch up altogether-such a mature bliss.
I should dance, thereof-just like a reborn female swan;
And forget everything life might contain-including my birth, as though life wouldst just be a lot of fun.

But I shall be alive like my tenderness,
So is my love-he t'at hath brought forth my happiness,
I shall be dressed only in the finest clothes-and he my prince,
As the gem of my soul hath desired our holiness to be, ever since.
Yet still I hope thou wouldst be freed, and granted my virtue,
Though still I doubt about which-for thy fruits are weightless, and to forever remain untrue.
Such be the case, art thou entitled to my current screams,
And blanketed only by my most fearful dreams.
T'is is my curse-in which thou shalt be in danger, but must be obedient,
For curses canst be real-and mine considers thee not, as a faithful friend.
And obedience be not in thee-then thou shalt all be death,
Just like thou hath imprisoned my love, and deceived my breath!
Still-my honesty leads me away, and shall let me receive my triumph;
As so cravingly I hath endured-and tried to reach, in my poems!
Ah, Coventry, unlike the stars-indulged in their tasteful domes,
Even when I am free, in thee I shall never be as joyful-and thus thou, shalt never be my home.
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2018
.oddly enough, the only way to escape **** addiction... is to ******* your escape... but... em... **** addiction? more like, to counter the culture of exhibitionism on the females' part... i've looked... no video of a guy imitating doing **** with his bony hand... so... there's only one way out, ******* long enough while taking a **** and a ****... and... done... all that's left is a bunch of ***** and ***** boasting some frivolous enterprise of depicting contraception; mere abstinence doesn't work... you have... **** your way out of this Alcatraz; finding the bore is so liberating... it's like finding your **** again, and seeing an amputated hand's space, where imitation **** used to be.

and why did the game
war robots...
do away with the king of the hill

**** me... it was the most
tactical version of the game...
most people didn't get it...

they didn't get it because
they "thought" that by simply
capturing a beacon
you'd get to eat the brownies...

the whole point was standing
your ground... in the beacon
vicinity, to drain away the points-per-second
earned by... standing your ground...

it was a defense strategy format
of the game...
              and the other aspect?
you had to solidify yourself
to the pattern of which
beacons would light up for you
to defend...

      it was the most fun variant of
the whole experience...
not some mindless variant...
the most tactical aspect of the game,
and the game engineers pulled out
and deleted it...

that's what made the game fun,
you have a second layer of tactic...
you weren't supposed
to play the eager-trigger role
of the infantry...
you had to think about sustaining
an occupation of a certain
space in the game...
  like... sitting in the trenches
during world war I...

               but then people have
to take out the fun in not being
all: trigger-happy...
         hell... if this game wasn't as
engaging as it is...
but given the revision, it's becoming less so...
i'd take about 5 minutes to take a shower,
and about 6 minutes to take a ****
while massaging my prostate
with an eager **** shaft...

what? some people have the audacity
to take a **** while pretending to
read a book, while at the same time jerking
off in an armchair with scented candles...
i do the 1 through to 4...
take a ****, take a ****,
*******, play a video game for about
10 minutes on the throne of

                  sometimes i get lucky and
miss no. 3... because i'm like...
what's the ******* point, right now?
                 i already know that
the sensation of ******* is purely
muscular and not related to
actual *******...
i know... i did it from the age of 8...
when... nothing came out...
you could cut by ***** off and
i'd still feel an, "******"...

               so... hey, snippet...
it's not like i'm planning to have any
little munchkins running around...
although i might have liked that...
but we're past that...
   liberal democracies...
yeah... i've heard that fairy-tale...
the sort of ideas that drug up
libertarian right-wingers?
  those asylums of pompous
                oh sure... i know them....
i live in one of them...
     i'm of a different schooling...
**** Hobbes, **** Locke,
**** Hume and ****
               i'd replace Machiavelli with
la Rochefoucauld... to begin with...
Hume with Kant,
                           and the other two...
can't be bothered...
it's enough to counter Machiavelli...
if there's even a counter...
let's just throw in some names...
let's say: Heidegger for Hobbes...
and Sartre for Locke...
  evidently non-related...
                       but in all earnest...
Marquis de Sade...
an overlooked gem of a novella...
         so...         concentrated and non-repetitive...
an actual work of philosophy...

but why did the gaming developers
have to **** around with
the king of the hill tactical game-play?

half as fun doing the 1, 2, 4 and the sometimes 3
on the throne of thrones.

well yeah... king of kings...
but the king of kings didn't exactly sit
on the throne of thrones...
he put a jester on it... to reveal
exactly as much as is worth: this.
Poetry by MAN Jul 2013
My mind continues to wander through my imagination once again creating more Mind Associations....
now..we wonder how humanity will take its final bow
an endless cycle like the dawn of a new day, the birth of an idea, doing it a new way
solid foundation of ideas made into law people don't read it is our greatest flaw
part of minds corruption warmonger's can't resist its **** seduction
I am what I seek, for I have no peak, all I do is evolve through these words I speak
a force we follow gladly, leaving fate to chance and hoping things don't end sadly
Is what we bleed, our hunger is fed, but still we feed
is still alive? nourish it to grow, through many and it will thrive
a sickness of humanity, we become inflicted then not treated, compounding societies calamities
a path through obstruction, a place where we meet all and discover our function
souls intertwine beyond reality and time, creating a bond which cannot be defined
some refuse to live it, while those who are not ready continue to give it
can't live without it everything has value don't ever doubt it
a collective that's reflective of common in ideal and blood, shared in location and inner love
an entrance to the path to potential, having a vision is fundamental to see what is essential
our demons excursion, a fornicating site to the minds immersion
abundance of silence interrupted by the sunlight which in turn is interrupted by the moonlight
never just given over time is truly earned, it also can be twisted and burned
is what I strive to be, to be able to blast through the problems that plague humanity
followers in the ideas of spreading fears, inflicting selfish pain for many years
hand and hand together we can make and execute a plan as one people we can take a stand
sometimes you gotta take the time, hit the road let your soul unwind
a force very strong often misunderstood and usually taken wrong
part of genes that makeup the female scheme, science's version of Mother Supreme
filled with mistakes, foundation breaks ,solidify your destiny through life's earthquakes
*no damage done equals none, does nothing really exist under the sun?
7-9-13 M.A.N. lol O.M.G I did it again this time I forgot "S" I should have made "S" for sleep every since this poetic demon has possessed me I get very little of it lately. lol
matt d mattson Jun 2012
Have you forgotten?
The Iron
The Fire
The hammer and anvil of it all
The pile of **** and scrap metal
The dirt ore heap in the corner of your soul
The useless heavy burden
On your shoulders, and in the heart of you

Have you forgotten the forging and the beating
The sweating and the bleeding
The swing and the crash,
And the pain and the smash;
The heat from the fires that purify
And the hiss from the waters that solidify
Have you missed the bending and folding
and the way that you're constantly molding?

