A/N: At this time I would just like to point out the fact that riliss is god behind a keyboard.
Robotic Aftertrace
Eye to eye, industrialized
products we're materialized
side by side,
let's take a
step
To find out that our limbs obstruct
and every path is misconstrued
the road ahead is plotted out
yet in our minds we feel the doubt
the movements, how they feel surreal
eject our drives and let's reveal
our excuses for conformity
who's to blame? society
When we've lived our lives
and walked our walks,
tell me how we'll trace
the footsteps of our robotic shape.
A
building.
That's all it is, a
building.
the pieces of the kingdom I watched
from afar
to admire and praise - heaps of praise,
that in the end were too much for the buttresses.
They are trying to rebuild it,
even now,
working day and night
but everything is lost to rubble
and I am dead
until the end of days.
my mouth is full of winsome lies -
and eyes are full of death besides
but luckily the soul is wise -
it sees beyond my blindness and
forced failure makes a better guise,
so as i come again alive,
it feels like life's a decent plan
I wish you were my lover in a past life
because the way you feign ignorance
at my slightest flaws
was something that you've lived before
and the way you retract each word
with your resounding silence
brims me with curiosity
for it's something that you've done before
so for that I ask
"what is love but a memoir?"
in it's demystified state
in it's platitudinization
what is a novel without sequence
you've told me once
that every ramble goes without an end
and ink dries without a moment's lapse
but déjà vu be damned
for the way your moon skin resonates
with past lovers and friends
makes me all the more wanting
and all the more jealous
for if I wasn't there then
am I truly here now?
notice the sun setting
.............................why,
he bleeds, he bleeds! or
flutters with the immodesty
of a snowflake;
it nears my head and I
..............................cannot
think, cannot wonder
anything less mundane or less
visceral than you
.......................possibly
reading this poem, these
words! pressed against the
sheet like a lover to a
window. to know, how I
................................wish
I could! but I am
......................filled
with that Dantean notion of
love; you are no angel but
close enough for the
irrelevancy of the fact to
be my way home as I walk
...................................south
........................for the winter.
As my worn hands caress
Your perfect, porcelain face
I uncover shrapnel behind the veil
The wilt of the rose
The crumbling bust
All this time were you hiding,
From the heartbreak phantom?
I’m so sorry that my human hands
Were too feeble to mend
The gaping chasms of your soul
Faithful wives shall be waiting
At the cold of the doorstep.
Like a leaf floating in an autumn breeze,
Your words glide from your mouth so true,
With the presence of one hundred seas,
Your lush eyes ebb in an icy blue,
In a seconds time does your mind compute,
A sentence with a plethora of meaning,
And no one can in their life refute,
That there's never been such a perfect being,
In your life bring joy to all,
Make good use of yourself so fine,
Just don't break another heart for,
You've already broken the heart of mine,
Private Mod Note
():
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Temporarily retired from the game
Thanks a bunch to Rivenor from Miraculous Recovery Signatures for the awesome sigpic!
you don't know it yet but we're going to be together forever
you're untouchable
a serendipitous sculpture a thousand years old
a master crafted instrument behind a black velvet rope
you've got me lost like an art student
at a gallery of fragile history and hope
and when you find yourself suddenly surrounded by crows
and the noise grows louder until everyone knows
all the secrets you hold and the sadness behind your smile
it shouldn't surprise you that i'm already at your side
i have to believe there's an exit beyond the trap door
and that sometimes it's safer to leave through the floor.
don't miss what could be ideal
just because you're already here
one kiss could be the seal
of royal wax upon a letter sent
i'm tired of returning to sender, sober
could a cloudy truth be anymore clear?
to live and breathe and wander the street
is to be alive... but i still live with fear.
now that we know for sure that everyone misses you
can we please stop trying to drag our fingers in the dust?
no matter how many times we wash our hands
i never have the strength to contain this lust.
To the supposedly slashed heart
The edgeless breeze is like a serrated knife
That kisses the skin with the sounds of goodbyes,
Scarring sadness to the seams of the sockets and eyes
And cutting out the salty ocean within.
