Dance of Skies
Atop the silver of beasts rampaging across the sky,
Visions of distant kingdoms, roaming as they fly.
Below, dunes of water glisten endlessly, fearing thoughts of being alone
As the sun shines a beacon for home.
Dullness. That’s where three o’clock brings you each morning:
stark naked, staring down your reflection on a slide
in the middle of the quintessential playground
in the middle of the quintessential August day
where everything around is dry heat and damp mulch
and whatever falls hard enough on it. Four o’clock creeps in
and the “No Loitering” sign pushes you off the fabled
top step like a disobedient memory, the sandbox bully
from the days when you thought all girls were animals
and animals talked too much. Things have changed: now
I’m the one talking to you as if you’re some silent auditor
but to be perfectly frank you needn’t feel obligated to stay that way.
All I’d love to do is hear your voice—
—don’t think of it that way!
—for a little while and stir the summer heat with a little spring
fog, just like when the world was young and we talked. We’re all
older but the world has her youth still — since when were slides
the darker pastimes of children? No, it isn’t like that at all: I
am not too self-absorbed in my own elegy to see what lies directly ahead
nor am I worried that the rain behind will graze my back. Uncertainly,
uncouthly I choke on the youthful days when Marie was standing
(uncertainty is only a theory)
at the bottom of the fog, ready to catch me should I
fall or breathe too deeply: they were not my own.
And now? Things have changed
at all. If I am in love
with you, then I am
in love with you. How quickly
we reach the bottom we call
now, or modernity! Everything
falls in toward the center
of everything
which is either made of chocolate or every love poem ever written. And as for me lately
even these poems are half-strangled. They were all bad, even the ones
written in earnest but at least those wanted to be written. Now they all struggle for food
and the best of them threatens a coup d’etat. Maybe it’s for the best.
Haste, Vigilance, Shroud, Landwalk
(Does not suffer from summoning sickness, does not tap when attacking, cannot be the target of spells or abilities, and is to mad to be blocked)
Todd, it rhymes with God. Coincidence? I think Not.
Hacking and slashing I stand my ground.
against hundreds of the dead all around.
They rise again only to fall.
But rise again do they all.
My eyes see what should not be.
The dead rising and coming towards me.
The all fall by my blade.
The all rise from the glade.
Eyes of horror have I.
The bravest be I.
My eyes see a sight which baffles me.
The dead stop and stare, bow, and take a knee.
To me they kneel, legions of the dead and brave as far as I can see.
All have died bravely, many times. Where are the Valkyrie?
These men died with honor and in battle. Brave are they all.
The should everyone, dine in the halls of Valhal.
The valkyrie should come and take them away.
But here we all stand, we all died this day.
Friend and foe kneel before me.
A champion and now lord I be.
My army thousands of dead.
To the North we shall head.
North to Valhal we head.
I lead an army of the dead.
They should have come for the brave and dead.
Now we come to claim our right instead.
I see the Rainbow bridge just past the moor.
On Asgard we do wage war.
To my men I do turn.
Today Asgard will burn.
The left us on the field to rot.
Our bravery shall not be forgot.
We shall slay every soul there be.
they shall be as we.
left on the field where we died.
There will be no place for them to hide.
Brave and gods alike will fall to our steel.
And they shall know how we feel.
They can come one and all.
God and warriors all will fall.
We are the forgotten brave.
The one's you forgot to save.
Now my men this will be hard.
We are at war with Asgard!
Private Mod Note
():
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Haste, Vigilance, Shroud, Landwalk
(Does not suffer from summoning sickness, does not tap when attacking, cannot be the target of spells or abilities, and is to mad to be blocked)
Todd, it rhymes with God. Coincidence? I think Not.
As i walk in trees of lumber,
i think of you in your bed in slumber,
seeing how peaceful life is there,
remembering all the good times we share,
talking until the morning light,
sharing memories all through the night,
enjoying each others warm embrace,
the angelic look upon you face,
i know now why i married you here,
in through the woods in a meadow so clear,
life without you would have been dull you see,
forever in my life you soul will always be,
a love like ours will last our whole life,
i love you my soulmate my heart my life.