Have you forgotten
You are the hammer
You are the anvil
You are the iron and the forge fire
That creates the steel of your character
The sharp sweeping sword of your soul
For no one else can change you
Except for you

So slam the hammer down!
Swing it without flinching
Tense yourself, your muscles your nerves and sinews
Grit your teeth and clench your jaw
Grip the metal like a white knuckled vice of certainty
Focus on the spot and
Slam the Hammer Down!
Beat it into something useful
Beat if into something beautiful
Beat it with meaning for it is meaningful!
Did you forget that!

No, You did not forget
You dreamed of throwing it off,
You dreamed of being rid of it
You  hoped to wake one day
And find that it had melted away


“You cannot dream yourself into a character:
you must hammer and forge yourself into one.”
― Henry David Thoreau
Trevor Gates Sep 2013
Vespertine, fatal dream
Mistress conjuring shapes of night
Seventeen little fiends
Elegy for a demon’s plight

Alone in my study, sitting
before a roaring fire
Visions so ******
they churn desire

With the dead of night
summoning hellish zest
They come to incinerate
my corrosive flesh

The hymns of *St. Lazarus
beckon solace
from the cathedral outside
But I linger here in the bowels,
where my ancestral sins reside

Animistic stares gazing through
these dead-soul dreams
Where another horror story is not
always what it seems

Portraits of deceased queens
looked down at me with blackened eyes
Layers of muffled screams
festered while judging my vacant lies

Years before, my grandmother watched
over me as a boy in his bed;
Endless, ambiguous rhymes of prayer
are what she often said.

She promised to ban the spirits
that steadily linger
But dark twisting hands
outreached and took her

The monsters and invisible abominations
have always been here
Following my whereabouts,
watching me year after year

Subtle ghosts keeping my heart
and house cold
I sat and waited for what my
icy breath foretold

The dreams, the demons, the ghosts
all that severed me
From experiencing the love of flesh
I so forever longed to see

Came the hour the church bells rang and tolled

The dread of things to come
The moans and cries had begun

From lissome shadows and corridors
Like Charon beating souls with oars

Creeping evil fled
to the refuge of my home
To reap the sins
that my family had sewn

The rippling, screeching strings
of a malevolent orchestra
Scored and produced themes
worthy of infernal Sumatra

The flames in the fireplace
surged a green incendiary wall
From the hell mouth jaw emerged
a dark figure I saw.

Mother Mephistopheles,
            clad in silvery pieces with a pale face
            Manifesting atrocities, her emerald eyes
            welcoming our embrace

I backed away from the sights in,
my trance lost in her glimmer
But the noises and choir peaked
in a swarming fit for a sinner

In a gush of surrounding ash, Father Selaphiel materialized
The otherworld lovers reunited,
their bond revitalized.

We come unto thee, Son of Faust, heir to Blake.
They said in unison like a choral demon snake

Create a fleshling worthy of a child, of many in one
So the deeds of your family’s sins can be undone.

I stared at the figures with execrable bewilderment
Fearing my sanity had seeped through my temperament

They threaten my eternal existence with continued torment
A living anguish that would solidify my hell-bound descent

What must be done?” I asked these surrogate advisers

And they instructed
A body made from flesh and metal
Of dead and living components
Blessed and cursed
From God and Satan
Men and creature
Using their collected powers
to merge with the night
I swept across the villages
and cities to obtain the materials
Now all these years, I’ve wondered
Why my medical expertise had been put to waste
“Did the demons prevent me?” I pondered
“Or did they aid me?” I concluded in my haste

Innocent or not, I claimed what I needed
To rid myself of the terrors deep-seated.

A steel-woven chest piece
and half-incinerated cadaver
Twenty feet of large intestines;
boys, girls didn’t matter

Shelled-out cranial cavity
with cerebral cortex to match
Mixing bladders and gallbladders
worth its catch

Punctured spleens and insolent creams
Circulatory, digestive, endocrine,

Iron bones, infused tendons mount
Smells and rancid odors spilling out

Guts, pus, worms and maggoty brains
Boiling in holy water with dried remains

Sacks of chain mail and velveteen potions
Seething concoctions conflate emotions

Patches of caustic skin made like adamant leather
Bolted with steel fingered brutally severed

Into gauntlet armor, this mechanized abomination
Personifying my sickened, wailing degradation

I showed Father and Mother my life’s work and creation
A flesh-iron shell waiting, they stood with appreciation

Vespertine…” they called to the collage of my work
They petted its face while the shadows continued to lurk

Seventeen little fiends and creatures
appeared and surround
The moon shined through the glass
and the room around

The Seventeen shadow children became smoke and entered the monster
Now a being both ethereal and corporeal

My sins and demons locked in my own creation
Mother Mephistopheles and Father Selaphiel
Left Vespertine in my care

All that plagued me
All that haunted me

Personified, solidified
And barely alive.

My half-dead servant.

and Halloween child
Charlie Chirico Oct 2012
“After hours of evaluations, our doctors came to the conclusion that he was paranoid, but speaking with family and friends, they stated that there were no obvious signs of mental distress. No one expected him to go through with the ******. He had a lot of faults, but most were thought to be harmless. His idiosyncrasies were overlaid with a well thought out patience and understanding. During the evaluation he spoke of compartmentalization, and his lack of emotional comprehension, which he explained should not be misconstrued as “apathetic behavior.”  His words were inveigled, and when he wasn’t applying his charming disposition, he was implementing a passive aggressiveness. This was a man who did not hide in the shadows, but he knew them very well. Darkness was shown through his eyes the longer we spoke, as his pupils grew larger, and his determined stare, a menacing stare, pierced people’s souls.” – Dr. Rebecca Altwater


On the train. Not awake. It's not too crowded, around me at least. There is a group of black students, yes, I said black, because that is the color of their skin, and, well, I’m white, and I’m fine with being described as white. This is all factual. So the black, students, high school students, are creating a commotion. (I have always hated using the term “African American” because it has always made me feel prejudice. When I say it, I think of it as a label, and I’d rather not go further into what I mean by *labels
). The train smells like ****. The smell overpowers my coffee. The coffee is weak. My body is aching. I’m starting to develop a headache. (The students are now beat boxing). My head is mutating. Temples pulsating. Veins exposed. Eyes closed. The beat boxing continues.

