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A small petty poem I wrote about a small petty prime minister with massive crap billboards.

Billboard
unfurling corners shiver
out smiling shibboleth in
the wind's direction,
airbrushed leader unveils
another crap idea.
 
The concrete jungle is no more than a home of eluded souls ceaselessly searching for an escape to the coven of trees where the rain lays rest gracefully on their leaves.
 
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Orange

texture of stone
I sink my nail unto thee
Tearing worlds apart with such ease- it frightens me so
You had expected me

This sacrifice must be made

Open the carcass and marvel at its treasures,
Gourge yourself in nectar and enthrall the senses

A ceremony so ignorantly partaken has taken place
 
Lovin' this thread, been a joy to read through all these! <3

The bard stared fiercely at his audience,
words of passion and eloquence enveloping
a story to be told, of love, of death, of peace.
A tale that is evermore developing..
 
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green

this leaf perforated
left to steep in near boiling water

set itself to soak in whats left

yet soon as always after
with thine temperament to match
once warm enough to drink, all the milk and honey added
is your rightful bestowal

green tea now gold the shade
returns again with equal luster
only after doth has dinketh ye savoringly
with patience
 
Line by line a poem is read;
Word for word a world is bred.
Romance lulls a subtle weep.
Close the book for dire sleep,
Cast away in to the draw.
His desperate mind in search for more.

A bit of a poem I made which has a revelation behind simply reading a poem before bed.
 
- there is no mercy, this time.

-- but what of love? is loves mercy not everlasting, over time?

suddenly the pearly~gates became stone
and the warrior stood then alone.

with only a chisel in his hand, the muscles of his arms and legs,
and his strength(?) only enough to last.


he knows there is no looking back, so with one of two things on his mind
he exclaims ~


fuck


<3
=D
 
they are better pleased the less they know their ways.

_________________
only saying, careful with the Amanita Muscaria(from what ive read it could be bad),
Just Say Know :)
 
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"Hello?" I've forgotten how to answer a house line. Something feels familiar and I ask, "Mom?" "Excuse me? May I speak to a party on the billing account for..." I try to make my voice sound childish as I let her know my parents aren't home.
 
The winding strings of life are stripped by Time's sweeping sword,
leaving the soul to sail on - like a fleeting concord.
 
Blades cutting through crying babies
Fate of a dying world

To not think you're alive and that is all
 
~
The beauty and fragility, the exquisite exchange between all living things is so much more clear, with out your own voice and its own acquired associations, dictating the nature of that which surrounds you.
 
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