I am quite afraid,
That death is but a bittersweet serenade.
Such a bitter song,
But disliking it feels oh so wrong.
It pulls you in deep.
It makes you cry and weep.
Weep until you smile.
But crying doesn't fit my style.
So while I'm dying,
I don't want a single soul to be crying.
Cause I find great comedy,
In how death is such an elegant melody.
Politics
two walls to hold and love
for crushing death does part
drive stakes through buried entrails
to make sure they don't rise,
but futile!
in mummies hearts go hard
in bodies hearts go soft
no middle left to listen
no happy-ever-after
when thought and emotion falters
there is nothing left to save
but something survives us all,
some little sense of right, some knowledge of our flaws
and that basic humanity
will keep coming back
[or, if it won't, at least we're going to find out]
[one way or the other]
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
Forsake you now these Justices in Eyre
Whose council made in sinecure would blind
The man who for his appetite's desire
Would knock an arrow through your hart's red hide.
Though, by virtue of your rightful station,
All within the realm of passing pleasure
Yields to suit your fanciful creation
What should become of that which I treasure?
Each cordoned tract unjustly segregates
The Eden which you fear I would assart
When truthfully I aim to extirpate
This fallow distance raised between our hearts
That I might yield unto a governance
Unguided by the reigns of happenstance.
I'm glad I came across this, I think it's awesome that this is available here. I will likely be a regular participant.
Here will be my first entry!
"the crash of waves"
we fight each other-
even the ones we love.
greed; power, money, reputation.
like a never-ending clash,
to the very depths of
abomination like
spiteful fiends we find
nothing in salvation of
what is right or good-
no we let it sink,
into a hatred filled abyss.
we dispute our problems
and pretend they've disappeared.
shift blame and take fame.
like hundreds of crashing waves,
the dam is bound to fall,
and our pasts will come back
to haunt us all, along with
the undeserving generations to come.
then the sound of crashing waves
will be heard loud and strong.
||EDH||
:symb::symu::symr:Thraximundar Control:symb::symu::symr:
:symw::symg: Sigarda, Host of Voltron:symw::symg:
:symb:Skithiryx, the Blight Dragon:symb:
:symw::symu:Geist of Saint Voltron:symw::symu:
generated using the DADA-ist cut-up method and a variety of Maigic cards, then given a title at the end.
Stick To What You Once Knew
the Enchantment job have metal.
the Soldiers from mother move.
Clerics can game attack.
would target actions? being versa?
barbarian, of No pay,
Dedicated,
Guard as sooner land's.
the seen, the minion, knows on 1994
the dealt owner's Dimir, the 'my once 1 Channel
creature turn play' Neurok.
protection tumbling or cards?
our house is decorated with icing,
confectioner's sugar
and also,
candy canes.
but the winter is dead-set
the sharp air around us cold like the
wolves circling just outside
noses pressed against the sugar panes,
the undying snow powdering their manes,
their maws contorted into smiles bearing fangs
i once longed to befriend much of their kind
but each is cursed with a black licorice mind
how long will it take them to eat through the front door?
i can't reinforce something made of gingerbread, no one could
and there she lies, bedridden and counting on me
in a warm room composed of more irrelevant sugar
she tells me to cheer up because we won't feel a thing this time
i must ask her to stay here while i venture outside
and lead them astray with a trail of red hots
through the uncertain and snow-filled forest paths
i always loved the silence of winter
How can I explain this so you can finally see,
That while I sit upon your grave down on bended knee
That my soul longs for the day to be set free
And frolic with the other souls just to be let be.
I cannot hide within this heart and hope to be made wise
Knowing you're no longer there but see me through the skies
But my heart is broken and I cannot find repair
With knowing you are gone and never to be there.
We were young when we met so many years ago
And with you gone it hurts to breathe and feel this empty soul
And sitting here with your letters spread upon my floor
Makes me wonder what had happened where our love did go.
I was so angry when you left you broke my heart in two
And took a piece to keep from me and carried it with you
But now you're gone and that piece hasn't yet returned
I'll just light the other half and maybe it will burn,
and like a Phoenix from the ashes, rise for another turn.
sound triumphant!
my matter was born from two -
I thought death,
worlds disagreed -
meaning slick,
my wide-eyed side's
willfully blind
to death.
