"theoretically" poems
Enigma entity’s ethology entelechy as it relates to clairaudience clairvoyance.
Everyone has a personal futurity fatidic or existential metaphysique.
What we need is a universally acceptable form of id conclusion.
Unfortunately we can’t even agree on the social stigmatisms of ego’s expression.
We are relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity that succeed in a hierarchy of functionally integrateable forms.
There is no functional deontology, even though its visage would seem to portend cogently fecund probity for all.
We are not ethereally sublime, we are corporeally preternatural.
Objective is individual; obligation to each other is not a mandate.
Though many might find it inherently indispensible to some it impedes success.
The depths of debauchery this debacle ensues are almost intrinsically endemic to our race.
How am I going to get there becomes more important than ‘what are we fighting for’.
So, if there’s no unity of purpose how do we decide who we are fighting for.
Will it be good for all or lead to oligarchy and subjugation, the seemingly inescapable byproduct of capitalism, the inherent decadence of socialism.
It’s times like this that make me love the constitutional fortitude of Americanism.
Theoretically I have an inalienable right, hypothetically this leads to anarchy so I’m not allowed to mess with your rights.
This is mandate.
The republic for which we stand.
Mendacious tales of unity, not merely the obstinate tenacities of I, but also the cogent fecundity in the infamous we-ness of us.
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 6:04 PM UTC
Sleep, dearest creature of the night, you who adores the shining moon, I said to myself as the music began to echo through the room
A nyctophile blood ******* devil, gifted black demonic wings alike a bat when it flies, strengh beyond reason and a tongue full of sick lies,
Yet a ray of sun may be lethal to you, burning you away as if you were paper caught in a firestorm, an inferno of heat, vaporized at last,
Life force relies in blood, impurities of constant change I need since I have already passed away theoretically I am most likely already dead
A music box plays for me alone, transient melodies from the recurring memories of a brighter, vivid past, to which I am are unable to return to,
Ahh, phantoms, a nuisance of the mortal life I have escaped alike the shooting stars over a clear, living,traveling, dark blue night sky
Have I toiled well, hard or long to achieve heaven, yet have become stuck as the devils tool in a illusionary world with no end ?
Flowing water seals me away, I cannot cross when it rains, and need a polite, kind invitement to intrude and cause wicked bloodshed
Sleep, so I may can be innocent until the sun has sunken down to rest,
Slumber, the world of dreams is free from weaknesses to purification,
With great magic, comes a devils recitation, engaging in a distant dream far beyond the grasp of my crimson, blood drenched hands,
Unable to advance, shadows of those who have forgotten the fear of darkness spread and creep around, hidden in nights embrace
Empty consciousness I am attracted like a fluttering butterfly to the gentle reflected light by the full moon in its fullest sensation,
Raise this song of love and paint it in a moonlit night for me,
Dance with me, until we aren't part of this world any longer, dear,
Sounds melt into silence, structure forms within chains of destiny,
Even if tomorrow were never to come, I couldn't care less,
For now, just let me rest my eyes
~ Umi
Mar 29, 2018
Mar 29, 2018 at 6:06 PM UTC
You and I are two parallel lines.
Practically speaking, we can never meet.
Theoretically, we do at infinity.
Where is infinity?
How do you get there?
How can you stay there?
My love,
my infinity is where the heart is
where no one can take things away from us.
We cannot reach within our own hearts.
We only know they beat inside us
while belonging to someone else.
Mine is yours,
and so I will not lose it.
You will never lose it.
If one day yours, too, became mine,
we would no longer be parallel lines.
Aug 5, 2010
Aug 5, 2010 at 8:39 AM UTC
Okay, so there might be a possibility I have maybe slightly convinced myself that I may theoretically have developed the beginnings of the tiniest dollop of a smidgen of an enormous crush on you.
So please don't break me.
REPOST IF THIS IS YOU RIGHT NOW
please comment I love to read thoughts on my work!
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 12:01 AM UTC
I have been told that a love left untouched will never disappear; that because the corrosive oils from our fingertips have not dissolved its coloring, it will, theoretically, endure perpetually. This love, left in its shrink-wrap casing, looming over the heads of the meek and the caustic feels like a scarlet letter hidden behind the robe, a feeling so foul none are to know but, Oh, what if it begins to fester, there in the moist dark?
