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Originally posted by Bicent76
First and foremost I am deciding to write or start this thread due to some friends who have read my gibberish in the chat room.
So I decided to make my own thread on ats, where I can write all I want to when I feel like it, or what have you, may it inspire you, make you laugh or just criticize I am going to write what comes to my fingers, and I want this to be my special place to do so.. Now will all my verses be edited and punctuated no, I am just going to write. If someone wants to get involved and wants to proofread my words and edit it, and get with me to try to network it out to where ever, U2u me.. Yet let me make myself clear, I am not going to write to have members come here and troll and make fun of my writing.. I expect some respect and let me say it means allot for me to do this in the first place. I am writing because so many people say I can write and want to read what I write, sure my dream is to write a book or songs and live off of my writing, but I am humble enough to realize that the people saying its good just might be, being nice to me, so in the meantime without any further a dew I am going to start, and any other poets that want to add to my verses, feel free.. Lets begin..
there was a gasp,
at the flash of light,
that reflected off the clouds high in the sky,
the aroma from the rose, given to the queen, from the last king,
brought men to their knee's seeking their own childhood dreams,
as all was brought to the rift from the rocks in the stream,
it seemed the aroma of the pedals open the hearts of the men who medal,
in a time where the shape was not defined, and the light hid from the night..
Cascades, it is the shape that sifts the sands that open the crypts of the dead a dying loose lips,
that have before shown the despositions of life once more,
it is heard in the chords of the childs screams, off the coast where the cliff are higher then the shadows,
where we refuse the light of twillight...
The more we hold onto the rifts we determine and realize,
we really let it go,
and become all alone,
in a bed, in the backyard in a shed where we followed the wiseman in the dark,
where our silence keeps the cracks in our hearts.
Where the nomad wander upon wasted lands,
I realize they learned to bend the shift in the hour glasses held, by the men, with no hands,
and I can see we dream for the grasps of men in the traps,
where we think we want to have the intentions without the mends of knits of knots from our mothers hands,
we end up mending broken hands.
If I was to translate the stars, I would speak in a tongue not yerned nor adorned by the scorn of man,
I would be cast and chastened in the haste of a crown of thorns worn once before,
nor do I wish to move in a elegance to wish to be ignored when I speak to the adorned of scorn.
I seek the vast shadow of the veil where the masks are worn,
where time is tried and tried once more to be torn,
and the sky is the stars that shake upon earth time and time before,
yet the yearn for something more, is always in a melody or splashed on a canvass,
within the heartbeats of a rythme or a breath someone thinks has never been done or breathed before..
Such a contrast brings the ill hearted to the rims of the glass,
drinking the milk from the silk nipples of the beast that lies to them time and time before, and cures the truth with the lies, given to the the tides from the darksided moonlit sea's of our dreams..