09-20-2005, 03:33 PM | #1221 |
Check mate.
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I seek my own personal space
as I take the journies from place to place I hate the whine, the daily grind the rolled up newspapers and cups I find so the least I ask is for my own seat where the air is clean and the cushion neat no nudging and barging or 'squashed like sardines' no screaming children or bitching teens I like a space near the window, no one blocking my view I like the aisle to be clear so I can walk through no pushing or moaning, no umbrellas wet from rain soaking my trousers as I groan in my 'pain' as I swing rail from rail, trying to push past standing on one persons foot, hit by one persons ass no children ringing bells more than once at a time no people stealing luggage, at least none that is mine, If only I didn't have to go with the rush maybe then I could afford to not take the bus All I ask is for comfort, space at arms length I'd walk the whole two miles if I had the strength.
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I AM FURIOUS
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09-22-2005, 02:05 AM | #1222 |
Stranger in a strange land.
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What else could it be, but a mask?
To hide the pain, to hide the shame, To dodge the simple questions asked? What else could it be, but a mask? Used to find those left behind, To instigate their task? What else could it be, but a mask? Forever fooling friends and foes alike, Forever hiding hellish thoughts from light? What else could it be, but a mask? Always acting as an ally, But bluntly breaking as we all die? What else could it be, but a mask?
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You know, I'd put up something witty and clever right now, but eh. I'm lazy.
Last edited by Cloud Strife; 09-29-2005 at 04:29 PM. |
09-26-2005, 10:57 PM | #1223 |
Oh hi! :D
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Random, short.
"Manufactured bliss" Rewind, play, overwrite Subtle, fey, too contrite Trouble, hey, not too fast Take time, say, make it last. Too dry, cut and paste So much, and to waste Reach out, deeper in Immerse now, once again. This manufactured bliss... Don't you think it has been long enough? |
09-27-2005, 01:27 AM | #1224 |
Stranger in a strange land.
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Stars
I wanna be somewhere that no light has ever been,
save for the moon's pale glow and starlight. I could stay there all night just to watch them pass up above, shining, twinkling in the distance. I could lay there and die peacefully, I could lay there and watch the stars all night... (But watch them die at the dawns march.) With that I would find rest in the darkness that my eyelids provide, the shade of a lone tree as company. Only to wake, refreshed, renewed, and greeted by the sun's departure from this world as friends greet me by the thousands upon thousands, new faces every night to smile with and recant tales long forgotten, except by those that watch from above, silently, the best listeners, the best audience. Finally, the tales told, the silence lingers, and I once again am called back to the world of artificial light, in company of friends of a different kind than those of above; the best listeners, the wisest story tellers. The daily routine begins again as I find myself in the world of artifice; nature not present here, I long for the place where no light has been, save for the moon's pale glow, and starlight.
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You know, I'd put up something witty and clever right now, but eh. I'm lazy.
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09-30-2005, 01:44 PM | #1225 | |
typical college boy
Join Date: Aug 2004
Location: Connecticut, USA
Posts: 1,783
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We were together and decided on breakfast at night.
Every question and scenario was asked with delight. Staring, guess what the other is thinking without blinking. Eat mints, she took the initiative, walk through the chilly night. Drop the keys, tickle and might, we're too cramped to fight. Play with her hair, give her a massage, damn my cowardice. Death and nervousness, what a pointless ritual, just do it. Forget everything I know in the universe but what I know of her. What a serene angel, consider my options, how pointless. The worst time to feel existential abandonment, I'm a wretch. Warm bosom, stiff cock, wet mouths, mangled head of hair. Over analyze the situation, there are no values in this universe. I hate humanity, just exist in the moment for once you coward. She wouldn't permit more than passionate kissing, how virtuous. I can be neither a hero nor an insect -- condemned to be human. But those few hours were a pleasurable torture, a nice investment. Not worth the pain of not succeeding, but an investment. Nights like these make me want to write poems afterwards, To prove that I really do exist and that one day I won't. Is everyone as cerebral this confused and foolish? I hope so.
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10-01-2005, 12:56 PM | #1226 |
Check mate.
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Something.
---- To those who believe, I salute your might, to those who decieve, I'll curse you on sight for I don't care much for those outspoken with your inflated ego and your heart so 'broken' (take this 'truth', as your sole life token...) to true men of thought, I'll aid your quest, to those with naught, I'll let you rest for a mind without power from ones own heart isn't truly your mind, just another players part (a pawn if you will, but don't make me start...) --- Something. I lack the inspiration and enthusiam to write anything that would remotely class as poetry lately. the bush on fire is no longer a real bush just burn'ed dead wood
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I AM FURIOUS
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10-01-2005, 01:02 PM | #1227 |
a big time clucker.
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boxers boxers
i wear them today in winnie the pooh i just thought i'd say.
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signatures are retarded. officially. |
10-01-2005, 01:18 PM | #1228 | |
Yar.
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Yay long poems!
Burnout The triumphs of flowers of most excellent thyme Are glossed over by plants of similar design. These young summer blooms are lost in the majesty Of the rest of the flowers; 'tis a horrible tragedy. And yet those late flowers that bloom in the fall Are more often remembered, more recognized by all; For their beauties and strengths are never denied Through no other flowers will their dominance be tried. They remind those with weary and weak constitutions Of beauty and truth through weak substitutions. So, then, which shall I be? A tender spring flower, unnoticed and free? Or one of those fall flowers, a slower late bloomer That snickers at those that yearn to bloom sooner? Are those that save strength for a less-trying time And are remebered because of it of superior design? No, I deny that ridiculous accusation The ones who try harder are the best of a nation. To give to the world the best of your singular passion Is by far much more precious than the remembrance of fashion. So thus I will toil, through work and desire - I will be at my peak and dare to climb higher I will give all my strength and count not the cost And bloom to the end, till winter's white frost.
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Last edited by Kikuichimonji; 10-01-2005 at 01:24 PM. |
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10-01-2005, 01:39 PM | #1229 |
a big time clucker.
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geeky geeky
if i were black i'd be named boomshiki. :whee:
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signatures are retarded. officially. |
10-01-2005, 04:25 PM | #1230 |
Check mate.
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Rooster, you're new so I'll explain a few things.
1. Do not feel the need to post in every thread just because you can. 2. You've started up a lot of new threads without much content. We can ban you from making new topics if this continues, I hope not to have to do that. 3. That poem classes as spam. We frown upon spam around here and I hope you'll re-evaluate what you want to gain from these forums. Thankyou.
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I AM FURIOUS
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