"swindled" poems
Machine ground days
Somehow survived by clinging to precarious plans
Die for those.
For proles are stuck in a televised gleam
but I’m barred from distractions
I’m a man of action
Spring healing:
I found a new hope to get through the day
It has a name and it’s you
Workday: animistic curses
against people and their systems and products
except animals would escape forever
as soon as they open the cage
but we stay
The beastly gnashings of overworked merchandisers
for invisible self pocket stuffers
The competition's getting to us, comrades
I feel swindled out of my labor
I was pregnant
but they sold my child before
I woke up
Addressing the solipsism of my rehab circle:
I’m Kagey, and my life is hazy
but, blunted or no, let’s get this clear:
don’t trust your senses
and that goes for all my human peers
Body is a cage full of defenses
Still, I’m suspicious of reality
whether it’s façade society
or the wooden chair in front of me
Still, I enjoy the virtual scenery
I ain’t talking about on the T.V. or phone screen
I mean the willows, buildings, and faces
But all these mushy green acres are fakers
blobs without our eyesight
Still tho,
me and the universe are tight.
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 8:00 AM UTC
and just like that we have
packed our bags
cleared up the house
thrown out the rags
walking away at a speed
so fast that we
wish we could undo
wish we could flee
the damage is huge but
this is home
that we built but now
on streets we roam
tears make up the flood
in roads that are dry
no solace in relief when
our only roof is the sky
washed away are homes
and all our lives
washed away is the makeup
that you hide behind
now that it is bare let's
fight an equal war
you've swindled lives
what more do you ask for?
leave us our dignity, even
when you eat our lives
you can feed on our money
but you still won't survive!
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 2:54 AM UTC
**~-~-~
Promise after promise
Fell into my head
I carried them with me,
I took them to bed
So hopeful, I waited;
To hold your forever
Intentions negated
This jaded endeavor
Yet, lies soon took shape
And doubt would take hold
Your dormant coercion
Cementing the mold.
You never came through
You never came back
The woodchips, they faded
The bracelets, I lacked
Trapped under my instincts
My innocence, vanished
The moon was relinquished
My purity, famished
Young as I was
I’ll never forget
The impact you left me;
Your stark epithet. . .
You took something good,
You found something pure
My will cut in half
Rose white, and demure.
The root of my psyche
You’ve yet to discern,
Who plundered my childhood;
My chastity, burned.
Existence forgotten;
Defined from within
I’ll never evade you
You’re etched in my skin.
Scar after scar
Fell into my arm
Your ink swam my bloodstream
Your slander, your charm
I swindled the rabbit
And powdered my nose
Freefalling in choices
Defining your prose.
With tasty white pills,
A hand in my throat
A liver that’s grilled;
The bible I quote.
With no one on earth
To save me from me
I sampled the bottle
From under our tree.
I cannot begin
Nor pretend to describe
What happened to Maple,
Who am I inside?
The loneliest girl
In the entire world
The events I’d mistaken
The chastity; hurled
All that I know
And all that I think;
Is this monster within me
Was born in a blink
But who’d tune in now?
The opinions are set.
My mind is jay walking
The lines of regret.
The holes in my person
The doubt I can’t sever;
My husk of normalcy
Braving the weather. . .
For what you don’t know
Is what you can’t nurse
Assumptions you draw
Are making me worse.
Conclusions concocted
Your story, enhanced
My path interrupted
Dismissed by a glance.
So I’ll say goodbye;
There’s no seeds to sew
For this is my truth. . .
Confession bestowed.
Still treading his words
That flood to the brink;
Harassed, used, and left
In less than a BLINK.**
Jan 23, 2016
Jan 23, 2016 at 3:08 AM UTC
father flesh your vows were made
with certain good intent
better yet the brows you raised
could see no self dissent
strong, you were
a rock of sorts
which seldom moves an inch
long, you were
on life of course
life is but a cinch
oh so brave to walk the fire
the fire gone unkindled
a smothered flame to breathe again
once properly swindled
conscience plays a partial part
in stemming liability
but time you'll find will rob your mind
of valuable stability
it's a tell-tale sort of story
though no moral or no fable
and if you'll kindly pay the ransom-
the deed to my betrayal
we shall climb this rugged mountain
together we shall ascend
and once atop the sound will drop
"my father is my friend!"