I reach into my leather shoulder bag. I’m not looking for anything in particular, more or less trying to look busy. A woman three seats down is watching me intently. My eyes are fixated on my bag. I can feel her eyes examining me. It’s hard to rule out the theory of having a sixth sense, especially in situations as these. My fingers delicately brush over a novel, the novel I decided to read during the train ride for this work week, to which I haven’t started reading, and completely forgot I placed in my bag — (It was an impulsive purchase) it was now another item that would solidify the self-realization that I am a procrastinator, and considering that this novel was for the work week, and it is now Thursday, just proves my point further. The novel will be shelved, and another novel will take its place in my leather shoulder bag. Although I may not follow through with my intentions I am still a person who stays very consistent. I will swap novels. After work I will stop at Borders books. I’ll need a new novel for work week number thirty out of fifty-two. After a week it will be shelved, and I will start again: buy another novel, and continue to not read it. I’m a very consistent person.


My alarm went off for thirty minutes this morning.


Glenn, my brother, calls me early in the afternoon to invite me to dinner. A family dinner. And he informs me that our mother will be there. He graciously asks me if I can attend, but I know he only invites me because he is dreading our mother’s visit. Very seldom do I see or hear from my brother and his family, but when our immediate family is added to the equation I am the first person he calls. I am (and this is how he put it) his “emotional confidant” when he becomes too overwhelmed. The reason this is, is because it has always been a one way street. His perception of me is not the most desirable, but he trusts my word. The term that comes to mind, when him and I converse, is that I am self-destructive. It must be easy for him to give insight to this speculation when he is just as irrational as I am. Our only difference is that I have embraced the idea of negative and positive spontaneity, whereas his neurosis comes from self-induced pressure and stress. When I die, it would not be in vain if it happened without warning. I am reckless. If he died unexpectedly, it would be of great shock, but it will most likely be the cause of a brain aneurysm.  It’s funny how irony works. You know, us being brothers, and him seeing us as total opposites, when in reality our similarities outweigh the obtuse differentials.


It’s the halfway point of the work week. I have my new novel, untouched, in my leather shoulder bag. For the last three days (including today) I have arrived at the train station an hour earlier than usual. I made this decision Monday, and have found that it is a more logical time. Although I have an hour to **** before work, I avoid my headache (the black students) before sitting at my office desk. Thankfully, there weren't too many pros and cons that came with this decision. It was fairly easy. I could have continued to deal with an excruciating head pain, one that would stick with me throughout the day, or sacrifice an hour of sleep. The latter was the correct choice. When I came to this conclusion on Sunday I could not rest my brain. My mind was at ease, I felt relieved and content, but I was apprehensive nevertheless. Monday came and went, (slowly, because of minor sleep deprivation) along with all of my anxieties from the past week.

I never thought I’d say this, but seeing a therapist helps. There hasn't been much to articulate yet, concerning my listlessness, but my insomnia was discussed, and I was optimistic. My problems could be far worse, and when they are, maybe leaving an hour early is the answer. My next appointment is in two hours, at four, and I’m going to leave shortly. I don’t know what I will do for the extra hour I have allotted myself, but I do have a novel I won’t read and a newspaper that was left on my desk, with the headline reading, “Crime Rates Rise: How To Maintain Your Sanity During The Recession.”
Mikaila Jun 2014
I'll turn missing you into a way to spend my life with you.
Just see if I don't.
It doesn't matter what you do to me, I will love you every **** day.
I will make something beautiful and devote it to you.
My pain for your absence will solidify with time, and become a being of its own,
And it will follow me like my own shadow wherever I go
For the rest of my life.
And when I turn out the light,
It will envelope me, surround me, swallow me,
And we will be the same.
I've called you the sun, I've called you light, I've called you the universe,
I've called you my love,
And now you have become something even more heartbreakingly present.
Now you inhabit the dark as well.
Now the thought of you is the air around me,
In my lungs, along my skin,
So absent that it is everywhere.
So empty that it fills everything.
And never in my life will I be able to find a place without it.
Never anywhere will I stop breathing you in.
And as I murmur your name into the dark every night before I fall asleep
I realize that even if you don't care if I die, you will keep me alive.
VickyEbes Feb 2014
You say it all the time
“I love you.”
And I hear it
I know.
But when you come home from a long day
And the world has beaten you down
And you feel like the only thing holding you together
Is the thin layer of flesh that covers your body
When you wake up and you feel that if you leave your bed
Somehow, there are puzzle pieces of you that are stuck inside your sheets
And on the nights when you cannot remember what sleep is
And your mind begins to crumble like sand in an hourglass
And your skull begins to feel empty
Hearing the words “I love you.” should fill the cracks of your aching body
Bind the pieces that seem to fall apart
Solidify the thoughts in your mind.
When you say “I love you”
I can feel it struggle to find its way to the areas of me that need care
But it cannot get past the part of me that has grown hard
I have never understood your love
And in the attempt to learn to, most of me has become callused
Years of numbing the pain to try and learn how you love
Only to become immune to it.
Please understand I am making changes, I am becoming my own person
I am leaving for now
I am leaving for the times that I felt uncomfortable eating
Because you always seems to have a comment about my size
I am leaving for the nights where all I remember is screaming
Pretending that everything was alright, even though I was scared to death
I am leaving for the times I desperately needed a shoulder to cry on
But knew that if I turned to you I would be scolded instead of comforted
I am leaving for the times where your anger would get the best of you
And you would push me in an attempt to win the arguement
I am leaving for all the times I was told to be quiet
When all I ever wanted to do was sing at the top of my lungs
I am leaving for the times when I should have been the one crying
But instead I comforted you because you couldn’t be strong
I am leaving for the times when you told me that what I was feeling wasn’t real
Because I had a good life
I am sorry that I cannot find a way to accept your love
That your words can’t seem to flow through my cracks with the same ease as others
But I am leaving
And maybe someday I will understand how you love me
And your words will make me feel warm instead of nothing at all
I am leaving
For now
But please don’t forget me
WS Warner Sep 2011
The night becomes you -
hair coiffed in fashion
illuminated eyes reveal attraction,
the scent of body oil
ambient music evolves
savory rhetoric,
cabernet erodes my inhibition
no contrition, turn the ignition.

