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Pea Jul 2014
Lost Lost Children's song
Lost at 3:20
in the morning where clock ticks
struggling to blend
Slime-smoo-thie, slime-smoo-thie drink
Slime-smoo-thie, slime-smoo-thie drink
Oh
Sia has never been wrong
Bullets brain, bargained
Ballet shoes, never worn out
Stay as clear as tears
Stay as clear as tears
Just burn the witches
where clock ticks
struggling to fade
Oh not even could light a cigarette
Lost Lost Children's song
Lost at 3:20
Found it
Stuck in your baby pink lungs

No smoking, sweetheart
Smoking kills

Lost Lost Children
Do not grow up so fast
Just come back home to Mama
Heal your scratched knee,
never
Do not learn to bike anymore
Just stay home with Mama
Mama has a song too
Mama sings only for you
Just come back home to Mama

Downfall like baobab's
How dare you grow so fast
Downfall like baobab kid
I hope you find your sheep


Lost Lost Children's song
Lost at 3:20
Lost at wrong perception
Do not find Mama is fine
Alarm ringing
Hence vain deluding joyes,
  The brood of folly without father bred,
How little you bested,
  Or fill the fixèd mind with all your toyes;
Dwell in som idle brain,
  And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess,
As thick and numberless
  As the gay motes that people the Sun Beams,
Or likest hovering dreams
  The fickle Pensioners of Morpheus train.
But hail thou Goddes, sage and holy,
Hail divinest Melancholy,
Whose Saintly visage is too bright
To hit the Sense of human sight;
And therfore to our weaker view,
Ore laid with black staid Wisdoms hue.
Black, but such as in esteem,
Prince Memnons sister might beseem,
Or that Starr’d Ethiope Queen that strove
To set her beauties praise above
The Sea Nymphs, and their powers offended.
Yet thou art higher far descended,
Thee bright-hair’d Vesta long of yore,
To solitary Saturn bore;
His daughter she (in Saturns raign,
Such mixture was not held a stain)
Oft in glimmering Bowres, and glades
He met her, and in secret shades
Of woody Ida’s inmost grove,
Whilst yet there was no fear of Jove.
Com pensive Nun, devout and pure,
Sober, stedfast, and demure,
All in a robe of darkest grain,
Flowing with majestick train,
And sable stole of Cipres Lawn,
Over thy decent shoulders drawn.
Com, but keep thy wonted state,
With eev’n step, and musing gate,
And looks commercing with the skies,
Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes:
There held in holy passion still,
Forget thy self to Marble, till
With a sad Leaden downward cast,
Thou fix them on the earth as fast.
And joyn with thee calm Peace, and Quiet,
Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet,
And hears the Muses in a ring,
Ay round about Joves Altar sing.
And adde to these retirèd Leasure,
That in trim Gardens takes his pleasure;
But first, and chiefest, with thee bring,
Him that yon soars on golden wing,
Guiding the fiery-wheelèd throne,
The Cherub Contemplation,
And the mute Silence hist along,
‘Less Philomel will daign a Song,
In her sweetest, saddest plight,
Smoothing the rugged brow of night,
While Cynthia checks her Dragon yoke,
Gently o’re th’accustom’d Oke;
Sweet Bird that shunn’st the noise of folly,
Most musicall, most melancholy!
Thee Chauntress oft the Woods among,
I woo to hear thy eeven-Song;
And missing thee, I walk unseen
On the dry smooth-shaven Green.
To behold the wandring Moon,
Riding neer her highest noon,
Like one that had bin led astray
Through the Heav’ns wide pathles way;
And oft, as if her head she bow’d,
Stooping through a fleecy cloud.
Oft on a Plat of rising ground,
I hear the far-off Curfeu sound,
Over som wide-water’d shoar,
Swinging slow with sullen roar;
Or if the Ayr will not permit,
Som still removèd place will fit,
Where glowing Embers through the room
Teach light to counterfeit a gloom,
Far from all resort of mirth,
Save the Cricket on the hearth,
Or the Belmans drousie charm,
To bless the dores from nightly harm:
Or let my Lamp at midnight hour,
Be seen in som high lonely Towr,
