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Dondaycee Nov 2017
Next lifetime just let me be,
All lost souls that noticed me,
Over killed the hope in me,
Helpful hands unnoticed, feet,
Blistering I’m growing weak.
I have questions for the runaways,
How did your feet get so strong?
Why couldn’t I tag along?
Did you leave home to be alone or vice versa, got cold and was searching for warmer days in the week?
What is life without a friend dependent on I,
Is trust nonexistent when there’s a mention of side,
Is it not selfish to love yourself before mind,
A system that houses a light linked throughout time,
“-What do you want?”
For you to love me like you love all.
Look in the mirror, what about this person,
“I’m always here, all you have to do is call”
Where’s the assertion? I’m looking for words because the ones I’m using aren’t working.
Never felt too good in crowds, because there’s folks around, and they’re always thinking,
Never felt too good or proud, when joyful sounds touch my heart before they’re leaving,
“-Loving others isn’t a bad thing, lose the fear, it’s a state of being.
Don’t hate yourself for seeing a reality that others aren’t capable of seeing.”
But, Am I dreaming?
“Do not confuse yourself, you don’t want to lose yourself for dreams are other realities, you are currently in a state of being.”
But what is being?
“To be or not to be is the question.”
… Give me clarity
“Everything is being, it’s all existing, everything existing is living.”
Is this another lesson?
“Is death to exist and not be, or to be and not exist?
That is my suggestion-”
-How can you be and not exist?
“To exist is to have objective reality, a reality that exist independent from our minds.
Consciousness construct realities through imagination in space, which is time,
So, does the world end when we die,
Or does the experience of this reality end and our consciousness move into another reality beyond the human mind?
Would the state of being then not exist after existences?”
Let me go the distance with an analogy to make sure there’s nothing I’m missing.
Is it pain to love in a world that perceive it with ignorance, or to fully understand it and not have the experience?
“A little personal but the balance is understood.”
I just needed some clarity to be reassured,
Because sometimes I’m insecure,
There’s never been a life that’s “similar”,
And I see things in my life that will occur,
Pretty lady, baby don’t you close the door,
With other opportunities of loving me more,
Arkyi, Dondaycee, keep my knees from the ground,
In times I forget to stand, and am feeling less than a man should when his woman’s aroused,
By another… that feeling’s profound.
“-Jealousy found, that energy is not allowed when there’s confusion around.”
Where’s that soothing sound that moved me in dreams,
That had me chasing angels confusing chicken with wings,
Searching for permission in missing some things,
Like the giggle or a touch that slowly faded through change,
Like that love at first sight that never made it to name,
Those “unspoken” relationships that never made it to name,
Those misunderstood moments I forgave and delayed an encounter because I couldn’t forget the feeling she gave before  pain.
Those hideaway hearts is where my shelter remained,
Because they kept the love pure when it was easy to drain.
It isn’t easy to contain let alone obtain a power source linked to the brain and refrain from allowing an equivalent vibration; being fear, creep into the domain and create a disease of insane.
“-Insanity is just as contagious as stupidity-”
-Please explain how to maintain love’s stability when hostility is blurred into a thin line.
Inhumane is humane when the word justify emerges in a reign of ignorance which solidifies the moment the sane become repetitive credited to an infection that dried the terrain of perception,
Unreceptive the brain becomes when love is trying to sustain which leads to strain that results in pain and fear burst as a supernova leading to actions in vain again and again,
Oh lord, the power of a woman.
If men could be before doing, we wouldn’t often do things we “shouldn’t”,
“It’s not a matter of wrong or right but evolving into light.”
Is it odd that I acknowledge you, voice inside my head?
“Just as odd as the words left unsaid before night.”
This solitude thing, it isn’t enough anymore, I need something new.
I learned to love myself from red to blue,
And I just reached purple, now all I see is white,
May that energy continue to heal and rise,
Frequency, continue to create shorter and steeper hills, so that I am able to write,
Documentations of this experience  discovering love that’s unforgettable,
Because self hate should never be unforgivable.
That illness is always hospitable,
The existence of love is aboriginal,
Individually being is medicinal and additional if traditional.
Through ourselves is how we connect to all, an adventure to,
Dive within thyself but too many times I forget myself.
Every time I learn to stand, I project and fall like I forget my shell,
Because it’s easier to live life as light than with the body, odd of me to dismiss my health,
Physical problems; wanting love, a senseless touch; tempted to rush a manifestation of her beside me.
That’s the biggest lie when all I need is I and the being inside me.
If this is a human experience, neglecting the body is a serious condition, mysterious as if ID.O.M and 3D have been misspelled,
Then what is hell?
“Death.”
I thought death doesn’t exist?
“It doesn’t, it’s a reality when the state of being is no longer well.”
To be… or not to be…
“That is a question of wealth.”
Inday Mar 2019
She wakes up with a shock, instantly feels the blood boil from her head down to her toes. Its the sound of that door.

