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"undesired" poems
Unloved and undesired Felt like the universe conspired Unfocused and uninspired Tell me, will I ever get tired?
0
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 11:50 AM UTC
Unloved
Let me know What was that That made you To choose him/her She/He replied Leave it, or listen ***** is the future Nothing more Being an observant and a traveller of examined life I come to this conclusion. Tragedy does not happen, from the very beginning  It is "Us" who pave the path within. With the unawareness we focus to travel to the destination where we don't belong. Throughout the journey we keep on dreaming with a hope of a good day making us vulnerable to the threshold, when even a single undesired word, few seconds delay, lyrics of the background music could unexpectedly break us. Trust me we all are fragile. Let it be simple, if we are watering the leaves of the plant and hope to grow, we get the result what we have to accept. Sometime mishaps happens, we are the culprit. How dare we expect to water the roots of the plant in neighbor's terrace and wish for the fruit to be ours. We may smell the fragrance if the kind breeze blow towards our side. Even we may always get the fragrance if we follow the direction of the wind. The choice is ours. Does it worth? Will we be happy? Can we hide the pain? Always The choice is all ours.
0
Dec 20, 2018
Dec 20, 2018 at 9:33 PM UTC
Note On Distress
i am tired, my eyes start to close, i feel undesired, my body is disposed.
0
Nov 7, 2017
Nov 7, 2017 at 2:27 PM UTC
~tired~
I still remember your eyes I still remember you always holding me Keeping me safe from harm with all your charm I remember feeling you looking at me, and I Know you're still there, you're so wonderful! I couldn't help but fall in love with you And get crushes everywhere else, too. It's just so unfair to have found such Lovely romances, and suffer heartbreaks! I can't help where my heart Goes, but that's why I'm torn apart... Please remember I'm always here and so is My love too, it's not easy to be what society Wants of you, especially love! Love is wild and It's so undesired to be told I'm a cheater When I have an excuse, I'm only human too! Just remember I wasn't born with a defective Heart, and it isn't easy to be torn apart.
0
Feb 12, 2015
Feb 12, 2015 at 7:05 AM UTC
"Real" Love Is Not Easy
My mouth is full of moths My words are not pretty They do not flutter out with grace and ease Instead Twitching as they find their exit from my lips They are not butterfly With a name so smooth that it rolls off the tongue I am not monarch But The decaying flesh it preys upon The contrast between beauty and reality I do not know why Why People like me are attracted to light I guess it makes since To swim towards brightness When you've spent so much of your life in the darkness Cocooned in between empty spaces Nesting in silk spun from my own silence I have spent months inside my shell Learning how to find my own voice Learning how to speak my own language Hearing myself talk for 18 years but for the first time actually listening Like moth Touch sends me fleeting Like moth Attention back into hiding I am not conspicous Nor do I crave to be Like caterpillar We Are all given blind hope Told that someday We will be noticed Visible Beautiful But some spend so much time Preparing for glory That they forget storybooks lie That in real life The very hungry caterpillar Who was promised butterfly Becomes moth Moth What most see as ugly And intrusive Chewing holes in your finest clothing Making home unwanted places Moth is undesired Butterfly is welcomed Tell me why One is invited in and the other shut out Moth is not pretty Moths lack ofbeauty Is enough To disregard it All at once Different is enough To disregard all at once Do not disregard me Because I am not ideal Because i am not fully painted winged beauty We as a society only stop to see what catches the eye Unable to notice the intricisies Of darkness So look a little closer Try a little harder Because if anything is to be known It is that beauty Is not In the obvious.