©Jason Cole
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 10:53 PM UTC
Ah, Pinocchio--povero burattino°--
Always in a scrape; always in a jam.
The irresponsible, wooden-headed numbskull
Couldn't help but fall for every scam.
A walking, talking stringless marionette,
Pinocchio really would have had it made
In a modest home with babbo°° Gepetto.
But, instead, the foolish youngster strayed.
Ignoring the advice of the talking cricket,
Pinocchio EVEN smashed it with a hammer.
That right there should have been a reason
To throw the little rascal in the slammer.
The Fox and the Cat had no trouble
Dissuading the puppet from going to school,
Thus involving him in a series of adventures
Which often made him look like a fool.
The Fairy tried to be a good influence,
But Pinocchio's lies caused his nose to grow.
Constantly ignoring responsibilities,
The misguided boy, suffered constant woe.
(Swindled of his money, hanged on a tree,
And saved just in the nick of time
From being eaten, Pinocchio had
Too many adventures to fit into this rhyme.)
Fleeing with his lazy school chum Lucignolo
To the Paese dei balocchi,°°° there Pinocc
Turned into a donkey. Of all his follies,
This one had to be a masterstroke.
Once again a puppet, Pinocchio was swallowed
By a giant Pesce-cane,°°°° and then guess what!
The foolish boy was finally reunited
With babbo Gepetto in the fish's huge gut.
NOT until Pinocchio thought about others
And proved he was an honest and caring boy
Did his fortune start to change for the better,
And the stringless puppet became the real McCoy.
Does Pinocchio by any chance remind you
Of any politicians out there at all
Who fail to listen to expert advice
And thumb their noses at common protocol?
And speaking of noses, we can also see
Politicians' noses grow as they tell lies.
Lying to themselves and to others as well
And ignoring our best interests and flouting compromise.
Such politicians--unlike Pinocchio--
Have strings to pull when performing for the masses.
The more they avoid solving REAL issues,
The more they end up looking like *****
They also love--these clever burattini--
To sell a bill of goods and promise many things.
But someone out there--or some corporation--
Is slyly and cleverly pulling their strings.
Do you ever wonder if these same politicians
Ever think about or care how you feel?
Will they eventually--as did Pinocchio--
Prove they have what it takes to be real?
°(burattino/i) - poor little puppet
°°(babbo) - dad(dy)
°°°(Paese dei balocchi) - Playland
°°°°(Pesce-cane) - shark
- by Bob B
Nov 8, 2016
Nov 8, 2016 at 2:39 PM UTC
Chasten Calypso declared to be clear;
humming a mumble inside of mine ear.
Always heard, but ne’er understood,
a whisper so willing, decidedly good.
The rapture of doomsday is said to be near,
but an ounce of the evidence has yet to appear.
There are several factors that could end it all;
the pride of mankind is destined to fall.
Hastened Calypso declared to be clear,
rumbling a rumble, fueled by a fear.
Often forgotten, yet forever engraved;
those who are faithful have already been saved.
Dwindled and swindled, the man may soon ask,
“Your person is puzzling; take leave of your mask.”
Now the raven is calling, to bring out your soul,
but all you have left is a void with a hole.
With chastened Calypso declared to be clear
she is tumbling a bumble who’s drunken with beer,
and thought the cliff it is climbing is sharp, and quite sheer,
if the bumble dose stumble it won’t shed a tear.
Where we are looking and what we will find
is based in illusion we have made in our mind;
Always is heard, and is ne’er understood.
It’s a whisper so willing, decidedly good.
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 1:41 PM UTC
Our affection was a spider web
As we slept in our separate homes
With our spirits inhabiting
Both bodies,
The gossamer was swindled
Carefully in between each
Eyelash and around each
Finger and toe,
Tiny filmy stings
Had our hearts connected.
I felt a pang inside me
When loneliness tugged
Your arms and plead with you
To follow it.
I wondered
As my tear ducts
Emptied themselves
Onto my cheeks,
How do I cope with
Sadness that is not
My own?
I have felt the
Icy sleet
That is one a.m.
With sad songs
And emptiness in
All aspects of life
And I wish it upon
No one.
I want the sadness
Only to be mine
I want to be greedy
I want to steal it
From you
If only so that
I could see you happy.
