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Don't have time to date...Don't have time to date just yet;
On exams my mind is set.
I'll just focus on the school;
Graduation's coming soon!
Boys won't whisk me from my desk!..
Would be nice, though, if they'd ask.
Advice from me :)When, overcome by stormy moods,
The two of you clash attitudes;
When quarrel overpowers sense,
And yelling gets to be immense;
Remember that, with lovely ease,
All this can melt down in a kiss.
Lady Earth (2)Today, she will not marcel
Ocean locks along the shore,
Won't ride wind's swift carousel
Wearing rain beads, as before.
Instead, she'll awake at dawn,
Yawning with a breeze so soft...
In her cozy sunshine gown
Which she'll not rush to take off.
JuneSummer sends along a gentle whisper
In the rhythm of a morning breeze.
Dawn awoke, and June leans in to kiss her
From behind huge fans of sleek palm trees.
Dreamy moodI can hear the wind start playing;
Laugh of leaves, caught by surprise.
I'll compose what they are saying...
Translate it to something nice.
If I'll see the starlight twinkle,
Like the garlands in the sky,
I'll pretend it's quiet jingle
Of the reindeer, still nearby.
If I hear it start to drizzle,
I'll imagine that night has
Tuned to wind's melodic whistle
With a jazzy beat on glass.
If I'll see fog start to cover
Sapphire street with chiffon waves,
I'll assume... for secret lover
Night in peignoir now awaits.
For, tonight, despite what weather
Mother nature will combine,
Feeling dreamy, I would rather
See in all a kindly sign.
Love like a perfumeTrue love is like a delicate perfume -
Cannot be captured or restrained by pressure,
For, within moments, it becomes diffused
And easily escapes between your fingers.
And yet when you forget or least assume,
It chooses to return and, as with pleasure
Your senses are so shamelessly seduced,
In its embrace you helplessly now linger.
The Crying Of BirdsI pluck their calls from the sky,
Stuff them into my pocket like so many marbles.
Sometimes I cast them on the ground
And like runes they advise me,
Nudge me about things I already know.
Afterwards I’ll scoop them up and in cupped hands
Breathe gently into a cave of skin.
Then there will be music.
What am I to write about?What am I to write about when everything I think of has been written about before
Every line and every rhyme in my head has been thought of already
Every situation that has affected me, others have already explored
Forcing rhymes, distorting the flow, my thoughts refuse to be steady
Yet I try and try to do my best but my best isn't better than the rest.
Love poems are chilling and killing my precious thoughts
Poems about nature have been beaten like the path that has been traveled by
I'm too happy to write about hatred for it makes me so distraught
Inspirational poems decimate my "what 'If'" scenarios, but I will continue to try
For if I try and try to do my best someday my best might compare to the rest.
I can't compare to famous poets like Poe and Shakespeare, Frost or Walt.
And what about Dickenson? Shel? Byron? Whitman? or Hughes?
So many great writers that my thought process might as well come to a halt.
No matter how I word it, my poems will never make the big news!
So why try an
Sepulcher high on cliff face
Gloomy tomb from past
Smell of dust and artifacts
Attracts inquisitive minds.
Drowned OutI slammed the door shut quickly,
Running a hand through my hair,
My dog sat on my bed quietly,
Fixing me with a stare.
I could hear through the floor,
For Gods sake, they could be loud,
I clenched my fist angrily,
Duchess didn't make a sound.
They were at it again, every night.
I sharply imitated my mum's shrill,
My dad's voice was cutting through,
Trying to bring about calm.
What was it this time? I wonder,
Some trivial shit they decided to share,
I flicked on my music, louder than normal,
Hoping to cover my relentless ears.
Duchess cowered into my bed futher,
I dragged my nails across the desk in rage,
She curled herself at my feet then,
Creating this small, safe cage.
I took a deep breath and began to type,
Releasing my anger with words,
An easy smile slipped onto my lips,
Because I realised taht they couldn't be heard.
fragments of lifemy veins are thrumming in time to the music
and breath fogs in the air
echoed remaints of dreamtime
let me hold the world for the sake of a shilling
or the price of a penny
a galaxy rise
or a sunrise
all of them beautiful
the gentle crashing of the waves
and the thundering roar of the sea
play can't catch me
and clouds fall like rain
and the stars shine
she was my tabby catlurking recollections
of tossled moonbeams
were the patterns that radiated
her crescent skin.
she arched her back,
(like a yawning cat on a milky
and felt the rhythmic
spine as it
If you love her...lookpast
and the hop-scotch marks
of the last lover
to wrong her
of preservation applied
in mirrored morning tasks
the little girl
who wants to ask you
to hold her good-night
Vanguard, Chapter 1: DuncanDuncan's Journal: Day 1288
I consider myself a good man. I respect women, elders, my equals, and the dead. I say a morning prayer, and an evening one. Hell, I even thank the gods for a meal, instead of immediately chowing down in the voracious manner as the other soldiers here do. By all logical means, I should be in paradise. No really, not just because I'm a good man, but also because I should be dead by now. So I ask myself: why, oh gods up there, have I ended up in hell?
1288 days. 1288 days of my life have been spent in this misery, and I'm beginning to lose faith in the glory I was promised. Some of the rookies still live in their ignorant bliss, but I've lived long enough to realize that there's not much glory to find here. “Sing the songs of glory and march into battle—-join The Crusade today!”. Such were the words of the posters The Crusade has spread all over The Mortal Realm. Gullible fools practically stand in line for these songs of glory that th
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