The repetitive sound of that door slamming is a reminder of the poison in her life who seamlessly seeps into her heart continuing to infuse her mind with hate.

That door is used for a swinging entrance into her soul leaving it with touches of darkness until she simply can't understand how to love another person; how to empathize with another's time of distress. She loses touch, suffering to understand what love is.

The life who uses that door brought her into this world and smothers their existence with cold truths, lies, neglect, and stories of their past; inflicting damaging images and thoughts that cannot be unheard.

She's trying to persevere, but they persist to acknowledge their unreceptive response to her cry's for help, it destroys her light; leading her down the path where the poison starts to consume all her thoughts and distorts her rights to express herself with the constant feeling of never being heard.

You built darkness in her and every layer affects even the smallest of challenges in life but you left her with a flame of curiosity to understand what others could not even care to comprehend; she sustains her curiosity for life.
MsAmendable Mar 2016
My jaw is frozen
Ice and fire creep up my numb face
Circling my eye with gentle hands
Tingling across my stiff lips
They call it 'filling,' but when I touch it
It feels invisible, empty
Unreceptive or responsive
Numb like dead feet
What a curious feeling
That numb is
I went to the dentist for my first-ever filling, and can't get over how weird the freezing feels
Amber DeLaRosa Apr 2015
"You just need one solid friend I think"
He said to me while leaving

He can't be bothered by my welled up eyes, he won't stick around for the **** to break. He is not strong enough to sit with me in the crashing waves.

"You just need one solid friend I think"
He said to me while leaving
Neal Emanuelson Mar 2015
Over the river and lost in the woods
Made of fun-house mirrors built directly into ventricles
Of one heart beating through an overdose of chemicals
Thoughts drowned in the peptides of shores in the ‘waiting room’

Bygone feeling splashing all around for a lifeguard living with his guard down
His days went from providing his scarf to providing his hearth
To days in and out of compromising his mirth

He’s told “It gets better as it goes.”
He says, “It’ll be dead by tomorrow.”
They say “Come on now, life isn't filled with sorrow…”

And apparently, the dissonance is covered by a distance of another;
He’s a folly to the blood-and-water chapter
Speaking of mixing soluble matters…
The truth will often leave a bitter taste
But are the lies dissolved in accepting change?
Sometimes the words and visuals just aren't the same.

So today, he took three things out of his heart and mind
Left social phobia, some truth, but mostly lies behind
He will be the allergy to compassion and all that’s empathic
He will suffer; he will grieve; he will be pathetic
And then he will just go.