0
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 2:49 PM UTC
Moth
My mouth is full of moths My words are not pretty They do not flutter out with grace and ease Instead Twitching as they find their exit from my lips They are not butterfly With a name so smooth that it rolls off the tongue I am not monarch But The decaying flesh it preys upon The contrast between beauty and reality I do not know why Why People like me are attracted to light I guess it makes since To swim towards brightness When you've spent so much of your life in the darkness Cocooned in between empty spaces Nesting in silk spun from my own silence I have spent months inside my shell Learning how to find my own voice Learning how to speak my own language Hearing myself talk for 18 years but for the first time actually listening Like moth Touch sends me fleeting Like moth Attention back into hiding I am not conspicous Nor do I crave to be Like caterpillar We Are all given blind hope Told that someday We will be noticed Visible Beautiful But some spend so much time Preparing for glory That they forget storybooks lie That in real life The very hungry caterpillar Who was promised butterfly Becomes moth Moth What most see as ugly And intrusive Chewing holes in your finest clothing Making home unwanted places Moth is undesired Butterfly is welcomed Tell me why One is invited in and the other shut out Moth is not pretty Moths lack ofbeauty Is enough To disregard it All at once Different is enough To disregard all at once Do not disregard me Because I am not ideal Because i am not fully painted winged beauty We as a society only stop to see what catches the eye Unable to notice the intricisies Of darkness So look a little closer Try a little harder Because if anything is to be known It is that beauty Is not In the obvious.
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71
Seven New Poems For Seven Days #3: Orphan Orphan The funeral will commence at 11:30 am. Gives me one last review time before the Final Exam. Panicked, I discover a whole new chapter for which I am wholly unprepared, though its inevitable presence was assuredly knowable long in advance. Orphan It doesn't fit, occur, imagery is of a young child to soon abandoned, not a late-in-life curmudgeonly poet-boy, who has been multi-times reincarnated. I add this title to my list of proper ways to address me, titles earned by dint of hard work, or just unlucky luck. This new status, orphanhood, bequeaths no special privileges, other than, a semi-official societal permission slip to feel bereft, lost, and compose poetry. Know a real orphan, from early, early on, has never recovered and never will for it is just impossible. Just impossible. So whom am I to make light of my undesired, unrequested new degree? I accept it and to my surprise, It hurts. 7/21/13
0
Jul 30, 2013
Jul 30, 2013 at 11:56 AM UTC
Seven New Poems For Seven Days #3: Orphan
i'm a loose hair on your diner scrambled eggs: undesired.
0
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 10:26 PM UTC
but would you forgive me if the pancakes are delicious? -10w
Love is always praised into the heavens But never is a tale spoken in which hatred truly prevails, For those creatures who have nothing but it left seem so lost, Is this the price they are taking, or must this be a farewell ? Alike love, hate can give strengh but also great misery, For those who have lost the access to light it is but an embrace, Because for them the heart was made to be broken, Eventually though, through all odds they find their way, despising what they formerly had done, had felt and had acted. This side of the story remains lonesome, The light of love is for all to bear in the end, But the embrace of hatred is undesired as if it was cursed, Just because the darkness made an attempt to protect their minds, An outcast who was left behind, who was undefended, Bidden farewell the shadows of night give in to the sunrays Another night ends in defeat. ~ Umi
0
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 4:30 PM UTC
The Side no One picked
Walking, always walking, Puzzled youth being funneled like cattle, Seek shelter from the sun, Jeer and poke at each other, All from the safety of their cell phones. Constantly seeking that one undesired retention Of jukebox explosion catapults. Thrusting us deeper into the mind/brain paradox What is this? What are these strange mutterings in the dark? Babysitting wasp nests by electro shock railroads, Disgust in the face of the many. Where is this golden eclipse we’re all waiting for? How can I not see the spiders on my windowsill? Are these anguished, infantile youth truly desired? Aggravated Neanderthal men Try to impress pulsating goddesses of Light, All to no prevail. Sickening feeling in the gut, Why aren’t you here? Well I suppose, Things have changed. The Empress of the tunnel Seeks out the empire halls Of the tunnel-bound angst, Musicians in the hall strumming There thoughtless musings, While the the debutantes watch and listen. The intensity is unbearable to them, They must seek shelter in their ipods. Milk, must have it. Watching them creep through the cafe, May they one day find what they’re seeking. Where are they? Sitting here by myself, Look at them jeering at each other In their own jargons. Have they seeked out the pleasure of life? Dream-like meditations, Well-rounded views of life, Happiness within. Dumbly smile at each other, Seeking closeness, Mind/body consciousness
