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Old 12-12-2008, 02:51 AM   #11
Nervous
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(I hate being a sad person but here's a sad poem for you...)
'Red Sky at Night'
I just want you to kow.
Everything you'll ever see in me is a lie...
I am simply nothing and no one.
Just though you should know...
Masses lay in shallow waters.
Whear they find something that looks like sensirety.
And they smile in ignorance and in bliss...

Sometimes knowing is too much.
The answers you find turn to cancer.
Confusion wrappes her arms around you...
Suffacates you...
Light headed and empty , you follow your way
back to the crowd...
In the eye of the storm you find truth...
Only to go back to war...

'VFM and kill yourself' (Don't try looking into a meaning for the title)
To the world that sleeps under the sun.
That lets the rain flow into the sewers.
But you caint complain when the wind touches your face,
When the sky rains to the earth,
and the earth scales mountains to meet the sky.

While heavon stares in awe, we as a race,
Flow down to the sewers like the water we are.
Adding your own touch,to remind the world we whear hear.
One day the gatherings will end,and all will be at peace.

If you tread on hollow ground,be ready to fall.
When your walking the path in the forest,be ready to call.
And when the world want us back,be ready to head.
As we begin our great decent,at light speed.
Many men have walked their path to hell and back.
When they reached home,they gained everything they would lack.

The sky...
The ground...


'Tripp the riff (uproar)' <- Like this one especialy because it's not so emo.
The upraor roams the country side
Whenever theirs no one in the city
But when your all alone
Theirs an uproar someone wouldnt confess

When your laying down
Their is no uproar to be found
But when time's clock is off key
Its the end for everyone
But mainly for me

Iv been up roaring for a...
Long long long time noww...
And I think I might go blind...
If I dont find something else to start at...
Iv been alive for a...
Very very long amout of time...
And I'll probably die...
If I dont find somthing to do...

Its been suggested that you leave them alone
That is , those who will find their wrath.
And seek it on you.
Holes in the land , like holes in my back.
Its all so pestering
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Old 12-24-2008, 08:29 AM   #12
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A Buddhist Limerick

There once was a monk who would cry
In my dreams I am a butterfly.
When I wake I'm confused,
And I still often muse,
If I'm real when I fly in the sky.

For Someone (an attempt at a sonnet)

A life on earth is short and full of woe.
So isolated in our rooms we ply
The keyboard as our ship and so we go,
All heedless of the minutes ticking by.

Unwarily we leave the dock, depart.
Thrust forward into myriad sky, a throng
Of hopeless, lonely people stealing hearts
Of others who are yearning to belong.

Oh friend of mine, if friend indeed you are,
Please send a sign upon the sea of blue.
And I will hang my hopes upon a star,
And beg for you to see my journey through.

My friend, may you believe I will be true.
For it is all my joy to think of you.

Last edited by thais; 12-24-2008 at 08:51 AM.
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Old 12-24-2008, 09:49 AM   #13
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I have a bit of fridge door poetry (the wierdist poetry on earth) you know what kids make with word magnets on their parrents fridge door.

I road to sleep in delirious languages when black trudge is above with smear
but power winter is in a gown. She asked with bitter egg shot that feet not rob
bear boy here to put pole away. Some ask how drunk rock shines most and like
wind pettle never want take my arm club or rust cooling knife but I heave summer
in my suit. Think always like wax after light is rippy and chocolate springs of elaborate
diamond for shake are gone.
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Wisdom is a circle what you receive you must also give back in due proportion and the measure by which you give back is also returned to you in due proportion.

The biggest illusion in reality is that reality itself is an illusion. Reality itself is in fact not an illusion that is why we obey it's rules not the other way around.
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Old 01-05-2009, 06:27 PM   #14
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lol, that fridge magnet poetry is deep and poignant, if you read it in the right mood.
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Old 01-06-2009, 05:03 AM   #15
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I know it has so much in it without actually saying anything here's another less civilized one.