But while we stand here before these empty streets,
The quiet zephyr whispers to us a gentle greeting
Which we reply back with wasted time,
Giving hours away,
Waiting
Till we break word with the wind.
Frozen like statues,
We watched the diamond dusts
Waltzing around the street-lit stars that rested
On thin iron twigs
Rooted firm to the white below
And wished if only we could be as immortal as they were.
In the place where cars only stop
We stand where their engines once died
And gazed at the white above
Watching how close they drifted together,
How slow they moved with grace,
And how quickly they spread and fell apart
From one to one
To soon depart
To the ground below,
Like flies.
As I reminisced then
While he looked forward
We both knew
How fast the dusts would drift away
And I too would be one year further gone.
So we promised,
Before the second one could touch the ground
And I would be beyond six,
We could be young again when I grew old,
And closed our eyes then,
Waiting
For when the wind would kiss our skins,
And when my soul leaves away.
You're hungry for pleasure
so let me craft your mouth
with scissors,
and shape a lotus out of it
-A blossom of razor blades,
making your gums bleed,
choking you till you can't breathe,
And wounding your tongue
because I can't stand the way you talk
With your over-sentimental overtones
spoken in staccatos,
irritating me with lullabies
of your second-hand lies
You disgust me, you pathetic nonentity
Leave out of my sight before I make up my mind,
and bury your head beneath your ***-stained pillows,
suffocating you until your body
feels as empty as your soul
Well, you're an Art Major so let's blend
our lifestyles with a splash of red,
while we impress your professor
with a portfolio of your paintings
-Self-portraits of your beautiful corpse
laced with imperfect parts
How I love your choice of shades:
how the blues of your bruises associated well
with the moods of a bipolar patient
I stroked the brush so carefully on your skin,
as it turned whiter than the canvas
to show you how much I’ve cleansed your pride
deep inside
our complex
so eat some pastel, my Beloved
because the art of dying could taste
sweeter than sex
My eyes need to retrace your figure
to capture inspiration out of your fading silhouette
But I'm more of a novelist than an artist
so when I express death through creativity,
I don't just present it with a mere image,
I stimulate the images in your mind vividly
as if the world you've been living in
was an illusion all along
And I do it well with words
Yes, just words
I know, they're much easier to produce
than pictures in your sketchbooks,
but a story is all I need to affect you,
to show you what I’ve been through
Even though your pictures are worth
a thousand words to you,
my thousand words are still worth
a million pictures to me
To A Friend For Whom I Swear I Don't Have a Healthy Obsession
(note: that was the working title of this piece)
i.
You're probably thinking "he's
at it again! If I just turn away now"
but please don't because what fun
would that be? Then, maybe, I can
walk home and admire the beauty
of the sidewalk instead of your name.
ii.
I am not in love. I look at you
and smile, but what does that mean if
I smile more loudly than I've ever
laughed and maybe you've never realized
because you don't ever look? Perhaps
he does have a heart! Or I am
imagining and he is only a poet, writing
from the pen and paper in its place.
You are beautiful. I strain to be more
frank, more brutally honest than this
but I am hopelessly enamored, why? I
struggle to know as I try not to watch
your face too carefully as you read this
bitter elegy to my indifference.
iii.
You have no doubt realized by now that
I, like any modern-day O'Hara, am quietly
waiting for the catastrophe of my personality
to collapse upon itself and one day
find me semiconscious beneath the rubble
and maybe I'll be thinking of you, who knows?
I swear I don't have a crush on you
or anything so complacently juvenile
to be construed as cliché or at worst
cute because it's not like I
love you, not exactly.
