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Seasonal Stream of Consciousness PoemWow, Suleiman sure was an interesting guy
It's a shame the Ottoman Empire fell
Would have been neat if it was still around
I wonder if the Janissaries would have still existed if it was still around?
Oh, It's finally snowing outside
Hopefully it will stick
Doubt it will though
It always seems to heat up or the ground is already too wet and it melts the snow
Oh yeah, Christmas is in a few days
I should probably get presents for everyone soon
I have no idea what anyone wants though
I guess I'll have to text Aaron and Clint individually and ask what the other might want
I'll probably end up getting them games
Especially since they can usually afford everything they need
Mom will be tougher
Window-shopping may be my only option in that regard
She never talks about what she needs beyond help around the house
And then getting frustrated because she has too much on her plate
Maybe if she didn't start so many different projects at once then that wouldn't be an issue
Feh, I shouldn't get into t
State of AngerThis anger takes control without my consent
Taking the helm away from better judgment
Looking for those who choose lives of ignorance
While readying a harpoon of rage and disappointment
That will only lead to petty conflict
I try to rein it in
This monster of bitter feelings
But others simply goad it on
Thinking it nothing more than a joke
That leaves me with wounds and scars
It boils within me
Always ready to vent itself
Like boiler steam escaping the pipes
Scalding flesh to the bone
And revealing tender nerves
But it is no hulking behemoth
That pounds and roars with fury
But more of a chained-up beast
Seething its feelings of frustration
Rather than those of hate
Poetry of FictionSolfesol, great Solfesol!
If only you were here
Full in form and imbued with strength!
Yet fate has locked you away!
No, not fate, not truly
Men locked you away, the children of Gaea
Ignorant, wasteful, and numerous creatures
Fearful of judgment that has yet to come
They should be fearful, this much is true
But not of you! Not their protector! Not their noble patron!
They say you're too powerful, a monster to be
That is their justification for sealing you away!
I know the truth, however, and fear not to say it
They fear not you, but the sadness they cause you
The disappointment of a parent whose children have run astray
You always showed kindness, compassion, and wisdom
Showing the way to truth and great progress
But even as you steered men forward and ahead
They would destroy, abuse, regret, and learn little
Yet as they failed, you always showed pride
You taught, you forgave, and punished with fairness
Despite the flaws that others deemed damnable
This is what shames them most of all
the truth about growing up
1. It's easier when you don't think.
1. It starts early,
on a cloudy day when you recall
the 'childhood memories' of
two summers ago,
that's when you start your backslide into
2. On the bright side
you won't notice this until you're
good and ripe in age,
so maybe it doesn't matter
3. That tightness in your chest?
The feeling that you're not ready
to take on the rest of your life; it
4. It stews in the pit of your stomach
makes you doubt,
but there will be days when you look back
on the mountains you climbed -
the raging rivers you crossed -
and you'll have a sneaking suspicion you were
more prepared than you thought.
5. There's nothing like your own bed.
6. Laundry will never smell right
without mom's sweat and tears.
But you still have to separate lights from darks,
keep the zippers pulled tight
and the buttons unhooked.
7. There is comfort in your parents' presence.
8. Things change
the future gnaws and rips
Southern modernizationBlack comedy market economy, banana peel political humour, cards with the cartels, the solution free room service and credit the union. Bolivar twist, ding dong dollar under control, valley of the coin desert with no value. Gangsta paradise, the victims are the people. Big mac and cold conflict interference a part of it all. In little Mexico you’d need a high horse to jump the great border wall that boasts its peak.
Viracocha melts waters unlike those it rose from, making waves of out of metal oceans to overtake the current south, re-steel, re-take, tech-mechs the entire south into neo-Machu Picchu, cyberpunk music moulding, reshaping old society into an new age, iron dynasty, fresh coat for an old, ancient look. The coattails of Quetzalcoatl if he were a modern man pull together the merge of future and long passed past..techno temples and the like.
LullabyHush, my baby,
Be still, don't cry.
Lay with me
A little while.
Close your eyes,
Slow your breath.
Hear your heart
Inside your chest?
Your heart is strong,
It guides you well.
Be sure to listen
To what it tells.
I hear him now,
Outside the room.
It won't be long,
He'll find us soon.
Now close your eyes,
Slow your breath,
And rest your head
Upon my chest.
Darkest MoonI celebrate my right to live;
To the dismay of some, perhaps
It should be noted
These words I write, however true
Are only portions of the moon
I’ve decide to shine light upon.