I recall light smearing in the yard, is funny, I laugh in the shadow of spray sausage leg
juice like hyper cooking wax floods of languid sordid produce.
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The biggest illusion in reality is that reality itself is an illusion. Reality itself is in fact not an illusion that is why we obey it's rules not the other way around.
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Old 01-08-2009, 08:20 PM   #16
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stream of consciousness writing time!!!!
If i were a puppy I'd have a great stew made of little bits of gravy and chum from a bucket that has no wood in it. Mixing several eggs in a bowl would produce such a fuss as the large quantity of pigs would fly from their masters in woeful joy of the coming plague caused by the puppy and his stew in the bowl of eggs of doomed souls.So once when this so called man was able to cry he saw great sorrow in the eyes of his companions tho he had none, and now that the story has reached its grounds of hunting and grecian urns of vivid colors displaying no such thing. The lack of color was the fault of the major who was son of the minor, and when the two collided the world was silent like an echoing green of nothing but green with lack of color for monotony is welcomed only by the weak. With the large portion of green being red, the greenlanders feared their kind had no will to plummet to the top of the everlasting iceberg. The iceberg it seemed had plans of its own and ascended downward to the rouge rogues of ragged retaliation and told them the secret of long lasting verdant bliss in the flat mountain of yorkshire terriers that now pervaded the land. The terriers had no gold and no fortune to speak down upon for it was massive in size and small in volume. Of little worth was it for it's value was priceless and the terriers had a group of greek philosophers killing their apprentices for being insolent little buggers of no small import.
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Old 01-09-2009, 12:56 AM   #17
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lol. Someone likes alliteration and oxymorons.

Light (something i wrote for a friend when he needed it)

Wind sang shrilly across the plains, smug that there was nothing to impede its dance; no moisture, no life, no light. It clawed bits from the baked clay and tossed them like confetti toward Sun. Sun couldn't see Wind's defiance through the darkness that lay upon the ancient battle plain for centuries. Sun hung in the heavens, shining thin and pale and waiting.

He came to the edge of the plains, startling Wind with his madness and moisture and life and light. Wind tried to take them from him, but he was too strong. Wind raged. He felt the clay sting his hands and face and closed his eyes and sat with his hair whipping about. He heard the angry song of Wind fade and saw the battlefield as it once was, stretching wide with light. All kinds of light that he could not describe, for he had no words for it. Light towering overhead, bright and cool with pale shapes drifting too high to reach. Plants on the ground that made their own light, softer. Harsh light oozing from the bodies twisted everywhere, animals and people. Light from pennants lying on the ground or hanging limp on poles. Light sparkling on weapons and armor and carts and tools left on the ground. Darkness, too, clotted on everything and rising in wisps from pinpoints someone had poked in the light.

He felt their anger, their hope, nobility, honor, frustration, fear, courage, homesickness. He felt their homesickness most of all. It stayed with him.

He opened his eyes and saw the darkness, heard Wind keening, smelled the clay. He held his hand up and watched the earth tickle against the glow of his skin. Why was he the freak? Everyone else could hide their tiny lights, smother them under layers of clothing and never be seen in the darkness. People are to be heard and not seen. That's what he had always been taught. Except it was impossible for him. No matter what he wore, how he tried, the light shone through.

When he was small, no one would let their children play with him, so he grew up alone and didn't notice. Lately, though some of the level 17 and 18s thought it would be fun to pretend to be his friend. He didn't know what to do. The leader had come up to him with a group and said "Play with us, be our friend, don't you love us?" The others were uncomfortable, but followed his lead. "Yeah, yeah," they snickered, circling closer. He opened his arms to them and they attacked.

Now he just felt homesickness. It washed over him. He gasped and fell and cried out in a small voice. He closed his eyes and sang with Wind. He made it his song of going home. He sang until his throat burned and a small black tear fell and touched the parched ground. Wind snatched it up and laughed. Sun heard it.