---
I ended up giving this poem to said friend in an attempt to win her heart or something like that.
six eighths
-
rhythm an awful clip
don't give me any lip
you'll never fit
you'll never fit
barrel a stock to hold
lighters above the fold
mesmerized movement slows
you'll never quit
you'll never quit
clap your hands loud six times
missing two pairs of hands
walk as the naked rise
trouble comes after plans
happiness comes and goes
rhythm is always there
six eighths can always know
your clapping everywhere
glued eye lids on their face
can't look at your disgrace
chopped up to little bits
we never noticed it
refrigerate the parts
that can't go in the ground
one arm an open wound
your plans are over soon
bulge your eyeballs out wide
stuck inside until then
rotating head on neck
quirks always make the man
something is hit six times
something is finalized
he's got a lot to learn
we've got a lot to burn
you'll never fit
you'll never fit
three quarters vocalized
one quarter ostracized
you'll never quit
you'll never quit
finish those rapid looks
you shouldn't read those books
my mouth is full of winsome lies -
and eyes are full of death besides
but luckily the soul is wise -
it sees beyond my blindness and
forced failure makes a better guise,
so as i come again alive,
it feels like life's a decent plan
I see no sorrow,
No grief for the cadaverous leaves,
Not a thought for the fallen trees.
What I expect is far more,
The sacred link between our cores.
I see the sorrow,
The wilting of summer’s petal,
Precede the stand of insurgent nettle.
The call of winter’s bated breath,
Forever cycles this reign of death.
I feel the sorrow,
The life by nature dies again,
But intercedes the hand of man.
A mark pure of moving time,
Hides not the horror of man’s crime.
To know the sorrow,
The suffering hidden in Gaea’s silence,
The beat of pain’s eternal cadence.
See forever the grave of debt,
Feel forever selfless regret.
"They have no pretense of thought, no minds. They can only react to actions presented to them by people like us. Alone, they are nothing--nothing more than machine. No feeling, no emotion, no soul."
-Renee Descartes
People like us
Have once gambled with death
We bartered with him on prices for fur
What fashions we wear
Made of some mother's child.
While the little ones hide
In corners and holes,
They have nowhere to run
From the flames we breathe
And the poisons we burn.
What lonely statues we carve of mountains,
What lakes we make of rivers and streams,
What fairies we swat,
What flowers we kill,
We skewer the ugly for beauty is truth.
And not all that glistens ought to be gold,
Not all who suffer ought to be saved,
If it have no use,
Then it is merely a faulty machine
One without feelings, emotions, or soul.
Oh but we are never to blame,
For what words we say,
What reasons we tell,
They belong only to greater possessions
At the mercy and reigns
In the hands of change
Which we derive out of necessity, not choice
For practicality, not sentiment
For people, not humanity
For utility, not lives.
sleet comes through the window when i smoke, i know
my delusions of grandeur are a reflection of my depression
when i smile, i see it, when i’m happy, i’m crazy
that’s why i waltz in four, and no one dances with me
i’m a pupae, faking flying
do i fool anyone, falling from buildings?
i remember to forget
the snake venom and charmers
and rifleless joggers
i stab myself and the nurse
before asking where the gause is
i forget to forgive
myself with my mind the sieve,
on a box,
on rocks,
sick with seuss and smallpox
moonlight is meaning less now
i’m the face’s meaningless furrowed brow
there are circles going up
though the days keep me anchored down
every time, when worlds collide,
with cliches everywhere, an unturned tide,
i feel you coming
with pronoun changes
and metaphoric phrases.
i assure you,
it’s true.
i feel the rumble on the tracks,
always on a summer day.
i remember the words the image lacks -
in my arms,
in my dreams -
i’m always with you,
rolling in the leaves.
every time I turned the gear I did it well, striving to succeed in a world never meant for me. I am of the certain breed breathing to spin of my own volition, broken free from the faceless gyre slouching toward oblivion (the modern wet dream centerfold). what cryptic seed took root inside my being that I should seek the secret pattern of all things: the forms and languages laying just beneath, that call to me but remain out of reach? I turn to ancient leaves and the pharmacopeia of trees to unfold the blind realities, and though I perceive the subtle threads within the weave, I have yet to dramatically affect this rigid reality. it may be written for me to always feel set apart, but I will never stop my pursuit of the great and hidden art.
Once upon a time there was
A man of Politico stature
But only amongst his friends.
He would rant and rave
On topics of dire
Importance that no one
Seemed to understand.
The talking heads on the
TV and radio would pick his
Brain, thoroughly. For his
Ideas.
The fire would burn in him
Night after night after night
As the race became tighter
The electorate tense.
