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"uttered" poems
in the rain- darkness, the sunset being sheathed i sit and think of you the holy city which is your face your little cheeks the streets of smiles your eyes half- thrush half-angel and your drowsy lips where float flowers of kiss and there is the sweet shy pirouette your hair and then your dancesong soul. rarely-beloved a single star is uttered,and i think of you
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In The Rain-
~for L3igh~ the briefness of brevity, the quality of giving and indeed, it is a-quality, a luxury item so affordable, yet, so totally, rarely purchased, When giving up the requisite, only the lonely, but always the critical, relevant or necessary exquisite in a few words Let us practice: I love you, but only the very first time, in a memory bronzed and burnished, putting to shame the way too short modesty of forever… uttering a precious precision of a soulful thank you to a passing stranger, who runs into your home afire, saving all of your family's lives could go on, and on, But that would not be, A Concision, instead, a concession, to the very few times in a day, in the world's entirety, when those are the words, are only the only, a sufficient holy, a devout summary spectacular, akin, but only a just, derivative of, a sincerely uttered: Thank You God^ nml
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Oct 5, 2025
Oct 5, 2025 at 8:02 AM UTC
The Concision
There you are, standing in the hall with the moonlight cascading onto your skin, showing off the silhouette of your beautiful body. I curse the Moon because it gets to touch you first. As I try to control my inner desire, for one brief moment, I allow my mind to race in desire. Alas! I settled the discussion, I settled the debate and concluded at this one beautiful thing spoke your true fate:  'Gorgeous.' Gorgeous is your skin. Gorgeous is your smile. Gorgeous the way you walk.  Gorgeous when I hear you talk.  Gorgeous. (Wild thoughts) With my eyes I summoned you, laughing at the Moon as it is no longer kissing your beautiful skin. As I lay you down on the bed I slowly open your legs, I can already smell your nectar. I, like a hummingbird am drawn to your forbidden nectar, then for a brief moment I hear your heart skip a beat. I blow on your ******** now warm to the touch, you let out a soft moan 'ahhhh, love, don't stop'. With a smooth deep soft voice I uttered 'your wish will always be my command' I was truly wrapped in the moment.
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Mar 13, 2018
Mar 13, 2018 at 9:05 PM UTC
Moment
The road behind bares us a backdrop, too many nights find us fractured in our thoughts and the dreamers we once were are far from the two people who stand today. We're broken, mere splinters of our shipwreck past, driftwood on a shore that drowns every time the ocean breathes. The path is littered with slaughtered dreams that didn't bleed. As time and tide wait for no man shall we find it a tragic scene? simply erased with the sunsets demise? No one gets away without a scar and mine speak a road map to chaos and a found hello to you. Mine own scars are fingertips gouged into the sand and faded but salted by tears of the ocean, inerasable by the tide. A soul washed up upon the shore, a road map etched delicately into fine bones. You can trace where I'd been before. All roads lead to your hello. In broken lines and have uttered phrases and one too many empty night. Backdrop of chaos does paint in the darkest colors you could ever imagine . How does it gets so flawed by our own creations and vices my dear? Does it still ring ever so true? The bell rings true whispering distant voices Empty nights are just bottles lined up as dead soldiers We contemplated our own truths and fell victim to our own vices The backdrop is black, no colour beneath skin. Honestly? Where does our downfall begin? Two ships underneath the nightscape past the spark once understood the flame and nothing more . In empty alleys, like cats to prowl, we find our moments, and then bury our thoughts to lay for no others to see. half written papers and half heard conversation the keys of the piano haunt the silence as myself shadows that still remain. Nothing is but a thought and those are like dead flowers laid to waste a reflection of far better times The night crawls to meet the day as it has so many times before. The thought of the minds bottle lay empty upon the table. A fond farewell is but a sugar coated goodbye. And I seldom have minced my words to mask their sting. The page forever bleeds. Pages that lay scattered on a ***** floor Bleeding ink into cracks that will forever more hide the spirit of our souls.