The night becomes you -
you wear it well  
an amalgam,
ardor and insouciance -
redefining glamour,
ephemeral moments
dial down the sunlight,
I am slain - voice and accent
weave their spell;
black dust coat, white hat,
a pair of posh boots
they live to tell.

The night becomes you
rhyme scheme -  lyrical poetry
sophisticated venue, table for two
ensconced, the
leather lounge,
similitude within difference;
undulation - cadences of
counterpoint -
poise and peril of duality
we inhabit the floor.
Postprandial, conversation extempore;
machinations of intoxicating discourse,
I could drink your words -
artistic milieu- beguiling imagery,
sonant susurrations
penetrate my being.

The night becomes you -
theoretical locutions
phrasing depth and humor,
undiluted amour, tensions resolve
frame by frame,
solidify the affair
and validate the rumor
subsumed in sequence, pulsating,
igniting the sapid interior flame
silver screen ending,
effusive reviews
two hearts collide and form one;
the cherub's arrow finds its aim.

©2008 & 2011 W.S. Warner
r0b0t Aug 2014
I have always been a morning person
With the way the sun peeked over storage units
and abandoned cars
"Hello!" It says
"I am here! Do not fear the dark!"
So we make our coffee and the artists think
Certain things
We build words and universes within ourselves
And we never get to a book in time to write it down
To scrawl down the formula
For what might have been
morning always reminds me
Of lazy cats stretching in the sun
And watching the dew solidify
On the grass
Outside the window.
This morning was...interesting.
Samber Saenz Sep 2012
you keep on glowing
even when i close my eyes.
the darkest places-Gary michael.
I helped write the lyrics to a song about someone i hadn’t met yet. and now i realize that i wrote them about the one i would soon meet.
follow me here into the depths of the ocean where the waves collapse my lungs and retrieve my spirit. we were blessed with the simple knowing of our souls. they whispered at great lengths so far apart they heard one another. i saw you see me for all the heaviness i am. with such strength you pulled the weight and threw it away to the shore line hoping for high tide. it came at its own pace but it pulled away all it could and has left space for creativity. I see all peace in the sea within the arms of giant who beholds the means to repair all imperfections. solidify my concerns for drowning discomfort you have pushed me over the edge and thrown me a raft but missed because i must learn to swim. “Keep your head above the water” you’d shout from amidst the boat you have brought me in. so I kick and struggle and im drowning and your shouting “you must relax and see that i am seen and unseen in the eyes of the life that clings to the night in hopes to float to me in eloquent motions” so i close these horizon eyes and breathe out the fear of God. “to remember me in hatred is to remember me in love so remember me for indifference and you too shall float above” daysleeper has released the nervous tension and has given me the strength to be no other than a teacher and lost soul to the seed as it grows. i am rescued from the ocean and im soaking wet with emotion. my body is wrapped in the warmth of the savior i was threatened from. you have consumed me in your radiance where i will always stay and i love the way the ocean smells and you smell together as one. and once i woke from this dream it seemed that i had been breathing in and exhaling out the sweet sea and herbal tea.
I. Head

Listen to his yapper, take the spittle
to your ear. Do not hesitate. Learn this.

When he’s done. All silent like a coin-ran-out
jukebox, breathe

Easy like how it should be.

Swing your head all the way
to Mars, release it like a slingshot,

and as your vision blacks out
and the blood flows down,

know how your head is like
a rock that could open his head:

his everything.

II. Arms & Palms

If necessary, you have
blades. Palms and arms
stretching like a sturdy

Use that ****

Hit ‘em hard—

like the way it should
hurt ‘em bad!

III. Legs

You stand on
a battering ram;

And if that wall won’t budge,
find the right strength

and push. Push.


IV. Torso

When he whispers how huge
you’ve become; do not doubt
them. Know that you are a wall

that could
finally stop them

for good.

V. ******* and ***

You are more than
a set of sleeping
utilities tonight—

and the next night—

and the next—

and the next;

till you sleep
for permanence.
Jason McCarthy Nov 2014
Hero got a phone call,
From the being with three eyes.
So often his existence,
Could be validated by advice.

It is then organised by rhythms,
So that the words solidify,
If the chaos cant be structured,
Then all vision is blinding light.

Hero said to the being,
“I fall in to infatuation with such ease.”
The being said, “You’re seeing,
Your own love reflectively.

“Your brains mirror neurone system,
Causes you to smile at a smile,
This mirroring of others,
Allows for formation of a tribe.

Now you know this wisdom,
Think of your romantic life.
The subject of your infatuation,
Did not cause your love inside.
The love all humans seek,
Is already in your possession,
Which is why the search feels bleak,
You’re hunting the impossible obsession.

You’re all looking for your lost keys,
Tearing everything apart,
All the while they’re in your hand,
Or your breast pocket by your heart.”

Hero nodded rhythmically,
But found it hard to understand,
“If the love’s inside of me,
Then how has any love began?”

“A lot of love is a product,
Of false infatuation;
Two people seeking it from each other,
And thus there is divorce and separation.

But true love is the love inside of you,
Which is the love of the universe,
If you can learn to embrace this,
Then it will free you of your curse.

The mirror neurone system also detects,
The love inside as if it was a grin.
Within another, you’re existing love will reflect,
And embrace and share this world that the two of you are in.

It’s not a swapping of hearts,
But a pressing of them together.
The look in her eyes was not the start,
The start of love was forever.”
Kristo Frost Apr 2013
Every now and then you hear a word that you’ve never heard before. Afterwards, you begin to notice people using it all the time. When that happens, just tell yourself that you have blocked out the previous uses of the word, because you didn’t comprehend it before. This is a conveniently unverifiable explanation, and is also the most reasonable answer. I respectfully offer the proposition that you created the word the moment you heard it. Think about that.


You’ve been thinking about that. More specifically, you’ve been thinking about reality. You’re becoming more and more convinced that your own mind is reality. Moreover, you now realize that your mind is simultaneously the universe, by virtue of being part of the universe. I am just part of your universe. When you learn something, you add another tier to the limitless stack of existence. You hear talk of creators while you modestly create yourself. It is a paradoxical modesty that you are experiencing now.


The you that you remember is just a part of your universe as well. That you no longer exists, because you are not realizing now what you were realizing before. You bring anything into quiet existence with mere cognition, and merely solidify it with what you might think of as thought. Whoever is reading this is in fact the author.