But oh -
life the baseline,
death the choice -
until clarity comes -
lose our will
to be bound!
to our volition -
such a fate!
to resist -
though hopeless -
we lose ourselves.
how frightening is the thought 'Who would miss us'!
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
Blind
is the word that binds
me here
that instills me with fear
that fills me with regret
now I cannot forget
misery
is my ecstacy
for the sins of those with no heart
for the sins of those falling apart
I now see the start of a new world beginning to unfurl
before my eyes
I realize I despise
this brand new world
my fists begin to curl
but I face my fears
eyes welling with tears
I can hear my own fear
I can smell my own hell
I can taste my own waste
I can feel the scars beginning to heal
I can see what it is to be
Blind
Were not like the men of yore
Greed, corruption, hatred and more
For when the sun sets the thieves run high
For now we know the end is nigh
Life is like a razor cutting deep
Into the flesh of society
And all the patrons they just weep
They cannot eat, they cannot sleep
They sulk around with heartbeats still
The world is crumbling at their feet
The young are corrupt, the old are sick
Birth has become an epidemic
For the disease of life has but one cure
For death there is always a lure
Were not like the men of yore
For we don't know what is in store.
I haven't posted here in a while, mostly because I haven't been very active in my writing (small writer's block), but I really want to get back into it and start churning out poems again.
A lot of these poems looks really good too! Hopefully my contrbution won't be too bad in comparison. It's a bit dark, but it's my outlet and it helps, so here goes:
To Oblige My Sooth
If ignorance is bliss
Then you should be enraptured
And tremble with pure ecstasy
Cause if you knew the truth
Of how much I hate you
Your perfect little paradise
Would crumble into perdition
And were I given the chance
I would cauterize the memories
That give proof to your existence
As I contrive your brutal demise
I would rupture your conscience
And watch the rapture bleed out
What a bloodbath it would be
Note: The title may not be the best, as I just came up with it off the top of my head, but in my twisted mind it seems to make some sense so I'll stick with it for now.
Look at the card. Now back to Jace. Now back to that card, now back to Jace! Sadly, it isn't Jace, but if it stopped being a junk rare and became relevant, it could act like it's Jace. Crack some Worldwake. What do you have? You have a Jace, the card you wish this card could be like. Look again. THE CARD IS NOW A $75 BILL. Anything possible when you play Magic with Jace and not junk rares. This is probably spam.
Weary, with eyes set on the calm of June.
The gentle brush of its memory,
encased in the laughter of the past,
lies with my dreams, my fantasies...
my beloved own.
But my wishes?
My grief?
Forgetful statements, words made to give,
the toll of my gift taken by an absence of love.
When then, have the years spoken to me.
To return to me my hollowed home.
In this reflection,
would emotion slowly return.
A final journey,
to end in the arms of my soul.
SUIC!DE
Consider, if you will, a planet formed of the primeval elements
Hydrogen and helium, condensed into a gravitational equipotential
Sphere, gaseous, large, yet not large enough to collapse into profitable fusion
Orbiting self-satisfiedly around a nearly identical structure, superior only in its mortality
Which do we honor more, the martyr or the immortal?
Does the wanderer denounce its pathway?
Does it call for yet less direction, yet less certainty?
Perhaps it is aware, in its primeval non-mind, that it returns ad perpetuum to its origins
Does it desire to engage in something more than itself?
But it does, in its celestial dance with its sublimely grandiose partner
No, its deformed attempt at purpose is to be itself, yet indescribably more
To become an irresponsible Deity, locked in self-contemplation
Deep in this planet's psychotic considerations, it realizes that it cannot transcend itself
And so it populates, and by populating, allows its inhabitants to develop animism
So in addition to its megalomaniacal ponderosity, it experiences adulation
This, it thinks to itself, is viably termed satisfaction
And so it wanders through the universe, never realizing the mortality of its fame
If it did, perhaps it would come to the diabolically contradictory conclusion
That only the evanescent has the significance to achieve permanence
Only the martyr may transcend mortality
Here is a funny poem I wrote about Magic cards. Ironic, I know. It just hit the spot.