Nov 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013 at 8:48 PM UTC
Tick. Tock. Two hundred down.
Pulp.
Swindled minds flock
so easily into their cages,
sealed vents pushing gas into their lungs.
Carpenter's masterpiece.
Hooks hanging from walls,
bloodied chains supporting old bones.
Rot.
Mirror image rooms kept secret, filled
with decay and trapped ghosts. The neon
sign flickering. 'Hotel'.
Pulling the moths in with its fire,
ready to burn them.
Tick. Tock. Twenty seven around.
Confession.
The drugs were inefficient -
they never slept forever.
I had to help them get there. I was born
with the devil in me
and he sings like a poet in the shadow of evil.
Gruesome.
I feel their blood on my hands and I enjoy it.
Tick. Tock. Nine were found.
Possession.
"Satan corrupted me, controlled me."
"Innocent."
"I am imprisoned within myself, I swear."
"He made me."
The lever is flipped, I fall.
My neck does not snap.
Instead, I struggle, the air being forced
from my body. Darkness comes
after the fond memory of a knife in my hand
and blood on the walls of my ****** castle.
Apr 26, 2017
Apr 26, 2017 at 4:42 PM UTC
President Comb-Over,
Quite the despicable guy
Got himself elected
But the wise folk wonder why.
Obama wore a tan suit
Conservatives went insane,
But this Wimpy lookalike butterball
Sports a totally artificial mane.
If ****** predation were a soccer game
This **** would win The World Cup.
If you ignored the news and his tweets
You’d think someone made this horror show up.
He’s lied and cheated and swindled his way
In to more lucrative deals than he deserved
Then a large minority of certifiable idiots
Elected him so he could to pretend to serve.
He took the Oath of Office, quite smugly
But that’s where his integrity would end.
He set about making deals for himself
His trophy wives, his offspring and friends.
He made few attempts to cover his tracks,
Mostly just shouted blatantly obvious lies
By which he was fooling no one intelligent.
Just the moronic, the foolish and unwise.
He relied on the vagaries of human nature
That voters are among the laziest humans
And would rather vote for a rascal it seems
Than take a chance on an honest new man
Or woman, or gay or an experienced soul
That could take over the Presidential reins
Instead of driving our country straight to hell
And making huge profits off the remains.
Brent Kincaid
4/23/2019
Apr 23, 2019
Apr 23, 2019 at 2:46 PM UTC
I Thought
I Lost A "Good Woman"
That trauma caused my pulse
to lay flat on a gurney
Ambulance Sirens of Dire Emergency
Rang loud in my eardrums
On my way to
The Heartbreak
Came to find out
It was a
FALSE ALARM
Hallelujah!!
I'm Alive
But will not ever allow
myself to be swindled again
It is hazardous to my health
Amen!
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 1:06 PM UTC
Swoon, swindled, spindled, and spun.
Wisp of a hand,
to the possession of tongues.
With your lungs producing breath; methane gas.
Lips like matches,
with tendencies to strike,
engulfing us in a passionate blaze.
Bodies connected in the dark,
the silhouette of your euphoric body proved that ignorance was needed and illumination,
never needed.
Settle.
Intertwined in the repose,
Was the leaf to our stick.
Fathomed indentation
Tethered in our unspoken script
Heavy apparitions conjured from tight gasps.
Releasing 3 whispered words,
becomes our catalyst.
One embedded in your eyes
A riptide
of size to rise
the ties
in the endearing future of our lives
until we say our goodbyes
you'll shed this pain that cuts like knives.
Daydreaming of electric wires.
Tiptoeing on what
hangs lower than our fire.
Closed currents in the air
You continue the shock
as your fingers dance through my hair.
We're the flowers and petals,
withered into the passion we're plagued with.
Oh so crowded,
We're cursive
Characters tied in knots,
We can't be split.
Fearing the closure,
We mustn't ever be print...
...Fragmented, affluent, vacant, and split.
The script unraveled
Not cursive,
now print.
Oct 2, 2013
Oct 2, 2013 at 1:25 PM UTC
Call me such the liar and fool this is true, give no notice of the kindness and careful actions I have given you; but if still you feel cheated and swindled by my small offense, then I offer up in recompense. That while you sleep and so soundly slumber in your bed, behind your dreams I visit you in your head. A more clever prankster there never was to prey upon your petty needs, only to guide you through your misled deeds. However you may have strayed so far from these your gentle homes, I will have you back before the sun arose. Call to me not before the midnight hour for from your lips my name will hover, and roll along your awaking tongue the name Jack Underhill will be far gone.