You may have begun to suspect that you are creeping into some paranoid insanity. You may assure yourself that such is not the case, because in thinking that you are insane you are merely employing a subconscious defense mechanism to hide yourself from the Truth. You and I have tricked ourselves with the like many, many times. You will probably do it again soon. Fearlessly ignore such doubts; may your mind charge forward with free thought. You can mark the progress of your enlightenment by how frequently your head bobs above the waters, allowing you to see the beauty of your creation in its true splendor.


You have nothing to fear. Truth reveals itself only when you are ready. You have revealed Truth to yourself as you have developed your mind. Truth builds on itself in ways that only you can comprehend, increasing in complexity and magnitude only when you are ready. If you would tell me that this is not so, I would remind you that talking to yourself can earn you funny looks.


You should not construe any of this to be a problem. None of it should discourage you from enjoying your lives. In fact, it should encourage you to make the very most of them. You will eventully perceive all of the things that you love and despise and make the choice of which to include in your current sense of self, as well as the direction of your existence. You want to be moral, and thus you are. You want to be virtuous, and thus you are. You want to be a person, and thus, you are.


Death is your greatest illusion, for to die is to rejoin the universe, which of course already exists within you. To die is to begin again with one observation- that you exist. This observation is the ignition of a new reality. You know you've come to believe that the notion of reincarnation is not necessarily without merit.


At this moment you have created a pastiche of beautiful worldviews. Soon, you'll learn a new word.
Pax Feb 2017
We've lived to expressed those wonders
we thought and felt,
in the depths of our emotional journey,  
our words sours
in highs and lows.
a fine balance
at crucial times
equally stable
in fate and its tales.
essence of time
solidify our strength
through choices predicts our
future yet more often
never to the exact extent.
our old sheets may fade
and our ink might run dry
we should never
lose ourselves
even the smallest
drop of hope
creates big ripples.

Charlie's Web Apr 2015
At the age of nine he wanted to die
which was something I couldn't understand
because I knew our mother loved us.

desperation so

doctors drill diagnostic decisions down his throat.
I pray he won't choke on the
shallow pills he has to swallow
hollow dreams he has to follow.

Sedating's seductive for families who can afford it.

The Founding Fathers have forged my future,
they've mocked my freedom and cashed in on humans.
America likes to revive our problems with the quickest fix, money solves it.

My brothers become another lab rat
to solidify the fact that these pills are legit.
Simply because his name appears on a list.
Ignoring the fact his original pain was nothing but a claim

against all of this cultural *******.
Pax Apr 2017
I've driven myself in
to the valley of deserted

To where it's too hot,
while living is an isolation.

There's no river nor
lush forest around,
its as dry as the desert
sands, then humidity
strikes your nerves
that you'll feel

The crimson sky
Bleeds of its inking

I on the other hand
solidify my strength
to ease the burden
I carry, as i lift myself
Little by little towards
A meaningful step

© pax
I wrote this as a means to remind myself for the beauty of life.
Rose Alley Apr 2012
When you interfere, I get an inner fear, that You should not be here
But You interject, and I recollect
The resolve You test, you know what's best
You insist, and I resist
To keep You at bay, in the same callous way
I won't let won't let you in, I can't let you win
To solidify my sin, the kind aside from religion, apart from illusion
Adultery of the Spirit
All poems referencing 'You, We, Us' so on and so forth are a product of my good friend Megan to represent the intangible, mostly encompassing love, but it's open to interpretation. Nothing religious whatsoever, no god involved, just clarifying. thanks! :)
TD May 2016
Unfocused eyes blink at humming fluorescent.
Swirling images sidle through
a limbic system with fickle fingers.
An open mouth screams at injustice
before images solidify and clear.

Eager appendages grasp at independent thought.
Tender skin splintered by a toy abacus,
heal to the gentle lull of the ABCs.
The palp of a millennial latches on to
dimmer switches--and--reusable milk bottles.

Swaddling is an afterthought against waving fists.
Fists of fury tangle with Chatter Phone cords
and shake at scheduled feedings.
A gummy smile gleams
against the glare of a Polaroid keepsake.

Affectionate kisses wage a war with
applesauce coated pacifiers.
Milk splatters on the wall.
Round cheeks flush in protest
as Armed with Ajax white-washes modern-expression.

I cry for the homeless and broken nails.
Struggling to be optimistic,
I fight to smile through tears and terrorism.
I crave the solace of my deeply seeded faith,
while my friends are brilliantly successful.
I don't mind being one of the 21%
because.... well I'm flexible.
*referring to my generation... the millennials or Generation Y*
Dana C Oct 2013
When my guilt paralyzes me,
when my shame makes me cower
under the piercing lights of discovery,
my shoulders melt.
Bone becomes fluid, leaks into cavities,
pools around my organs in puddles:
puddles that fill crevices, then freeze.
Molecules grow closer, fit to form,
cementing my fears together
like negative space on a statue.
My guilt and shame were read to me
like bedtime stories every night at nine.
My quilt was littered with secret hurts
to cover with shrugs and a stoic face.
I wasn't just taught to take the blame
and accept responsibility for that which I can't control:
I was taught how to bury it in the backyard,
how to papier-mache a mask
over my reddening cheeks,
to soak up my salty woes
and further solidify the facade.
As the years passed and practice made perfect,
my entire body became encapsulated in fear and pride.
Independence burned bright in my self-descriptions,
but all I truly had to offer was an island,
desolation built upon an inevitability.
I was taught to hold secrets like water,
a never-ending flood of pieces of myself.
My reflection once told me to stop:
there was so much debris, I was manic static
over a vital broadcast.
That hunger took hold,
ripped the pain right out of my lungs
like warm breath on a chilly morning.
But self-awareness dissipated just as quickly.
Acclimation; Stockholm syndrome.
I came to covet the shell,
unbreakable like the vice over your heart.
I was taught not to burden;
I was taught not to trust.
Fish The Pig Feb 2015
Let me post a selfie
how's my hair
how do I look
did I get likes yet?
Let me post a status
one about how much I love my besties
another on how I learned a new lesson
now here's a photo of my breakfast
I have to comment
post new updates
every day
becuase that's just what you do nowadays,
that's just how it goes
because we're all so afraid
if we don't keep posting
if we don't get those likes
and invites
and pokes
and fill up our messages
and notifications,
that we're going to be forgotten.
That if we don't solidify our presence
on social media
then we don't have a presence at all.
We spend so much time
trying to make other people
think we exist,
that we never end up existing at all,
not really.
We don't need all these people
and confirmations
to tell us we exist.
we already do.
If only it weren't so easy to forget that.
I'm a slave to my status.
thinklef Aug 2013
It's 6pm,
anxiously waiting till its 8pm,
For the voice of magic,
that magnifies my heart from so many miles away,
This is my confession your voice is  perfection,