Where I may oft out-watch the Bear,
With thrice great Hermes, or unsphear
The spirit of Plato to unfold
What Worlds, or what vast Regions hold
The immortal mind that hath forsook
Her mansion in this fleshly nook:
And of those DÆmons that are found
In fire, air, flood, or under ground,
Whose power hath a true consent
With Planet, or with Element.
Som time let Gorgeous Tragedy
In Scepter’d Pall com sweeping by,
Presenting Thebs, or Pelops line,
Or the tale of Troy divine.
Or what (though rare) of later age,
Ennoblèd hath the Buskind stage.
  But, O sad ******, that thy power
Might raise MusÆus from his bower
Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing
Such notes as warbled to the string,
Drew Iron tears down Pluto’s cheek,
And made Hell grant what Love did seek.
Or call up him that left half told
The story of Cambuscan bold,
Of Camball, and of Algarsife,
And who had Canace to wife,
That own’d the vertuous Ring and Glass,
And of the wondrous Hors of Brass,
On which the Tartar King did ride;
And if ought els, great Bards beside,
In sage and solemn tunes have sung,
Of Turneys and of Trophies hung;
Of Forests, and inchantments drear,
Where more is meant then meets the ear.
Thus night oft see me in thy pale career,
Till civil-suited Morn appeer,
Not trickt and frounc’t as she was wont,
With the Attick Boy to hunt,
But Cherchef’t in a comly Cloud,
While rocking Winds are Piping loud,
Or usher’d with a shower still,
When the gust hath blown his fill,
Ending on the russling Leaves,
With minute drops from off the Eaves.
And when the Sun begins to fling
His flaring beams, me Goddes bring
To archèd walks of twilight groves,
And shadows brown that Sylvan loves,
Of Pine, or monumental Oake,
Where the rude Ax with heavèd stroke,
Was never heard the Nymphs to daunt,
Or fright them from their hallow’d haunt.
There in close covert by som Brook,
Where no profaner eye may look,
Hide me from Day’s garish eie,
While the Bee with Honied thie,
That at her flowry work doth sing,
And the Waters murmuring
With such consort as they keep,
Entice the dewy-feather’d Sleep;
And let som strange mysterious dream,
Wave at his Wings in Airy stream,
Of lively portrature display’d,
Softly on my eye-lids laid.
And as I wake, sweet musick breath
Above, about, or underneath,
Sent by som spirit to mortals good,
Or th’unseen Genius of the Wood.
  But let my due feet never fail,
To walk the studious Cloysters pale,
And love the high embowèd Roof,
With antick Pillars massy proof,
And storied Windows richly dight,
Casting a dimm religious light.
There let the pealing ***** blow,
To the full voic’d Quire below,
In Service high, and Anthems cleer,
As may with sweetnes, through mine ear,
Dissolve me into extasies,
And bring all Heav’n before mine eyes.
And may at last my weary age
Find out the peacefull hermitage,
The Hairy Gown and Mossy Cell,
Where I may sit and rightly spell
Of every Star that Heav’n doth shew,
And every Herb that sips the dew;
Till old experience do attain
To somthing like Prophetic strain.
These pleasures Melancholy give,
And I with thee will choose to live.
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2018
.my prime allegiance was always to the language, as a child of 8, it was always the language... the people? secondary at best, but mostly tertiary incubators of my own ****** in terms usage; oh way past caring for the organic, as my ex-girlfriend who i lost my virginity at university from Grenoble pointed out when i offered to be her psychology test subject: only native speakers allowed... who gives a **** about native speakers... it's not like the English language is organically contained to the British Isles... and since it isn't? why pay dues to the ******* natives, imagining them as Christ-like figures, "saving" the world... sorry, no... not even the king of England would have thie sort of audacity to speak down to me, like some of his peasants took the liberty of... suddenly, England... isn't a UNESCO paradise, nor the ******* moon!