0
Feb 28, 2011
Feb 28, 2011 at 1:05 PM UTC
Youth
Music of the street Reverberates loudly Out the dumpster, From the tiny mouth Of a screaming Baby Wrought in the wombs Of filth, injustice, Foggy rage. Tongues ripped out, On the floor, tastebuds that Know the pang of blue blood. Rusty nails and overused syringes ***** the fingers, Softly. The people yell, maniacally, Yet remain unheard. Pain becomes evident, Written on the faces Of the unwholesome. A wafting scent of Their rotten morals, Forgotten dreams, Floats, as hot steam, from the pavement. Unable now To decompose. Across the road, A pregnant woman holds Her cigarette, which Smells of cookies And cream soda. Jesus was enlightened, Not too pious For the poor. Yet more than pain Was written On their faces, Missing tongues, missing eyes. Laid together On the piss-stained mattress, Feet to head and head To feet. Nonsense was confused As words, that danced into Non-platonic humps. She kissed him, because She wanted to feel The texture of his brain. Pick her up with Golden hand, though She may see you. And the sad image of Dollar bills Inspires the mind, Making it immobile. Here, where the ********** Stands, more holy Than the monastery. Crawling, as they do, Through unpainted, Rented walls, like Hungry little cockroaches, Creeping for a bite. The small infant still Lays on metal, each Moment crying softer For warmth. Though you will not Hear her tomorrow, As she’s carted off by Garbage men Who, each week, remove The undesired Remnants of yesterday. Hope for sweet Needles to sooner bring her A different relief. Life is so simple When struggles Are never-ending. Mi amor pequeña, no llores más. El fin está cerca, aunque no entiende mis palabras. Though the buildings Surrender with Decay and the sun decides He doesn’t want To keep on caring The music still plays mournfully, And only the baby can hear.
0
May 13, 2013
May 13, 2013 at 7:24 AM UTC
Neighborhood
Music of the street Reverberates loudly Out the dumpster, From the tiny mouth Of a screaming Baby Wrought in the wombs Of filth, injustice, Foggy rage. Tongues ripped out, On the floor, tastebuds that Know the pang of blue blood. Rusty nails and overused syringes ***** the fingers, Softly. The people yell, maniacally, Yet remain unheard. Pain becomes evident, Written on the faces Of the unwholesome. A wafting scent of Their rotten morals, Forgotten dreams, Floats, as hot steam, from the pavement. Unable now To decompose. Across the road, A pregnant woman holds Her cigarette, which Smells of cookies And cream soda. Jesus was enlightened, Not too pious For the poor. Yet more than pain Was written On their faces, Missing tongues, missing eyes. Laid together On the piss-stained mattress, Feet to head and head To feet. Nonsense was confused As words, that danced into Non-platonic humps. She kissed him, because She wanted to feel The texture of his brain. Pick her up with Golden hand, though She may see you. And the sad image of Dollar bills Inspires the mind, Making it immobile. Here, where the ********** Stands, more holy Than the monastery. Crawling, as they do, Through unpainted, Rented walls, like Hungry little cockroaches, Creeping for a bite. The small infant still Lays on metal, each Moment crying softer For warmth. Though you will not Hear her tomorrow, As she’s carted off by Garbage men Who, each week, remove The undesired Remnants of yesterday. Hope for sweet Needles to sooner bring her A different relief. Life is so simple When struggles Are never-ending. Mi amor pequeña, no llores más. El fin está cerca, aunque no entiende mis palabras. Though the buildings Surrender with Decay and the sun decides He doesn’t want To keep on caring The music still plays mournfully, And only the baby can hear.
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93
She's Tired... of the broken promises, and of the broken dreams, She's tired. of being unappreciated, taken for granted and hurt. of lies rolling off your tongue, and of the swelling tears, she'd learn to hide. She's tired of feeling replaceable, disappointed and undesired, of broken hearts, --broken trust, and of the emptiness she feels. She's tired, of being yours, when you do not know how to love her.
0
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 7:07 PM UTC
She's...
She's searches for the path that takes her right, But of course; it's out of sight She's makes life long commitments For in her belly there is a figment "Three months old" she says "it is distant" Her mom asks with Constance's, how she's supposed to take care of something of her own, because when it comes to her own self; Well, she is all alone every night there is a wish she grants too find away out what she can't For smoking **** and doing wrong deeds Doesn't fit her needs For she dreams higher She wants to be admired Not undesired...