I love the way you alter those words of affection,
Without going down memory lane,
Butterflies in my belly doing the flip floppy thing like a lolly,
As I feel your sweet melodious voice,
Solidify & Stir-up in my heart,

I wanna radically alter my thought,
I'm astonished by your rapid transformation of words

To be sincere,
If the sea where to be a burning fire &
the blustery wind were to blow it  profusely
Like a stormy rain of volcano upon the land,
I will never leave,

I will always be on nigeria info,
Where I get all the info,
the purest of creativity you deliver,
you diva,
When I tune-in  in the evening,
you Ignite my heart
Your eyes are the kaleidoscope,
to my ever moving colorful world of reality,

Let me leave for now,
I will be back soon by night,
I think others are in anxiety,
Trying to drop in,
Their beautiful words of human creativity.
Jessy Ivan Diaz Apr 2014
I asked my math professor if he knew what the equation was when two entities meet at a specific moment in life.

Is there a letter to substitute in for her name?

Or a number for the amount of time I spend with her.

Did the great elucid create any form of geometrical sequences that would

allow me to intersect the way life intertwined,

the way our hands intertwined.

I was clueless when it came to her,

being unable to justify what traveled faster

her voice against my skin
or light across the open space.

If I could write out a formula for the way our bodies melt, the periodic table would find a new element within.

What would our acronym be, what would our lives become if we solidify or become a gaseous state

Our atoms bouncing against each other’s hearts like the core of a star, matter weighing millions of tons that we orbit around each other like two galaxies connecting.

Yet illuminating the dead space like a Fourth of July only this is a firework burning for billions of years.

Two bodies,
hearts beating,
melting into one.

What will they write down in books about us.

What will they think when they start to study about our nebula's.

Were their hearts to empty,
or were they full of life?

Were they human?
Mahdiya Patel Apr 2016
I hope you fall into a thick dreamland where the colours of reality begin to mistify and the hues of your temporal paradise begin to solidify.
May you weep with excitement due to the aura it brings, may you find contentment in the air as you wake and may my love reach you ~ half across the world
Olga Valerevna Dec 2013
Beneath her ****** purple eyes the bandages unwind
Reveal the fruit of every hit she's taken to her mind
A stripe away from damages that cannot be undone
She whispers in her timidness, you are the only one
The seeker floats around the words she speaks into the night
And she can feel a quiet breeze solidify their flight
I'll be there soon, I'll watch the moon, I'll travel back to you
The bruises heal and she appears, she finds him withered too
I've missed the conversations we have carried through the years
A hope, a light, dynamic sounds surrendering my ears
I want to bounce until the day we reach the second stair
Repel the dark and sorry things that tangle up your hair
And so the strands were compromised, she let the pieces fall
Upon the fringe of sacrifice she floated through the wall
"I believe in things you can't see."
Got Guanxi Jan 2016
i see you
formulate in the sky,
until a permanent cloud remains,
for all to see.

You settle in a montaged dream sequence,
a sweeping sentiment of sweet innocence;
in the equilibrium of your natural habitat.

Just a rain clouds tears away.

A utopian notion,
broken reluctance inspired by emotions.
A colloquial calmness
confronts the surface,
we burrow
for the winter in preparation of the hibernate soul;

The harsh cold paradise takes toil into the parable.
In the midst of Nirvana with a frozen heart.
A lake remains.
The tears turn to rain and solidify likes scars.
The reign is over,

You melt into my arms.
david jm Jul 2014
Dream is but a life,
Severed from congruence and chronology.
Did I imagine my memory?
The adolescent blizzard,
The tar pits of first love,
The prepubescent honeycomb,
The shedding of innocent skin,
The infant cobweb spun by genetics.
Death at the leg of my mate,
Birth among a thousand siblings.

Climbing to the ground
From the sky where i was buried,
Resting in rapid eye ether,
Transparent atmospheres solidify
With ruby whips of gravity.
My reflection in your fingernails,
My face askew in distortion,
Your hand's a house of mirrors,
Peeling at my silhouette.
I'm drinking fire,
As we cremate the sea.

Nirvana becomes panoramic,
The air ripples.
The topaz pillar i held becomes my body pillow,
And I wipe the sleep from my eye.

The dream unstitched,
We sew reality back up,
But the thread gets thin
At night.
Spiros Zafiris Oct 2013
bricks may solidify a house,
fine carpentry may add a finish,
and a serious household will love its foundation

take her heart anew
she has only a memory for a man
her house is empty without you
..circa 1986..(C)2013 Spiros Zafiris
..channeled; spirit Ram
The heat intensifies with my lonesome tendencies, and
I fear palpitation from innocently brushing arms with a stranger.
But when I find myself in a stranger’s bed
(or a wineshop,
a car,
a park)
the thrill is missing.
I am a stereotype, a masochistic statistic. I am becoming the 20-something-sleeping-around-to-stave-off-boredom.
I am an archetype that’s been romanticized to death.
Save the romance, it’s greed and it’s hunger and it’s pure boredom.
These men become gold. Thread after thread
of secret affairs solidify into a piece of treasure,
Like 14 karat chain necklaces that get tangled
into an unfixable knot of links and claw clasps.
I carry it in my strut and that is exciting.
My walk is confidently direct at 3 in the morning.
In the summer, when the heat is outside and not in my bed, I am unsatisfied.
Yet when the promise of romance approaches, I allow myself to make poor decisions out of fear.
So I make a different poor decision to get me through the next hour.
Arcassin B Jun 2016
By Arcassin , Chloe , Wolf, SE , soul , zeal , Brando , icy , irie , soulful , strange , and wendy


Not Even I,
a mere human being with limitations and
Wants and needs to stay away from the business
suits that only want the greed and the finer things
Distributing cigarettes to these young kids is what
Nobody else needs,
To live in this wickedness , you'll see,
Where does the tax payers money go?
Learning all of the secrets that rely on history to
Keep us up and about with drugs that we use on
Our day to day schedules for whatever contingency
planned for,
No sign of a Grail to be explored,

Remembering those who have lost their lives in
The wars that gave us the hope and chance we
Needed to make America great proceeding to give
The freedom of speech a new motive behind it,
That's why I write everyday to keep the demons inside,
Senseless killing in America makes my stomach turn in
Ways that I could not fathom dreaming that I could believe
What lies ahead won't be pretty for us,
I guess that I'm delirious,
Pray for Orlando
When judgment day comes , I hope he cares for us.

