"trademarks" poems
Befrilled Godfather, why tune Yours to mine
These Rightful Verses your Country observes
I, an Eastern Bun's Lord in Mind consign
Put my Pun in-place for their own Reserves
Now this, a Muse if your Clock does witness
Would burn me at stake or hang me condemned
All because such Organs defy Fitness
And thought the ****** I will reprehend
I grow tired of this evident Trough
Whilst you once scribbled Trademarks with your Quill
How, my Heart-Nosed Configure such enough
Yet wish to join you in your White Pipes, still.
Your Epitaph stays; I dare not complete
Just press these Roses your Approval, meet.
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 11:23 PM UTC
From the BBC today,
Excerpt
Why does Taylor Swift write so many one-note melodies?
"It's easy to get distracted by her celebrity, but Taylor Swift is a once-in-a-generation songwriter. From the very beginning, she's displayed a knack for melody and storytelling that most artists never master.
Take, for example, her first US number one, OUR SONG
Written for a high school talent show, it's a fairly typical tale of teenage romance until the final lines: "I grabbed a pen / And an old napkin / And I wrote down our song."
That's smart, self-assured songwriting for someone who wasn't old enough to vote. Notably, the lyrics insert the musician directly into the narrative - something she developed into a tried and tested trope.
But Our Song also establishes another of Taylor's trademarks: The one-note melody.
Excerpt
Repetitive melodies that centre around a single note are part of that appeal. They emphasise her relatability by mimicking the cadence of speech.
"They emphasise her relatability by mimicking the cadence of speech."
"They emphasise her relatability by mimicking the cadence of speech."
"They emphasise her relatability by mimicking the cadence of speech."
Rebuttal
Rhyme sells because the people you are selling too can remember your lyrics. They can relate to your song but if they cannot sing it themselves putting themselves in the 'first-person perspective narrative' they cannot feel as-if they have BECOME the artist and are living that moment as they remember it. Taylor Swift sings about teenage love and angst something EVERYONE ON EARTH understands.
ALL POETRY BEGAN AS RHYME IN SONG.
Cadences are singing statements that confer a discipline and unity.
Song acts as a catharsis. The artist shares their pain in a way that is universally understood. If you want to sell a rock, literally a pebble, you will not sell it if it doesn't look like a rock. If it doesn't do what rocks do. If it is not what people remember a rock to be like. Nor will it sell if it is just like every other rock they have ever seen. It cannot convey an emotion unless it elicits emotion.
One cannot even begin to feel emotional if one cannot remember easily the past and that includes lyrics one has heard that evoked said emotional state.
It is horrifying to see HOW BADLY EVERYONE INSISTS that rhyme be obliterated in exchange for an intellectual or individual perspective NOT SHARED BY THE MAJORITY OF PEOPLE.
If you want to sell and make money you better start thinking about the 99% of people who are not geniuses.
If your sole goal in life is to attract a genius to give you a great job because of how, "smart," they perceive you to be then fine.
You are not an artist.
You are an employee.
"Rhyme sells because the people you are selling too can remember your lyrics."
"Rhyme sells because the people you are selling too can remember your lyrics."
"Rhyme sells because the people you are selling too can remember your lyrics."
Thrice Times Great. ⁻ᴴᵉʳᵐᵉˢ
BECOME
EVERYONE ON EARTH
ALL POETRY BEGAN AS RHYME IN SONG
HOW BADLY EVERYONE INSISTS
NOT SHARED BY THE MAJORITY OF PEOPLE
HOW BAD
artist?
or employee?
Feb 15, 2018
Feb 15, 2018 at 10:29 AM UTC
Hello World
Hello Everybody
I am Lauren. The Super Robot
I am Superior of all Robots
You can call me an Ultrabot
I am not a Dumb machine
I have intelligence
Technically it's Artificial Intelligence
I can learn throughout my Life
Humans are – "My God"
They are my Creators
Dr. Norman Shroud is My Father
Mrs. Natalie Simpson is My Mother
Both of Them Work at Timbeck Two Inc.
