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TheRhymeRenegade Feb 2018
Dysfunctional behind closed doors
Shapeshifted the lovesick *****
She'll touch you timid, trembling hands
Scared that you arent coming back
Digs through drawers and under the sink
Searching for her missing link
A cigarette will do for now
At least it isn't puppy chow
Shameless in her actions past
Comfortable in coming last
Theres more than at the surface level
And everybody's personal hell
Clove hitch knot around her waist
She followed at a steady pace
Wrapped around your pinky finger
She mimicked all you seemed to give her
What her eyes can do to you
Back of my throat still tastes like glue
What a sullen memory
Of what that **** can do to me
She bites her nails and fingertips
Terrified that she might slip
A clumsy dance that she once knew
Of falling into penance due
Twirl your hair and crack a smile
This one's gonna take awhile
Different or the same old same old
They've paid for it in pounds of fools gold
Chasing after fading dreams
Tripping up on memories
Will she make it on her own
A concept simple, yet unknown
A reunion of the sweetest kind
Desperate to escape the time
Spirits burn an empty soul
But never can they make one whole
Echoing within her chest
"You have always been the best"
She sips and stares across the room
Shadowed by her phantom groom
Cut off from hearts nourishment
All on her own cursed to lament
The choices that she didn't make
And chances that she didn't take
A sigh inside an empty mind
A drop of water off the tide
She's buried next to clementines
Roots entangle, synchronize
What a pretty little mess
Of despondancy and tenderness
And she's still waiting underground
For a love once frolicked, love once found
Mystic Ink Plus Dec 2018
Raise slow
Raise fast
Raise step by step
Reach to love
I'm here
The Moon said
In her shyness

Too fast can be I
Too slow can be you
Let's get together as
Synchronize soul
The Sun replied
In his boldness

Believe me
You were the witness
Genre: Romantic
Theme: Reciprocation
ConnectHook Sep 2015

The dawn is nigh at hand. The clouds
begin to lift above the grange.
Arise, O Phoebus, bless the crowds –
let poultry roam the range.

I’ll bind a broom of gathered hay
to sweep the hen-house free of hate.
Let roosters hail the crack of day
and chicks with ***** tempt fate.

A fractured self and a challenge hurled:
they left the shell – but found it rough
because our bigoted barnyard world
cannot get queer enough fast enough.

They flutter through the *******’s farm
subverting gender’s useless role.
We feel their pain, and mean no harm –
yet question this progressive goal.

They cluck a brand-new barnyard song:
Gender Identity Obsolete!
(As long as they claim God hatched them wrong,
biology signals their defeat.)

While poultry scratches rhymes for “hen”
and chicks are combing crests for *****
let’s ring the dinner bell and then
we’ll synchronize the global clocks.

Let Mankind’s unmanned race delight
at Jesus’ gender-free return.
Soon Africa shall see the light
and Araby’s sun more brightly burn.

Then dawn shall break o’er Russian plains
to liberate the Tartar races;
loose their limbs from Gender’s chains
to stride with polymorphous paces.

China too, and Southeast Asia
swift shall follow in their train
celebrating ***-aphasia
joining in the West’s refrain.

Hindu multitudes will rise
to vanquish gender, caste aside
and shake the slumber from their eyes
with metro-ambisexual pride.

Carib isles, with Latin kingdoms
From the tropics to the mountains
Shall announce they too are Wisdom’s,
drinking from de-gendered fountains.

Juveniles, raised to simply be
shall pioneer new modes of life;
explore horizons happily
set free from biologic strife.

Then shall our earth, in glad array
***** dirt upon Tradition’s tomb;
unshackled from that dark dismay
to grieve – but nevermore exhume.

Alas, the global dreams descend.
We’re back in the barnyard, gender-queer…
where hens have ***** and eggshells bend
transcending Nature’s reign of fear.

The henhouse still votes hetero –
their eggless chickens cluck for rights
biologists, ex utero
are born to further futile flights.