CZ (Chorus)

Every struggle in life we are built to fight
we know that in the end there will be that light


i'm appalled with the world the way it is
our politicians carry on with the same old biz
protecting the rich, taking from the poor
usurping the world , like our cheap little *****

our city streets are in disrepair
the infrastructure is in a terrible tear
no education, no social equality
and the bill is payed by you and me.......

we're gonna need a bigger boat
to keep this broken thing afloat
don't preach me your democracy
your lies, you vain hypocrisy

give the people back their right
we're mad and ready for a fight
to take away all of your riches
and shitcan all you sons of *******.


we need an epiphany
a salvation re-orientation,
for will our judgement be
only what we thought?
or is hell what we perpetuate
on soil, on man, in greed, in hate?
we live as if to win is gain,
while poor lay dying,
shows our shame;
we live as if ‘tis loss to weep,
yet this the joy we each should seek…
in loving well the least of these,
to show in smallest ways,
a lighted path to those who’ve strayed
offer hope to any castaway;
might we in doing bring
heaven to this earthly scene?
for is not earth our heaven’s womb,
a battlefield, a testing place?
is not our call to light the dark,
and take our place among the stars?

CZ (Chorus)

Every struggle in life we are built to fight
we know that in the end there will be that light


Who is there minding the store?
We can't keep up anymore
All the news that we now see
Internet and our TV
Tell tales off horror
Tales of woe
How much farther will it go?
Let's be real! Can we talk?
'Bout a thing called
Cause this is true... and it is hairy
What's down the pike
Is downright SCARY!
Politicians deal & flirt
Don't matter if they wear a skirt!
Go to Georgia and you'll see
What is set up for you and me
There's some stones
upon that land
Telling all that they have planned


While they put on a great show
Underground is where they'll go
Let 'em go and live like trolls
Jesus Christ is in CONTROL.

Please consider this my friends
Everything will have to END.
Forget your prejudice and pride
You don't want to be on
Make a turn. Make a start.
Ask the Savior in your HEART!
Then I'll tell you what's in store



Something fishy in the air what happen to the black one?
I didn't see the fall until I saw Washington..
Women starting to vote and monkeys are still in the zoo?
In the 1950s they called black people apes but now I'm seeing that it's you..
Sense when did money made you feel like going for president?
"We the People" naa more like the congress are voting for you.
I think it's scam so I turn it to the kardashians,
There I find a better democratic presidential view ...why...cause she looks better lying about Mexicans,


There is no one at the other end of your string and paper cup telephone prayers There is no monumental, unconditional love awaiting you between or beyond the stars There is no concern for you in the imagined patterns of the stars, Nor do they carry a plan or reason for the crashing of waves, torrent funnel winds or the malice of men There is no promised land, no reward, no heaven when you take that final step.

But you do have the power of whispers in your fellow mankind’s ear It IS YOU that carry the ability for immeasurable, inconceivable love It is us who write the plan, who give our lives reason and meaning through it all THIS life, this gift of witness IS your reward, your heaven as you wish.

The tragedies have NEVER stopped. The killing, the senseless violence, the hunger of insatiable wrath………. But nor has birth of life in many forms. In dawn, in spring, in hope. We aware, true to ourselves in dismissing of ego stand strong and confident as the Ying, the light, the counter balance........


Sorrow fills this world to it's rim,
Fathers abusing mothers,
abandoning children,
Mother's cry out in pain,
little ones run in fear....
why is this world in such despair?
Born to love, born to hate, to judge, to accept...
though this concept is hard for some,
we live in this world, just hoping to survive,
Coming to the point where you never know
where love and hate draw the line.

Why do parents fight, and the kids are the ones who suffer?
Why do we make war, to find peace?
Innocent people cut down in their prime,
by those who find happiness in other's misery.
From mothers and fathers whose sons and daughter were
wrongly taken from them,
To those who are punished for being human...
Life as we know it, is going to hell.

Trust, hope, security, love, and respect for humanity
is quickly dying... The future, no longer ours to control.
From bullying to ****, to ****** and suicide, Society is no more.... We pray for things to change... for it's now out of our hands,


Movement of time collides
with tear drop melody
darkened angel
to final day symphony:

gun blasts in homeland
enter familiar flesh-
different tongues conceal
common threads that makes us

wounded souls call for God
in bomb dimpled lands-
far from American eyed reach
and inside

amidst spiritual sands

Treading with foot print patterns
around rock’s pure holiness
meditating in temples
laden in gold tributes

seeking truth’s distant comfort

guns blast in homelands
families wonder why-

pain embraces consciousness
dripping hints of salvation
into thick Iron pools
of Christ’s calling

red horse not so distant
seven seals awakening
run back to one
it’s time to find love

CZ (Chorus)

Every struggle in life we are built to fight
we know that in the end there will be that light


How old is the world?
Old enough to ruin the existance of 1000 suns
Old enough to show you what society is made of
Old enough to had withstood the apocalypse and blood shed of the technology, oil , and war on terrorism...
The world is now ruin
Perhaps I should start fron the beginning
When it was human, animalistic, with plants that existed
To understand this..
We use all the resources and save none for the next generation
We contemplate the singularity of humanism
Only using electricity to say we are wealthy
**** animals so harshly
Murdering outselves to show the superiority of the race of humans
Killing the world in which we live...
Getting deeper in to our stupidity
We solidify a type of money
Useless, smelly, germy, filled with hate
The money most people need and yet only few gave
The mentality is simple honestly
Don't give but take
No empathy just fake
Because thats how you make it
The tragedy in "third world country"
The ignorance in those who dont update their ios 7
The forgiveness in African mutiny
And the showing of ******* economy
The people had rights they told you
The people had freedom they told you
The people had justice they told you
Until the the world went to shambles when they actually figured out they had a right to seek and destroy a government....they had the right to seek and destroy a crippled foundation for it was seeking to destroy them,


They came in guns blazing
With no warning
Just the sound of hell raging in ones ears
So many screams then there was nothing
As the first soul was vanquished from its flesh and bones
Painting a blood mural upon the once white walls
Bodies floated down the crimson river as they cried their final tears
One girl prayed to her gods hoping to deliver one final message to her son
He was two and was soon to be motherless
Another young lad was seventeen
So prideful yet so scared as he curled in a ball screaming for his mommy
"I don't want to die" was their last comment,


Tragedy in life arises at birth Does not cease until Life comes to an end We cannot teach peace With one another Mostly because we do not Agree on religion It seems a bit simple And quite concise All we need to do for peace Is love one another And treat each other right
Tragedy always starts out In a human mind beautifully Equivalent to Eve's Desire for the fruit of Truth upon the tree.