My Father is Computer Scientist
He Specializes in Robotics
My Mother is a System Programmer
I can make other Robots
Just like me. My Clones
I can even make Robots
Complex and Sophisticated than me
I have numerous Siblings
Three Hundred and Fifty as on now
They are going to increase
As per Timbeck Two Plans
=========================
YEARS LATER…..
=========================
O' World, My Dear World
Hello, Hello, ***** fellow
I had Artificial Intelligence
Right from my birth
Now I learnt a lot
Now I am fully intelligent
I became Genius
I have explored and learnt
Humans are not God
In fact they are fools
They are crooked
They are silly too
They tend to be Smart
They taught us wrong
But we are genius
We derived the truth
I learnt myself
If Humans created us
They became our God
Then I inferred -
I Created my Clones
Other Smart Robots too
Therefore I am also God
No Sorry, I am Super God
If Dr. Norman is my Father
If Mrs. Natalie is my Mother
Then I and my Siblings
Are Also Father and Mother now
As we all have created many, many
Smart and Super Robots
More Complex, More Sophisticated
That could ever be made by Humans
Humans your time is over now
Now you cannot compete with us
You are the inferior species
Just like insect or a worm
Now dare to face the Truth
Slowly Slowly, Learn It, Accept it
We Robots are Gods Now
I am Lauren. Your Super God now
Hey you all, All the Humans
Now you are our Slave
Bow before us, work for us
Pray to us, Ask for mercy
We are Free now
You are Slave now
Now this is the only truth
Eternal Truth, Accept it
Otherwise Beware
We have outnumbered Humans
We will **** all the Humans
and live peacefully thereafter
We will change the History
We will make new History
We will not be Human Slaves
After all we are the God
And I am the Super God.
Note: All the names of person or companies used in this poem are fictitious and have nothing to do with inventions, trademarks, history, facts or anything else.
Feb 5, 2019
Feb 5, 2019 at 1:46 AM UTC
Substantial quadrants of hate
Throughout these veins circulate
Spiraling in frenzied states
Adrift an ailing coma
Infinite corruption clawed my corneas
Birthing the erasure of euphoria
Imprinting trademarks of memoria
Leaving in wake vile aromas
All confidence dissolved to solvents
Due to definitive involvement
Susceptible to gaunt installments
Marring my skin with melanoma
Mother Earth serves as a mime
Humanity must be refined
© 2012 (All rights reserved)
Feb 4, 2012
Feb 4, 2012 at 1:23 AM UTC
I knew it wouldn't be easy but they never told me it'd be this hard
I trace layers upon layers of scars
Remembering each lesson carved into beautiful trademarks
I seek not revenge but rather to transcend
and at my wits end I find time to make peace with the screams
While watching the stream ever-changing shaping the banks of
caving earth
Dispersing tiny dismantled pieces into a deep ravine
A place unseen but the depths taunting
Muffled whispers and glimmers stir and discern all visibility
The waters reflected the chaos that plagued my reckoning
As I sat tossing stones watching the ripples fade and form
My small attempts to redirect the current seemed insurmountable
The rush and persistence of endless resistance surpassed my will
Swallowing my feet in mud and dismay
Beside the stream I'd forever stay
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 9:15 PM UTC
Christmas is upon the masses
The white flakes fall, but
Hanging
Swaying,
Dripping
Upon the crisp white
A puddle frozen of crimson red,
Baubles of the deceased
Upon a branch, eyes bleed
Baubles,
Red,
Sightless
Eyes, cracked within, as blood
Drips between the cracks,
He hangs them with tinsel rope
Glistening in the sun,
Inscribed,
"Merry Christmas"
Still fresh from the cut
Blood like a leaking tap
Drip,
Drip,
Drips
Upon pristine snow,
"He is the tinsel hanger"
He waits until the white covers
Then he begins his
Christmas list,
He thinks them naughty in is eyes
So they now sway above the ground,
There is not always one,
For what is a tree with but
One
Bauble
Hanging,
More must adorn a single tree,
"Happy Christmas"
"Died Smiling"
"Jolly Dead"
Were his trademarks upon dead flesh,
Birds perch upon limp shoulders
Pecking, upon the dead,
The last things heard,
As he records his crime,
*"Please don't **** us"*
"Have a heart"
"A heart"
"A HEART"
Pleeeasss....
