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My verses in the 21st century

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posted on Feb, 21 2011 @ 09:12 PM
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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..




posted on Feb, 21 2011 @ 09:25 PM
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Further the depth of the realm I fall,
do not call this reality anymore,
call it the missing of love,
as we miss the beast we followed into the hollows of time,
we wish we could understand the words devine,
only to be led astray flicking our ashes into the ash trays of burnt dreams,
we seek asylum from our great dreams of living in a life that is feeding the streams with a pure heart,
a pulse of a current decayed in time, from a man or entity who chose the right chimes, instead we sit ill fed,
and full of lies and decadence of diligence from what we see in our eyes and not our hearts..



posted on Feb, 21 2011 @ 09:32 PM
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Excellent flow. Are you freestyling this, or is this something you have editted?




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..






posted on Feb, 21 2011 @ 09:43 PM
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then came the hex,
it was cast upon the vixen who stood up to the north star,
in a twilight once seen a time before,
where a bastard was walking the earth speaking of many years,
where land was the hinderance of man, and the air, was a trasnfusion that came across from the dancing sand,
long ago in a echo that can still be heard if you were to stay, in many times..

Reasons to listen to lalabies are asked by the old men facing the men fallin in the sun, or the sunburn of time, yet as a teaching lays and prays tonight for the better world, I say live in fate and see the vision of what it is tonight that guides us into the night and the new dawn of life, its time to not say goodbye yet, attract the face we wish to not let see lay to waste.

I found myself in a thunderstorm it said my name in a lightining storm and it echoed my name in thunder it was a scary moment indeed for fear it seemed to gather a face and smile upon this place, yet as all that is held up to hold time spoke in the palm of mankinds hand in a language that always begs for pardons to act upon the nact of what is curious to some and just scary to the farm animals..

Of course I beged for pardon, and asked for a new balance where the wind blowing thru the tree's would not be seen for the unseen were afraid and chasing their dreams in the churches derived from the wicked sounds of a howl that derived from the scowls of the gails I now relize were part of the gallows in a life where the answers where to deep to be accepted, and to low to be heard, for they were gliding in light, high up high in the star light, dancing off the lions roars... And the screams of the acolytes who could focus their scorns..



posted on Feb, 21 2011 @ 09:49 PM
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reply to post by v1rtu0s0
 


these are my words...



we are to sanctify this understanding, if indeed we are ready to do so...


that is yet to be heard or glorified.



posted on Feb, 21 2011 @ 09:50 PM
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reply to post by Bicent76
 



until then I will glide around the answers



posted on Feb, 21 2011 @ 09:59 PM
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a blood baptism it is chastened the streets where the heat and sand mend as one,
it is not turning to mud, it is evaporating into the sun,
creating the dire choir to sing their chords and not ehoeing into the ears to be heard,
the sadness is seen yet the fold of the twist in blood is a just a scene seen in a dream, and not remembered,
for the face that cries in those streets where the maimed in to be tamed is the crossword clue,
that the cracks on the liberty of man cannot break the chains to realize or see,
it has become the beconing of a scwalor that speaks the language as the same as crows and vultures,
for once the world has been tried to be changed in such a way, where the cantrips of a cats meow was spoken time and time again to fight the crows, their is no why, nor is their a high note to induce feeling or understanding, all their is due to the abscent of feeling is the reverb...



posted on Feb, 21 2011 @ 10:08 PM
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the reverb is relic'ing its high notes only heard in its echo,
yet the words not heard,
oh such a chorus of life sings,
hear it, it is floating us higher on the lives,
as we wait for the answers to why..

we grow deeper into our minds thinking we will glide into the light,
thru the morphing of technology and time,
as we hear the children cry,
we desire the reverb of the echoes to sing to us in such devine times as oppose to hearing its voice,
beg to us and beg to break the beaks that seek its death...

Listen as we hear the echoes of death screaming how glorious it is while we survive our lives...