She was running through his mirrors, waiting for bandages and gauze
He was privy to the scene as his mirrors stayed intact without a flaw
Watching himself scar up the reflective measures; making transparent views of pleasure
Until one broke; exposing a familiar scene of brick, last place he etched his soul forever
And in ambition to recover, stopped her in the moment that marks a desire to discover
But he failed in ways most intricate
Wrapped by the sharpest lines of the most delicate
Sinew that warped the core of something the void could use to replace truth that were self-evident -

But… no.
He’s digressing from the path
There was no particular reason to even do the math
The numbers didn't add up to what he had previously squandered
She was fresh to a life that she may never have encountered
With him; it was just vying for affection through a virulent infection
And it was a part of her that stepped in that day, a partial fit to the display
Fresh paint on the decay

So today, he took three things out of his heart and mind
Left insecurity, rationality, and his future behind
He became a monster to dishonor and a liar to himself
He’s disgraced; he is inane; he is unwell
And then he will just go.

He has been completely unable to dissect himself and put back the pieces without a coming up short a third-party to my misery
He has been completely distrusting of those whose lives have never felt equal pain overflowing from his tragedies
He has been routinely maintaining dispositions that contradict on every semblance of a trusting word in my vicinity
He has been completely dishonest about my conditions as if they were just failed attempts at analyzing strategies

I have been the juxtaposition to every single saintly word as he chose isolation prone to my own forms of devilry
I have been the very epitome of a mask that cries behind every nonchalant smile displayed like a centerpiece
I have been an undependable source of confidence ever since he broke skin through my poetic farce of empathy
I have been completely unreceptive of every word a kind voice has ever come to lend selflessly

And he has been a ******* child without remorse and word to those that have ever cherished me

So today, I took three things out of my heart and mind
Left the hate, the damage, and instability behind
I will become a martyr that defends nothing to prove
I will be unable; I will fail; I will lose.
And then I will go.

© 2015 Neal Emanuelson
Nat Lipstadt Aug 2016
<>

with raggedy old words, this is how I write,
in a raggedy old navy t-shirt,
upon a ragged edged old chair,
whose splinters will soon enough,
seed themselves in poet's unreceptive,
but just asking-to-be-barbed
flesh bared

splinters asking with the phony politeness ,
in the manner of a steady, but  minor irritating
would-be-a-friend, annoyingly, but cloyingly

"am I not a poem, yet Father?"

Poet has no answer,
mixed words
deemed satisfying suitable but unusable,
unconvicted upon the hard hearted
mixed wood

poet waits for the ragged clotted cumulus
of old grey ladies shaped clouds
to dissipate

clouds shaped like the
puffed up shopping bags
that the old ladies clutch
while crossing mid-street
making the traffic play
"dodge'r the codgers"

bags fill with the odd things
that old ladies treasure,
objet d'art of empty
Oil of Olay Ole! and mindless dribble,
mementoes of completed containers
of emptied out hopes

expired coupons,
that they refuse to surrender
even under threat
by sour faced bossy
supermarket manager dictators,
who hate their lives and  
in the deepening creases
of the elderly clientele,
foresee their own fate inevitable

poet's waits for them,
these images,
these clotted bursts of sourpuss,
to depart his skin, sky's.
yes, his sky's

wits and wilts while he waits,
for he always has much to say,
of what lies above,
the unseen,
hid behind the bland uniform of  the overhanging
one-no-color sky
of blanched meh and feh crinolines

thinking to no one now,

this is how I write, this is who I am,

waiting for insight inspiration foam to form,
from the multi-variable model that predicts
with a high degree of confidence,
failure with tainted certainty,
even as clouds are shuffled along,
a new poem will pass
that haha, no one will read

but nonetheless, arguing among his several selves,
better to be more fulfilled by the emptying of himself
upon padded cell of paper, of his staining,
the piece of him now
un-chambered & un-containered
thru magma fissures, steaming & cleaning,
providing a penny's penance
for his disparate gloomy idiocies

the gray ladies always smile at him,
always so nice and gentlemanly like, that poet,
underneath his cowardly disdain,
against his pretense's  grain,
contempt for old grey ladies
with old lady odors emanating

is this who you are, is this how you write?