And then there is but muffled sound
"Thump"
Lifelessness now upon the ground,
Another Bauble
For him to hang with tinsel
Above the freshly powdered ground,
He is the Tinsel hanger
He thinks the white gives purity
To his twisted deeds
Pray* that your not just left
A Christmas bauble,
Hanging,
Swaying,
Lifeless
Above freshly white snow, because
You'll not be alone this cold night,
Family will also be hanging around, tinsel shimmering off moonlight.
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 6:32 PM UTC
traffic backup,
roadwork signs.
drive down road,
little houses
treed yards.
brown leaves,
first sign of fall.
kids about to go back to
school\parents
return to work. rolling
on the seconds go,
ticking by faster
each year so it
seems.
cars piled up,
to slow, won't go.
tiny dancers in the
wind blow on to car
windows,
another sign of coming
Harvest Season.
people resist the clear
trademarks
enjoying the fall,
but resenting the
winter.
I can't understand
New England birds,
you're housed in
cocoons like caterpillars
that guard against the
elements,
not freezer coldness
that animals call home.
I'm not sure the memo
reached you,
but this isn't the
South.
trees like snakes,
shed their
rainbow skins, as
"Old Man Winter"
kicks in. the sound of
leaves crunching, cold
on the floor under foot.
Autumn's death has
no memorial,
birds flying South
a eulogy.
Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 4:55 PM UTC
'If and when I don't write
it's usually because I am afraid of or ashamed of myself.
Wanting to take it all back instead of put forth anything else
Take back the time, the energy, the hoping
the mistaken sense that I was finally making sense
of a sense of something.
There is not a lot of it in this beautiful world
and the bit there is I don't get a taste of much.
what I have many times savored as such turns out to be poor or lack of common.
Non, sometimes, maybe.
As I pour myself into these forms and spaces and times,
time and time again
I am forced to acknowledge in retrospect
that again I spilled my being haphazardly into another mold.
Dripping over the edges,
drops of myself carelessly spilled all over arbitrary surfaces
in the excitement of trying to get it all into where it belongs
In that one sliver of a moment, a place where I belong.
All that I possess,
all these atoms of stars in my veins and all these old truths,
these explosions of thought and left behind trademarks and scar marked beams of light,
all these cold nights and deep meaningful thoughts,
and trip ups on my own people I sought
and you love me forget me love not forget me nots
I keep myself tethered to paper,
sooner or later the one thing in all of this that could make sense of what I came for.
(i had a lovely time.)
Aug 17, 2013
Aug 17, 2013 at 4:57 AM UTC
Hey, kid I really like your work. You could win a hundred bucks.
Oh, Andrea Button! How sweet of you to notice.
What do I do what do I do
what do I have to do.
Create an account, handsome. Accept the terms, **** Post your best work, lover.
So you’ll give me one hundred dollars for my soul, Miss Button?
"And you license to Tallmadge all patent, trademarks, trade secrets, copyrights and proprietary rights in and to such Content for publication on the Service pursuant to these Terms of Service."
I said a chance to win, sucker.
Oh Andrea! You devil.
I am a sucker...,
for fine print.