This worry had been sitting in my stomach, churning with the bile and swallowed blood, coming up acid in my throat; I could feel it radiating out. Thought: it must be nuclear, must be radioactive and glowing, eating through me one layer at a time, but love –this uranium longing– has a half-life.
When first the reaction began it boiled and popped like lye on skin, singed off my eyelids so I could not help but see it there. I found myself woozy from the fumes, a high I had never experienced before so I inhaled, let it torch my lungs and leave me gagging. My hair began to fall out. I was soggy from the chemotherapy, tried pumping this bitterness into my bloodstream to remove the evil that already existed there, unaware that they were the same entity. It could not survive on a diet of itself and obsession, and so it began waning.
An exponential decay, the intensity of this passion varying directly with the frequency of contact and inversely with time, yet it will never be gone, entirely. It will decrease incrementally every time I say good bye, every time I see scarred knuckles, every time I want and he does not. I have counted the days since the day I counted on him and he was accountable and the number is growing larger and getting more difficult to remember. I have scribbled it onto scraps of paper and it has only browned the edges, no longer burns all the way through, and this love –this radium affair– has been losing its toxicity.
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 7:54 PM UTC
Having read both cell biology & molecular biology in Bachelor's,
This subject seems a lot different when studying it in the Master's.
But I just can't abdicate & concede this point in my master's degree at all,
I'll study creating poems about every major topic to let poetry happen.
That way it'll be easier to revise,
Both poetically and theoretically.
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 8:54 AM UTC
At the basic stage of learning a language comes pairs of most commonly used antonyms,
words meaning opposites of each other like the earth and the sky,
far away and close by,
love and hate,
metaphorically speaking even you and me.
Except, sky begins right where earth stops,
so if you really think about it only the soles of our feet are truly grounded,
while our heads have always been in the clouds.
Distance is subjective, so depending on how fast a ride is or the resolution of a lens,
sunsets and full moons are that much closer than a lover's touch.
Love and hate are not two sides of the same coin,
or the extreme ends of the same spectrum,
but rather the same side of the same coin,
exuded by the same people at the same people for the same reasons,
interdependent,
coexisting,
one defining the other.
Well, I suppose that leaves you and me.
As in it literally leaves you and me out,
metaphorically speaking,
figuratively speaking,
theoretically speaking,
you and I aren't antonyms after all because,
as it appears we do not define each other or anything in between.
Like the ocean and a bumblebee.
Here I am calm and blissful with sunlight bouncing off of every wave,
dramatic and roaring, heightened with emotions soaring,
bearing an infinity of life, continuously giving, nurturing and upholding,
but all you want is honey;
metaphorically speaking.
Aug 17, 2016
Aug 17, 2016 at 4:39 PM UTC
a treatise on compatibility this is theoretically
presented
by a linguist with limited trigonometry sense
and since the heart beats and is 360 degrees
I sought out a tangent to measure her with
or sine to figure out logically
whether we were compatible
like functionally
on a straight line or tangentially
perpendicularly
in degree and cosines or measurement mathematically
similar
then found no co-efficient to portray
her smile
fell out of my array
with nothing else
to equal
her.
Dec 21, 2014
Dec 21, 2014 at 11:59 PM UTC
I won't mind being surreal,
if you won't scurry
seeing me in my real self,
and kind enough not to
think of me as outlandish
as something like 'Shrodinger's cat'
kept in a box
that is both alive and dead!
(to the universe outside the box
as the' Copenhagen interpretation' implies,
dont ask me how!)
I am least interested in'quantum entanglement'
which i can do without, but oh! mathematics
that mother of all sciences is hell bent, it seems
to hunt me down till I say uncle.
They have told me ,
what I am now
is not mathematically possible!
(whatever it means)
They looked at me as if
I don't exist.
(Oh! my poor Shrodinger's cat
I now understand your plight;
oh ! to be both dead and 'undead' theoretically
when reality chooses to go naked!)
I just said this:
I have no use to mathematics
that refuses to believe in me
if maths find me unacceptable
all I want to say is this,
how would maths even touch poetry with a barge pole?
and don't forget, maths creates the poetry of the universe!
**Oh! I am confused
forgive me for being Buridan's ***
that sees in maths 'Shrodinger's cat'**
They looked horrified
and in a moment
turned to thick smoke
and dissolved!
