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ryn Oct 2014
What lies beyond this wall?
What lays on the other side?
What's at the end should I take the fall?
Where's the destination punctuating this ride?

Will there be a bed of green as my cushion?
Will there be a ceiling of azure comforting my eyes?
Will fingers of the sun soothe my delusions?
Will the drops from the sky quell my cries?

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Will my back be received by hardened soil?
Will the angry earth be crusty and cracked?
Will my lungs taste the heated air of turmoil?
Will my posture still be bent by the weight I packed?

What lies for us beyond this wall?
What would happen when we pick a side?
Would we survive if fate controls this fall?
Will we be hand in hand or hands apart by the end of this ride?
seethroughme Oct 2009
****** the wall
in a slow caress
if you want to
touch her
the flutter
of a see-through dress
against your cheek
Hirondelle Sep 24
Oh, how I love that wall!
My wall, your wall, his wall, our wall...
Solid before many a starry-eyed soul.

Tossing square into a granite fortress,
The ashen stoniness denying access,
Ouch! Got your head in a mangled mess?

It was all there yet you didn’t see.
That grim jester of far-gone fantasy.
Next comes the swat without courtesy.

That proud wall, high and tall,
Didn’t even think you were a sore,
When you burst and lost in ghastly gore.

No dirge to the swatted little fly,
No litany for a crushed buzzing lie,
No reason even for a sad little cry.

That wise wall, high and nigh,
Didn’t bat an eye or even sigh,
While pranking your sad foolish try.

Small like a fly before big delusions,
**** like a fly in alluring confusions,
Such a wasted lie on a wall’s exclusions.

Realism will always soar,
And never notice that vapid gore,
On that proud wise wall.

©️Hirondelle (24/09/2018)
Sometimes you hear a knock on your door when that little voice of reality eventually winds its way back to you through the hubbub and turmoil of your delusion-spurred emotions. Yet, you realize, over time it has grown so big and your eidolons are suddenly micrified to the reality of a mere fly. And the swat... how sovereign... how overbearing reality is! The swat may even come by the hands of the kindest person you have known. Reality busts the dark fly, the Kafkaesque metamorphosis of an otherwise rational man, in order to let him reincarnate into a being with a realistic orientation so that he can soar over the trammelling confines of his delusions... So not all blows are meant to obliterate, some really do liberate. And what better hand to deliver the blow than that of a kind, merciful person? The fly, with his gibberish, make-believe buzz should not encroach upon the righteous order of reality. And there rises the wall and checks the fly until the swat comes with efficient finality.

Ouch!

Now, this mashed up fly-man has to break loose from that crushed, sticky paste of his delusions and leave it on the wall. Not easy enough a labour for all! But realism is only for the strong with which to soar.

So how does the man end up being a fly?

Delusion besodden though a man is, he is nevertheless faintly aware of that feeble call of reality. No one can shut their ears fast to that child. And this call of reality betrays all false hues of our delusional sandcastles. The bigger our delusions, the smaller our self esteem when we realise that we have veered far into that world of delusions. The more beautiful the delusion, the uglier the fly. And the wall... Every starry-eyed fool needs that wall. Somebody has to stop that fly.
Erin Suurkoivu Oct 2016
Be a voice; not an echo*

somebody had written on the wall.

People are in love with echoes,

reverberating off walls of canyons,

in love with the sound

sounding off.

Nothing for me, they decide.

Nothing for the girl, lifting her hand

to caress the branches of trees

hanging overhead.

They want the familiar sounds

of girls

sounding off.
Sofia Von Dec 2011
I guess I'm a coward

Too strong

Is there such a thing?

nobody knows
the circumstances aren't high enough

I wish I could tell somebody

why isn't someone there?
even in the mirror form, or a puddle, or a window
I'm absent

Or is it late?
a habit I picked up from my mother

will I ever arrive?

that's the question isn't it
and no one knows
the answer

I'm stuck in the limbo of choice

so why don't I do it?

walk away from it all

well I'm scared
that no one would catch me... before I fall
natalee Mar 5
i close my eyes and drift off to sleep
hoping this is the one place
i have to myself
where i feel safe and
free to love just so.
i can still dream of you so vividly...

we’re at that one place
there you are
me, barely peeking over the top of your head, i can smell the honey shampoo you use as the wind blows
wisps of hair you try and
keep out of your face but
never manage to
the sun shines down to make your eyes appear with all the shades of brown i never knew before you
your freckles, scattered across your face
like the artist who created
you placed each one
with the most precise
****** of their brush..

each dream i never fail
to see you so vividly
time and time again
a different setting
a different twist
a different story may occur but it’s always the same you
something i can never escape
the ending never changes
i’m left with the same feeling of
never being loved by you
Nassif Younes Nov 2016
That Donald Trump?
He's thicker than a whale's ****!
Nope,
That didn't work
He's still becoming president.
Activists around the world must continue searching
For that perfect combination of words to highlight
How ****** he is
How ****** his supporters are
And thus bring them over to our side.

You fools!
These people are working two jobs one week
And getting fired from both jobs the next
And all you could offer was memes and social experiment videos?
People don't want your memes!
Nor do they want your veganism
Your Eastern philosophy
Your meditation
Your glittered faces
Your acid induced self discovery
Your fat bass drops
Your hashtag lookatmeimsuchagoodperson statuses
Or your white reggae revival projects.
They want money
They want power
And they're right to want it.
They wanted it so bad that a talking tangerine's promise would suffice.

And where were you?
You were a thousand feet up in the cultural clouds
You did this.
You just let a president get away with pushing drone strikes in the morning
Because he did comedy skits with celebrities in the afternoon.

Your craft beers and independent cafés
Have booted the poor out of town centres
All over the world.

When they needed socialism
You sympathised but were too unique to call yourself one.

When they broke out in riots
You were there at the front
With your polaroid
Photographing the blood and broken glass.

You hide yourselves in safe spaces
Delete people who disagree with you
And condemn others for building walls.

None of you are hipsters
It's always someone else
Who is the hipster.

But you all have the brains and the hearts
To turn the world around.
Because for every ***** grabbing racist
There is someone too tired and too desperate
To accept anything short of extreme.
The only madness now is moderacy
And if you speak for something real
Conversation is all it will take.
The day we became too cool for movements
Was the day we lost.

Until we do, our next liberal hero
Will be a Rasta president
Bent over for Wall Street with a **** for war
Loved by all after his first act in the oval office
Was to take a selfie whilst sparking a joint.
Not cool man,
Not cool.
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