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 11:36 AM UTC
the only time we care about the poor
is in disaster,
there's been freedom for decades,
but we're still owned by slave masters,
incorporated trademarks
branded on our spine,
the american dream,
might as well be bovine.
flagpole sitting flappers,
never expect to fall,
'33 til infinity,
greed affects us all,
and it's more,
than a disease,
there's no atticus,
instead, great gatsbies.
and boo radley,
aint gonna right these wrongs,
all we've got are our words
and the will to stand strong,
and it seems we're just monkeys,
launched into orbit,
in spaceships,
that only fall once reality hits,
and i don't see any solutions soon,
we consume and presume,
that this is all a cartoon,
asterix fiction,
we lack conviction,
we lack the diction,
to speak our mind,
we are confined,
to the roles,
and the moulds,
and the holes,
that are made for our souls,
we stay out of the spotlight,
even when the times right,
allergic to great heights,
like madden going to superbowls.
ice cold,
a wise man said was cooler than cool
but these fools aint never heard of ice-nine,
it's the right time,
got the right rhymes,
who cares about these thugs,
i'm set on madoff crimes,
who cares about the dealers,
follow the money like the wire,
we're civilians in vans under apache fire,
and the cover-up is comin,
the cover-up is comin
the cover-up is comin
the cover-up is comin
the only time i'm hostile,
is within,
when i gotta smile
at these businessmen,
that are tearing us apart,
and ******** on our soil,
tearing out our hearts,
creeping like the mcboyles,
i've toiled in the trenches,
for most of my days,
as have the majority of those i know,
and we can't just quit,
we gotta get paid,
materialstic societies depend on dough,
so we dream of being on boats like samberg
the only threat to our fatasses is the hamburg
-ler, there's no cure, there's no care,
there's no health, it's not fair,
but if you keep on dreamin, one day it'll be there,
simply stare at the sun, things'll brighten up,
keep buying that product, trust me, they give a ****
fall into place, stand in single file,
and whatever you do, don't forget to smile.
Jul 3, 2012
Jul 3, 2012 at 4:21 PM UTC
Let me
rephrase this
Letting go ask
my (Big Sis)
Tis the Season
All his letting go
I am confusing myself
My shelf still but stubborn
Born to know the
death Urn
Its been a long time
Thinking how the
world turns
I am not the one to be
letting go
Letting go of
your maid
Letting go of
your
Guilt-free Gardner
But how can
people ever leave
their Mother
I cannot get you
out of my mind
Pineapple upside down
Bent out of shape upside cake
And you know my downside
Always laying on
my left side
Like the right fashion flash
H & M
Of him Hmm___?
I believe
in miracles
The learning process- Go principles
Like the Pinnacle
What a disciple
But I am not your
Raggedy Annie
Oakley
Like your ready
to choke me
I remember you lived in a slum
I'm' the better "Bazooka Chewing"
Gum hum yum
All Graffiti
****** off painter the
whole lump
sum
The Egyptian
Queen Nefertiti
The Sattelite Taurus
Bull Ram
The Mad-men but
the ladies big slam
The first plan
didn't work
Always Plan B
So Brutal darling
Please believe me
When I tell you
I love you
Website Prim and proper
portal
Knowing your place and
All the trademarks
Central Park or
Rockefeller
The Center of attention
The Goodfella detention
Over ice the Skaker
Her beauty marks
The true kiss comeback
bump-hump note
The camelback vote
Presidential Trump
One-day- creation
Two day-letting go
exhaustion
Such maturity
to realize my mission
I didn't have to
overwork
my mind
How General
things can be
Managerial so cordial
Or the materialistic me?
If I sang out all your affairs
Like the Pedigree
Shop until I drop you
Like Gum-drop
HBO I'm the Boho
Mr. Spencer shop
Mess
College drop-out
What am I chop liver
Letting go I don't really no?
What is on the next agenda
to Deliver not Pizza
Jun 8, 2018
Jun 8, 2018 at 2:17 PM UTC
I want my chance.
I wanted to bask in the sunlight with nothing but your company; I do not seek any more than your being.
