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I ripped out my eyes
so I could see sound,
Then stalked the earth
as it spun ever-'round

The sky turned red
with the blood of stars,
Chthonic heat
melted tar.
Underworld denizens
fled the scene,
For the storm had swept
Tartarus clean.
A hellion riot
was underway,
And angelic anarchy
had it's day.

No acumen to be found
in those novae eyes,
No subtlety,
No disguise.
PoserPersona Sep 2018
A confident man feels not a need to speak
on all things with which he does not agree
Though in the proper time and place
he is not afraid to assert his way

And though his words at times cause spurn,
he will admit when they are out of turn
Fearing not the inevitable mistake,
but rather owning it too late

Caring and feeling without hesitation
and not for reciprocal adulation
Emotions are expressed appropriately;
either subtlety or rationally

As honest with others as with himself;
recognizing what he does and doesn’t do well
Claiming to know what he does know
and asks when he don’t

Pursuing tasks for their benefit and or joy
rather than status or fleeting ploys
Those latter things are often great fun,
but worry of them yields none

While in his mind there is good thinking,
he is more occupied with good acting
In order to have concerns of the ideological,
requires labors that are practical

On his confidence, he does not ponder,
as neither he or anyone wonders
of whether he truly possesses it.
We know it.
Spenser Bennett Oct 2016
Dark matter parallels
Encoded long-term
Pariah on the sunrise
And she got light to burn

Delicate on the rain
Floored by pointillisme
Beauty makes the sky
And she mirrors painted schisms

What metaxis to break
Like losing yourself on the lake
Light turned reflection
Subtlety belies perfection

Novae cry silent and awake
Shed the skin, dire
Could she dream, no better
Oh to hear that voiceless choir

Dance stars apart
Fickle child, wandered
Empty; her lungs
Fulfilled no longer

What metaxis to break
Like losing yourself on the lake
Light turned reflection
Subtlety belies perfection

To the end of everything
Summers over, dead Winter sings
No hope, no hope in these evergreens
Malevolence and whispered screams

Lose yourself
Lose yourself
It's nothing at all
But everything at heart

We're dancing among the stars
And we're on fire
Deep and alone
Waiting for the endless to expire
Mary Gay Kearns Mar 2018
Travelling by foot in whatever weather
I took to walking the gardens' route,
With single lens reflex camera
Still able to take the sort of pictures
That stop the eyes from wandering.
Photos in black and white
Where contrasts given a subtlety
Slowly revealing the depths
Of the familiar.

And into the park
Where rain, recently fallen,
Drenches the lens with jewels
Dropping from tree and cloud,
Sporadically,
Catching the light
With its rainbow spectrum
And collecting moments
Of nature's splendour
Into unnoticed places.

Love Mary ***
zumee Apr 16
in the crevices
of subtlety
hides
Infinity
I don't fear your darkness
surreptitiously speaking
With a condescending voice
you think you're keeping
My eyes gaze is never far away
and the glint in your eyes
tells me more than it has to say

The fact that some would run reeling
At the side of yourself shown
you find less appealing
Is a cynical fiber
which you've taken to reeling
While weeping and reaching
for understanding and feeling
I can only display what escapes
from concealing

Revealing to you
my own demon's caress
And how it yearns for intervention
and feigns duress
Until you show up with your mess
In its subtlety
And it admires your candor
Right there where you lay
How you live with fear
Yet still show up on display

And not for a moment
Do you hide from the past
With a heart stitched on your sleeve
It remains steadfast
So I'll reach for you
Here and now at last
Before the intoxication fades
and we think too fast
Will you come play with me?
This was written a few weeks ago but still holds true. I haven't stopped loving you. Even if it feels like you don't want me around, that may just be in my head.
Natalie Jun 2018
I do it slowly so no one notices.

There is subtlety
In this practice of prolonged self-destruction.

Too quickly,
And everyone will see the act.
Perhaps it can be said

That I am a student of Stanislavsky:
I imagine my death until it becomes truth,
And I do this until there is nothing else left.
I thought the end of the paragraph was the end of our adventure
That the pen went dry and our kind words died with it
The problem was I still had so much I wanted to say
So much I wanted to write down, but I didn’t have the strength
I miss your penmanship, you’re vivacious, elegant words
How they gracefully fell upon paper and my heart
For what it’s worth, I’m sorry I wrote too much.. or too little
I know you feel the same, too, I picked up on your subtlety
Though you stopped writing and the chapter ended suddenly
My words contain no fury or hostility towards you
Lonely nights when my pen graced the page
Brought memories of when my hands caressed your rosy cheeks
I’d be a liar if I said my tears didn’t smudge my words
For my heart aches for your tough and longs for your voice
Then one day I stumbled upon a new page
A familiar calligraphy lay fresh on the paper  
In an instant I had hope, our adventure was not over
A new chapter has begun and the story was just starting

-AJT
Madeline Harper Oct 2018
I am only an ocean, a great rage and the ever-sinking sea
Lamenting every marred sailor forged in the waters of Galilee

No more shall sailors mourn a forgotten plea:
A ransom for hell, where devils run free

Forgive and forget
But never forget my eyes
The rage you lament
Remains lost to solemn lies

You are only now, only here, and solemnly mine,
For what is brimstone but ash beneath the dying brine?