*with raggedy old words, that splinter our delight?
Dirt Witch Nov 2017
You are           ...sleeping.
And I am awake.
Smoking cigarettes on porch
and the curb
and underneath the leaves of this foreign place as familiar as our bed.

(Our bed ?

Perhaps. )

As you sleep,
Breathing heavily, soundly,
contorted into dissociation
Blankets wound around your body
        -That I don't dare touch;
I breathe so slowly, so so

S
  L
    O
      W
         L
           Y

[ S
T
A
R
I
N
G
    at the wall ]

And speak to myself in the voice no one will ever hear
with the intensity of red
and the pace of INDIGO
INDIGO of the wall outside your flat
INDIGO of the sloshing acid of my stomach
INDIGO of the synapses pulsing electricity past my neurons to the unreceptive brain matter that lies beneath your skull  

Indigo indigo indigo

Ind(i•go)
(In)•digo
I•{ndigo}

(Witching hour approaches)

And I approach nothing
                      Nothing nothing nothing
Approaches me
Invades me
And I ask.               {Please}
But my eyes evade me, speaking distance
Across the span of OUR bed

¿Ours?

With the dawn virga of
pink light in the window,
The heat of your hands tenderly apologizes

And in the morning
You kiss me
Exhaling dreary carbon dioxide into my mouth
Stale alcohol meandering past our teeth,
Settling in the air between our tongues.
Catherine Edgar Aug 2010
I feel the air catch my sigh and wrap it in a breath
hollowed lungs, retching tight, sinking into death.
Around, all around, the mourners gather each to pay a due
this lifeless corpse, unreceptive it’s all compensation for you.
I kneel to break your fall but your body breaks my ghost
outside my shell, I lose my breath and wait to raise my host.
My dread grows fast as each word falls, blindly upon steel lips
your kiss dissolves into that flesh yet I feel your fingertips
comfort my hand, take the pain and wish it on to you
as my mother's child, you’d take my death and gladly keep it too.
Tears drown the skin that wrinkles hard, to crush them into rivers
your broken heart echoes so loud that walls cower in shivers.
Suffocating pain engulfs time, ignoring the space
wailing spectators outclassed by you, your never-ending grace
warms my heart or what this is now, you always made me safe and sound
as this heavy air chokes your breath I gently revolve around.
Your broken body, silent stare, somehow you’re dying too
I raise my arms to stroke your face and you feel that I’m with you,
those eyes warm up as tears draw the pain away from your shattered heart
I give my love and everything I have to ease as I depart.
You gave me a life unconditional and endless love to guide the way,
in this touch I know you sense all those words, in my ghost that I can't say
your body’s tender as you take a breath in that moment I’m right here,
the body you held was just a vessel, you feel there is nothing to fear.
No need to speak for I am you and all you ever gave
my final kiss steals a gasp but it’s ok, you laugh, be brave.
Your smile lit the way for my life and returns to ease my death
‘I love you’ sings from your lips through a trembling, difficult breath
I sing it back as I take my place on the breeze of finality
I’ll be here with you until you are ready, I knew this was to be.

*Keep the faith.
© Catherine Edgar, 2010
Melissa June Dec 2013
Into my hands the darkness falls 
I silently lurk over you 
as the shadow on your walls 
the apparition you never knew 
 
Brown eyes unveil as red 
a pleasant face turns vile
my voice consumes you're head
murders you're vexatious smile
 
I am the demon living within
entwined through your veins
binding you beneath the skin
is my blood of sinister chains
 