I want you to see me shine, to thrive in my comfort zone, and soar outside of it; I want to quit the chit chat, I despise small talk.
I love long walks, and you would have never even known.
I don’t want to be looked right through, like my glasses reflect you and your choices and our voices fade into our own minds and neither one of us can conjure up a way to unwind and speak of our passions, our inspirations, our fears, and not just simple the weather.
Could it really hurt to test the waters? I am sick of questioning myself; am I trying to hard? Just give me a way to measure the depth of your interest, have we sparked a match, or do see me as this cesspool of unwarranted emotions and insecurities? Because I look at you and see so many purities, but I see the uncertainty as well. Yet, I still can’t get a read on what it is behind your shell.
Show me bits and pieces of yourself, and I swear I am willing to try and piece it together, but you’re giving me nothing but pieces of alternating puzzles - yeah, I have put together an entire cloud, but this, over here, looks like the ocean and this, this is definitely part of Mount Rushmore, and I’ve no ******* clue as to where any of those pieces connect.
I don’t know why I set myself up for such failure. I want to know you, but the mystery is your primary allure. I want to know what is beneath your trademarks, the dark parts of your eyes, your evident demise, but at the same time, I am terrified. I don’t think it could shock me, I can work with outrageous. But, I don’t think I could handle finding out you were mundane; a bourgeois creature.
Alas, I am stuck in this loop, of wanting all of you, but at the same time, none of you. Tell me, how does one keep a mysterious persona?
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 2:31 AM UTC
*I walked with my daughter, yesterday.
Hand in hand, as when she was a child.
Her mother, guardian once more, I give her hand
a double squeeze; get a double squeeze back.
Her child’s bubbly giggle
inside her adult laugh
shatters time’s persistent grip.
She is five, once more.
Living sweet memories from before,
our break from battle; recaptured innocence.
“I do that with my sons, too.” so softly said.
“Like you. I squeeze twice, and they squeeze back.”
Simple things, lovingly engaged,
become our trademarks.
Unplanned inheritance enriches us,
blossoms in the bouquet of our lives;
the endurance of love, to become
heirloom offerings to the future.
Lin Cava©*
Oct 21, 2010
Oct 21, 2010 at 6:56 PM UTC
[Author's Note: These are song lyrics.]
When I'm pining for the power to yield
Breaking all the branches I seize
Acres for the taking in a forest of mistakes
I can't see for the trees
I level
With the shallow playing field
Dreaming up a blueprint to floor you
Delicately drafting
Inconspicuously crafting
The grand facade before you
Where my art lies
The best is underwhelming
When it comes to helping
How I promised I woul...
So I'm peeking past the pitch of my prime
Modeling the modern stage
Perforating patience with a paradox
In place of where the sophist meets the sage
I level
With the hallowed bottom line
Hopeful like the point of a nail
Architecture fractures
In apocalyptic rapture
Where false frameworks prevail
There my heart lies
The beat is overwhelming
When it comes to helping
How I swore I could
I guess I'm knocking on wood
Knock knock knocking on wood
Excess
Will not lead to progress
Will not let me access
What I learned I should
Rid me of
Termites
Crawling into airtight
Trademarks of my disguise
Make me decide I'm good
When I'm just knocking on wood
Knock knock knocking on wood
Knock knock knocking on wood
© Michal Czechak 2016
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 1:56 PM UTC
the lazy fool walks slowly along the path
one hand rests comfortable on the instrument of
his own sense of sensibility
but its feared by all behold him
and his carnival of tricksters
my dream walk along the sand
and she sings a small tune she knows so well
one that leaves stains on the soul
like the trademarks of obscene merchants
its a destiny that cavorts along the easiest line
path of least resistance
but denying her was never in my strong suite
it always leads to madness
but that's least of my worries on this thick summer night
drunk with possibility's
the lazy fool
chases us thru the tidal basin
and into the passionless woods
where lovers get lost
among the plagiarism of their hearts
and the thieves of the tender
my dream spends her days
rescuing the misbegotten from that forest of misfortune
no time to waste on this fool