As our lives remain alive to find the answers given to the tree's

I know If I ignore the words and listen to the echoes of chimes I will hear the divine heartbeats of time...



posted on Feb, 21 2011 @ 10:16 PM
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Only skin and bone,
I find myself alone,
cold and blue,
in a pain, leaving a stain,
right here on my forhead,
plant your seeds,
beg for your disease,
cry to the sky,
sceaming in words,
broken and left in peices,
for the some day,
for them to drop the bomb,
some day soon,
we better hold up our candles,
for the day,
where we can play,
like the children in a lost fray.

the devil strums his cords,
on a guitar made rotten boards.
he sings to us one last time,
giving us a tune to dance,
while he steals our solid souls.

i stand alone once more,
with a sword I have sworn to perform,
taking us away from here,
into a world full of scorn,
I can't hear her voice,
I see her mouth it moves with force,
asking her to speak louder,
we start to run for our lives,
as the waves of shame fall on the devil seductive cords.
my chains rust in mankinds shame,
I can still see his eyes,
even with my back, full of holes,
from the night he turned black into night,
I dream with eyes open,
feeling the hot putrid wind blow across a vast mask covering the land I have been given to at last. I cannot raise my voice any louder,
I cannot slow this down the crown weigh less then the crowd. I call out to the sea's dreaming the rythmatic dreams, to awaken ,
and drown my screams..
Not all is what it appears to be. Yet we manage.
we can and shall always blame ourselves.


I guess its time to wonder,
I wonder to the gates,
where the the time scapes shift puzzling,
uncomfotable a shift my way,
trying to say, hey!
standing a trial,
a triad get a splinter,
climbing a tree trying to get higher then their own desire,
alway falling scowling at the moon,
I watch envisioning you,
sometimes I smile,
sometimes I frown,
most of all I laugh everytime you hit the ground.
One day you will be by myside,
my shield when it all goes wrong,
and my right when I am wrong,
it is you, I feel that makes the mistake.
What if thou we were all wrong,
what if its a waste,
and this place is a shape,
beyound the squares and circles,
what if we are holding it inside,
and all in all we are just the jest,
to the jesture,
we are the fornication to purification,
we are the biggest mistake,
the mishap, the bend the pure stake,
then we are the futile, waste,
the hypicracy,
the riddle and the answer,
I wish I beg the clarity,
the clarity to see the purest form,
the purist word,
the purist answer to my question...
I fight for a cause, for the effect and effort is my clog, the prevents my answers.

Wearing a coat of arms,
I am always fighting for the brighter days,
sometimes I see the shadows fade,
other times I see the darkness brighten up the day.

the steed runs to the stream,
in a dream where the forest is green like the emerald at the bottum of the stream.

Sometimes at night,
I lay and dream,
seeing things in the night,
that make me wish for the night,
a slumber that is combersome,
holding me down,
attatched to a force,
where the body holds a course,
where the living lives with the waves crashing on the beach. Always ending up alone,
just me and the stones,
standing High looking down a cliff,
where I duel with the mischief,
tossing them down to a bussling end,
ragid ravaged lands,
turning in my hands,
as the sands seep down beneath caught in the gust of wind again,
falling to a new place,
some might call it the deepest parts of space,
other call it nothing but a twist in the distant glimpse before the moment before,
we are there in the present tense,
as the hairs on our backs rise,
and the bumps contour our skin,
we never feel like that ever again.



posted on Feb, 21 2011 @ 10:20 PM
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A shadow creeks,
bending its shape,
across a new found face that has no wrickles to place pain, or any scars that show any kind of hate. He came across the water,
drifitng on a wooden ship,
catching the winds, blowing their gales,
bringing him to the Nightengales, as they soared high watching below He faces them slow,
looking so low,
to see their beaks ravishing the spirits dreams.
He can hear the echoes,
beyond the trees past the sea breeze,
he grips his sword once more,
knowing that he has been here before.
The sun settled alone,
soon he will be all alone,
In the darkness,
where even his followers and friends,
wish not to go.
Ending up alone on the coast of bones.

Looking past everything,
I have learned to find,
I find the last challice,
with the blood of the mallice.