Jul 11, 2012
Jul 11, 2012 at 12:07 PM UTC
You say that you love me, ooh that sounds nice,
vibrates so good it makes my atoms splice.
My superstrings, my god how you make me,
plucked you once and you shake me, shake me.
Matter of fact, my matters exotic,
darkening dreams to birthe a new narcotic.
Struggling deep to borne a newage ******
strumming to sleep with that **** melodic.
Tourniquets bleed but you know that I fought it,
theoretically, it's right but it's not it.
Nov 3, 2010
Nov 3, 2010 at 8:02 PM UTC
Enigma entity’s ethology entelechy as it relates to clairaudience clairvoyance
Everyone has a personal futurity fatidic or existential metaphysique
What we need is a universally acceptable form of id conclusion
Unfortunately we can’t even agree on the social stigmatisms of ego’s expression
We are relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity that succeed in a hierarchy of functionally integrateable forms
There is no functional deontology, even though its visage would seem to portend cogently fecund probity for all
We are not ethereally sublime, we are corporeally preternatural
Objective is individual; obligation to each other is not a mandate
Though many might find it inherently indispensible to some it impedes success
The depths of debauchery this debacle ensues are almost intrinsically endemic to our race
How am I going to get there becomes more important than ‘what are we fighting for’
So, if there’s no unity of purpose how do we decide who we are fighting for
Will it be good for all or lead to oligarchy and subjugation, the seemingly inescapable byproduct of capitalism, the inherent decadence of socialism
It’s times like this that make me love the constitutional fortitude of Americanism
Theoretically I have an inalienable right, hypothetically this leads to anarchy so I’m not allowed to mess with your rights
This is mandate
The republic for which we stand
Mendacious tales of unity, not merely the obstinate tenacities of I, but also the cogent fecundity in the infamous we-ness of us
Nov 9, 2013
Nov 9, 2013 at 7:25 AM UTC
Heaven, heaven is one breath away! Heaven, heaven is someone’s array of death and decay. May I say? The havens and heavens above is a way for the doves and for its love. For the day, the gay, the gray, the prey, the stray, the Sundays and sunrays! Heaven, heaven is a hideaway, a passageway, a safe way, a sway away! Heaven, heaven
is basically, eccentrically, theoretically and poetically for some of the
awesome that blossom! It’s an anthem or a poem! It’s fearsome, it’s freedom and a kingdom of wisdom! Heaven, heaven is a place of face, grace, race and trace. It’s full of allure and demure! It’s rest and a test assured! Where, there you can invest the best and insure your problems can be cured! Heaven, heaven’s characterized cries and eyes! The flies, the lies, the prize in disguise! Its skies, ties, the whys and the
wise. Footprints and imprints of ancient legends of heroes, Negroes and Neros of long, long ago! Heaven, heaven’s gorgeous doorsteps! Yep! Its havens grand, take a stand. Many brands, many hands, many
strands of many sands! Heaven, heaven is enormous and glamorous! It’s where adjacent, impatient humorous, numerous followers throng and prolong! The bleak, meek, the weak, the strong and wrong! There
is where, reactive in proactive citizens and frail senior citizens hail and sail! They prevail as they unveil! They thrive and throng to there,
where righteous, brightness belongs. Heaven, heaven all adhere and hear! The allowed, the followed, the hallowed, the supreme cloud towers and gracious powers! Heaven, heaven basked and tasked by thy masked gleam. Aside, inside it seemed I was alone…
As I cried, as I sighed! Tied in wonder, under the heaven’s throne of wonder! In blunder, as I wondered if I were dead? Instead, black crows in rows, attacked and flew over my head! Squawking, talking, flying asunder, with plunder, plunder, under the thunder, thunder! Definitely bringing me to my knees! Infinitely squawking, talking, flying around me with ease, glee and tease! Please heaven, heaven!
For instance in the distance... It’s dreamingly and seemingly quaint you see! Faint sounds of angel’s hymning and rhyming! Their heavenly, heavenly, singing, ringing triumphantly, triumphantly! Although, through the distance and persistence in time; we to will hopefully and loyally dine. Dine in thrill, on the heaven, heaven’s divine! Amen all children, men and women, heaven, heaven amen.
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 10:12 PM UTC
On the girl's side:
Are you going to winter formal?