_________
Magic cards are a frug
_________
Magic cards, a friendly drug. Yes they are, they are a frug.
I love playing magic, like pigs in mud. But, when I spend money to buy some cards, I can feel like crud.
I also feel good inside, when I get to play. But I never get to play all day.
Some days I spend more than others. That's when you know I've been encapsulated, like a smuggler.
Magic cards are like a drug, and if I could, I would lay on them like a rug.
But they cost so much, I dare not. Or I will ruin them and cry on the spot.
They can be a creative problem solving tool. But mostly they make you look like a fool.
Magic cards are like a drug.
I love them as others do, but not so much that I am smug.
No that's a lie every magic player makes. That they are smug, playing magic is all it takes.
If magic cards weren't a frug, I wouldn't buy them. Why?
Because being smug is not enough.
I must buy them to feel tough. And to feel tough, I must win.
And to win, I must buy them.
So all in all I feel tough when i buy them, and hope I win.
Because, Magic cards are a frug. That means they are a friendly drug.
Atop the silver of beasts rampaging across the sky,
Visions of distant kingdoms, roaming as they fly.
Below, dunes of water glisten endlessly, fearing thoughts of being alone
As the sun shines a beacon for home.
燃える時計秘密めく花の香り
www.pokemoncrossroads.com
Dullness. That’s where three o’clock brings you each morning:
stark naked, staring down your reflection on a slide
in the middle of the quintessential playground
in the middle of the quintessential August day
where everything around is dry heat and damp mulch
and whatever falls hard enough on it. Four o’clock creeps in
and the “No Loitering” sign pushes you off the fabled
top step like a disobedient memory, the sandbox bully
from the days when you thought all girls were animals
and animals talked too much. Things have changed: now
I’m the one talking to you as if you’re some silent auditor
but to be perfectly frank you needn’t feel obligated to stay that way.
All I’d love to do is hear your voice—
—don’t think of it that way!
—for a little while and stir the summer heat with a little spring
fog, just like when the world was young and we talked. We’re all
older but the world has her youth still — since when were slides
the darker pastimes of children? No, it isn’t like that at all: I
am not too self-absorbed in my own elegy to see what lies directly ahead
nor am I worried that the rain behind will graze my back. Uncertainly,
uncouthly I choke on the youthful days when Marie was standing
(uncertainty is only a theory)
at the bottom of the fog, ready to catch me should I
fall or breathe too deeply: they were not my own.
And now? Things have changed
at all. If I am in love
with you, then I am
in love with you. How quickly
we reach the bottom we call
now, or modernity! Everything
falls in toward the center
of everything
which is either made of chocolate or every love poem ever written. And as for me lately
even these poems are half-strangled. They were all bad, even the ones
written in earnest but at least those wanted to be written. Now they all struggle for food
and the best of them threatens a coup d’etat. Maybe it’s for the best.
an empire falls
blood covered masses
amid battlefield grasses
take the last breath
i welcome death
what do we die for
some unknown war
bright is the nights ball
i go to Valhall
dieing a warriors death
last of a warriors breath
i do not see the valkyrie
why do they not come for me
in my chest a sword
around me a dead horde
we sailed the seas
i rise to my knees
in pain i groan
as the dead moan
cannot be real what i see
but dead men coming towards me
i remove from my chest a bloodstained blade
i stand my ground in a blood soaked glade
i remove a head
killing the already dead
dead men hundreds do fall
maybe soon i will go to Valhall
~fin~
(Does not suffer from summoning sickness, does not tap when attacking, cannot be the target of spells or abilities, and is to mad to be blocked)
Todd, it rhymes with God. Coincidence? I think Not.
Hacking and slashing I stand my ground.
against hundreds of the dead all around.
They rise again only to fall.
But rise again do they all.
My eyes see what should not be.
The dead rising and coming towards me.
The all fall by my blade.
The all rise from the glade.
Eyes of horror have I.
The bravest be I.
My eyes see a sight which baffles me.
The dead stop and stare, bow, and take a knee.
To me they kneel, legions of the dead and brave as far as I can see.