0
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 2:07 PM UTC
Her own
you enter my dreams with such audacious curiousity; examined the void with intellect- deprived precision, inspected every crevice painted in colour. you left the blue for last because you say the amphetamine matches my eyes. you sample every syllable ever borne from my mouth, denude the metaphors to their unchaste nakedness, reach inside for unfleshly meaning. you say all my filthy secrets implode into ugly saliva bubbles on the brim of my tongue and that is why you bite it off. you make the drain spin out water. you make reverse hurricanes. you euthanise my suffering mind with vulgarity and sliver-veined chalks. i like it when the moon is yellow and not white. spread me across your bones, you make me cold **** in flesh. you wear me on your head as you would a stubborn fever. you lick the lily, burn away its petals and then you use the ashes in your next drag. there are ghosts in your hair, they want idiosyncratic judgments. they want anatomised angels and amputated wings. they want ribs, signals, vessels and chlorine and aileron segments. and electric *** i am thinking of lexemes and lycoris, the vulnerability of artlessness, prosthetic fingers and cigarettes, the umbrella under metal rain. i only remember realities when they are expired. the ribbon between cognition and the ventriloquist. the psychology in undesired sentences. this is the only immortality you and i may share; amongst ourselves like teenagers filching answers before algebra, like dealers exchanging eight-balls, pipes and profanity, like animals in chemical heat. this vanilla immortality that we no longer need. i'm watching the end of the world from underneath your clothes.
0
Nov 1, 2010
Nov 1, 2010 at 6:42 AM UTC
blu AMP
you enter my dreams with such audacious curiousity; examined the void with intellect- deprived precision, inspected every crevice painted in colour. you left the blue for last because you say the amphetamine matches my eyes. you sample every syllable ever borne from my mouth, denude the metaphors to their unchaste nakedness, reach inside for unfleshly meaning. you say all my filthy secrets implode into ugly saliva bubbles on the brim of my tongue and that is why you bite it off. you make the drain spin out water. you make reverse hurricanes. you euthanise my suffering mind with vulgarity and sliver-veined chalks. i like it when the moon is yellow and not white. spread me across your bones, you make me cold **** in flesh. you wear me on your head as you would a stubborn fever. you lick the lily, burn away its petals and then you use the ashes in your next drag. there are ghosts in your hair, they want idiosyncratic judgments. they want anatomised angels and amputated wings. they want ribs, signals, vessels and chlorine and aileron segments. and electric *** i am thinking of lexemes and lycoris, the vulnerability of artlessness, prosthetic fingers and cigarettes, the umbrella under metal rain. i only remember realities when they are expired. the ribbon between cognition and the ventriloquist. the psychology in undesired sentences. this is the only immortality you and i may share; amongst ourselves like teenagers filching answers before algebra, like dealers exchanging eight-balls, pipes and profanity, like animals in chemical heat. this vanilla immortality that we no longer need. i'm watching the end of the world from underneath your clothes.
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33
Throwing up will make you beautiful After all, beauty is pain Waxing every square inch of your human body Squeezing into those Spanx to hide your smallest flaws Your daughter, she needs help with her eating disorder There's no beauty in that. Strictly pain. Or telling your 20 year old best friend everyday for 6 years a size 3 isn't anywhere neat fat Having the same conversation with a 10 year old girl: is that any more beautiful? No. Forget that beauty isn't painful A mother experiencing excruciating pain yet forgetting it all when she holds her child for the first time Death of a man with terminal illness--all the pain built up to the soul finally at ease The battered woman seeking courage to break free and begin new life Actual emphasis to "beauty is pain" is one who pushes through the undesired struggle-- beauty is the reward Remember that beauty can be painful What's beautiful in your life?