He would ball up his hands
And feet in anticipation
For the big event, which his
People eventually won.
A year has passed and the
Politico man has grown tired.
His eyes sag like old leather
Handbags. His face is creased like
O so many used and discarded
Cocktail napkins with boy’s numbers.
He feels defeated, even with his
People’s victory.
You left me for the last time today
Picked up all your clothes from the floor
Told me that you had to go away
Opened up the bedroom door
Kissed me goodbye and said you’d be back
Waited in the bedroom that we shared
For you to realize your mistake in leaving
Before I realized why I shouldn’t be scared
It was not you who was running
I just wasn’t listening to your pleas
Broke your heart when I was stalling
When you asked me what I wanted for you
Even though for you I was falling
And all that I said before was true
For that I cannot forgive myself
Pushed you away with all my faults
Sometimes would not even wake up next to you
Walking the halls thinking of my doubts
And I could not even take the clue
That it was the fault of my selfishness
If you would only come back I would change
In these arms made to hold only you
Could not bring myself to say words that were strange
Yet those words would have lifted your blues
Too scared to even show you my thoughts
Private Mod Note
():
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
MTGS: You guys do not speak for the wider Magic community despite what you guys think.
708th at Grand Prix: Toronto 2013
Modern: U/R Delver, RUG Scapeshift, Pod
Standard: Jeskai Tempo
Legacy: Dredge, Burn
Pauper: Mono-U Delver
EDH: Ghave, Token Master
what do you reflect in all the thoughts of modern man
the light bounces up a skyscraper hitting heaven's gate
reaching up to aspire to the best of modern plans
don't you know god's up above: he made plane tickets off this place
laughing from the world he made to get away from life and death
the pipe, the bud, the glass, the thud, the burning smell of incense tells
stories you'd rather keep hush-hush
and when i talk of me all doing what I do
it's not nearly as intriguing as what's happening to you
with all your short, laissez-faire stances
one shoe drops, the other glances
two parts of harmonies joined; at this moment I am certain
we're entwined in closing curtains
there's part of life left lost like lover's lanes laced loosely looping, and
you'd swoop, or fly the coop, and escape now if you could
turn faster, turn slower, the clocks are in danger:
teeth flicker, eyes glower, the time has rearranged her
mind stutters, lips pucker, skin withers - be ginger,
the touch like those memories leaves bruises that linger -
we can't match up to what we were, can't look up to what we want,
but maybe we can make obsolete the people who can't talk
my mouth is full of winsome lies -
and eyes are full of death besides
but luckily the soul is wise -
it sees beyond my blindness and
forced failure makes a better guise,
so as i come again alive,
it feels like life's a decent plan
To post a comment, please login or register a new account.
Robotic Aftertrace
Eye to eye, industrialized
products we're materialized
side by side,
let's take a
step
To find out that our limbs obstruct
and every path is misconstrued
the road ahead is plotted out
yet in our minds we feel the doubt
the movements, how they feel surreal
eject our drives and let's reveal
our excuses for conformity
who's to blame? society
When we've lived our lives
and walked our walks,
tell me how we'll trace
the footsteps of our robotic shape.
I can see you in the darkness,
A shining glow of light,
You pave my way every day,
So beautiful and bright,
I've always wanted to tell you,
That I've never felt so good,
When I walk with you and talk with you,
I think I really should...
Say that I love you.
But you've always seen me as a friend,
A novelty at best,
That's a problem I'd like to mend,
Girl, you are so blessed,
I see you each and everyday,
And always wish you knew,
How much I love your presence,
And how I've wanted to...
Say that I love you.
But day will pass without yourself,
So wonderful, sublime,
And more and more I begin to doubt,
That you'll ever be mine,
Now I'm left in desolation,
How will I ever cope,
There's only one way to pass the time,
I've only left to hope,
That you love me too.
Wowza... that came from the heart.
Temporarily retired from the game
Thanks a bunch to Rivenor from Miraculous Recovery Signatures for the awesome sigpic!
Rage quit reason of the moment:
Round 77 is open until January 29th, or after 10 entries have been submitted.
special thanks to sentimentgx4 for the sig
Pourquoi?