No, I wish I was. They even have a candy bar.
On the boy's side:
Theoretically, if I was to consume cyanide...
You know you could...
On the girl's side:
Look at how perfectly I filled the gel!
Yeah, girl power!
On the boy's side:
Who filled the gel C?
I'll use you for my source of error.
On the girl's side:
Eugh, beef tacos:
I never eat them, only paninis and pizza...sometimes
On the boy's side:
Ooh, beef tacos!
Finally something good to eat.
I find myself smiling. It is true, I'm only describing a tiny microcosm
Not nearly enough,
to make conclusions
Aligning to stereotypes?
Maybe, I don't know
But I do know,
While listening,
I was fighting to keep a smile off my face
How funny people can be when you remove yourself from
Main character to audience
Jan 17, 2019
Jan 17, 2019 at 3:55 PM UTC
lead me far from the mainland:
i have need no more for their custom.
gore these umbilical cords i share:
i no longer need their worldview,
i have forsaken them
they have, me
writhing akrobatics!
i whip my flagellated tail
and prance defiantly
into the danger zone,
where the crispness leeches
onto my body
and i shudder in view
of the sincerity i have
forsaken for this
my life has terribly been choked,
ab ovo
in principio,
nothing, was i, but a mere ghost.
caged-in oneirataxia:
i cannot distinguish
( i was a saddened victim of kalopsia )
these prefab worlds:
one, real
the other, an illusion
my life has captured me and
coerced me - prisoner
with blackened post 'round my neck
wrenching exposure
and blemish me.
but there,
there is a light
past corridor's end
and i see it, theoretically,
finally
and i remember the one good thing
to come from Pandora's folly:
hope.
i no longer need their choices
which have guided me past with harm
i can fight alone without their armor
which never did fit right, to start
rummaging for the undertow
in this ocean
to take me far from home
where i am embraced
by my prime
their volition:
no more
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 6:22 PM UTC
"You can be whatever you want to be," he says.
Isn't he so ******* inspirational?
Something straight out of a storybook meant for a hopeful, innocent, naive child.
I've always thought that this statement was relevant, because we humans as a rule usually do whatever we want to do.
We follow our guts, our desires, our cravings, our wants.
I've always tried to employ this rule, just because my mommy once told me to be whatever I wanted to be.
But someday quite sometime ago, I learned that you can't get everything you want.
One cannot be president, an astronaut, or beautiful, or smart just by "wanting" it.
You could eventually, theoretically get what you wanted through hard work or finagling or knowing the right people or maybe by just being lucky.
But realistically we don't always get what we want, which means we can't be whatever we want to be.
I've always tried to think that I want to be skinny and pretty, so I'm going to work out and I'm not going to eat and because I want it, it will happen.
I've always tried to think that I want to be happy, so I'm going to make friends and hide my awkward sadness and smile frequently and because I want to be happy, it will happen.
I've always tried to think that I want considerate people to surround myself with, so I'm going to treat others how I want to be treated and I'm going to bend over backwards to show others I care and because I want to feel important to others, it will happen.
I've always tried to think that I could have any career I want, so I'm going to follow "what makes me happy" and try to find a job in a barren career field and because I want to be a happy adult (if such a thing exists), it will happen.
There are so many things I desperately want myself to be.
Compassionate, smart, attractive, intelligent, loving, witty, beautiful, fit, skinny, talented, well put together, and I could list thousands more.
But there are so many aspects of myself that I don't want that I will never be able to get rid of.
So while I think that wanting to be something is relevant to how much you want it, because as a rule humans do whatever we want, I think there are certain things you cannot change just by wanting them.
So Mister Inspirational, take a step back from your whiskey bottle, your larger than life aspirations, and let reality slap you in the face.
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 12:57 AM UTC
In my first life, I died
The year I turned 25,
And now that I’m in the hours before I taste my second,
I want to make it all the way to
28.27 years
cause when you divide that by 9,
You’re left with pi.
And because the universe isn’t just a
Straight line, you’ve got to use a formula to get around,
Get all up on that pi d because piety just
isn't logic enough for me, where even the repentant
Are told they’re going to burn in purgatory, sweetheart, please.
Being alive and feeling was
sometimes hell enough for me.
In just a few hours before I’m sent through that
Tight tunnel,
I want to be judged by the god of
3.14159, the baker that made me
Mr. Blueberry Buddah
Master in the art of reincarnation.