I reached out grasping the cold metal,
looking down at it in my hand,
red with dried blood floating on top,
like red rose pedals,
all around I hear the darkness,
the screams of dying dreams,
lay awake,
men with a bad disease call out thru the halls,
I hear a voice,
saying nobody is home,
look out for yourself,
drink the blood,
and find a space,
where you can become devine with time,
dance, underneath the rivers and streams,
where the jewels form,
and the crust lies waiting for the contents of the pie.


Its bitter,
and dry,
tasting like the dryiest desert sky,
waves of pain wreck havoc thru my brain,
falling to my knee's I beg in mysery,
to end this vision, a division of time,
I see the eyes of my kind,
full of tears begging to end these years.

Closing my eyes I see the stars above,
the Eagles of change chained melting with the stars, I can't remember the day I am in,
I can't remember is this the end? Oh what a beautiful dawn, blowing mind, the wind blows again, I see her face, its my wife, so beautiful in the face, I feel love, and she is holding me in place, so I can see what I remember to see. I cry and she wipes my eyes, I see what it is I must see, and hold up all the stars above. Then they come to me, and remember me, we journey to the new sea, and see the way hard to see, and they remember me, forever and I am seen in their children dreams.

I am sure that will piss someone off..



posted on Feb, 23 2011 @ 09:57 PM
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When it became aware, It saw the lives of stars,
still trivial to words spoken somewhere here or there,
and found a noun, that was found before the sound spoken,
it was a wake in a awakened past where a son awakened from the sound of the the sun,
high in the sky trying to say it was dim in the hue, yet it blinded most of all men when it rolled past at last,
It was neither a roll in the start nor a chasm that tore the mind of man apart,
it was a construct that made a few see a decadence in the simple sky,
before we knew it could be blue....



posted on Feb, 23 2011 @ 10:13 PM
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make it black,
and she did,
it was dim and the skies turned black making the hue something for us to grasp at the gasp,
a scene of a dream where the scent went past what we think is to last,
as the sky goes dim once more,
and we try to understand the new colors in the hues..

Its not me or you,
it is the black sky asking us for the lies,
the excuses for us to see a artificial light,
thinking our souls can catch such a flight,
yet in disposed we are still all lieing in the cold dark winds..

I
edit on 23-2-2011 by Bicent76 because: (no reason given)



posted on Feb, 23 2011 @ 10:35 PM
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Where was the choice,
man heard no voice coward in the flames,
afraid of the scent that went with the burning embers,
I sit and long for the maps my ancenstors left the distance to the place,
where it burns our faces,
just find myself in the dark cold place,
where the drunken man laughs and finds sollace,
i am just words to a muse in a mile long cold maze,
where the heart sits around a cold iceburg sitting in the center of a island,
weeping in the artic cold ground...

Nothing to pick you up into my warm heart,
I watch you freeze in the disease of life.....

And the words of today, leave you in the decadence of a moment lost in man'sshade,
and I sing a note once more, to quiet the steam boats...

All I have to sing in the single time,
I made it from here,
and the shear still quells in your willows my dear,
find a place in the trumpets roar,
as you sheer you veil in the dust storms hiding your eyes full of cries,,,
edit on 23-2-2011 by Bicent76 because: (no reason given)



posted on Mar, 1 2011 @ 10:13 PM
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A pause in the clandestine chains..

The rattle of the shackles are deafened by the howls from the hollows,
a man ravaged in rags and a gag demands a language born from the pulse of his soul,
in his silent hollow of a soul.

Yet what he shallows is deep with the beaks of the men who are vulturous in this century where we pass our sins to our soldiers, leading them down below where we face a shallow sea shell with echoes of hills where we swear a pasture of peace and knowledge of knowing of what we do not know..

She ran and ran, running from the Father, who gave up his soul,
for a forthwith and a indigo for a spirit to sing a chorus of what is right,
only to be sworned and to be scorned from the sheds of skin, from the breaths being spoken up from a throat, from a woman, who hates the virtue of a man..


With no choice he finds himself next to the demons running for their lives in a river that speaks to us in the beer cans, and finds chasms in broken mens hands..