0
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 3:24 PM UTC
Beauty isn't that Painful
** With each turn passing My shadow was following me Winter wind was blowing My shadow was freezing cold..** With each turns and hedges It just ran through the corners.. With sun getting high It got wild and strong With my frequent desperation to get rid of it It got bigger and bold.. The more I disliked it's free attitude.. It showed me it's competing style.. The more I drove faster It lingered me thin and bigger.. Finally came the setting sun.. It became taller than me I called it loud names.. It grew bigger so could not hear me.. Tall mountains and tall shadow Was both chilled and freezed.. It continued it's run behind me Guess that was the reason it did not freeze.. I was getting annoyed with it My whole time went away Watch and try to shed it away So I could move free.. It lingered around me With claws of it's own The more I drove reckless The tighter it's grip grew.. With night setting in I searched for it in vain.. In desperation to rid from it I had driven deep in terrain..** Now darkness engulfed me It hid some where, vanished, frozen cold winds knocked my car away.. I started missing the company My shadow had given me Instead of trying to rid from it I started longing for it's company.. In that winter night With that smoked air coming from my month, I tried calling it with my shaking voice I looked for it's company to keep me warmed.. Yet it disappeared till night waned away And Morning Sun came by..! In those colder dark hours I realised the value of my shadow! From undesired company It became my closest friend From unwanted distracter It became my priority partner.. And now me and my shadow are company together I never feel lonely again.. Anyone who join me in my drive Feels like a intruder between the two of us.. I sing along, my shadow keeps dancing and both of us make a perfect Blend... On each passing turn It blends to take a bend..!! Sparkle In Wisdom 1 Jan 2019.
0
Jan 10, 2019
Jan 10, 2019 at 8:40 AM UTC
My Shadow - My bestie !!
** With each turn passing My shadow was following me Winter wind was blowing My shadow was freezing cold..** With each turns and hedges It just ran through the corners.. With sun getting high It got wild and strong With my frequent desperation to get rid of it It got bigger and bold.. The more I disliked it's free attitude.. It showed me it's competing style.. The more I drove faster It lingered me thin and bigger.. Finally came the setting sun.. It became taller than me I called it loud names.. It grew bigger so could not hear me.. Tall mountains and tall shadow Was both chilled and freezed.. It continued it's run behind me Guess that was the reason it did not freeze.. I was getting annoyed with it My whole time went away Watch and try to shed it away So I could move free.. It lingered around me With claws of it's own The more I drove reckless The tighter it's grip grew.. With night setting in I searched for it in vain.. In desperation to rid from it I had driven deep in terrain..** Now darkness engulfed me It hid some where, vanished, frozen cold winds knocked my car away.. I started missing the company My shadow had given me Instead of trying to rid from it I started longing for it's company.. In that winter night With that smoked air coming from my month, I tried calling it with my shaking voice I looked for it's company to keep me warmed.. Yet it disappeared till night waned away And Morning Sun came by..! In those colder dark hours I realised the value of my shadow! From undesired company It became my closest friend From unwanted distracter It became my priority partner.. And now me and my shadow are company together I never feel lonely again.. Anyone who join me in my drive Feels like a intruder between the two of us.. I sing along, my shadow keeps dancing and both of us make a perfect Blend... On each passing turn It blends to take a bend..!! Sparkle In Wisdom 1 Jan 2019.
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73
All I have ever been to you Is the person that made you smile Made you laugh when you were down I could mold you into so many shapes Paint you in so many colors Yet I remained a jester in your empire I was always afraid of being beheaded Or exiled from this land Of golden roads paved smoothly Castle walls built higher than mountains Where tears haven't once left their mark This land has never seen war Not one conflict has come to light Yet my love for you Always keeps me personally close To always hear you when you call I'm a jester in your empire The only one I think So why haven't you beheaded me Or exiled me from this place That is your heart When I have caused a million problems Brought a thousand undesired tears Yet I remain your jester I was once your King And you were once my Queen I built these castle walls I paved these roads I made this empire from the broken pieces of nothing You left me when I made our love Seem almost like a fairytale And you got scared and made me your jester Stripped me of my crown Replaced it with a foule-bordeau I hope your happy now Maybe this is where I belong Just wish I could sleep in that bed with you Listen to our favorite song And I could make you smile and laugh All night long and well into the early hours of tomorrow Yet I know my place as a jester in your empire
0
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 4:12 PM UTC
Jester To Your Empire
Look in on his                           Loneliness                                          As he – in|           The rugged determination of                                                The very rock                                                 Under his feet: Stares into the storm of our dreams. The whiteness of our innocent and                                Unguarded                                             Emotions| Are a storm that blew the sea of rationality           From the strange crags of the floors             Of unconscious spiritual awakening                          To unknown                                         Undesired                                                                                                                                         And neverending-                         -Short. Love.                      And sweet comforting familiarity.                                  It’s all useless,                                    Every bit meaningless. The deepest Sadness being| He Knows None of it.