I stole you through unreceptive eyes 
possessed you in the night
turning your heart black, as it dies 
for a shadow to walk in the light.
strung up on the words just said
not wanting to be in your arms, not wanting you to touch my head
you shut down as I spoke, the frustration awoke
assuming irresponsibility, was all that I wanted to be
the images in your mind were screaming at me, unconscious me unconscious me
unreceptive to anything being stated, I just get frustrated that we ever dated
holding me to an old perception of who I was, assuming that I would be in that buzz
they started playing and we couldn't speak, you drew near and I drew angry and weak
in our frustration we couldn't help but marvel and speak, at the voices that we were there to seek
they ended, and you said, "im done being unfair," you let down, you let down, cause you simply care
my intentions aren't to hurt, but you know I'm just some dirt
baby don't abandon me when im weak on my knees and you're wanting to flee
promise you'll take care in the good and the bad, that's what you had, that's what you had
cosmo naught Oct 2018



it is good that i was lying next to you
as you sounded your alarm.
quick and shallow hiccups
tiny gasping
shook the bed.
i swatted you
— 2:30 am


even more alarming when it stopped,
i crashed to life
half up-above you.

a nightmarish apparition of myself
a screeching, darkening
premonition of death.


your eyes rolled
your head
heavy ragdoll
I begged you
to wake up;
struck you,
screamed your name

and I focused intently
as, vivid surreal,
the reds and the blues,
streams and islets,
turned up violets
at some deltas
of the reds and the blues
of your face
and so i never even felt for your heartbeat.


much like in throes of passion,
the attempts to force
any inspiration
were my frantic lips
still breathing your name
against yours
cool, moist, and soft,
yet, this time,
unreceptive
to my pleading.
and i heard my disembodied voice
somewhere inside my hollow head
call help


This part hasn’t ended yet
"...NOT WHEN U DIE, BUT WHILE U'RE LIVING..."
I will LOVE U while u live & SHOW it,
I will tell U hw much I LOVE U,
I will protect & care for U,
I will tell U ur strenght,
Looking for d best in U & bring it out,
I will cherish U while U live.

Why do I need to wait untill U sick or die,
To serve U or tell U & D world,
How much U meant to me, When
Ur lifeless body can't laugh back at my compliments,
Not even my loudest cries or sobbing,
I am committed to U while you live.

Why do we ignore kind gestures and LOVE?
Why do we feel shy & unreceptive to the good nature offers?
Why do we treat those that LOVE us as tho they don't?
Why do we treat people that love us as tho not loved?
Why do we tarry long 'till D graveside?
To say D kind-hearted words of LOVE.

Why do we seal our emotios against loved ones?
Waiting 'till lifeless before we open it for them,
When their own is sealed & can't be touched,
Why do we care in silence, hiding our feeling?
Why not making every moments with frieds counts & make life worthy of living for them?

A little "How 're U?", A little smile,
Makes U dear to my heart,
Tho you might not solve my problem all D time,
But a litte care that put smiles on me removes my phobia,
I am lucky to have U around me,
And will never be ashamed to EXPRESS
How much "I CARE AND LOVE U"
Azariah Feb 2021
I think I write best when my heart is physically sound and emotionally unreceptive.

That's when my heart usually drifts, carried by winds of anger,
anxiousness,
bitterness,
callousness,
And more discombobulating feelings like emptiness.

...it drifts until it lands on the zenith of either apathy or peace.

And I write.
How does a 22 year old handle unwanted emotions?