Sitting alone, I think I might not see the eyes of twillight,
making it hard not to drop a tear, in a long goodbye, where I nearly do,
yet I gasp and take hold of the chaos chords, strummed from a dying lord,
whose voice is dim and grim and dying in the mens dances in the moon dance,
where the raising of the glass finds the prisms of light we call day...


edit on 1-3-2011 by Bicent76 because: (no reason given)



posted on Mar, 1 2011 @ 10:30 PM
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he finds himself dancing on water...

shuffling his feet beneath the sworn baptisms of catalysts of change,
yet with no tree's he cuts his toes on the oysters saturating his blood on the pearls of currents drifting in the rifts of a tide, awakened by the chords of the chains rocking the slaves back and forth, making the clandestine's of lifting many stones just a vision of what we see today..

the sea fog, was a visage of men, from before, adrift lost without a Sheppard,
leaving the guidance up to chance, and a slight twist of the wrist,
a time mankind felt was so divine, and sharp with the glimmer of the jewels of sparkling so called experience,
Yet this is the absents of the feverousness of change, we find we are all asking for a moment to deliberate,
the one thing in our hearts where no one can hear nor feel,
we are the past a blade of grass it becomes in a pasture that feeds the beast as cud,
we are shaped so in the evenenesence of a starless and grey sky that does not cry upon us,
leaving us to the dries eyes,
and the crisp wisps of dying lies in our eyes,
as the world continues to be seen thru so many troubled eyes,
from mankind to all kinds..

My shoulders feels the weeps,
from the gods dying with their final breaths,
in the fires mankind burns right and bright...

When you can admit to seeing fear in the faces of places in the shapes of man,
then lets sit and talk,
and look out the window,
feeling the warm winds..



posted on Mar, 1 2011 @ 10:46 PM
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How I wish I could walk thru the duldrums,
of my memories of years,
in a time where the middle ages were at a hands grasp,
and the fires of nuclear blast were cold in my fears,
Now I sit far away,
in the comfort of pain,
and no shame,
just the duldrums that were paid from the men in times,
in a violent pleasure we called into actions with snow filled tears and soon to be made rain...

Then a time asked, What if,
it was during the time of polyithic gods,
who walked with no reasons or ryhms,
leaving decisions to the facts of the nature of there times...

Even when it was wrong it was right,
without the riddles with the rings in the tree's and the streams of dreams were determined by a mans opinion on the smokes sifting from the burning branches...

We learned the hard truth that nothing was by our side,
even thou we watched the earth grow and saw the vines climb the walls,
and the animals grow and multiply we were the last gasp in understanding such complexity,
many men were drove crazy and many were drove in obedience in the light of a new time..

For in the end we will all endure the time of life,
for he is mad in the the twists of twillight,
yet the question remains as it did before the darkening of mens souls,
the devise of the derivation still hardens ones heart,
and still requests the jests in the night,
for such answer does not touch man's tongue,
why does the sky light up our minds?
why do we breath and question the hues?
It is the bland illusion we find ourselves in,
chastised the man who asks where the stars end up to go dim,
and the lives of our life end up in the end,
as we seem to all ask for her when it comes to the end,
I will leave this to the end, and to the beginning,
for without strife I may just sound maddened and saddened in life..

On a lighter note, thanks ats, for letting me write..



posted on Mar, 1 2011 @ 11:04 PM
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Spoken once more asking for the artifacts,
I became arcane,
unheard to the vibrations of electrons reflecting off the devices sent to you,
I was just the mumbles and stumbles of men before a time,
where we sat admiring the catalysts that made the stars burn the night sky with starlight,

I wrote a quote a time before, to a bent plateau where the love and hate met,
and begged one another not to make it hurt,
then the animals with intellect arrived,
and learned how to bridge such feelings into something we thought could make us better and sweat!

