-
It's night-time in the city
Colorful lights and dashing cars
Homeless people caught up in self-pity
A caos of lights, sounds and stars
I stand still in the fast streams
Of cars, people, sounds and voices
Time is going ahead of me, it seems
Nothing bothers me, be it people or noises
As if the whole world around me
Was only colored in tones of grey
Suddenly, in the middle, I see
Another colored person, facing this way
I can't see a face. Who can that be?
She too is standing still, it seems
In the city resembling a raging sea
Like I was, I wonder what it all means
A busy road separates us from each other
I see that she was looking at me too
Looking around, thinking she meant another
Time was fast for everyone, except for us two
A bus passes by between the two of us
Blocking my view of her, Darned luck
As it drives past, I can't see her because
She seemed to have disappeared. F***.
Oh well. I don't know this even took place
But instead of being caught-up in sorrow
I'll just go back home, at a slow pace
Confident of another oportunity tomorrow.
-
Reassurances of life forever young, the glowing portal tempts you with images, the world of plastic.
Plastic money, plastic people, rigid flexibility.
Evolution of the writer, devolution of the language, Reality: The Abridged Version, Volume 3.
Save me, oh save that spark of genius in all.
Led into the beauty of mindlessness, I betray myself yet again.
Learn how to stab yourself in the back, Mass Media is offering lessons today!
Line 1: Television.
Line 2: Living off of credit, intangible numbers. "Plastic People" refers to both the collective illusion of beauty and the readiness of a person to jump to whatever crusade fits him or her best.
Line 3: Writers flock to blogs, the Internet. At the same time, the English language loses all meaning, thus reality becomes twisted. Despite being a post modernist, I believe this to be a dangerous thing. I'd rather reality be shattered and laid bare, not become some pathetic ruse. Also, I like the number 3.
Line 4: A plea.
Line 5: Screw that shit, I feel like watching television.
Line 6: I've realized that Mass Media is diluting the very language I love. Hey, did you hear about that new MTV show?
I could make this longer, not to mention make it flow better, but any extra would just be filler. Waste. Excrement.
<font size=-1>[ This Message was edited by: Solstis on 2005-09-09 09:13 ]</font>
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Standing by the window
Eyes upon the moon
Hoping that the memory
will leave her spirit soon
She shuts the doors and lights
And lays her body on the bed
Where images and words are
running deep
She has too much pride to pull
the sheets above her head
So quietly she lays and waits
for sleep
She stares at the ceiling
And tries not to think
And pictures the chains
She's been trying to link again
But the feeling is gone
And water can't cover her
memory
And ashes can't answer her
pain
God give me the power to take
breath from a breeze
And call life from a cold metal
frame
In with the ashes
Or up with the smoke from the
fire
With wings up in heaven
Or here, lying in bed
Palm of her hand to my head
Now and forever curled in my
heart
And the heart of the world
(by Moore)
-
In the Spirit
It's a cold day today.
'As cold as any other,'
Some do say.
Can't complain though;
The sun is shining,
Off I go.
Out and about, oh lonely me.
Places to be, people to meet,
Sights to see.
That day, every year,
Is nearing once again.
Do not fear.
Buy your gifts and capers;
Wrap them up in secrets.
Smiles beneath paper.
Friends and family cheer;
They're happy as ever.
Come, New Year!
These simple things do bring
A sense of happiness this day.
Something to sing!
How do you get to it,
That feeling of serenity?
In the Spirit.
EDIT: Whoops! Forgot to mention...
Happy Holidays everyone!
<font size=-1>[ This Message was edited by: WraithVerge on 2005-12-14 21:52 ]</font>
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I strike, I spin
But am beaten in
I launch, and I fire
But my enemies, they never tire
My resolve wearing thin,
I run from the din.
Ah, the failed killer for hire.
-me
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~
Ne'er defeated, though accused
the defendant stands 'gainst plaintiff true
Immortal by law, the sands of time
will weather the tyrant
'till his end draws nigh
-me
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~
Like a guitar, finely tuned
or a sparrow, asong in June
life's lilting melody flows
until its musician plays no more.
-me
-
This is a nice thread. I'll contribute with a little something I wrote a while back.
A truth from which all legends will rise
and within that fate,
it's seams we'll dispise.
Which in veil lay secrets
kept from our lips
which in veil lay secrets
that still rain depicts,
and in such silence
fall whales and our kings
where beneath endless heavens,
birds hide in their wings
and stare just to mimic
this weakest reply
and flow so abrupt
to the earth, from the sky
to bide
to protect
their seams in disguise.
To love and to cherish
our most hated of lies.
--------
9/21/04
Some people become so comfortable conforming to a superficial standard that when they struggle to make sense of they way they live their lives, it is at the expense of their own self esteem and well-being. There's a little more to this poem then just that, but it all revolves around that.
<font size=-1>[ This Message was edited by: Atayin on 2006-03-04 17:35 ]</font>
-
I'm back with more!
Sleep
I dreamt of a boat yesterday.
What was its name? I don't recall
much about what I dream. Ah,
here's another: a shimmering glade.
Who was that person? It doesn't matter.
How do I walk on the moon and learn Geometry?
And where am I now? Sleep
Is confusing. But I wake now.
I dreamt of a boat yesterday.
here's one that I'm still kind of working out:
A Brief Respite
Thrust, parry, retreat.
Thus is the pattern of life, you see.
An endless waltz of glimmering steel
We fight to survive, with only short leave
And while we take that brief respite,
We slumber restlessly through the night.
We wake, we rise, we dress, and then
Our three-beat lives begin again.
-
Stricken
Toughness, bedbound
Shockflattened.
Still at war.
For one instant the enemy a hidden stranger
unleashing from the clearing's edge
rocket-borne disaster to the hovering craft;
Now the enemy
crushed feet cast in white plaster
tortured frame rebelling with each command to move.
No, deny it, fight
the past tense whispers
talk of long recuperation
sheets' subversive invitation to relax.
No, goddam it
fight the deeper pain
lost command, aborted destiny;
A life, like a book
suddenly tiresome to an unknown reader
slammed shut.
Broken, bandaged body, pain raw
fighting the embrace of pillow and sheet
Infantry commander, eyes moist
against all resistance a tear
conquers stubbled cheek.
-
Doodle Days
Do you remember doodle days?
Those boring classes that made energy fade?
A pencil or pen was
Your savior then
And the doodle would come to your aid!
What fun you had with that pencil or pen
Shading in papers with "SHORYUKEN!"
Or whatever it was
That you drew because
You were falling asleep, dreaming then!
Doodle days, school days, how were they?
All the same or always lame, or just the standard student's bane?
A pencil or pen
Was your savior then
And you drew what you dreamt
Be it goals, gouls, or 50 Cent
Or did you pen poetry instead?
-
At the top of your game,
No one can beat this fame.
Greatest of all, only one around
Until it all comes crashing down.
On the tip of that mountain,
King of all and so proud.
Be happy with your golden crown
Before it all comes crashing down.
At the head of the table,
Boss of many, keeping it stable.
Mistakes happen, no time to frown
As it all comes crashing down.
At the climax of your day,
Everything going your way.
Holding your head in your hands now...
When it all comes crashing down.
Build yourself up, watch yourself fall.
There's no way to stop it,
Going to lose it all.
No need to cry, you are free now.
Only thing left to do is smile
While it all comes crashing down...
<font size=-1>[ This Message was edited by: WraithVerge on 2006-03-10 09:34 ]</font>