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Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 7:23 AM UTC
Nightscapes And Broken Dreams. Co Write With Helen
The road behind bares us a backdrop, too many nights find us fractured in our thoughts and the dreamers we once were are far from the two people who stand today. We're broken, mere splinters of our shipwreck past, driftwood on a shore that drowns every time the ocean breathes. The path is littered with slaughtered dreams that didn't bleed. As time and tide wait for no man shall we find it a tragic scene? simply erased with the sunsets demise? No one gets away without a scar and mine speak a road map to chaos and a found hello to you. Mine own scars are fingertips gouged into the sand and faded but salted by tears of the ocean, inerasable by the tide. A soul washed up upon the shore, a road map etched delicately into fine bones. You can trace where I'd been before. All roads lead to your hello. In broken lines and have uttered phrases and one too many empty night. Backdrop of chaos does paint in the darkest colors you could ever imagine . How does it gets so flawed by our own creations and vices my dear? Does it still ring ever so true? The bell rings true whispering distant voices Empty nights are just bottles lined up as dead soldiers We contemplated our own truths and fell victim to our own vices The backdrop is black, no colour beneath skin. Honestly? Where does our downfall begin? Two ships underneath the nightscape past the spark once understood the flame and nothing more . In empty alleys, like cats to prowl, we find our moments, and then bury our thoughts to lay for no others to see. half written papers and half heard conversation the keys of the piano haunt the silence as myself shadows that still remain. Nothing is but a thought and those are like dead flowers laid to waste a reflection of far better times The night crawls to meet the day as it has so many times before. The thought of the minds bottle lay empty upon the table. A fond farewell is but a sugar coated goodbye. And I seldom have minced my words to mask their sting. The page forever bleeds. Pages that lay scattered on a ***** floor Bleeding ink into cracks that will forever more hide the spirit of our souls.
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I’ve finally stopped writing unrequited letters; there were too many wasted breaths left unsent Lapsing intentions befallen on timeworn tawny crumpled  pages; aging like spent flowers in fading earth tones and rumpled paper regrets Multi-hued words uttered— mummers of voiceless exhalations spoken without a sound; indelible spilled ink left behind, lays fallow for so long A love once new,  and a growing silent ache— a hungry heart left for dead—Déjà vu We leave a lot behind, fallen leaves in unspoken ink a restless soul laid bare by a passing moment's random gust; atrophied like unwritten poetry stifled stillborn in a wadded up paper lament jesse stillwater ... July 2018
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Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 11:28 AM UTC
crumpled pages
Time is fleeting as the spring river runoff that gushes out to sea A heart trickles out a moment, minute by minute, in a timeless ink drop; unmeasurable expanse      immured in spilled ink ―    manifest in the lexicon of poetry For only purged words cannot quench this thirst that is loneliness; it's a hunger that gnaws like an unsatisfiable ache ― a starving emptiness all hearts do one day taste Left in the sight of doubt and eyes that fail to believe what they see lain fallow in the silent indifference Lost in a lingering void unburied all around, bespoken out loud alone in plain sight a feigned understanding; reticent letters shape reluctant words to hold forth enunciated breathe The only words that still echo unstilted ― uttered  words indelibly felt from lips once sweet as daybreak dew     upon musing tongue ― tasting the only voiceless truth that ever broke my heart a vanishing wave that moved an ocean    deeply ... Jesse Stillwater ... 06 6 2018
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Jun 6, 2018
Jun 6, 2018 at 2:38 PM UTC
This Thirst that is Loneliness
when the clock ticks at 12, another minute has passed and another day has been renewed. it replenishes an entire moment that separates yesterday from today. when the clock ticks at 12, a part of me has left something for good. something that could only be retrieved by the nostalgia of the passing hours that gives a pang of discomfort and dismay. when the clock ticks at 12, a fairy godmother is there waiting for me to move past everything and start fresh, like nothing has ever happened from yesterday but when the clock ticks at 3, my emotions are scattered, eating me alive. it kicks me out of the zone - exposing me to a world of nothing but things to hide. it haunts my core, dwells with my demons, building up emotions that don't seem to collide and at 3, I find you - once again with all the sublime images we’ve captured and grand words we’ve uttered. i find you, drowning from the roots of my memoirs... and there I see how midnights took parts of me because at 3, I’ll always remember how I grew with thee a.t.