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 8:38 PM UTC
Caught in the middle, push -pull-
ugh ! it's all the same.
I saw you grow into who you are.
Enraged as I am, I cannot begin to comprehend
why.
I called you Friend.
and yet You stand before me, careless.
Oh how the mighty have fallen,
how the noble have swindled.
it's a Shame really.
Betrayal is not a fit word to suit your heinous acts.
I trusted you- to think i even dared to.
the frustration, the rage; it boils so ravenously.
Going down with your ship once again,
to carry Your Fault.
a comfy front row seat on the S.S. Pessimism.
bring out the Artillery, this means war.
to stand up and see eye to eye with you,
or to take another blow, and swallow my hurt pride?
hurling at an insane speed flies your words against my now other wise
infuriated Spirt,
to dance with a tampered soul is unwise, my friend.
you looked at innocence, and treated it like a joke.
you go stain your hands with filth from god knows where
and then return arms wide open, " I have done no wrong," you say.
Guns At the ready and eyes Locked on you,
but now...
What to trust; to expect from you is just another step closer to
your lies.
so desperately do i want to help you.
I do. but i no longer can look at you the
same way.
Grenades in hand.
if you could be cold and heartless, then this should
be no problem for you sweetness.
come dance with the same bullets you fired at me.
Steady, Aim, Fire.
Dragging me down- i don't think so.
No.
Not this time.
the Abyss can expect other visitors.
Bring out the Artillery.
all because of You...
..Boom.
Jan 17, 2017
Jan 17, 2017 at 3:05 PM UTC
Drastic words taken from a manic world,
Have you heard that what they print is labelled on you.
Its over now,
As the sun begins to rise,
Tomorrows world,
Always forgets the man that dies.
Reality later,
Reality later,
Fiction from the truth printed there.
Reality later,
Reality later,
Editorial journalists they don't care cause the paper sells...
Tabloid Mess!
Celebrity taker,
Paparazzi will follow you everywhere,
So you want to be in the paper?
Fame and fortune has its price that will tear.
Sold out now,
This world exclusive news,
Read all about it now,
Aliens land on chrismas eve!
Reality later,
Reality later,
Fiction from the truth printed there,
Reality later,
Reality later,
Editorial journalists they dont care cause the paper sells...
Tabloid Mess!
They deserve it now,
All of those printed lies,
War of words,
From the media moguls!
Reality later,
Reality later,
Fiction from the truth printed there.
Reality later,
Reality later,
Editorial journalists they dont care cause the paper sells...
Tabloid Mess!
Reality later,
Reality later,
Fiction from the truth printed there.
Reality later,
Reality later,
Its all a bit of a joke laugh the press so swindled in you.
Tabloid Mess!
O'Reily@08072015
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 12:28 AM UTC
I accost daylight, reviling in the promiscuity of the waken world
Come, be absent with me, enjoy the splendor of the famine
The only pleasure we’ll allow ourselves is that of a despondent heart
As we weaken the bonds that chain us, we’ll destroy ourselves
How can I rationalize my desires, their innocence shames me
To be reprehensible, oh such a glorious way to be
We ran through the streets encased in neon luminance
You, with your hope and rebellion
Me, in awe of you
This truancy, this desolate homage to backroads and swindled affairs
It leaves a longing to wear her fur coat, my makeup soiled beautifully
Those nights of dreams, and dreams, and dreams, resurrect disenchanted
As I lay aching, biting the the cold steel for the knowledge of ones price
The nullity welcomes a confusion, searching for a fragment of familiarity
Wanting and wishing back the stale taste of the endless mornings
I’ll bring with me the calm, the reassurance of futile worth
The length is calculated, the smirking clock relishing in his dismal pace
We trade the dampened moss as the stars scoff at our ignorance
They whisper, piercing the darkness with their reminder
three moons, alas three moons
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 5:46 PM UTC
476
I meant to have but modest needs—
Such as Content—and Heaven—
Within my income—these could lie
And Life and I—keep even—
But since the last—included both—
It would suffice my Prayer
But just for One—to stipulate—
And Grace would grant the Pair—
And so—upon this wise—I prayed—
Great Spirit—Give to me
A Heaven not so large as Yours,
But large enough—for me—
A Smile suffused Jehovah’s face—
The Cherubim—withdrew—
Grave Saints stole out to look at me—
And showed their dimples—too—
I left the Place, with all my might—
I threw my Prayer away—
The Quiet Ages picked it up—
And Judgment—twinkled—too—
Tat one so honest—be extant—
It take the Tale for true—
That “Whatsoever Ye shall ask—
Itself be given You”—
But I, grown shrewder—scan the Skies
With a suspicious Air—
As Children—swindled for the first
All Swindlers—be—infer—
1.2k
A mist lingers,
Haunting and cruel.