Wind stopped singing and he opened his eyes and looked and saw two people shining and pushing back the darkness. Tears were falling from overhead, washing him clean and plants grew soft under his hands. He fell on his face ashamed, but one opened his arms and said, "Have no fear. We've come to take you home."

He rose up and the silver cord snapped as he took their hands and went home.
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Old 01-09-2009, 05:09 AM   #18
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I remember the magic of the mundane. The arcanum of simplicity was at the very least a shield against the ignorance and the hate. Even though I looked the same, they saw something to persecute. The more of that part of me they damaged, the more it grew. When it grew to sufficient size, the miracle of everything became apparent. The finite became infinite, and the infinite became finite. The complexity of simplicity, the perfection, the absolute perfection of a seemingly imperfect object. Nothing about the object was perfect, but that is what made it perfect. A simple sphere was an object of lengthy contemplation. So while the ignorant and hateful attempted to make me miserable, I had a way to ignore it. One day the magic stopped, for whatever reason, and the hate and ignorance hit me and broke me, and crushed me. When I had lost hope, hope found me again. a golden haired angel with sapphire eyes held back the unprovoked wrath. With a smile that lit my heart aglow she embraced my now broken soul and set it on the mend.
I hope to keep her safe, for she keeps me sane, and the magic of simplicity forever did wane.
I would not trade her for all of the magic
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Old 01-14-2009, 11:43 PM   #19
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^autobiographical?


DEATH

Dawns a new night
Eager to embrace
Agape it grins
Triumphant
Hollow but for a tiny gasp, look and long and take a step back.
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Last edited by thais; 01-15-2009 at 06:16 AM.
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Old 03-13-2009, 04:21 AM   #20
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Yes that was autobiographical,
here's the next bit:
Then I lost the angel's favor, with tearful eyes she shunned me, and my spirit more than wavered. It bent in twain then snapped then crumbled, the world at large did wane. Blackness overtook my soul, and anger became my only role. At last the devil himself had won, he spat on the ashes of my soul and gloated over his victory. Then i found another angel, beautiful and kind, but the devil had seduced her, and my soul became a hollow rind. To this day I wallow, and every place does show, my once beloved angel, and sadness i do know. the sapphire eyes now taunt me, and the sunlit tresses do not shine as bright. For without her I am broken, never to see the light. I bide my time as the devil's friend, waiting to expose, that fiendish wretch to the new angel, and to his grasp do rend.
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now for the pandora's box that the girl i loved opened, I kept hope ( a minscule ammount is great solace to me), and here is it's poetic incarnation:
That silver orb of singing light, that pierces through my soul, has the pwoer to stoke my heart like a dying coal. But when I hear that silent song, the ballad without words, the dying coal bursts into flame, and my hope is reassured. I know not why this happens, but that it does I am glad, for without this soundless sound, I would be doomed to be forever sad. I want to spread this silver fire, that burns through my soul, in hopes to find someone, to fill the angelic role. This fire of my heart, is silver in hue, but stronger and more durable than mithral could ever do. So when the dying bard does burn with a shining mercurial glow, the one who will comfort him will be there for the world to know.
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This one explains the silver fire reference:
My soul is not of human kind, that is to be sure. I have pointed ears and wield a bow, a deadly marksman for all to know. I feel for the animals, the forest and it's trees. The life in a city does bode ill for me. The moon does shine an make me glad, for it is part of me. Correllion does smile, from the silver sliver, down at despotic me. He gives me hope and strength, and then he says to me, be a warrior poet, fight your woes and be free. I feel as if those wise words, do galvanize my core, and make my woes tremble, as if to be no more. The words of the lunar god of elves, may very well be my insanity, but trade it for saneness I would not, for that would be equally insane. For who would wish ill upon themselves, unless they were mentally ill, and who would not seek the comfort from the pains and woes so shrill? So I may be insane, but that's my business, and so I ask of thee. are you, humanity better? for forcing hate on me?
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