english language is an inorganic entity
imbedded in me, learned...
my mother-tongue, on the other hand?
organic... with a sensibility of a past...
now...
   identity "politics"?
    seems to me, that the Spanish language
has no notion of such bogus ideas...
to me, a language most lax...
    see... i wouldn't have played the identity
politics card...
    if... some ******* retards didn't
come by, and assert their hyper-ventilating
status of grammatical intimidation...
   why?!
         i wasn't born with this language:
i nurtured it...
   i kept it for what it's worth...
    but i can't simply erase my ethnicity
away...
        i can't suddenly turn to the English
term slav with a "hidden" E...
and not think of germans as GERMS...
          in my tongue?
   slav = słowianin -
            whereby słowo = word...
i'm a wordsmith -
          no more, no less...
                   i'm praying to god that
the Bulgar and the Romanian economy
starts off,
   so the bogus claims by the so-called
English cripples makes a finite gesture
of counter-proof!
         i'm dying to see it!
   all of a sudden, whittle Bwitain thinks
itself the crown jewel of hegemony...
but these Anglican *****-whips have never
experienced the nausea and monotony
of a homogeneous society...
   every time i visit my grandparents...
i'm struck-dumb...
   thinking: i hope i don't end up
******* my distant cousin...
                but if a peoples, who are so adamant
in their status as islanders,
who don't even recognize Europe
as a continent spreading to nibble
on the Ural mountains?
   the **** are we talking about?
            oh no... the english i speak is
not organic, it's inorganic...
but as i said before...
you want me fully integrated?
you want me to speak English in private,
in my own home?
*******!
             i'll speak your language
in public...
   now...
learn a tad bit of French, while you're at it!
who knows?! you might also
learn a thing or two about
etiquette! but i doubt that you would
or will;
                   manners ≠ mannerisms.
Write-or-die Mar 2014
So my life is ficked up, and i need someone to help me make a choice in my life
so here it is ...
If you were in my shoes would you choose someone you loved and cant go a day without or family who care about you no matter what
My sister dated this guy for a bit and i know this sounds bad but we fell in love with each other it didnt work with each other , I know it will work for each other thie thing is if i go for this she is never going to talk to me again she will push me away , she loves me im not doing this to her to try hurt her
Im not a bad person sometimes we dont choose the person we love it just happens i  wish she would understand that if she makes me choose her im not going to able to be around her This is the demon I face im not scared of him because im loooking at myself ... things are going down hill its making me want to give up on myself ...... im stuck in this hole I want him in my life and I want my family to be there too... no one going to not like me but i dont care , I just care about what my sister has to say about this.
Anyone who is reading this please me help ???
Trevor Lee Boyd Jun 2010
Writing in a notebook every single death I've had
Doesn't seem too bad on first glance
Just wait, this night'll never end

Smear me up a wall
Undo every single thought I have
Wish I could take my eyes out of my head
And see all thie things I've done
All the songs I've never written
My arms close to my chest
My heart in my throat
Everyting's out of place, isn't it the best?

We're running on a full tank of gas with nowhere to go
We're driving in cricles to make it look like we went somewhere
Seeing the same old thing back adn forth
Thinking time'll change this
Boy, were we wrong

Once more before tomorrow
We're on the edge holding on
This life has our hands and is ready to let go
No more last words for us
Going a million miles an hour in neutral
All they see is a person going nowhere
What they don't see (Oh, what they don't see)
We've been to the darkside of the moon and back
(Yeah, we've got this) We've got no obligation to you
We've seen God, one day, one single moment
(Forgiveness behind the flowers)

We've left ourselves here because
Because, because, because, because
We can
Expecting a high fallutin answer?
Well, sorry to disappoint
We've plotted our path here, why?
We can, we can, we can!
Because we can!

Writing in a notebook every single death I've had
Doesn't seem too bad on first glance
Just wait, this night'll never end
Writing in a notebook every single life I've lost
Doesn't it seem funny how're they're gone?
They never were that long
(Never really meant anything)
They never were that good
(Never really could)

Come on, gods have knelt at our feet
We've done our crime, we've done our time
Just wait, you'll see
Just you wait, we'll see to it
That you're not left behind
Mark Rubilla May 2010
Glory to the Highest
Sing throughout your throat
All you wandering
Call His name, scream it louder
Let it swell into your heart
You are the apple of His eyes