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Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 10:25 AM UTC
when the clock ticks
“I’m your wave – I told her –   Lay your head right here, Softly on my shoulder. Let your thoughts roam free.” “You’re my air – she told me – You’re my life and sun. Singly we are nothing. Allied we are one.” “I’m your fire – I uttered – Burning bright and mild.” “That be true“ – she muttered, Slender, sound and wild. When we are together, Nothing holds us down The unwashed may blather, Let them laugh and frown. Floating through the cosmos On a marble blue, With the odds against us, We make dreams come true. 24-4-2017
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Apr 24, 2017
Apr 24, 2017 at 6:18 AM UTC
I'm Your Wave
“Strange place as if, a university campus. Last week of August, bit chilly though dark afternoon. Some random corridor seats. Surrounded by her loud chirps wrapped with unbidden happiness... and me still in some sort of shock... what am I doing here? Conversation took toll about random university matters, she felt hungry and suggested to have lunch together. So we came out and took a bus towards town to allow ourselves luxury of 'A La Carte'. As we get off the bus cold wind struck us, “Lady shivered and grabbed my wrist with her right hand and same arm with her left, letting herself rest her right cheek on the edge of my left shoulder. My whole existence felt her magnetic presence”. I uttered if she’s feeling cold she mumbled, I took it as a yes so wrapped my blue jacket around her. She responded to the gratitude with a smile and I allowed her grip on my arm to become more firm... so both of us kept on walking towards an undefined destination... and then my 7:00 am alarm interrupted the most beautiful dream i ever had since HER...”
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Jul 16, 2018
Jul 16, 2018 at 4:21 PM UTC
Alarm Clock!
I exist as a mirror Wild lights have glazed over your skin My whispers are tarnished Our bodies a shield Against the coming chills of a brittle wind I linger with a breeze-like touch, It comes out hoarse and swollen. Thoughts  uttered with a breath of regret Or a sigh of relief. Your face turns foreign, a mesh of dark warmth A light without the sun. We’re all a wounded red on the inside.
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Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 8:19 AM UTC
Always a nice girl
I loved most of all a cold blue eyed doll. I knew that fall, I'd fall for a doll. Red my doll if it could blush, how most I'd get a such and such and my mind, a grove, a lush such and such. Then a doll raises peaceful uproars, if it weren't alive then before, I'd pray peace at its door the **** 'll open before me. I beg and steal for all, I begged for this blue eyed doll, we're stuck between ourselves and lawls, that uttered from a cold, white, doll.
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Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 8:31 AM UTC
The Doll
Too long this rot has run its course, too much the damage done When men deflect acknowledged glance, they know that wrong has won. Across this land and far afield the wrongness seeps within And pride becomes a memory through distant halls of spin. How can we bow to tyranny, how can we shy away From that which causes  eyes to slide.... and coaxes will to sway? To tolerate the bombast, the bullying, the lies Succumbing to a hopelessness, which, both we despise. Division in the nation, uproar in between A man and wife’s contention-ness beyond what should be seen Brothers loathing brothers, silence in the room Where a word  uttered wrongly can erupt to screaming soon. Allies left in tatters, trust is cut to shards Tariffs injudiciously, imposed to **** the cards. International uproar, industry in strife Teetering disastrously when NATO flees the knife. Putin sits and rubs his hands, hilarious the show Disorder and disharmony to lubricate his glow. Beijing sits inscrutably, always opportune Manoeuvring judiciously, in place, to call the tune. America, the isolate, sails away to sea Blondini, at the helm, wears smirk indulgently. M. The White House HAMILTON NZ 12th July 2018
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Jul 12, 2018
Jul 12, 2018 at 2:17 AM UTC
The Trumpet Call
Never think that dead leaves cannot speak. Words can be uttered without mouth or beak. Come in heard to hear and they'll remain mum. To hear them in solitude you need to come. Loneliness and silence are their best friend. You can listen only if truth you seek and intend. If you've mind and heart to listen, men of clay! Words more worthy than living they can say. If your heart is strong and if you have no fear. Then in storms they are very loud, very clear. And if your heart is weak in breeze come near. Truth of this life they will whisper in your ear.