Poetry🖤😊🖤
Leroy J Harris Apr 2014
John supported their cause,
by raising voice above the noise,
Collected in Rick's mind.
Numberless melodies both new and old,
Offered him tales still left untold,
Prying wouldn't do, Sharin taught him modesty,
Politely ask them why, the notes above them tremble so.
Relevancy is the key to action she told him, never open a locked box,
Check to see if its lid is slightly freed, if not move on to the next melody,
Salvation is denied by those unreceptive to it, a sign its not needed,
Is the sound of life well lived.
The Mashiach opened the Shamaim from the conception of the position of the Himation as an investiture of the Greek-Hebrew World that subsisted at the expense of the Tragigonia or Generation of the hyper-stellarization of the Himation particles. He did not stay alone wandering in the city of Kosmous, he would continue to fervently contribute to his Heroic Death that was already imminent. He structured his hereditary Submitology as galactic chaff; similar to the chaff of the Olympus Marble. Vernarth, before being invested, transfused as an exasperated Substance that teleported him to Olympo with his destitute feet but crammed with the chaff of the Kosmous where Orpheus and Dionysus received him, one with the chaff of tinsel and the other with the chaff of Eleusis, conforming to the metempsychosis where centuries became rectilinear of the immaterial conglomerate of both, but if in the liqua aura it would gradually refine from Britannia, which could be replaced by the patronage of hyperboreal islands, moving to the Dodecanese, perhaps instituted by the Romanesque Voice of the same Empire but with the dazzling Hellenic or Helleniká root in the Last attempt to approach the insular inheritance of other reverse islands called “Pretanniká Nesiá”, right there on top of Olympo. Suddenly by factions of immortality, they made tragedy and lethality, which implied parking for thousands of millennia trying to decipher the true identity of the ahistorical mythological beings, who now survive together with Vernarth in the ethons or screens that would reflect the composition of a living being. that instantly dies for its exuberance of life.

Vernarth, would go with his noctilucent Himation to the Krystallina monopathia or the Paths of Crystallization that made up the Olympo like a pantheon that was assimilated with rancid and weightless fungiform fluff, all this wild persuasion carried him on his decals by the crystal silica of the Olympo. The Himation was made of shoes and thrones that were not clearly related to the Olympic heights, and of not fearing with more heights that would exceed the interstices of the exaltation of everything that existed in front of its doubt that was clarified with the presence of the Souls of Trouvere. Everything seemed easy to explain in the hands of the circumlocution that Orpheus and Dionysus would make him in the luminosity of the Olympo, which is Ohr transliterated from the Olympus as the prominence that will be torn from the unstitched Himation, beating him with exulcers in the altitude of the Balkans. , and adhering to the tripartite relationship of the elevations with Delphi and Patmos. The quantum of time condensed the atmospheric hailstorm that had been decaying from Aurion, thus creating the orographic leveling of these converging quantum elevations as a flood subject to the Makryrema river, and as tributaries that will be activated with Delphi; specifically with the Kassotides and the Profitis Ilias in the concomitance of the Fifth Chalice of the prophet Elias who would come to challenge the glories, to mend the foothills that united them in this Monopathy or Pilgrimage of effort with essentials of superiority, which could be linked to the Agia Triada. Vernarth walked in complete solitude through the southwestern subterranean and bizarre mounds, figuring he did not feel that way at all since he did not measure more than a hundred meters in radius where Orpheus and Dionysus followed him, snooping in his Monopathia that would make him unreceptive before the advent of his A body destined to the method of objectively glimpsing knowledge that was extremely neophyte to its bustle, it was only motivated by praiseworthy essences that emanated from the Agia Triada string, which supported them with its beautiful channel by dressing what became lavish when walking and dressing naked, and also what made him ragged as he squandered his creed kits with dogmas that were instigated in his unleashed tragedy. His Purgation was an onslaught of his somatization that was renewed from his epidermis and that was totally transgressed by the Himation filigree that was unstitched in Golden fleeces, in the presence of some heroics who fought in the fallen fratricide of Olympo. Everything accused a brotherhood of Lineage that superimposed investiture or secular genes, over the science of accounting for their monopathies made by more than one parapsychological and Submitological regression. Undoubtedly, the factotum of the preludes of his Parapsychological end would be present before him, of what would **** from the ******* of the Renaissance after being subjugated by the Roman Empire as its decline, protocolized by the authorship of the scribbled hussar, trying to be the moderator with new castes that would reign in the surrounding Romania and Hungary for an extraditable rebirth in 1436, becoming resurgent reformed antiquity. From this perspective, the cursory Uttukus in the umpteenth parapsychology would appear in this trace together with Vlad Strigoi and Wonthelimar, who for so much quantum and excessive composure would let them know of a Reborn in the Olympo of the Olympos by knowing how to conceive that their heroes would have the life of its own and independent of universal mythology unified to the world, which in these elevations had great consonance with those of the Kantillana of Sudpichi, Kingdom of Chile and its Transverse Valleys / Regency of Horcondising with this rhetoric that would be strengthened in the placement of its Vampiromagia Automata Iconoclastic. All this heritage would lead to pastiness in all the corny monarchies that were intermingling with the eastern empires ..., specifically Hellenic and its perceptible quantum isomers, which were thrown from the veins with magnanimous elephantiasis masses that were falling from submithology Aurion.

