G-G-Golly W-Wally! What's this thing right here do? |
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poetry is attention deficit syndrome for prose |
if you ever feel alone in this world know you never were and always are free bodies inside trodden earth whisps of dust the real us |
If you're a singer May your melodies flow, If you're a poet, May you write what you know, If you're a loved one, May you shed naught a tear. If you're a preacher, May your words be sincere, If you're giving, May you share like a friend, If you're troubled, May your worries soon end, If you're unlucky, May your chances increase, If you're a dreamer, May you slumber in peace. |
Earth's lifeless moon, A rock that never rolls, Countless lovers swoon, Moon stones never know, Real sadness in a soul, Lifeless as Earth's moon. |
Less I say, Less I chance, Appearing as weak, Trembling prey, Until attackers, Learn of my strength, The hard way. |
Jagged edges flow together, Ancient chasms of wrinkled flesh, Whispers of emotional ghosts That wither like rotten cabbage |
I call junk yards eclectic, Farmers, collectors of plants, The vacuum of space, antiseptic, Myself, the bane of all ants. The smithy of time defines us, The past only lives in the mind The future brings surprises, True love, a fortunate find. Few facts we firsthand know, Physical world events show, Fortunate we are to grow, Safe from hellfire below. |
Who do I write for? Me. I like to read my own words, Written by me. I like the way they look on paper, How they sound in my eyes. It's not ego. I take pride, but that aside, It's all about what I enjoy, A toy for the boy to play with, I like the way the words feel, And hope others do, too. I'm very tactile that way, But that's a different poem. Written under duress of the "Ought to be doing something else," monster. |