I want to be birthed **** with just a dab of pure whipped
cream for a soul,
Drizzled sweet with the blood I never watched my
mother bleed for me
on the morning of my second birth.
But I gotta say, this bardo shit's pretty odd,
Here the sky ranges in color gradients too specific like
“violent salmon” all the way to “lukewarm smoothie”
But once I get out, I know things will be strange,
owning a life that’s not quite mine to lose.
And even though I’ll have no answer to give, I desperately
Want someone to ask,
Stranger, tell me, how did it feel?
Theoretically, I’ll respond,
Well, I was kicked back into some ancestral dream
To meet everyone I will ever be, everyone
I have ever been and
Once I’ve met all of them,
Everyone I will never meet again.
And they'll ask,
Friend, is that why babies take so long to be born?
Yes, its because they’re shaking hands with the universe
On the way out of the womb.
At least, the one who will reach nirvana
After this life cycle circles through.
Lover, if I were to meet you again, will you remember?
Does your soul still have my story
Etched on it somewhere,
Or will you be washed clean of me,
The tabula rasa upon which Locke never wrote?
I won’t remember you, but
I have faith that you’ll find me,
Even lifetimes grow apart after too long.
It’s all about the company you keep because
They never stay.
And if that should happen, well,
We just met each other in an inconvenient life.
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 2:26 AM UTC
Well, darling, we've surpassed 3 a.m.
And 4 a.m....5 a.m....and 6...
Talking about our life together,
Only theoretically of course,
And I haven't freaked out. Even when
You said the word "marriage," I didn't
Blink an eye and I took it in stride.
And when you said "children," I smiled;
An image of dark haired babes screaming,
Us two standing and laughing because
We just don't know what the **** to do.
My hair would be frazzled, hoisting one
On my hip as I sing lullabies.
And our toddler would be sitting
On your lap, chattering as your eyes
Widen, overwhelmed with her questions.
How I love your dark beautiful eyes.
I don't picture a white picket fence
With a manicured lawn and flowers
But I envision the two of us
Becoming older and sassier.
We are infinite for a while
Until I wake up one fateful day
And I realize that you have passed on.
But I gather the grand-kids around
And with a glimmer in my eye, I
Tell our story sparing no details
Because someone has to remember
When I am dead and gone from the world.
And when I close my eyes for the last
Time, I smile and say: "Remember,
Darling, when we were just pretending?"
And my soul will depart my body,
Find and join yours in our own heaven.
So answer me and please be honest;
Baby, will you live this dream with me?
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 2:32 AM UTC
Enigma entity’s ethology entelechy as it relates to clairaudience clairvoyance
Everyone has a personal futurity fatidic or existential metaphysique
What we need is a universally acceptable form of id conclusion
Unfortunately we can’t even agree on the social stigmatisms of ego’s expression
We are relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity that succeed in a hierarchy of functionally integrateable forms
There is no functional deontology, even though its visage would seem to portend cogently fecund probity for all
We are not ethereally sublime, we are corporeally preternatural
Objective is individual; obligation to each other is not a mandate
Though many might find it inherently indispensible to some it impedes success
The depths of debauchery this debacle ensues are almost intrinsically endemic to our race
How am I going to get there becomes more important than ‘what are we fighting for’
So, if there’s no unity of purpose how do we decide who we are fighting for
Will it be good for all or lead to oligarchy and subjugation, the seemingly inescapable byproduct of capitalism, the inherent decadence of socialism
It’s times like this that make me love the constitutional fortitude of Americanism
Theoretically I have an inalienable right, hypothetically this leads to anarchy so I’m not allowed to mess with your rights
This is mandate
The republic for which we stand
Mendacious tales of unity, not merely the obstinate tenacities of I, but also the cogent fecundity in the infamous we-ness of us
Dec 9, 2015
Dec 9, 2015 at 3:30 PM UTC
She rolled the sixpence between her knuckles,
As she thought about everyone she'd ever loved.
Was it love?
It's easy to say no, in hindsight.
Theoretically, your love should grow, along with that person,
Each person being loved more than the last.
The next person is one step closer to perfection,
Because we love, and we learn.
We learn who was right, and who was wrong.