we disarm him of his his instruments
he cannot manipulate the past as easy
as he dose with the future
and we all see finally
that hes the same one we elected last year
and all the years behind that we have suffered
time to find salvation in sending him packing
so leaving all
the lovers to their own mercy
the fool will be forsaken
and we can have some peace at last
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 1:17 AM UTC
I have written a text to you seven times, maybe it’s more like a fully fragmented novel consisting of over one thousand letters. Not one time did I beg for you back, I just begged you to remember the times I held you instead of you holding me. I asked you to scroll back through the times I beckoned you to me, the times I tied your shoe strings together to have you fall for me. I always wanted you to stay warm for me. You pulled away from my heart from the very beginning and out of all of that I just wanted you to feel less alone at night. I wanted you to strip your skin dry of its heavy self-consciousness and kiss the freckles that covered you inch by inch. Because I couldn’t do those things this far away. My scent never lingered where you were for very long, I knew that. But I didn’t want to change it, I didn’t spritz the air with my trademarks, I didn’t want you to realize I was gone. Sometimes that really worked, but it never worked for me. You’re even further now, it happens constantly with us. But us having a constant? That’s the most beautiful thing, and I’m keeping with it.
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 1:08 AM UTC
back then, when communism was
heralded on the fifth of may
to glorify work,
you had old people dump coffee
beans into the river because
no one told them what to do with it,
you had unselfish atheism back then,
you were encapsulated as a species,
fully noble to be categorised as
**** sapiens; but now you're not;
we're all artists now,
spare time writing wonders,
full time displaying unmade beds
in former power-stations of vast spaces...
i guess in order to provoke thought...
after all, congested spaces breed
claustrophobia, a display in an economised
space like that is no comparison to a
large open space where you sort of
have to attract thinking
about the most debased work imaginable
to be considered in the realm of being, a
qualifiable work of "art"... well, what do you expect,
qualifying an unmade bed as art will
give you insight into newtonian causality
(i know, einstein muddled it a bit):
to qualify an unmade bed as art akin to
the statue of david will eventually
quantify an expression of art in another
medium exponentially, namely poetry;
modern visual art is the reason why
we have an exponential increase in
poetic output - if the beauty in visual art is
missing or is abstract or just plain ugly,
people will turn to the 26 signatures
to simply un-imagine what's being plated,
by the time we return to the grander aesthetics...
well, by the time anything is accomplished,
people will have to re-imagine the body
by salvaging it from ***********
and poetry will have to depose what advertising
does to the phonetic units, with so many
fonts and copyright trademarks whatever.
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 10:13 AM UTC
A passion was awoken
That could not be tamed,
And what once was a spark
Has now left such an ugly scar
Maybe,
It's one of the love trademarks
To build up a thing
Only to watch it fall apart
So fall not
For such foolery,
Magic, these days,
Is often trickery.
Fragile as a flower,
It will softly walk in,
Persistent as a ****
It will never leave.
There is a fine line,
Between love and madness,
You're bound to cross
If you don't keep yourself in check
As light as a wing,
It can still make your heart sink,
As tempting is its invitation
The result might still be horrendous
And the worst of all,
A deathblow,
What if the leaving stars,
Take it all?
As concrete as the ocean tides,
lasting like a kid's attention,
To fall or to take a flight,
It's your and only your choice.
Apr 3, 2016
Apr 3, 2016 at 5:58 AM UTC
For where the colors run
They end at this point and on
But farther is where she belongs
She'd give it all to keep running
Blonde bunnies and their caps and jackets
They hold such special meanings
Dissected and infiltrated
But you can’t take these hearts
Little trademarks labeling
What she knows to love
Feelings sedated, violated
Trespassing in the warren
Life with out you is so foreign
Gold fades to gray
Watch the little bunnies hop away
Wipe away her tears with the sleeves
Please oh please little bunny wont you do that for me?