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Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 9:22 PM UTC
Dead Leaves
Dear Dad, That’s all I ever wanted you to be. A dad, my dad. I didn’t expect you to be a great dad, or even a good dad, but you never made any attempt to be anything close to a dad at all. You did try to be other things to me though. A dictator, a manipulator, even a ****** partner. You may say that I wanted it, you might even actually believe that, but I assure you that my compliance was not an indication of my enjoyment. Compliance was simply the only option you gave me. I saw the way you looked at me long before you ever put your hands on me, but you waited. You waited until you’d pushed me to the brink of insanity. You made me question my reality so much that I’d believe anything you told me. Then on top of that, you found a way to make everyone in our family question every word that I ever uttered in preparation for the day that I’d tell them what you’d done because you knew that eventually, I would. You planned out every piece of what you did so perfectly. Even after I’d come out with the truth you made sure that the walls around me crumbled before yours did. All I ever wanted was for you to be my dad, but you couldn’t even give me that.
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May 10, 2023
May 10, 2023 at 5:57 PM UTC
Dear Dad
the yellow sun was shining down on grass and sand and waves it was a place where children went to laugh and dance and play. as molly ran and wandered off she found a magic thing a deep blue house carved out of stone in which the wind would sing. the other children climbed about and gazed into the cave and johnny said “i’ll lead the way” (because he was most brave) and tad and tommy followed him, for they were big and strong while alice chose to stay outside but molly tagged along. the dark was very chilly and the silence, very wet johnny shivered and looked back but couldn’t leave just yet. now molly didn’t notice: awe and wonder filled her eyes; she found a solace in the stillness, comfort, in the pitch black sky. when suddenly, there came a rustle from a hundred winged things as dark as sin with deep red eyes shrieking just like rusted swings. tommy was the first one out (his long legs made him fast) then john and tad ran into alice and tumbled on the grass. and when the world had settled down, the quiet had returned they saw that one was not around and they became concerned. but don’t you worry, little molly was fine as fine can be as she uttered boldly to the dark: “you never frightened me"
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May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 12:04 PM UTC
some adventure
_“I dont know”_ was my response when you asked me if I still love you the world stopped for the both of us as I wondered on the thought of me, being selfish or being true and yours upon the realization that _maybe, just maybe_ my love for you is fleeting neither of us was speaking and the silence echoed through the depths of my head and you uttered _‘oh’_ that moment, I knew that you gave up on me, and my inner indecisiveness I crumbled upon the guilt of telling you those words, so instead I let my tongue do the talking and said _'maybe'_ cause it was never hard to say but it is always hard to face the reality of being responsible to someone as if I have to breathe through somebody’s pair of lungs and scratch the loneliness with someone else’s fingers we parted I changed numbers cause I had to stay afloat on the clouds of solitude free from attachments.
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Aug 27, 2018
Aug 27, 2018 at 6:14 PM UTC
Ghosting
I wonder if you've noticed, I'm becoming less appealing, Our conversations are getting very... Very, boring... And I wonder if you've noticed, That I'm becoming less appealing. You can tell me, I didn't meant to approach you, It was a decision made in a split second, And it seems like my heart's voice was louder than my brain's then: I'm being honest, My chest was about to explode, My heart was a ticking time bomb And I could only disarm it by giving it a voice, Converting its electric impulses into sound waves. But now, It's been a while since then, And, We're drifting apart... I haven't told you that I nicknamed you zebra because of that cute black and white shirt you had on... Because, I'm scared that would just trigger the slow end of our... Our?! I mean, It will make our friendship awkward. I told my friends I don't like you, But apparently you like me - But, I just have a question, After getting to know me - Ummm... Have I lost my charms, Or are you still googly-eyed over the stupid fifteen year old boy that nearly tripped over his own words as he uttered, "You're very pretty"?