0
Sep 28, 2011
Sep 28, 2011 at 10:02 PM UTC
The Non-Dreamer
Look in on his                           Loneliness                                          As he – in|           The rugged determination of                                                The very rock                                                 Under his feet: Stares into the storm of our dreams. The whiteness of our innocent and                                Unguarded                                             Emotions| Are a storm that blew the sea of rationality           From the strange crags of the floors             Of unconscious spiritual awakening                          To unknown                                         Undesired                                                                                                                                         And neverending-                         -Short. Love.                      And sweet comforting familiarity.                                  It’s all useless,                                    Every bit meaningless. The deepest Sadness being| He Knows None of it.
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25
I am not pure My shell is cracked and eroded in most places Many have chiseled me away And took the remains The light grows dim on the inside So dim it's no longer appealing to make a home I am destined to crumble alone Much like a puzzle undesired because few or more pieces are gone I don't place the blame on anyone but my own I often wonder if there's a another out there with a light inside that's not so bright I want to see their face So we can crumble at eachothers feet Our componants will mix together And form a beautiful masterpiece Forever isn't relative
0
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 4:32 AM UTC
Lights
A sadness deepens itself into the center of my body An uncontrolling undesired sadness That meanders my heart & perturbs my mind An uneasy feeling of grievous loss heaves into me I feel repulsed by these unfortunate feelings & I'm trying to will them to leave I cannot explicate this harrowing pain that dredges in my mirthless soul. I am crying out for comfort Because my desolate-being is overwhelmed with grief For I have been mislead by someone I thought I could trust But they were disgraceful & abused my solicitudity And now I'm sitting here baffled Because who knew.. That you could make me feel so terror-stricken I trusted you to keep me safe when I told you my sacred secret... The one secret that ruined me completely But this goes to show, that you cannot trust anyone But yourself.
0
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 12:54 AM UTC
Pensive
I am your worthlessness, personified your undesired offspring cast aside project the guilt through hostility reflect the problems and faults onto me pathetic coward, you have the nerve to blame this on me? you think this world owes you a favor poor, twisted reality the heaviest grudge anchors my heart to the floor I locked it behind you when you walked out the door tear me down further minimize yourself mutilated ego your pride is your health forgiveness runs black every morning I skip a meal abandonment inflicted the wound that cannot heal
0
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 2:50 AM UTC
Undisclosed Abandonment
I have done something “horribly immoral”. I should’ve never touched her. Anna Marie Coral Pale skin, green eyes Like emeralds among pearls. But… When I look at her she shies? Soft skin glowing in the night. When I touch her I hear beautiful fright, Feel heart beats. Faster. Caused by my careful capture. Terrified eyes, Beauty magnified. Lovely lips quivering My affection delivering Undesired, ****** and direct. What did she expect? Being told all of my life What’s wrong is what feels right. My peace comes not from violence But from my victims silence. I crave them, these abducted affairs. Prison bars, Pleads and prayers Won’t quench my thirst. Food’s first bite tastes better in fast. Anna Marie Coral wasn’t my first and She won’t be my last.