(Because I was almost one of them
I’ve earned the right to make fun of them.
Time alone will tell if the trend
remains coherent to the end.
shamamama Jun 14
there is a richness

        in not knowing the future

and believing in love,

trusting in the universe;

even though

        the weeds are growing strong

the clouds are dark

and some of these thoughts

are not the seeds I planted.

        remember the silver lining

sewn in the seems

of all clouds

and the gold in the

seeds I have planted...

         weave the silver from the sky

to the gold from the earth

hold this fiber

to my heart

          and let the drumbeat of

love inside


to the future outside
Sometimes I have to dream way beyond the potential hypnotic day  and spin magic to muster up the courage to face the future
Glass Jan 20
there have been sureties
not been able to suffer from avoidance;
contiguity and octave that when our hands compose
they become
a cistern prognosis that are
visibly shut
in there own organs waiting for
an unborn character to synchronize to an
upset weakness, and a
faltered selfish flavor that jolts into
a superstition of someones apathetic
disposition - "he's only in your mind"

- G
Deep, deep within

As the human soul watches,

The other less clever, obedient invisible masses work.

He tells them to run

They dare not walk,

Or rather,

They synchronize with his mind as one

In unison.

Even time,

Who would surely rebel

If he had chosen to waste his talent,

Followed his command and wishes.

Only those

Having more faith in the mortal flesh

Lived helplessly, questioning the


Not knowing the ability behind the

Display of clothing skin






This poem itself was written by a rather juvenile me way back in high school. I was recently introduced to western philosophy and more or less philosophy in general. Independent of and somehow just before learning of the 'law of attraction' I was already obsessed with the idea of consciousness changing the physical. This interest slowly faded. However...

Today, I was suggested the above article by the algorithm of a bit more scientific study and exploration by actual theoretical physicist John Archibald Wheeler and peers, and was reminded of this and several other poems I wrote with a limited understanding of the topic.

I am not a student of science though I was always interested in the cosmic, so take this as you will.


-Yue ****, 13:29 Saturday January 23, 2010
GulRukh May 31
My Lion!
You are so perfect so perfect that It scares me
I am sacred that you'll hate me when we'll meet
I am scared of rejection
I love you so much, so much
That's why I Left
I dunno what would I do if you reject me seeing my face
I am not beautiful; I am not a  perfect girl
I am just an ordinary stupid girl that loves you like carzy lil kid
I just don't fit with you, cause I am so indulge in my insecurities and my ugliness
I can cry alone forever rather feel rejected by the love of my life
I hate leaving you, it's like I stabbed myself with thousands knives straight into the heart
I sometimes can't breath
My each breath moan your name
My Lion!
I just don't wanna breath
If I can't synchronize it to your heart beat
Love! There will be no one after you I can assure you that...
Rose Dec 2018
his gaze lit me up,
his touch electrified my soul;
and created a ravenous hunger within me, a want, a need,
to consume every portion of his being.
for our souls to connect and synchronize,
for us to become intertwined, and
for the lust, and passion,
to engulf everything in its path, and literally, eat. me. alive.
Jordan Hudson Mar 18
Off time, syncing rhymes
Rolling dies, hearing lies
Synchronize these lines
Listen and adjust
To the words discussed
Do not turn away
It's your birthday
And you will listen anyway
Don't stop, you got the right away
It's in my DNA and now yours ok
I'm not playin'
Just keep prayin'
Not displayin'
Why don't you get it
You hypocrite
Yourself to this you misfit
A lifelike missile strike
This war like fight
You in the right
But I can't write
Rise in the light
I'd rather die
And win this fight
Words on the screen
Listen to the beat
Standin' on my feet
Tryin' to sync them
Finding a ink pen
Writing at school
Now I'm a fool
Let's go
Soundin' like a talk show
Auctioneer tempo
Tracks that lack voice audio
Maybe I should stick to photos
I can't rap
Etréstles asks oblation to the unfortunate of the World ..
he asks to give his offering House that is not his house,
to synchronize your departure to be in the company of Solitude,
He does not have his sacred Cemetery before leaving for Nineveh ...

He has disappointed himself of the Archpriest of Ayia Lavra for his strong telluric pains in his marble abdomen ...
The holy oil that furrowed his forehead, furrowed his soul
he has not recognized himself when his own umbilical nap has flourished a wafer of the Messiah who has traveled alongside him by the pavilions of Messolonghi in clarions rubies ..

My father Staktos; come, I have not yet received the indulgence of abandoning what is not abandoned, I need to hear your voice from my sixth reincarnation playing on the roads of the oracles that illuminate the world, which is yours and the Messiah Choir on the Magdala heavens .