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Mar 13, 2016
Mar 13, 2016 at 2:40 PM UTC
Slowly losing interest?
The heart flutters, It's pulses intensifying, magnifying the state of frenzy it's in. The mind whirs, It's cogs turning in abandon, and yet delicately Searching for an essence of normalcy Occurring, and all the while; I've uttered no two words For I am lost in the delicate frenzy, of the mind, the heart my fragmented self.
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Jul 4, 2013
Jul 4, 2013 at 2:16 PM UTC
Segregation of myself
Power is indeed a corruptive force, Through all of mankind’s history This has always been true. Emperors, Kings, Potentates, Popes, Presidents and Despots too. Gathering near the Throne are the Eager Courtier leeches reaching to touch the anointed one’s robe. Declaring their undying loyalty, In the process selling their souls. Their rewards, a speck of personal power, Castles and new riches of gold. Like their Master, the entitled ones will lie and cheat, while ignoring The principals of right and good. Believing “Decency” is but a poor man’s word, Never uttered within the hearing of the Ruler. Never a considered artifact of absolute power. The slaves, serfs, the common people Matter not, but to serve the Ruler. The power elite will start needless wars, or offer up sacrificial lambs, all to distract the unrest of the common man. They will suppress human rights, free speech and defame, banish or imprison their detractors. All merely smoke and mirrors to conceal, Controlling agendas of personal greed. From ancient times down to today This cycle repeats. Now we are living our own Textbooks history of tomorrow. Kingdoms and Nations have perished From this kind of poisonous corruption, Needless to say, it will happen again. Perhaps it already is.
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Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 9:15 PM UTC
History Repeats
An enigmatic smile she’s dressed with to chant mystery, Poets and bards with their magical poesy tried the mystery, Philosophers and thinkers broke their minds to unravel the secrecy, Scientists and law makers built hypotheses and verdicts to read hers, Painters and sculptors fatigued with their colours and clay, Actors and directors enacted to unknot the thread of obscurity. Odes and epics, long-written, attempted to sing Lisa’s Smile; But reflections of their beloveds’ smile read in their verses, Philosophies and thoughts expressed in huge volumes; But less understood even the painter’s invention, Theories and laws built around Science and Law; But little is the outcome of their propositions sans the mystery, Colours and clay played on mighty imaginative realms; But Mona Lisa ne’er spoke of her mystery Smile. Enactments on massive stages thrilled the collective audiences; But Mona Lisa hid the mystery of her Smile. I walked around the garden of poetry with fragrance of mystery, I saw a poem in her distinctive beauty ruling my mind’s eye. She smiled at my heart and in turn my heart smiled at her, Her smile taught me a mystery and it took time to read it; Yet there was a veil betwixt us, and I took my plume to write. She took my heart unto her, and I romped in joy. She’s been decked with melody and rhymes, And the string of verses stretched beyond the horizon, Where the mystery of Lisa’s Smile be found. She took me with her beyond the horizon, And I followed her with no utterance till our destination. She laughed at me for my silence; Yet she smiled unto me; but her smile looked unfathomable. She smiled and smiled at me; yet she had no utterance for me; She looked a little bit puzzling unto me, and I had no answer; Yet her smile dwelled in me, and I invoked the Muse of Poetry. “Thou art to be a silent lover, and her smile is the answer unto thee, She’s the Mona Lisa; she can’t speak, but smile and smile.” I lay on the soil of the kingdom of poetry, imbibing Lisa’s Smile, I adorn her smile; I worship her smile; I revere her smile, Let me not move away from the garden of poetry Till Lisa’s Smile is translated unto me. I waited and waited and I found the answer: Lisa smiles and her smile is the love of silence. My heart rests in silence that her love is felt within. She uttered into me:”Speak not, but love with smile, And that the mystery of my Smile and my Smile lasts.” I know why Mona Lisa smiles. She loves me with her silent Smile.