All have died bravely, many times. Where are the Valkyrie?
These men died with honor and in battle. Brave are they all.
The should everyone, dine in the halls of Valhal.
The valkyrie should come and take them away.
But here we all stand, we all died this day.
Friend and foe kneel before me.
A champion and now lord I be.
My army thousands of dead.
To the North we shall head.
North to Valhal we head.
I lead an army of the dead.
They should have come for the brave and dead.
Now we come to claim our right instead.
I see the Rainbow bridge just past the moor.
On Asgard we do wage war.
To my men I do turn.
Today Asgard will burn.
The left us on the field to rot.
Our bravery shall not be forgot.
We shall slay every soul there be.
they shall be as we.
left on the field where we died.
There will be no place for them to hide.
Brave and gods alike will fall to our steel.
And they shall know how we feel.
They can come one and all.
God and warriors all will fall.
We are the forgotten brave.
The one's you forgot to save.
Now my men this will be hard.
We are at war with Asgard!
(Does not suffer from summoning sickness, does not tap when attacking, cannot be the target of spells or abilities, and is to mad to be blocked)
Todd, it rhymes with God. Coincidence? I think Not.
i think of you in your bed in slumber,
seeing how peaceful life is there,
remembering all the good times we share,
talking until the morning light,
sharing memories all through the night,
enjoying each others warm embrace,
the angelic look upon you face,
i know now why i married you here,
in through the woods in a meadow so clear,
life without you would have been dull you see,
forever in my life you soul will always be,
a love like ours will last our whole life,
i love you my soulmate my heart my life.
well wrote that 13 years ago hope you liked it.
Speedy Power White Weenie
Mono Green Elvish Wolves
That death is but a bittersweet serenade.
Such a bitter song,
But disliking it feels oh so wrong.
It pulls you in deep.
It makes you cry and weep.
Weep until you smile.
But crying doesn't fit my style.
So while I'm dying,
I don't want a single soul to be crying.
Cause I find great comedy,
In how death is such an elegant melody.
you'd find my cottage by the
lake. Come here, my love!
Its walls are crumbling
down; its windows, already
shattered in pieces
Its roofs, tattered; doors,
broken, but thoughts of you still
linger in this place
We used to live here
—a home we call childhood; we'll
rebuild it someday
To check the audio of this poem, go to my poetry blog
two walls to hold and love
for crushing death does part
drive stakes through buried entrails
to make sure they don't rise,
but futile!
in mummies hearts go hard
in bodies hearts go soft
no middle left to listen
no happy-ever-after
when thought and emotion falters
there is nothing left to save
but something survives us all,
some little sense of right, some knowledge of our flaws
and that basic humanity
will keep coming back
[or, if it won't, at least we're going to find out]
[one way or the other]
[ed: taken out of spoiler]
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
Round 90 is open and will still be until we hit 10 poems.
special thanks to sentimentgx4 for the sig
Pourquoi?
Whose council made in sinecure would blind
The man who for his appetite's desire
Would knock an arrow through your hart's red hide.
Though, by virtue of your rightful station,
All within the realm of passing pleasure
Yields to suit your fanciful creation
What should become of that which I treasure?
Each cordoned tract unjustly segregates
The Eden which you fear I would assart
When truthfully I aim to extirpate
This fallow distance raised between our hearts
That I might yield unto a governance
Unguided by the reigns of happenstance.
this poem's sound is hoarse
and its rhythm, lame , .
The form is irrelevant - maybe a sonnet
(with five quartets).
the stanza structure is fragile
It must be criticized
the rhymes are exaggerated,
poor and old.
the subject is weak;
fragmented.
it has lost its syllables
which were not counted.
its logic is flawed
rupture caused
do not obey any meters
a bastard child
The poet's lament:
"I can't undone what is done anymore -
No metaphors could portray
This poem of imperfections "
special thanks to sentimentgx4 for the sig
Pourquoi?
Here will be my first entry!