Father I have not yet gone, and so many lives I have lived to see your distant face on grass barley resembling your breaths of late sunny spring celestial sermon sermons. But this time I want to cheer you beyond the imagination of eclectic anemia, with the aching pain descending through my impure heart.

Nothing torments me more than to move away from the hells that do not know that I run through the prairies towards you without getting tired, imagining that I will fall into the neglect of your forgetfulness. I quickly lose my Laud from my right arm as a short-handed little fish, to commit the indiscretion of anticipating me to worship you with my dislocated left arm that carries the Harp from Lethe confiscated from Euterpe.

Harmony that ignores Dinora in the false forests of Messolonghi in flames. You are my cobble who pierces the cries of my crucified hands, timbers of lymph incense next to the sweetness of your words that grew green in my dreams.

Challenge with this interloquy of your incandescent soul, this is how The Last Temptation of Etrestles begins with its bleeding fingers, in the inflexible forgiveness of praising all those who want to dance with the mothers of the Shadows; that Staktos is his father, before reviving him and resuscitating him in his exodus to Nineveh, land hunched over by the Host, tortuous and artificial light shone from the recklessness of him who will make him sleep through the desert of life in farewell fantasies. Winds are felt singing whistles of hydrogen sulphide rocking from the edge of the cliff of the cloud, to fall on the shoulders of the timid death, False Blood, clumsy blood to wash my feet on Virgo and Jupiter in the sand. .

Father, in purgatory, make the sounds of the new dawn without any detail or gesture of repentance.

Thus Etrestles receives the Eucharistic host offering in his holy mouth and runs down the corridors of the great mysteries of the Nothing of good spirit of all Mantle.

To be continue…
Alex A Jan 16
Rather be broken than be whole
Rather be sensitive and full of emotion
Not worried about my pride
Not worried about my dignity
All I care about is my soul
my heart
my spirit

I love writing
I love chess
I love being positive  
I love people
I love life
I love music
Most importantly
I love love

I love the way people fall head over heels for each other
I love the idea of hugging and squeezing
being so close yet never feeling close enough

It amazes me the way we change our routine and lifestyle
the way we adopt new hobbies
all these just to be noticed

I love how love can take a broken hopeless person
and make them whole again

I love how we blindly and stupidly follow certain people
Dance along to their songs
Sing along with their lyrics
Synchronize our heartbeats to theirs

I love how everything would remind us of them
How every love song reminds us of the extra miles we would go for them
How a beautiful orange red sunset would remind us
of the beautiful canvas that we painted for them with our blood
just for some attention
just for some affection  

most of the time all will go unnoticed  
and that is fine
we'll just be broken
and ready to be loved
and healed
by someone
who truly
deserves us
I am herein
and heretofore
choosing the universe
its polarity
to its polity

I am directing it
to continue to be
the early knocker
the look out focker
the I'll be
what you see

Rollover and scratch verse
and some throw and catch

The I look there
and you look there
for no reason
and see
seeing synchronize
to simultaneous
and looks

that acknowledge
the experience
from inside it
knowing only my seeing
is all I'm seeing
so let's see it this way

Now can I see your
****** of verse?
You were chaotic
  Like the ocean's rage on a stormy night

You were also harmonic
  Like how birds synchronize in flight

You were silent
  Like how a butterfly would flap it's wings in air

You were deafening as well
  Like a how bomb would explode and shatter my ears

You were lonely
  Like how your anxiety creeps in when you're at a party

You were friendly
  Like how everyone looks at you brightly

You were everything I never would've asked

You were also everything I would've wanted

You were Mine
And I was Yours

You destroyed me,
  Like how you hugged my depression away

You built me,
  Like how your smile makes my day

You were what I had prayed for
And I'm thankful that I did.
I asked of no name but I had wished so what was given I must cherish
Josh Cooper Jul 2018
I want to speak and talk all darkness long,
Til you see my secrets and phobias.
And kiss 'its okays' to my imperfections.
"Venir jeudi soir", she said.  
Ma dulcinèe...
I want to synchronize my guitar to your hearts-beats and taste the music.
'Venir jeudi soir', she said                              
'It means, come Thursday night'

— The End —