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Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 5:17 AM UTC
Why Does Mona Lisa Smile?
An enigmatic smile she’s dressed with to chant mystery, Poets and bards with their magical poesy tried the mystery, Philosophers and thinkers broke their minds to unravel the secrecy, Scientists and law makers built hypotheses and verdicts to read hers, Painters and sculptors fatigued with their colours and clay, Actors and directors enacted to unknot the thread of obscurity. Odes and epics, long-written, attempted to sing Lisa’s Smile; But reflections of their beloveds’ smile read in their verses, Philosophies and thoughts expressed in huge volumes; But less understood even the painter’s invention, Theories and laws built around Science and Law; But little is the outcome of their propositions sans the mystery, Colours and clay played on mighty imaginative realms; But Mona Lisa ne’er spoke of her mystery Smile. Enactments on massive stages thrilled the collective audiences; But Mona Lisa hid the mystery of her Smile. I walked around the garden of poetry with fragrance of mystery, I saw a poem in her distinctive beauty ruling my mind’s eye. She smiled at my heart and in turn my heart smiled at her, Her smile taught me a mystery and it took time to read it; Yet there was a veil betwixt us, and I took my plume to write. She took my heart unto her, and I romped in joy. She’s been decked with melody and rhymes, And the string of verses stretched beyond the horizon, Where the mystery of Lisa’s Smile be found. She took me with her beyond the horizon, And I followed her with no utterance till our destination. She laughed at me for my silence; Yet she smiled unto me; but her smile looked unfathomable. She smiled and smiled at me; yet she had no utterance for me; She looked a little bit puzzling unto me, and I had no answer; Yet her smile dwelled in me, and I invoked the Muse of Poetry. “Thou art to be a silent lover, and her smile is the answer unto thee, She’s the Mona Lisa; she can’t speak, but smile and smile.” I lay on the soil of the kingdom of poetry, imbibing Lisa’s Smile, I adorn her smile; I worship her smile; I revere her smile, Let me not move away from the garden of poetry Till Lisa’s Smile is translated unto me. I waited and waited and I found the answer: Lisa smiles and her smile is the love of silence. My heart rests in silence that her love is felt within. She uttered into me:”Speak not, but love with smile, And that the mystery of my Smile and my Smile lasts.” I know why Mona Lisa smiles. She loves me with her silent Smile.
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remember the boy you made fun of 3 years ago and never stopped he died today and you went to his funeral your heart beating but his was not you uttered sorry you tried to push the blame consoled yourself saying you didn't mean it the heavy weight in your heart it didn't leave you you knew what you did you started drinking a bottle every night but that was only for starters it extended to several a night until the day you got hospitalised karma, you thought and boy were you right it is karma and it ****** you up.
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Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 6:38 AM UTC
Karma.
Found myself at a dental clinic... He was the best there was. Unorthodox and eccentric, But to the specialised craft, he was boss. Ran through the bits and bobs Like any normally would. The poking and prodding and the mandible X-rays. Everything cold and clinical, so was the mood. Strange was what happened next... Specialist and I then stood facing each other. He leaned close and pressed his palms against my rib cage. Held them there over a few breaths before it was over. Then a brief chat, small talk initiated by the man. Bespectacled and exceedingly chatty, small in stature. Talks of politics and odd human behaviours... What started off as friendly turned into a heated banter. I then realised that along with his decorated credentials, Was his propensity to be condescending and arrogant. Him being the best, I thought I could let it all slide, But soon enough I opted out of being a willing participant. Couldn't stand his abrasive cockiness! I snapped out of being cordial and passive thought. I wanted him to just stop talking! I went, "Well, are you going to fix my teeth or not?!" He was stunned momentarily... I suppose he hadn't seen that coming. Then his features softened to a blank I could almost read the unspoken words he was conjuring. With an exasperated sigh of resignation, He uttered his next words swollen with regret "There's no need...for you only have four years left." It dawned upon me that my timer has been set. And then I woke up...