A
building.
That's all it is, a
building.
the pieces of the kingdom I watched
from afar
to admire and praise - heaps of praise,
that in the end were too much for the buttresses.
They are trying to rebuild it,
even now,
working day and night
but everything is lost to rubble
and I am dead
until the end of days.
and eyes are full of death besides
but luckily the soul is wise -
it sees beyond my blindness and
forced failure makes a better guise,
so as i come again alive,
it feels like life's a decent plan
Rooftop
Laughing at the
Sun
Sitting on the
Hardtop
Carrying a
Gun
When you get the
Feeling
Run until you're
Done
Hold it when you're
Reeling
If you want some
Fun
Sitting in the
City
Trying to catch
Rain
Put it in a
Bucket
Wash away your
Pain
When you have a
Fever
Gotta let it
Drain
Then the colours
Run
And you end up with a
Stain
1. Secular Humanism
2. Secular Millenarianism
b.Transhumanism
c. secular altruism
4. Existentialism
5. Intellectualism
6. Atheism
7. Realism
b. philosophic
c. contructive
9. Egalitarianism
b. feminism
11. Liberal conservatism
12. Anti-consumerism
13. Reductionism
I wish you were my lover in a past life
because the way you feign ignorance
at my slightest flaws
was something that you've lived before
and the way you retract each word
with your resounding silence
brims me with curiosity
for it's something that you've done before
so for that I ask
"what is love but a memoir?"
in it's demystified state
in it's platitudinization
what is a novel without sequence
you've told me once
that every ramble goes without an end
and ink dries without a moment's lapse
but déjà vu be damned
for the way your moon skin resonates
with past lovers and friends
makes me all the more wanting
and all the more jealous
for if I wasn't there then
am I truly here now?
notice the sun setting
.............................why,
he bleeds, he bleeds! or
flutters with the immodesty
of a snowflake;
it nears my head and I
..............................cannot
think, cannot wonder
anything less mundane or less
visceral than you
.......................possibly
reading this poem, these
words! pressed against the
sheet like a lover to a
window. to know, how I
................................wish
I could! but I am
......................filled
with that Dantean notion of
love; you are no angel but
close enough for the
irrelevancy of the fact to
be my way home as I walk
...................................south
........................for the winter.
I can think of no one
Who has remained still
Throughout their life
Still I can see
Through your green eyes
A falling leaf
Condescending
You dare to stay still
Under the gentle breeze
That shakes the windmill
You chose to keep silence
Every secret to you trusted
You embrace it with glee
That's why I'm a man
And you a tree.
special thanks to sentimentgx4 for the sig
Pourquoi?
As my worn hands caress
Your perfect, porcelain face
I uncover shrapnel behind the veil
The wilt of the rose
The crumbling bust
All this time were you hiding,
From the heartbreak phantom?
I’m so sorry that my human hands
Were too feeble to mend
The gaping chasms of your soul
Faithful wives shall be waiting
At the cold of the doorstep.
So Long
Like a leaf floating in an autumn breeze,
Your words glide from your mouth so true,
With the presence of one hundred seas,
Your lush eyes ebb in an icy blue,
In a seconds time does your mind compute,
A sentence with a plethora of meaning,
And no one can in their life refute,
That there's never been such a perfect being,
In your life bring joy to all,
Make good use of yourself so fine,
Just don't break another heart for,
You've already broken the heart of mine,
Temporarily retired from the game
Thanks a bunch to Rivenor from Miraculous Recovery Signatures for the awesome sigpic!
Rage quit reason of the moment:
you're untouchable
a serendipitous sculpture a thousand years old
a master crafted instrument behind a black velvet rope
you've got me lost like an art student
at a gallery of fragile history and hope
and when you find yourself suddenly surrounded by crows
and the noise grows louder until everyone knows
all the secrets you hold and the sadness behind your smile
it shouldn't surprise you that i'm already at your side
i have to believe there's an exit beyond the trap door
and that sometimes it's safer to leave through the floor.
don't miss what could be ideal
just because you're already here
one kiss could be the seal
of royal wax upon a letter sent
i'm tired of returning to sender, sober
could a cloudy truth be anymore clear?
to live and breathe and wander the street
is to be alive... but i still live with fear.
now that we know for sure that everyone misses you
can we please stop trying to drag our fingers in the dust?
no matter how many times we wash our hands
i never have the strength to contain this lust.