But who am I to preach respect?
Who Am I to preach equality?
An advocate for re-personification
Of the female gender
But exhibits cannibalistic characteristics
Within dark spaces.
I am a shadow
Hidden within an Eggshell, painted pink,
Waiting to hatch.
Is the darkness
The night brought upon us.
things to tell you before i leave for collegeto mrs hatcher:
i promise that one day i will write that poem you asked me for
(the only thing you ever asked me for)
and i will finally tell you that you deserve
so much more.
to mr. walker:
i promise that i will not pity you.
i promise that i will not envy you.
i promise that you will always be one of my forget-me-nots and marigolds.
i promise to always be grateful.
i promise to be careful.
i promise to be crazy.
i promise that i will remember what it feels like to be needed
and what it feels like to let someone who needs you down.
i promise that i will never resent you for asking for help
and that i will always be there when you do.
i promise that even sixty years from now,
i will not be surprised to find a letter from you in my mailbox.
i promise to always remember what it felt like to be young and crazy with you,
how scared and lonely we were.
i will remember that we both survived it,
and that we'll survive this, too.
CarolineYou loved the fire
of rogues -
imperfect men who shot up
the endings of the day
and drank down
too much beauty.
And like one of them,
you bellied with rebellion,
felt his tense seed
toil where women
and craved his notoriety.
Poor girl -
his verses won the day
and the call of words
was too fickle a lover
for any constant star.
Don't blame yourself -
are more attractive
and all poets are
You Were Born Missing SomethingYour skin is glazed with crystals of frost
and your heart's valves are close to
freezing shut tight
from being devoid of something
Though I am torrents of hail, whirling storms,
warm tears streaking,and tornadoes of rage
that flow uncontrollably through my veins
and out of my mouth,
every breath near you is warm
because your words are so cold
I am a natural disaster at its finest
with bones twisted in painful angles
and a crooked spine
you were born spineless
it was a broken sense of beautifulhis smile was like dust caught
in sunlight; more like a dreamy state
of being than reality, like the half-
remembered yesterday that still haunts your
memories because you
didn't want to forget how it
we'd lie on the floor with
slats of light shot across the ceiling, drinking
in the atmosphere
with windows propped open by
books and yellowed pages,
and by the time
we wandered into sleep, we were drunk instead
smell of roses --
he was a broken kind of beautiful, a
beautiful kind of flawed; love-letters, anonymous
and never sent littered
the dusty floorboards beneath his
of what we were before
love found it's way
back around; hours passed in a sunset haze
as my fingers ghosted over words
he'd written half-asleep, ink smudged on his fingers --
they say the music
comes when your heart's about to break, more
like a whimper than a bang; but i've
never heard a song so
sweet, and this sense of lovely has found it's home
inside my bones --
That Which Has Not Yet BeenIt is such a splendid feeling when one forms an idea.
Even more so when they bring it to life.
They give it a soul, a body, a mind, a belief, a personality, a goal, a past, a present, and a future.
But then, when it is ready to be brought to life, it is vanquished due to events beyond its control.
It may yet live another day, but till then, it must sit and wait.
A story yet to be lived is right around the corner.
It will forge bonds of friendship, of hate, of respect, of contempt, and of family.
It will remember what was lost and lose what was remembered.
But new goals, new dreams, new allies shall be found.
The mind and body will change, but change is what it will seek.
Though it has yet to live a day, that day shall indeed be lived.
Volpi.You will find that the story you tell
is very rarely your own. In Lucca,
even the smallest pebbles
breathe in the warm sunlight.
Knotted stones and cobbled roads
beat out a paper-dry heartbeat heat
my city breathes in and out,
inhales sparrow air.
It's writing a story.
You are the pen.
You will find that in Lucca
the daisy chains forge fire
in side streets and back alleys.
Teenagers intertwine. Tell me,
odd flower, are you still closed?
Here we are colored wax;
the heat of the city melts us.
We run into each other, rhapsody
of pigments. Operas are our specialties.
Open up; feel the reds.
If not, try and see them. There is a place
of deep knife marks, a street
long as midnight
you may learn something there.
Valentina's voice glimmers like red wine.
You may enjoy intoxications. Still,
know alcohol has no story
and will swallow your own.
Find the sign with the wolf on it.
You'll know the place. Epiphanies ring true as church-bells.
Lucca still guides the wanderers
to well sp
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