Glory to the Highest
All His splendor and majesty
Bow down and confess
That Jesus Christ is Lord
Open your mouth, share it to other
In any particular ways

Glory to the Highest
Lets parade throughout the streets
With the banner that says
I am not ashamed
And let love and righteousness
Reign through our lives

Glory to the Highest
Every morning, there will be changes
In our actions and motives
We will become a blessing
In every corner of this world
We will become an imitators of Him

Glory to the Highest
He become the sin of this land
To set us free from all thie chains
And one can ever defeat us
For we are more than conquer
By His bloodshed on the cross

Glory to the Highest
Mansions were build
As our eternal home
All foundation was Christ Himself
Never again moths will attack
And forever we will dwell in Him

Glory to the Highest
Once we were lost like sheep
But now we were found
Cradled into His arms
And now we were close to His heart
Carried back to the green pasture

Glory to the Highest
We can move all the mountain
As if they were like dust
We can walk through water
For nothing is impossible to god
All was easy and simple

Glory to the Highest
Giants were dwarfs and weak
Through the faith that we have
Prayers can be a bridge
To a lifetime relationship
And east to west will be near

Glory to the Highest
Once we desire something
God has a heart and ears
To give us what we asked
In His time and proper place
It will be grand and beautiful
- From Of Asterisk
KathleenAMaloney Jul 2016
My Country
This of THEE
SWEET Land of Liberty
Of Thee I Sing

Gods Grace upon thie Sky
Earths Love with Wings
We Fly
OhCountry Tis of Thee
Your Wings are Mine

This Earth
Is all we have
Our lives
A  half Raised Flag
Oh Country Tis of Thee
For Uou I ask
Look Now and See

Our Soul
So Clear
With Arms  for All
We gave, we Tried
Don't let this Fall

Come Peace
With Power
Love and Wealth
Send Troops
Of Voting Mind
And Stealth

A Spangled  Flag
Falls from the Sky
First Chase
then Ford
then Pemco Die

Denali
Rainier
Farms
So dear
Please God
this Home
do Keep
To Share
Allies.. True friends Understand beyond color game  and gift
Hedonic Nihilist Jan 2015
I want to go inside the house
Where everyone else is playing and singing

But I'm still on the porch looking in
I knock, but cannot be heard over the sound of friendships much louder than mine

I want to be inside this house, but every time I've been inside my feet stay out the door

I tried to go through the backyard, but thie house is double locked

I broke the windows of the house on 98th St and 96th Terr and saw what was inside
It rained that day and I was still outside on the lawn now looking in

Every thing I need is in that house and I'm hungry and thirsty

I can't go inside because the residents who brought me in don't live there anymore and I cannot keep up with new tenants

I hope I'll find someone who's locked out of a home
MARK RIORDAN Feb 2017
WHATS IN A NAME

IS IT  PRIME MINISTER TRUMBLE
OR PRESIDENT OF AUSTRALIA
THE WHITE HOUSE IN AMERICA
REALLY HAS ALOT OF PARAPHERNALIA

WE ARE THE BEST FRIEND
THAT PRESIDENT TRUMP WILL KNOW
WHILE TACKLING THE WORLDS ISSUES
TOGETHER GIVING IT A GO

YOU MUST ASK YOURSELF
REALLY WHATS IN A NAME
IF AMERICA GETS IT WRONG
IS THERE REALLY ANY SHAME

I AM THE POETIC AVENGER THE
VOICE OF THE PEOPLE IN VERSE
PLEASE CHECK OUT MY FACEBOOKPAGE
MARK RIORDAN POETIC AVENGER

I HOPE I CAN PARTICIPATE IN THIE SITE
TKS FOR THE OPPORTUNITY
THIS IS PART OF MY NEW BOOK " THE TRUMP CHRONICLES"
Mohd Arshad Jan 2019
At the bonfire,
It's white out situation,
You, in ponch,
Rest your head
On my thie
And I stoop to imbibe
The intensity of your love

Painting is complete
On the green easel
Matt Dec 2015
Preware and Beware
For hard times
You should be

Thie life
Will not always
Be easy

I don't know when
But a hard time
May be coming soon

Prepare and Beware
The message of my tune

— The End —