"the crash of waves"
we fight each other-
even the ones we love.
greed; power, money, reputation.
like a never-ending clash,
to the very depths of
abomination like
spiteful fiends we find
nothing in salvation of
what is right or good-
no we let it sink,
into a hatred filled abyss.
we dispute our problems
and pretend they've disappeared.
shift blame and take fame.
like hundreds of crashing waves,
the dam is bound to fall,
and our pasts will come back
to haunt us all, along with
the undeserving generations to come.
then the sound of crashing waves
will be heard loud and strong.
||Modern||
:symg::symr:Gr Tron:symr::symg:
:symu::symr:Splinter Twin:symr::symu:
||EDH||
:symb::symu::symr:Thraximundar Control:symb::symu::symr:
:symw::symg: Sigarda, Host of Voltron:symw::symg:
:symb:Skithiryx, the Blight Dragon:symb:
:symw::symu:Geist of Saint Voltron:symw::symu:
Stick To What You Once Knew
the Enchantment job have metal.
the Soldiers from mother move.
Clerics can game attack.
would target actions? being versa?
barbarian, of No pay,
Dedicated,
Guard as sooner land's.
the seen, the minion, knows on 1994
the dealt owner's Dimir, the 'my once 1 Channel
creature turn play' Neurok.
protection tumbling or cards?
[Clan Flamingo]
Of the city of angels, he was born
But his roots do run deep
In ancient Aztec throne
A champion seen and heard
Contender he was called
Bold to issue forth a challenge
To a legend soon behold
Youth and speed, companions
In epic run for crown and fame
In his lifetime fallen once,
But never put to shame
Though road be bittersweet
Never falter, faith not a shake
For he shall rise in midst of glory
When the legend’s name he does take
Sergio he is called, The Latin Snake
Magic since revised
High aspirations
I'll make it to the top
best of the best
...maybe tomorrow
tonight I need to rest
our house is decorated with icing,
confectioner's sugar
and also,
candy canes.
but the winter is dead-set
the sharp air around us cold like the
wolves circling just outside
noses pressed against the sugar panes,
the undying snow powdering their manes,
their maws contorted into smiles bearing fangs
i once longed to befriend much of their kind
but each is cursed with a black licorice mind
how long will it take them to eat through the front door?
i can't reinforce something made of gingerbread, no one could
and there she lies, bedridden and counting on me
in a warm room composed of more irrelevant sugar
she tells me to cheer up because we won't feel a thing this time
i must ask her to stay here while i venture outside
and lead them astray with a trail of red hots
through the uncertain and snow-filled forest paths
i always loved the silence of winter
With opportunity at my doorstep, I turned away
Next to my heart is unconditional love, lost
When the time came, the way was dark
Now here before me lay all that is real
Great was the distance between seeing and not seeing
Verily, it is the distance between believing and not believing
Gulf of Time, traveling from now to then with a compass in hand
Veering around obstacles with the ease given by experience
How can I explain this so you can finally see,
That while I sit upon your grave down on bended knee
That my soul longs for the day to be set free
And frolic with the other souls just to be let be.
I cannot hide within this heart and hope to be made wise
Knowing you're no longer there but see me through the skies
But my heart is broken and I cannot find repair
With knowing you are gone and never to be there.
We were young when we met so many years ago
And with you gone it hurts to breathe and feel this empty soul
And sitting here with your letters spread upon my floor
Makes me wonder what had happened where our love did go.
I was so angry when you left you broke my heart in two
And took a piece to keep from me and carried it with you
But now you're gone and that piece hasn't yet returned
I'll just light the other half and maybe it will burn,
and like a Phoenix from the ashes, rise for another turn.
sound triumphant!
my matter was born from two -
I thought death,
worlds disagreed -
meaning slick,
my wide-eyed side's
willfully blind
to death.
But oh -
life the baseline,
death the choice -
until clarity comes -
lose our will
to be bound!
to our volition -
such a fate!
to resist -
though hopeless -
we lose ourselves.
how frightening is the thought 'Who would miss us'!