Carrying with it the fountain of youth.
Filled with lies,
Advertised with truth.
Clouding our senses,
Tempting defenses,
All in attempt to keep us defenseless.
Blind to lust,
Overt trust,
Miscommunication becoming our crutch.
Victims to the stereotypical dream,
Swindled by the constant need to be.
Bound by such inconstancy,
Which leads to our fleeting authenticity.
Sharing connection,
But never attention.
Festering wounds destroying retention.
Yet somehow,
I still see forever.
A mist lingers,
But then again,
It never quite left.
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 1:56 PM UTC
Immaculate imagination of worth! Henceforth, thenceforth, theoretic and poetic creations, laminations of proclamation. Among young, dreaded and loosely threaded. Younger years, I was considered a damnation of a procreation. Delisted and twisted, by other's anger or swagger. Younger years, I was unneeded, often pleaded and whined,
banished, varnished and vanished over time. Theoretically considered a swine. Younger years, although hindered tears; through swindled years. Through the mist, the tarnished bliss. The kiss, oh I miss. Over the mournful and scornful years. Throughout these years... my cheers and peers would frequently and repeatedly disappear. Younger years,
my mother and I bracing, chasing, embracing and facing the open-air. It was focal too partake, strolling to the local lake. Such a blurred affair, which seems fair? You and I were a special pair. In my further years...
I was coerced and forced to pedal-metal up steep inclines with no gears. Through the years, younger years, younger years...
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 9:28 PM UTC
You idiots!
You unconscionable poltroons!
Your minds have the intelligence
Of helium filled balloons!
You had a chance to save us
But when it came down to the wire
You chose to let a circus clown
Win the race and play with fire.
Who could know you have learned
Nothing at all from before
When you elected those two morons
Run the show while you snored?
Who could guess that people who
Claim to be so Christian and good,
Would act like from the ears up
They were made entirely of wood?
You imbeciles!
Do you not see what you have done?
You chose a man who seems to think
Lying and embezzling are great fun.
You did not choose the candidate
With experience and knowledge;
You chose the guy who swindled those
Who signed up for his bogus college!
Millions of us with wisdom predicted
This man who praises Vladimir Putin
Would want to start World War Three
Because he is so fond of shooting!
He thinks, without a bit of experience,
He can simply put on another act
And all the rest of the world will
See his mad delusions as facts.
You chowderheads!
You have sold your country out!
Later when it all falls apart
You'll blame someone else and pout.
Now you cheer and chant USA,
And pretend you are so ****** brave
The rest of us fear for the world
And hope there is something to save.
Dec 4, 2016
Dec 4, 2016 at 12:18 AM UTC
Oh and you will be tempted.
I promise that you will be tempted;
but don't give in to the one who can't fix it.
He'll carry a bronze heart slandered red.
Up tall, dark waters you tread my girl.