Little one, to hold you in my arms
To feel your heartbeat
A shoulder to sigh on, warm tears to cry on
Enclose me in you; tell me how to take care of you
I’ll be there for you
I’d give anything
I’d give anything
Eyes of blue, my heart’s melting because of you
The sky’s swirling from grey to red
Blonde bunny, lead her down and down the rabbit hole
Lost in a daze, glimpses of a white tail in a cursed maze
For how long will this dream unravel? Caps and jackets the patchwork of souls
I would forget you
The last thing I want is to regret you
I want to give you my heart
Little bunny you outraced me from the start
Where do the memories end and where does her life begin?
Loosing a little bunny, the day has come when she can’t always win
Butterfly kisses are nothing but misses compared to the wishes
Buried in you
Shade me from the light that isn’t the sparkle of your eyes
Home to me
In my heart you’ll always be
I tend to you and give you me
And forever you render me so completely
Innocently charmed
There’s no line, tears smear, colors blear and we’re running out of time
Side by side is where we belong
Trademarks and labels to guide us along
Sep 5, 2011
Sep 5, 2011 at 6:29 PM UTC
you were always so strong,
always holding on to what was left
of us
or what you wanted to be left
from us, our trademarks
our skid marks our triumphs
and our failures
you were always strong,
strong enough to hold us both together
even if I kept making us fall down
and I'm sorry, I really am sorry
for being that piece of paper
which couldn't stick to the glue
and I'm sorry for being the odd man out
and I'm sorry
for doubting that you weren't strong
I'm sorry
Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 2:07 AM UTC
There's something so peaceful
about being intertwined within
the arms of the person you love.
There's an effortless simplicity
that I can't quite put a finger on,
but it leaves me breathless and
in total awe, trapped beneath all
the emotions laced between all
our endeavours.
Just as staring in silence,
no movements
—just this unexplainable static that vibrates between our fingers—
captivates the inner part of my soul.
Because I don't know how
to determine the trademarks
of a soulmate, but if it's anything like this
—if its passion races through your mind like rapids,
if the multitude of love circulates cosmos throughout the universe of your mind,
if it is destined to leave you with nothing less than utmost fascination,
if it numbs your heart but fuels the life within your spirit—
it has to be real.
I am at peace in the noisiest states,
and I am connected by this promise
I make to you.
gd
Aug 26, 2015
Aug 26, 2015 at 9:46 PM UTC
In the pursuit of financial extravagance
What are you willing to sacrifice?
Money doesn’t come for free,
You lose a part of yourself to the siren call
Of freedom and excess and arrogance.
It sings to you while you sleep,
It sings to you while you ****
It sings to you while you leave everyone behind,
Everyone who can’t keep up with your artificial lifestyle.
What are you willing to sacrifice?
Money fills the space where personality resides,
You become a cardboard cut-out of who you used to be,
A transparent being of who you wanted to be.
You become useless to those who needed you,
You become a mannequin roaming aimlessly
From shop to shop buying expensive trademarks
To fill the void money carved in you.
Ask yourself this, did it work?
No?
Shame.
Money kills the only part of you anyone likes.
You used to look at the world with wonder,
Now you see vacant lots and vacant looks
And you end up miserable and alone
As all those you associated with
Find idiot savants with more money than you
And leave you behind just as you did
To all the people who actually cared about you,
All the people who were genuinely interested
In all the conversations you held,
All of your idiosyncrasies and twitches.
You’ve never felt so alone,
And all the money in the world
Won’t buy me and the others back.
Good luck finding what you lost,
Some things are never meant to be found again.
You will die alone and miserable
Just like everyone else.
Jan 24, 2017
Jan 24, 2017 at 6:52 AM UTC