GWU Bant Manifest - The Future Is Here. Or it will be at the end of turn. GWU
The edgeless breeze is like a serrated knife
That kisses the skin with the sounds of goodbyes,
Scarring sadness to the seams of the sockets and eyes
And cutting out the salty ocean within.
But while we stand here before these empty streets,
The quiet zephyr whispers to us a gentle greeting
Which we reply back with wasted time,
Giving hours away,
Waiting
Till we break word with the wind.
Frozen like statues,
We watched the diamond dusts
Waltzing around the street-lit stars that rested
On thin iron twigs
Rooted firm to the white below
And wished if only we could be as immortal as they were.
In the place where cars only stop
We stand where their engines once died
And gazed at the white above
Watching how close they drifted together,
How slow they moved with grace,
And how quickly they spread and fell apart
From one to one
To soon depart
To the ground below,
Like flies.
As I reminisced then
While he looked forward
We both knew
How fast the dusts would drift away
And I too would be one year further gone.
So we promised,
Before the second one could touch the ground
And I would be beyond six,
We could be young again when I grew old,
And closed our eyes then,
Waiting
For when the wind would kiss our skins,
And when my soul leaves away.
Round 78 is up until February 5th or until 10 poems.
Please check the rules update at the first page of this thread.
special thanks to sentimentgx4 for the sig
Pourquoi?
You're hungry for pleasure
so let me craft your mouth
with scissors,
and shape a lotus out of it
-A blossom of razor blades,
making your gums bleed,
choking you till you can't breathe,
And wounding your tongue
because I can't stand the way you talk
With your over-sentimental overtones
spoken in staccatos,
irritating me with lullabies
of your second-hand lies
You disgust me, you pathetic nonentity
Leave out of my sight before I make up my mind,
and bury your head beneath your ***-stained pillows,
suffocating you until your body
feels as empty as your soul
Well, you're an Art Major so let's blend
our lifestyles with a splash of red,
while we impress your professor
with a portfolio of your paintings
-Self-portraits of your beautiful corpse
laced with imperfect parts
How I love your choice of shades:
how the blues of your bruises associated well
with the moods of a bipolar patient
I stroked the brush so carefully on your skin,
as it turned whiter than the canvas
to show you how much I’ve cleansed your pride
deep inside
our complex
so eat some pastel, my Beloved
because the art of dying could taste
sweeter than sex
My eyes need to retrace your figure
to capture inspiration out of your fading silhouette
But I'm more of a novelist than an artist
so when I express death through creativity,
I don't just present it with a mere image,
I stimulate the images in your mind vividly
as if the world you've been living in
was an illusion all along
And I do it well with words
Yes, just words
I know, they're much easier to produce
than pictures in your sketchbooks,
but a story is all I need to affect you,
to show you what I’ve been through
Even though your pictures are worth
a thousand words to you,
my thousand words are still worth
a million pictures to me
(note: that was the working title of this piece)
i.
You're probably thinking "he's
at it again! If I just turn away now"
but please don't because what fun
would that be? Then, maybe, I can
walk home and admire the beauty
of the sidewalk instead of your name.
ii.
I am not in love. I look at you
and smile, but what does that mean if
I smile more loudly than I've ever
laughed and maybe you've never realized
because you don't ever look? Perhaps
he does have a heart! Or I am
imagining and he is only a poet, writing
from the pen and paper in its place.
You are beautiful. I strain to be more
frank, more brutally honest than this
but I am hopelessly enamored, why? I
struggle to know as I try not to watch
your face too carefully as you read this
bitter elegy to my indifference.
iii.
You have no doubt realized by now that
I, like any modern-day O'Hara, am quietly
waiting for the catastrophe of my personality
to collapse upon itself and one day
find me semiconscious beneath the rubble
and maybe I'll be thinking of you, who knows?