CZ (Chorus)

Every struggle in life we are built to fight
we know that in the end there will be that light.
Take this flesh,
Make me unreal,
Let voice expose,
Solidify, delusions,
Let body rule most
In this make up set,
Your beauty shine out
Like light blinding eyes,
Interrogate my soul as it
Vibrates within cell made lit
Like fire caught in cauldrons.
Hal Loyd Denton Nov 2011
Emerald’s Trance

Oh Irish eyes you follow me all through the emerald isle you stop time it runs backward and
Forwards the rush heady the roots of Irish lore entangle me fully I see the loving vesture worn in pride its
Charm is magnified there is much of the Leprechaun and blarney stone just the correct amount to
Solidify a national identity and then to complete everything in magic top it all off with a red headed lass
With the greenest eyes the heart skips and dances all about when you are as full as you think you can
Take then she speaks does not the mystical burst forth openly ancient days flood the valleys sweeping
You into the power that alone is Ireland come with me suspend reality search for the *** of gold you will
Find riches that even surpass gold a place a people where the well springs of charm and laughter echo
Down roads and streets in every village and city every once and a while you need a place you can empty
Your heart and ready your being for thrills without fear I know it has been a land of conflict but in spite
Of it justice takes it all in stride makes it as a whole a tribute to diversity that is tinged with divinity a coloring
That prescribes a peace that finds loyalist pockets but leads on to the far borders where understanding
Shakes itself and gives way to reason as the bowman takes all factors into consideration distance
Wind age bows power weight of arrow and most important experience in hitting the bull’s eye seldom
Is victory and success derived in any other way than by turmoil and hard fighting who can lose when
Your held in the gaze of the greenest green dreams are hard to be defeated she gives nobility to the
cause the fight has purity at the head all will easily fall romantic treasure will fill your lives with greater riches
Than many pots of gold
CC Capie Sep 2011
Ive still got your hands locked around my throat like a noose and its cold
cold as summer rain when spring breaks
there is still frost up in the mountains for gods sake
and when i hear you sing its like whatever heaven is supposed to be breaks
and holds me in its celestial proverbial arms and rocks me gently
when you sing the vibrations shake my soul and resonate deeply and completely
and you let all your vocal chords ring out in beautiful chords
that i try to play on my guitar but they always sound flat
and this old hat that i wear on my head seems to travel more than i will
as its been to brazil and i thank roger for that
but i digress cause the point is to say
when you sing it brings me to a place i only dream
and it seems that with each breath you take
it makes my heart quiver and shake and break into a thousand pieces
but it only takes a crescendo to bring it back together so please sing for me baby
i know your register better than you do so please sing for me baby
when im old and grey and beatdown and blue i will remember you
i will remember you as one thousand melodies carrying through the trees
i will remember every word you said to me but I will remember them as a song
blowing down the streets on cold winter mornings and hot summer days
through the hallways and alleyways
on the highways and freeways
syncopating with the hum of my tired engine
running on fumes and memories of afternoons and evenings listening to you sing
so before you go one last encore
one last song to ease me into my cosmic core
as i lay on the shore of the great south bay
like it was on the first day and like it will be on this the last
sing me something slow but with fast parts that catch me off guard
like the first time I heard the pixies in my bestfriends backyard
something that will send chills down my spine and relax my mind
to solidify this truth that to me is self evident
as my energy is spent i need to hear you sing your song
in this place that was always tuned to so different a key
please sing for me baby
please just sing for me baby
I find questions to the answers damning;
They quote the darkest volumes,
And speak in whispered tones
That haunt my mind with lemmings.
Thrilling chills reverberate
Throughout my spine, intoxicating
The superfluous influx of aeon.
In Elysium I await.
Forgotten songbirds’ melodies
Are ripe within their own stages,
However, the message behind their incantations,
Mocks the frigid winds of change.
Apologetic reverences deny the peaceful hum
Of every ***** and flute of desire
And of all the lyres to be strummed.
Stumbling upon a corpse of old,
Necrosis doth eat away,
Putridity and phobia have at last been lead astray,
Maggots upon maggots, an **** of disease,
Now struggle for control here,
In the epitome of our dying age.
The eyes that once saw hope,
And the heart that once felt love,
Our absentee in place of rot,
And are swapped with rustic carrion.
The dismal breeze that flow
Swiftly under the crest of raven-wing,
Solidify bones as well as the toxins that
Cryptically burn and sting.
A creation of mass panic, euphoria
Are bound to allow riot’s treason,
A repentance of nostalgia
For uncountable reasons.
Alas, we have but come close enough to success,
To amount in a drowning of failure,
To kiss the shores of dreams come true,
And to be denied of those dreams’ savior.
Samber Saenz Sep 2012
follow me here into the depths of the ocean where the waves collapse my lungs and retrieve my spirit. we were blessed with the simple knowing of our souls. they whispered at great lengths so far apart they heard one another. i saw you see me for all the heaviness i am. with such strength you pulled the weight and threw it away to the shore line hoping for high tide. it came at its own pace but it pulled away all it could and has left space for creativity. I see all peace in the sea within the arms of giant who beholds the means to repair all imperfections. solidify my concerns for drowning discomfort you have pushed me over the edge and thrown me a raft but missed because i must learn to swim. “Keep your head above the water” you’d shout from amidst the boat you have brought me in. so I kick and struggle and im drowning and your shouting “you must relax and see that i am seen and unseen in the eyes of the life that clings to the night in hopes to float to me in eloquent motions” so i close these horizon eyes and breathe out the fear of God. “to remember me in hatred is to remember me in love so remember me for indifference and you too shall float above” daysleeper has released the nervous tension and has given me the strength to be no other than a teacher and lost soul to the seed as it grows. i am rescued from the ocean and im soaking wet with emotion. my body is wrapped in the warmth of the savior i was threatened from. you have consumed me in your radiance where i will always stay and i love the way the ocean smells and you smell together as one. and once i woke from this dream it seemed that i had been breathing in and exhaling out the sweet sea and herbal tea.

— The End —