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
Blind
is the word that binds
me here
that instills me with fear
that fills me with regret
now I cannot forget
misery
is my ecstacy
for the sins of those with no heart
for the sins of those falling apart
I now see the start of a new world beginning to unfurl
before my eyes
I realize I despise
this brand new world
my fists begin to curl
but I face my fears
eyes welling with tears
I can hear my own fear
I can smell my own hell
I can taste my own waste
I can feel the scars beginning to heal
I can see what it is to be
Blind
Garruk's Predators
Liliana's Corruption
Were not like the men of yore
Greed, corruption, hatred and more
For when the sun sets the thieves run high
For now we know the end is nigh
Life is like a razor cutting deep
Into the flesh of society
And all the patrons they just weep
They cannot eat, they cannot sleep
They sulk around with heartbeats still
The world is crumbling at their feet
The young are corrupt, the old are sick
Birth has become an epidemic
For the disease of life has but one cure
For death there is always a lure
Were not like the men of yore
For we don't know what is in store.
My Mafia Stats - My Helpdesk
G Omnath, Locus of Mana U Arcum Dagsson BUG The Mimeoplasm GW Gaddock Teeg X Karn, Silver Golem
A lot of these poems looks really good too! Hopefully my contrbution won't be too bad in comparison. It's a bit dark, but it's my outlet and it helps, so here goes:
To Oblige My Sooth
If ignorance is bliss
Then you should be enraptured
And tremble with pure ecstasy
Cause if you knew the truth
Of how much I hate you
Your perfect little paradise
Would crumble into perdition
And were I given the chance
I would cauterize the memories
That give proof to your existence
As I contrive your brutal demise
I would rupture your conscience
And watch the rapture bleed out
What a bloodbath it would be
Note: The title may not be the best, as I just came up with it off the top of my head, but in my twisted mind it seems to make some sense so I'll stick with it for now.
URURxUR
UWUWxUW
The gentle brush of its memory,
encased in the laughter of the past,
lies with my dreams, my fantasies...
my beloved own.
But my wishes?
My grief?
Forgetful statements, words made to give,
the toll of my gift taken by an absence of love.
When then, have the years spoken to me.
To return to me my hollowed home.
In this reflection,
would emotion slowly return.
A final journey,
to end in the arms of my soul.
Consider, if you will, a planet formed of the primeval elements
Hydrogen and helium, condensed into a gravitational equipotential
Sphere, gaseous, large, yet not large enough to collapse into profitable fusion
Orbiting self-satisfiedly around a nearly identical structure, superior only in its mortality
Which do we honor more, the martyr or the immortal?
Does the wanderer denounce its pathway?
Does it call for yet less direction, yet less certainty?
Perhaps it is aware, in its primeval non-mind, that it returns ad perpetuum to its origins
Does it desire to engage in something more than itself?
But it does, in its celestial dance with its sublimely grandiose partner
No, its deformed attempt at purpose is to be itself, yet indescribably more
To become an irresponsible Deity, locked in self-contemplation
Deep in this planet's psychotic considerations, it realizes that it cannot transcend itself
And so it populates, and by populating, allows its inhabitants to develop animism
So in addition to its megalomaniacal ponderosity, it experiences adulation
This, it thinks to itself, is viably termed satisfaction
And so it wanders through the universe, never realizing the mortality of its fame
If it did, perhaps it would come to the diabolically contradictory conclusion
That only the evanescent has the significance to achieve permanence
Only the martyr may transcend mortality
_________
Magic cards are a frug
_________
Magic cards, a friendly drug. Yes they are, they are a frug.
I love playing magic, like pigs in mud. But, when I spend money to buy some cards, I can feel like crud.
I also feel good inside, when I get to play. But I never get to play all day.
Some days I spend more than others. That's when you know I've been encapsulated, like a smuggler.
Magic cards are like a drug, and if I could, I would lay on them like a rug.
But they cost so much, I dare not. Or I will ruin them and cry on the spot.
They can be a creative problem solving tool. But mostly they make you look like a fool.
Magic cards are like a drug.
I love them as others do, but not so much that I am smug.
No that's a lie every magic player makes. That they are smug, playing magic is all it takes.
If magic cards weren't a frug, I wouldn't buy them. Why?
Because being smug is not enough.
I must buy them to feel tough. And to feel tough, I must win.
And to win, I must buy them.
So all in all I feel tough when i buy them, and hope I win.
Because, Magic cards are a frug. That means they are a friendly drug.