I swear I don't have a crush on you
or anything so complacently juvenile
to be construed as cliché or at worst
cute because it's not like I
love you, not exactly.
---
I ended up giving this poem to said friend in an attempt to win her heart or something like that.
Oh, high school love.
six eighths
-
rhythm an awful clip
don't give me any lip
you'll never fit
you'll never fit
barrel a stock to hold
lighters above the fold
mesmerized movement slows
you'll never quit
you'll never quit
clap your hands loud six times
missing two pairs of hands
walk as the naked rise
trouble comes after plans
happiness comes and goes
rhythm is always there
six eighths can always know
your clapping everywhere
glued eye lids on their face
can't look at your disgrace
chopped up to little bits
we never noticed it
refrigerate the parts
that can't go in the ground
one arm an open wound
your plans are over soon
bulge your eyeballs out wide
stuck inside until then
rotating head on neck
quirks always make the man
something is hit six times
something is finalized
he's got a lot to learn
we've got a lot to burn
you'll never fit
you'll never fit
three quarters vocalized
one quarter ostracized
you'll never quit
you'll never quit
finish those rapid looks
you shouldn't read those books
and eyes are full of death besides
but luckily the soul is wise -
it sees beyond my blindness and
forced failure makes a better guise,
so as i come again alive,
it feels like life's a decent plan
Our Debt
I see no sorrow,
No grief for the cadaverous leaves,
Not a thought for the fallen trees.
What I expect is far more,
The sacred link between our cores.
I see the sorrow,
The wilting of summer’s petal,
Precede the stand of insurgent nettle.
The call of winter’s bated breath,
Forever cycles this reign of death.
I feel the sorrow,
The life by nature dies again,
But intercedes the hand of man.
A mark pure of moving time,
Hides not the horror of man’s crime.
To know the sorrow,
The suffering hidden in Gaea’s silence,
The beat of pain’s eternal cadence.
See forever the grave of debt,
Feel forever selfless regret.
My Custom Set: Solescurio
-Renee Descartes
People like us
Have once gambled with death
We bartered with him on prices for fur
What fashions we wear
Made of some mother's child.
While the little ones hide
In corners and holes,
They have nowhere to run
From the flames we breathe
And the poisons we burn.
What lonely statues we carve of mountains,
What lakes we make of rivers and streams,
What fairies we swat,
What flowers we kill,
We skewer the ugly for beauty is truth.
And not all that glistens ought to be gold,
Not all who suffer ought to be saved,
If it have no use,
Then it is merely a faulty machine
One without feelings, emotions, or soul.
Oh but we are never to blame,
For what words we say,
What reasons we tell,
They belong only to greater possessions
At the mercy and reigns
In the hands of change
Which we derive out of necessity, not choice
For practicality, not sentiment
For people, not humanity
For utility, not lives.
The Sun Told Me To Shine Today
The Sun told me to shine today,
but I danced my dance with Breeze all night,
and it said that I should stay a while.
When morning dawned,
I told Breeze that The Sun was up,
and it was time for me to radiate.
It tempted me with cooling shades,
and pleas of wind the air grew great.
When his blowing lust could not waver,
Breeze became a Hurricane,
and howled it's airy rage.
In chilling gloom,
and thrashing doom,
The Sun shined down on me
"Worry not, my friend.
For you alone are the voice of warmth,
and the light is within you."
So I weathered through the biting storm,
and transformed into a brighter form.
sleet comes through the window when i smoke, i know
my delusions of grandeur are a reflection of my depression
when i smile, i see it, when i’m happy, i’m crazy
that’s why i waltz in four, and no one dances with me
i’m a pupae, faking flying
do i fool anyone, falling from buildings?
i remember to forget
the snake venom and charmers
and rifleless joggers
i stab myself and the nurse
before asking where the gause is
i forget to forgive
myself with my mind the sieve,
on a box,
on rocks,
sick with seuss and smallpox
moonlight is meaning less now
i’m the face’s meaningless furrowed brow
there are circles going up
though the days keep me anchored down
every time, when worlds collide,
with cliches everywhere, an unturned tide,
i feel you coming
with pronoun changes
and metaphoric phrases.
i assure you,
it’s true.
i feel the rumble on the tracks,
always on a summer day.
i remember the words the image lacks -
in my arms,
in my dreams -
i’m always with you,
rolling in the leaves.