Now we find the seams skipped in the pattern where cheating the gauge is the code,
yet we find ourselves mostly broken with very little love to be found..
edit on 1-3-2011 by Bicent76 because: (no reason given)



posted on Mar, 1 2011 @ 11:39 PM
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There was a absents found when we came out,
looking for a combination connected with the contour of the crevices of life dragging us to the dirt and sand,
Where blood sanctifies the wind, and makes the fathoms deepen when we ask how deep can we fall to try to touch our soul's a place past the parking lot where we dance and roast our oats where we think we hop on the hip that drool our venom wanting to poison that cascades on the ground our shoes find with our frowns.

Yet we hurt ourselves with the echoes of lies,
it chimes in every aspect of our lives,
our words our jobs our abstinence to understanding where we are going,
we just end up running into the same tame shame,
as we stand their watching the swarms of insects buzz around our wandering eyes we find the perilous contours,
and find someone to meet and call it the fiasco that takes the twist in life away,
the time drifts and we find a absents of understanding to enjoy the burning,
where we do not hear cries and we lie, over and over we lie and say things to one another about the absence of the understanding.. Yet to arcane arcade we still cannot reach the high score..

Ending up on the shore I sit on a deserted island on the ship wreck I am looking all around,
their is no sound,
It is still and quiet and fear quells the spine in my back,
where the vertebra does not sense nor feel you..

Finding myself far away,
I wreck havoc not knowing what to do,
so in life I seek the aspect of you,
I find my mind broken without you..

So many others sit in the dismal sheets,
torn and scorn where if we could really hear,
we could hear the torn thread making beats in the cold wind,
blowing thru our souls,
past the beaks of the eagles seeking out their pray,
in a language we would call the meek the steeple of what is to cry about.

At last I find the gallows,
deep in the mud of the shallow,
I am scorned and oh so not adorned,
my damaged soul has found the enemy,
it lies in wait,
ready to pounce on the unknown,
I am the not so readily surprise,
I am the surmise,
who cries out and points to the damaged genes,
as a scene of the future,
where something that reveals itself pure to me will be the Constantine,
of a lie.. Where if I can make possible I will watch a lion cry...

there is a sound..
If you remain quiet you can hear,
for it is dear,
it is louder then the loudest bellow from the reigning trumpet,
and it makes a louder beat then the heart,
it is the transcendent of life.
It is the space that calls out to life,
it is the echo men have learned to fear in the night..

A woman's voice. Seductive in nature demands attention,
it purrs with the do Ra me echo in a silk cocoon begging for the man's constriction of muscles in the night,
A false sense of decryption of what it is we are, once again I stand at the plateau.



posted on Mar, 4 2011 @ 08:51 PM
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Lets do this, as the world casts us astray, I have some magic, to share with you...


I wish,
I wish,
I wish I was a better man,
the decisions between the dreams and reality, what am I to do run away?
never be found? I am not sure what I am feeling or the dreams I am feeling,
but I think it might be true.


My love of my life is the hole in my soul,
I keep having mad dreams in the night,
and my head, it is exhausted with the magic, can it be true?
my blood, it is falling in the spit from my words,
keeping the word spinning keeping the plans kept in the sands...

It is so unclear, I shove of the friends,
I am alone...
again, and find myself being looked at thru the windows,
with wim and whimper,
it is he again,
making his sounds again...

I am the noise that begs the bone to be heard,
I am the love dying in the light,
with my heart on my soul,
making it look so..


still alive I am ..
edit on 4-3-2011 by Bicent76 because: (no reason given)



posted on Mar, 4 2011 @ 09:26 PM
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I am listening..

Its quiet and lonesome,
Iam not sure what to do,
Iam looking for you,
and just seeing the blood of you drippipping from the evergreens,
I ask Where am I?
I am missing the hues from the view as I die for you..


Its poetry you bastallions....

the twist in the motion of time,
I can see a blur,
it has fire and ice in the cantrips of mans deice...
I hear a piano it plays a chord in the last hours of man,
as the horde to the new found lands....

I am but the frown the shadow who prevents the right sounds...

thee richness of man,
was sold without a sound,
all is left is the madness of a man,
who puts the words to sound...


edit on 4-3-2011 by Bicent76 because: (no reason given)
edit on 4-3-2011 by Bicent76 because: (no reason given)






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