Like the sixpence, currency, it changes, it evolves with time,
It gets stamped with a mark, true to its origin,
Even after decades of changing hands, that mark is still visible.
One penny could travel the world, collecting fingerprints.
Or it could stay in one place, as a collectors item,
You could savour and cherish it, waiting, waiting for its original value to increase,
Or you could let it go, passing it on to someone else,
Letting someone love it better than you did,
There's a reason we change hands, why we're shared out as we are,
Money is *****
Just like our hearts.
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 7:16 AM UTC
Leaning against the rough bark of a mangrove
Piercing sunlight grinding into the tender layers of my eyelids
For sleep I would walk miles to darkness
Headed down a rabbit hole journey
Stars twinkling above the gazing set of my road weary eyes
A sea of diamonds lighting my way home
Pulsing vibrations connect me to the heart of the great mother
Her eternal intensity feeding our spirit
An ever spark of life
Omitted by a cosmic lotus bud
Constantly blooming bright and full
Reflecting our force of will in each heavy, buzzing cell
I want to be in the core, know it all
Not enough room inside this compact skull
Must expand, must evolve , escaping the tight confines of physical experience
My minds eye all encompassing in terrifying capacity
Engorge.
Saturated with the very idea of light
Too theoretically complex to keep a hold of
Sifting and drifting through corporeal fingertips, grasping
Wandering stardust vagabonds, becoming unattainable
Creating instead tiny flames inside my head
Apr 21, 2012
Apr 21, 2012 at 10:32 PM UTC
Konnichiwa! My name is Kich. Most people find me distant at first but once you get to know me, you'll see that it's the other way around. I'm a direct person, I state what I have in mind without hesitation. Sometimes I hold back but I find it hard to keep what it needs to be addressed over protecting someone's fragile ego. With that, I may appear to be brutally honest, but I expect likewise. I love simple things in life, and I'm extremely thankful for what's upon and what I'm given. I love cooking and trying out new things. I'm always up for an adventure and meeting different kinds of people. I'm very easy going and I like making others laugh. Some people may find me a bit complicated but I'm not afraid to take the initiative. Generally, I’m a nice person but please don’t cross me or I’ll never look at you the same way again.
I do fancy anything that look better sketchy and unresolved in my eyes. Just like anything else when endowed with a sense of implicitness and mystery hanging in the air. Yet, If there is something I should state so early, I'm very reserved and I filter people that deserves to be kept in my life. I have nothing soulful to absorb from superficial connections, of any kind.
Theoretically speaking, I'm most probably not your usual cup of tea! I dislike (our) modernity. This isn't because I have any fetish going against the flow. Most people value harmony and coexistence in their life, so do I. Call me reactive if you want, but the times we live in feel to me completely cold, morally downgrading, highly narcissistic, and thus, bluntly disenchanted. Although I feel somewhat indifferent, I do not think that I should be melancholic about life anymore but rather be more enthusiastic for things this life on earth has to unfold as long as I'm breathing. That said, I'm not closing my doors for possibilities.
Nov 2, 2021
Nov 2, 2021 at 1:41 PM UTC
"which side of the island are you on?"
the sign read clear yet confusion spawned.
a month before it said, "what mean these stones?"
i thought i had it pegged but a new riddle roots my dome.
at first glance, it's simply north, south, west or east,
until a greater insight allows you to realize the beast.
the monster within, with a mischievous grin,
the chesire cat's supreme tiger of a twin.
you see, demons and angels atop shoulders will boast,
a toast to good and evil, which lures you in the most?
perhaps this island is theoretically unsound,
heaven and hell in a melting *** chaos surrounds.
Jul 6, 2011
Jul 6, 2011 at 9:49 PM UTC
we’re separated by miles theoretically
Our hearts, by a few yards until recently
i can hear you still, like last year
last year, when we were one soul
there was no separation
i tie my hair
untie them
and tie them once more
glance at the clock
the watches
the phone
i can still hear you in a distance
a few miles
a few miles
or maybe a few yards
i can hear the heart ticking
our pulses racing
racing away
from that one moment
one moment that lost us more
more of a you and a me
i type aggressively
not to match our beats anymore
heart beats
pulses
deep and heavy breaths
we were pretty sure of ourselves
deceiving a separation, measurable,
and finally its the distance
The distance
The distance
Some distance
the distance that got between you and me.
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 2:14 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