Vernarth continues the intrusive internment of the suffocating aid of the Olympo, and of the profuse victimization that he believed to delight those who had only saved them from the axiomatic spark of beatitude and his predestination, which was only sponsored by Orpheus and Dionysus who were distant from him. , to see what would happen with his enchanted Himation, in the face of any setback that reinvented himself par excellence of the Vespers of his Triumph in the face of Death, everything has happened after that in some Brueghelian folios. This would testify that his leap towards the Renaissance was peremptory “And why not say it of the Kafersuseh of Ein Karem, that from where the stereotypes of a Mashiach would be based that would be reborn as many times as possible of the chained isomer of its quantum in Vernarthian parapsychology, being able to and to be warned from a virtual halter, to hold the infractions that consanguineously raged between life and death, and between the transgression demanded by the origin of error and naivety. Vernarth continues to transfer areas of the Olympo from which nothing could be ascertained if any shallow abstraction of its undeniable orographic height, perhaps a demiurge would make it, secreting par excellence the greatest mesocratic powers and the most abandoned demiurges in all their glories, lacking everything that makes his complete foolishness, and radicalized alterity due to the savage dominations of poorly contained wealth; That is to say, giving off the stunned Vine from where the monarchs would serve their henbane in vessels of the same servants, and their same harvests, and of their same vines that par excellence constitute the negligence of a right of territorial change with the basality of an inborn right that emanates from the vertical culture of the end of the Middle Ages, which is served in the same chalices that are the Kli or containment vessels for the eternalization of the Merciful Light or Ohr Hassadim. Behold, the Brughelian Death becomes Vernarthian in the unhappy planes of being born or reborn that is intricate from its Alpha and Medieval chaos ..., where nothing and nobody will be able to restrict the unbegotten Vine goblets to serve them in the original Servus Gleba vessels or Servants of Gleba, inborn with the Hoplites of Vernarth, who with large detachments kept vigil for him from a meager spiel from the Ohr ..., cheering their Lord on the Olympo directed to the tripartite, and towards the Delphic and Patmian.
Triumph of Death
Dolores Jul 2021
You leave me
Then come back,
Always clever
In a combat,

You're constant,
But still deceptive,
You make losing
look unreceptive

Shoot your shot
I won't be angry,
But not having you
Might just end me.
nyant Dec 2018
"could you keep your head up,  when you're losing ground?"

On this day he was feeling the plight of vision-less sight,
recalling α.ω. Tozer's the "result of rejected light",
like an assassin he claimed all the creeds,
till baseless words were exposed by his deeds,
sometimes apparent depth is hollow and deceptive,
one cannot give anything to one who is unreceptive.

Raised in block C and chalala bedrock,
it's time to go Holme,
what went wrong?
investigate like Sherlock,
perhaps it was when he decided there were weightier matters than his gran,
or when he distanced himself from his fam,
or he spent to much time on the gram,
whatever the case let's make it brief,
the young man simply succumbed to utter unbelief.

The wrestle is not a royal rumble,
oh that cornerstone can make a goliath stumble,
all the words he heard at youth camp,
Couldn't speak when folly gave him the sock,
He didn't listen to the people's champ,
Yes,
he made light of the Rock.

That's enough of lamentation,
it is time for a revelation,
creation groans for the manifestation,
tribes and tongues of every nation,
by the power of Christ find true liberation!

— The End —