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Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 2:21 PM UTC
Strange Dream
Josiah Jack never uttered a sound when they dragged him away from the scene. when his poor body was eventually found, the treatment endured, had been mean. With no tongue in his head they had left him for dead. With a month on his back, he did indeed contemplate. Only sin “he was black” hence forth this weary state. They attacked in the night, hooded and white. All in all he was lucky to be breathing at all, all because he was plucky, all because he stood tall. A ***** they said should lower his head. Were they hooded for fear? Were they hooded in shame? Most likely, once covered, they could hide of their name. If things were so right, why hide out of sight? Bravery isn't a word for the **** Cowards, this word comes to mind. Bravery comes when there's only one man, not one with ten more stood behind. I will strike in a pack with someone watching my back. Their plan was to **** this man Josiah Jack. Perhaps they get a thrill when someone cannot fight back. They get real loud when they join with the crowd. Josiah knew well that if he raised a hand his kin folk would feel hell from this unruly band. So he did not fight but gave in to his plight. They think they were hidden beneath that white hood, Josiah's hearing is sound and his memory is good. So when things are forgot, he will take of his lot. That's exactly what happened, as they lay in their bed. The flames hurled with fury the sky filled with red. This man barbequed them like fish on a rack and no one put it down to Josiah Jack.
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Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 4:22 PM UTC
Josiah Jack
Josiah Jack never uttered a sound when they dragged him away from the scene. when his poor body was eventually found, the treatment endured, had been mean. With no tongue in his head they had left him for dead. With a month on his back, he did indeed contemplate. Only sin “he was black” hence forth this weary state. They attacked in the night, hooded and white. All in all he was lucky to be breathing at all, all because he was plucky, all because he stood tall. A ***** they said should lower his head. Were they hooded for fear? Were they hooded in shame? Most likely, once covered, they could hide of their name. If things were so right, why hide out of sight? Bravery isn't a word for the **** Cowards, this word comes to mind. Bravery comes when there's only one man, not one with ten more stood behind. I will strike in a pack with someone watching my back. Their plan was to **** this man Josiah Jack. Perhaps they get a thrill when someone cannot fight back. They get real loud when they join with the crowd. Josiah knew well that if he raised a hand his kin folk would feel hell from this unruly band. So he did not fight but gave in to his plight. They think they were hidden beneath that white hood, Josiah's hearing is sound and his memory is good. So when things are forgot, he will take of his lot. That's exactly what happened, as they lay in their bed. The flames hurled with fury the sky filled with red. This man barbequed them like fish on a rack and no one put it down to Josiah Jack.
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Rebel Against Rebellion I have nothing to prove No creeds, no doctrine to upkeep We all have so much freedom when we close our eyes And just think Maybe you need to humble yourself enough To lose Rebel Against Rebellion Because they're all just books Your sword is looking pretty dull sir Why are you so inclined to hurt? Thought your prophet preached LOVE? So repeat words Choose what you choose Choose wisely Because soon the snake will stop his hissing Constrict And become your noose Rebel Against Rebellion I think I'll call your bluff I bleed, I sin, I'll die But I'm not feeling hot standing here So tell me again why I should be afraid Of my fleet mortal life? Rebel Against Rebellion Because a Sheppard leads a flock But you never followed Your a goat Caught in your lies Bureaucracy, Democracy Man it's all a joke A silly excuse Rules, the sacrum of man's brain Your doctrine is becoming lame And your beliefs more insane Coliseum A game to play to make you so entertained Please write another rule Prove once again The medium you choose is jewels You fool Rebel Against Rebellion Why would I cut my brother short? Because of appearance and all your silly rules So many when uttered I choke For all we know life itself a joke Oh the irony What began as unity Became bowing down To man's hierarchy So I Rebel Against Rebellion I'm a servant of no man I know God has a plan That over cries your silly fear Unravels your vines Your words Agenda and "Time"
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Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 3:00 AM UTC
Rebel Against Rebellion