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Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 5:33 PM UTC
Anna Marie Coral
At the start Beside myself Can’t find peace Don’t get wealth Even Joy Flits away Gone tomorrow Here today Inside my arms Joy found you Kindles hope Like dreams come true My head spins round Nothing’s through Opinions differ People too Questions raised Rants and raves Some complain To be praised Undesired Vile horrific Wedged within Xenolithic Yet with time you’ll soon set free Zest for life and zest for me
0
Jun 1, 2013
Jun 1, 2013 at 5:56 AM UTC
As easy as 123
Standing as a posthumous syllogism on the main platform of the terminal, is the statue, Of what is perceived to be man. Nondescript in attitude and feature, balanced By the raw fact that a craftsman was disposed to cast it in bronze. The likeness of the general populace, defined through blank eyes, in the perfect reflection Of the truth. It seems that the epitome of accepted natural progression, that there Should be no inscription, no engraved statement of popularity or definition on its base. The dank smell and dust on the edifice on which it resides, continues to be a grim reminder of the expected and the commonplace. The reminder of what was and is, is left unnoticed, Forgotten by the familiar repetitive sight. The dying terminal (a redundant epithet) has grown dark through the cast of despair And false hope showering its massive windows from above. Light source has been cut off, Leaving only a path of beaten resolve, to direct the feet of the misguided. Not unlike the path, closest to the fence, struck hard by the hooves of the cattle, prompted forward by the hand out of food in the first cold days of winter. The stream grows on a daily basis, more and more The masses trip and stumble aboard the trains, to find their lurching, rocking way to self destruction. Nobility could have been found in even handed choice. Those who chose the line, the prolonged rail of Indifference and non-comprehension. Rails of iron, rusted like the rotted cheap pines on the waters edge. It is the longest journey, containing the most miles, the last station, the end of earth and existence. In some way you have known the base emotion, and what has been the guise of continuity, it is a new Reality, a new abstraction, there are no contradictions. The checked premise and the realization In words and concepts, those things we have known all along. The realization is loved and hated at the same time, and it can only be beneficial that the welcome Exceeds the hatred. The desperate homage to the masses is fading from the tangibleness, and is Replaced the the disquieting base physical feeling of the impending no mater being undesired. More important is the knowledge, that the precepts and premises held Without words have the tangible meaning long desired, And that the intangible reward, that can only be shared with few.
0
Dec 26, 2011
Dec 26, 2011 at 9:02 PM UTC
Destiny Rail
Standing as a posthumous syllogism on the main platform of the terminal, is the statue, Of what is perceived to be man. Nondescript in attitude and feature, balanced By the raw fact that a craftsman was disposed to cast it in bronze. The likeness of the general populace, defined through blank eyes, in the perfect reflection Of the truth. It seems that the epitome of accepted natural progression, that there Should be no inscription, no engraved statement of popularity or definition on its base. The dank smell and dust on the edifice on which it resides, continues to be a grim reminder of the expected and the commonplace. The reminder of what was and is, is left unnoticed, Forgotten by the familiar repetitive sight. The dying terminal (a redundant epithet) has grown dark through the cast of despair And false hope showering its massive windows from above. Light source has been cut off, Leaving only a path of beaten resolve, to direct the feet of the misguided. Not unlike the path, closest to the fence, struck hard by the hooves of the cattle, prompted forward by the hand out of food in the first cold days of winter. The stream grows on a daily basis, more and more The masses trip and stumble aboard the trains, to find their lurching, rocking way to self destruction. Nobility could have been found in even handed choice. Those who chose the line, the prolonged rail of Indifference and non-comprehension. Rails of iron, rusted like the rotted cheap pines on the waters edge. It is the longest journey, containing the most miles, the last station, the end of earth and existence. In some way you have known the base emotion, and what has been the guise of continuity, it is a new Reality, a new abstraction, there are no contradictions. The checked premise and the realization In words and concepts, those things we have known all along. The realization is loved and hated at the same time, and it can only be beneficial that the welcome Exceeds the hatred. The desperate homage to the masses is fading from the tangibleness, and is Replaced the the disquieting base physical feeling of the impending no mater being undesired. More important is the knowledge, that the precepts and premises held Without words have the tangible meaning long desired, And that the intangible reward, that can only be shared with few.
Continue reading...
27
Bursting at the seams, desperately trying to use a needle and thread to sew myself together. Hopefully, no one will notice the stitches. Heaven forbid, I open like a teddy bear and all the stuffing falls out. I've already spent too much time trying to hold everything together. Opening up, becoming vulnerable, losing that soft tissue makes that poor bear lumpy, feeling undesired. He's not the only one.
0
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 3:53 AM UTC
Sew