GWU Bant Manifest - The Future Is Here. Or it will be at the end of turn. GWU
every time I turned the gear I did it well,
striving to succeed in a world never meant for me.
I am of the certain breed breathing to spin of my own volition,
broken free from the faceless gyre slouching toward oblivion
(the modern wet dream centerfold).
what cryptic seed took root inside my being
that I should seek the secret pattern of all things:
the forms and languages laying just beneath, that
call to me but remain out of reach? I turn to ancient
leaves and the pharmacopeia of trees to unfold the blind realities,
and though I perceive the subtle threads within the weave,
I have yet to dramatically affect this rigid reality.
it may be written for me to always feel set apart,
but I will never stop my pursuit of the great and hidden art.
[Clan Flamingo]
Once upon a time there was
A man of Politico stature
But only amongst his friends.
He would rant and rave
On topics of dire
Importance that no one
Seemed to understand.
The talking heads on the
TV and radio would pick his
Brain, thoroughly. For his
Ideas.
The fire would burn in him
Night after night after night
As the race became tighter
The electorate tense.
He would ball up his hands
And feet in anticipation
For the big event, which his
People eventually won.
A year has passed and the
Politico man has grown tired.
His eyes sag like old leather
Handbags. His face is creased like
O so many used and discarded
Cocktail napkins with boy’s numbers.
He feels defeated, even with his
People’s victory.
Apathy is not the same as withdrawing
In disgust.
Round 79 is open until February 15th or until 10 poems.
special thanks to sentimentgx4 for the sig
Pourquoi?
Gone
You left me for the last time today
Picked up all your clothes from the floor
Told me that you had to go away
Opened up the bedroom door
Kissed me goodbye and said you’d be back
Waited in the bedroom that we shared
For you to realize your mistake in leaving
Before I realized why I shouldn’t be scared
It was not you who was running
I just wasn’t listening to your pleas
Broke your heart when I was stalling
When you asked me what I wanted for you
Even though for you I was falling
And all that I said before was true
For that I cannot forgive myself
Pushed you away with all my faults
Sometimes would not even wake up next to you
Walking the halls thinking of my doubts
And I could not even take the clue
That it was the fault of my selfishness
If you would only come back I would change
In these arms made to hold only you
Could not bring myself to say words that were strange
Yet those words would have lifted your blues
Too scared to even show you my thoughts
708th at Grand Prix: Toronto 2013
Modern: U/R Delver, RUG Scapeshift, Pod
Standard: Jeskai Tempo
Legacy: Dredge, Burn
Pauper: Mono-U Delver
EDH: Ghave, Token Master
what do you reflect in all the thoughts of modern man
the light bounces up a skyscraper hitting heaven's gate
reaching up to aspire to the best of modern plans
don't you know god's up above: he made plane tickets off this place
laughing from the world he made to get away from life and death
the pipe, the bud, the glass, the thud, the burning smell of incense tells
stories you'd rather keep hush-hush
and when i talk of me all doing what I do
it's not nearly as intriguing as what's happening to you
with all your short, laissez-faire stances
one shoe drops, the other glances
two parts of harmonies joined; at this moment I am certain
we're entwined in closing curtains
there's part of life left lost like lover's lanes laced loosely looping, and
you'd swoop, or fly the coop, and escape now if you could
turn faster, turn slower, the clocks are in danger:
teeth flicker, eyes glower, the time has rearranged her
mind stutters, lips pucker, skin withers - be ginger,
the touch like those memories leaves bruises that linger -
we can't match up to what we were, can't look up to what we want,
but maybe we can make obsolete the people who can't talk
and eyes are full of death besides
but luckily the soul is wise -
it sees beyond my blindness and
forced failure makes a better guise,
so as i come again alive,
it feels like life's a decent plan