You are my sword, my heart and my final lament and plea
Forget not my mind lost to hell’s every subtlety

There is only rage that awaits among this sea
Forever pining for a ransomed eternity.
"Deep calls to deep in the roar of your waterfalls; all your waves and breakers  have swept over me." -Psalm 42:7 (NIV)
Mark Nov 22
I’ve been busking ‘bout since young and fair  
The atmosphere from onlookers, like skating on thin air  
So unconventional, prior to the ole smacking ways  
That’s how I’d spend my entire waking days  
Melodic riffs, dancing over bass lines  
Harmonising daily, to some lonesome feelin’ ballads
Playing finger-style guitar, without any steering hazards
 
Along the boardwalks of Venice Beach  
In unlikely places, that you’d ever encounter or reach  
A folksy blues musician, you can’t wait to hear  
Independent, from a money-making machine, that’s so clear  
A young black musician, singing ‘bout life’s rights and wrongs  
With an aching intimacy, strings are strummed, to her original songs  
 
The overall effect is something like a blend  
Of other musicians, with a depth and subtlety  
More suited to the stage, than a street with a dead end  
The busking experience is fundamentally hers, luckily  
Still taking a fading, battery-powered amp, with heaps of torque  
Along with a flattop, down with her, to the busy boardwalk  
 
I think the best thing you learn from being downtown  
Is how to be really optimistic, but still be on your own  
Busking was like practicing with a metronome  
It started pulling on a chord, one of not knowing a home  
Then two, the thought of the winding down of life’s clock time  
Go back to playing songs, people tossing me, maybe a dime  
I imagine, how it would sound, playing along with 4 in a band  
I was never really dealt, a very good hand  
Trying to re-create myself, like an over paid, auto tuned, music star  
Well, as much as I could, with just a worn out, old acoustic guitar  
 
They say, I picked up the guitar at seven  
At first trying to play lap style, just keepin’ it even  
Because, I couldn’t reach across my scar torn body  
Early childhood lessons, gave me a foundation in blues  
After that, I wasn’t taught nothin’ by nobody  
I just kept playing like that, what did I have to lose  
I could learn by ear, until I heard the rings, at the checkout  
Would take a while, but I’d figure out, what it’s all about.
She moved like water
Grace as it is in every curve
Boundless beauty laced in movement
Infinite flow compressed by subtlety

Her dance as seamless as wind
Perfection carved in every step
Flares of passionate glory fills her skin
Never rigid in her creativity
Though as the crowd joyfully stood
Brimming the room of loud applause
She shew a triumphant smile
Now painted with fearful misery
Z Feb 16
24
Mister Clown, mister Funny
Mister Always has some money
Why aren’t you joking today
Mister i’m always okay
i’m okay, okay

On my tiptoes like it’s ballet
It’s second best we call that Park Place
and i’m blue, blue, blue
Ya know me well i’m mister cliché
Trade my years for smokes and ashtrays
Time just flew, flew, flew
Here’s some candles, it’s happy birthday
Here’s some camels, TGI Friday
TGI Jesus, TGI Nietzsche
it’s NTK it’s TLA, that’s AKA
redundancy
It’s subtlety and puppetry,
it’s how you got the best of me
you pull the ground from under me
for me to fall and i just do, do, do

Mister Clown, mister Funny
Mister Always has some money
Why aren’t you joking today
Mister i’m always okay
i’m okay, okay
I've been way to caught up to catch up
I chalk up all my bad days to bad luck
And my awkward phases that lasted decades
Scrolling through your timeline reminds how regret tastes
Go on and take it how you wanna take it
My past relations leave me obligated
To read into every minor subtlety
Leave me wondering if you're still in love with me
Though I know the answer's no I still hold out
Cause love seems to be the only thing I know about
Onoma Apr 20
God of thy God

in doses...whose

lone One be death

at Once.

In the subtlety of

macula aspect a

clearing resolves

as is...what's point

blank stands as you Are.

As never before--and never

again, eyes seen as your own.
Penne Feb 10
I know
I know what is right from wrong
But I do not know why I keep doing it for so long
For the millionth time
I know

Why do you do it too
If you know that it is wrong
'Cause it is what everybody does?
I have eyes too
I can imitate that
I can reciprocate all that
Future generations can

We are fine not changing this rotten world
We are fine following the crowd
We are fine living in these dying cerebrums

Blame me
For my cowardice
For I am an absolutist
Love the subtlety
If I am fighting for something
I should not be hiding behind my screens

I know
I am illogical
Out of my head
But re-check yourself if you had one too

I know
We are all humans
And I honestly hate that philosophy
Since all we do is escape that futility
And choose social mutiny
Desenthesize us, realists and freaks' mentality
Instead of unity
Please, more fatalities

But it feels good, right?
To let yourself in irrationality
Since this is not pretty
So is reality
Especially when they desire change
But on the inside, they are afraid
I know
Art cannot be political

To fight against the atmosphere
I know
You have all the time in your life
To sin, then regret
Mistakes flow me!
And may regret do the same thing

I know
I know

But before you point your finger
Why not point yourself too

It feels good to be wrong (but not right)
Yenson Aug 28
And so it took the peasants from the town of Muppetsomia
them air-heads, fools, buffoons, dopes, manics and lumps
two scores and a ten years to grasp the concept of subtlety
but alas too late, as all they do is always so lame and *******

Please pardon them for all they know are fellow Muppettians
in trailer trash community where idiocy is inherent in everyone
and by Jove, they do get riled and agitated when they see strangers
for they can never understand that others do not think like them

The Muppettians shout scream all day saying ******* they only know
they say they are planting seeds to grow in Muppettians minds
because they were brought up on dud seeds planted from birth
and the idea of anybody having a mind of their own is meaningless

And so it took the peasants from the town of Muppetsomia
them air-heads, fools, buffoons, dopes, manics and lumps
two scores and a ten years to grasp the concept of subtlety
but alas too late, as all they do is always so lame and *******
I wanted so for something, tried to speak
I've words but yet their nuance needs refine.

There's something within grasp to give me life:
the food of flesh, or something more divine.

Lend me your ear, or give your hand to me
Is pleasure company or ecstasy...

Will we stay bound in mindless subtlety?
Is sin desire, or is that justified?
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