But knock three times,
and you can hear that swindled chime
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 3:19 PM UTC
Aggravating ways; selfish means
So beguiling that childish fiend
A ****** war, no one sees
Evil villian from far beneath
Manufacturing wounds, ripping flesh
Just to prove who's the best
A soul swimming in a crimson pool
Controling the body; taking rule
A calming anidote, the music plays
Claiming no one's perfect, ha! so cliche
Searching for the lost soul under your bed,
There's no monsters, so our parents said
Some find monsters in their mirror
Watching there makeup slowly smear
Others find them in their surpressed memories
The slight releif released by their screams
Maybe it's been quite a while
Since you've seen her beautiful smile
Maybe a few years have passed
Before someone wondered, before they asked
But under his sleeves lie his scars
They give proof of his pain, beautiful is what they are
Both she and him are self conscious about their weight
Both of them live in fear, live in hate
Maybe some haven't seen a mosnter inside their closet
But felt demons demolishing what's left
It'll fumbles around inside their chest
Some people you just wouldn't expect
Because maybe their wrists have already been checked
But did you ever think maybe her demons are smarter than you
Have you ever felt there presence, then you'd know they're cruel
And what if he were to drag a blade across his wrists
Or maybe his thighs, he only does it to know he exists
As her barriers build higher, and cloud up her eyes
The wounds get deeper, the blood flowing onto her thighs
How do you expect flames to bring him pain
When he's living in hell, a blazing shame
Throughout the day, they'll hide the pain away
It'll seem like everytings fine, like it's okay
Don't be swindled, don't be be a fool
One day you might meet this monster too
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 10:01 AM UTC
I walk down the street whisked by the fragrant aroma of a ***** floating above the clouds
Encased in venom but dismantled plumes of disembodied hair gave her a shroud
I saw in her minced reflection the swindled lust of a happy conclusion
To years of isolated rebarbative delusion
To serenade with penultimate swaggers as though I have been fully swooned
Too soon to aim my praise at an adoring moon
Tugging on mutual hearts entwined with the summer breeze
Trying to garner the summer heir and the summer flair
A panache to clothe every armed bear, disarmed by a propitiated care
A crisp lament crashes the party as a heckler gouging for blindness
I clinch a ****** anger as a riotous engine crafted from wineskins
Belonging to an ageless agelast scurried in dismay
I warp the warbled marble sleet a craven disarray
Then I clamber, risqué in fleeting moments a criminal repartee
I wallop the emerging consensus as the 16th hands me over dumped tea
And a ****** tree laughs as the whitewashed sanity of sanitarium ******
I swerve away from the indecency of a pepper enclosed in chosen wax
A gibbous shackle crumpled on a concrete semaphore
An erratic blithe minatory metaphor
Saturnine clout sweeps the dusty apron from the desuetude of homespun lethargy
Rampant clovers distilled from a dreamscape a raspy sea
Trespassing whisper surmounts the lambent alpenglow of a newborn sun
A sleek potter’s spell encumbered by a lapsed pun
Doors ajar and vats wed with an aimless spar
I finally see the fullness of majesty adorned as a breathing star.
Jun 30, 2016
Jun 30, 2016 at 7:42 AM UTC
Part I: The Elegy of the ******
O we all hail from the pits of ashes, coals, and tar
And crawled out from the crater, of that northern cold star
All ye heart’s wish is to stand in the pope’s grand pulpit
All souls unknowingly swindled, ye vainly submit!
Then, if apes be to humans and humans be to gods;
Unto stones we spit out our apostasies and sobs
We strip our skins to this detestable madness,
From darkness once lurked, we go back with ill fondness
So we adorn ourselves with profane golden idols
On our hands, feet, and neck; to cover our vile souls
And ye stab thine own neighbor, to fulfill thine own ploys
Thou hath betrayed thyself, for that thirty silver coins
As a putrefied heart turn to a hardened stone,
So it breaks into dust, as gusts of shame strews it alone
Woe to me! How do I redeem my lost poor soul?
If the wroth Maker hath already taken my toll
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 4:55 AM UTC
1.1 - I am unread
1.2 - those letters of condolence lying on the bed
1.3 - that ephemeral note initialed in red
1.4 - that formal invitation for the newly wed.
2.1 - A disturbed heart to caress
2.2 - with words unfit to address
2.3 - A tragic dusk beckons unless
2.4 - here distress succeeds success.
3.1 - Patience lost and passed around
3.2 - anxious fell the tragedy crown
3.3 - the coldest breeze brought it down
3.4 - A stranger to all upon its ground.
4.1 - A swindled tongue that once had said
4.2 - all that bleeds will soon be dead
4.3 - like the fading memory you choose to dread
4.4 - A feigning heart yet to be read.
5.1 - Those words of goodbye by despair led
5.2 - with an ugly truth left to confess
5.3 - that missive of hope which never turned to sound
5.4 - still unread.
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 7:25 PM UTC