Gord
2018-01-31 06:56 am
Letters written of nonsense, Inner conflicts, profits, Constantine of outfits, Proud of their holes. Opposite, of continents, Sinkholes, swallowing, Mere weathering problems, All they do is disclose. Imagine a world insolvent, Overpopulated and cold, Where fistfuls of dollars, Are better off. Plastic like the ocean, Poetic hopeful, Scotland. Politically motivated, Heart emplaced. However honest, lies of fate, One defends an idea flagrant, Upon a hill of nothing sacred, Fairness being the continent. Unless one wishes a life content, In a country of many ferrets.
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Gord
2018-01-23 10:53 am
He dreams of winter, tireless, listless, Forming fists, linger, Five fingers for taking, Making and mocking, Flying at the equinox; Checks to greet, A future cost. Apart from his words, He talks opposite, Of walks in the park, And poor pessimism. Perhaps one day, Forgotten is passion, Castles of young love, Tall as his bastion. He tells you of virtues, Rarely living attache, Stacking stones, Flashing cards flourished, Floor patterned, Checkerboard, Poorly planned, Colored randomly.
Gord
2018-01-16 08:10 am
Why, are my expectations so high? Despite my, I rhymes flexible, Lexicon admissible, less factual, Threat level maximum. Stratagem aspirant, Still I mitigate strata apparent, Deference veteran, get educated, Swine.
Gord
2018-01-09 07:37 am
Calculated lies of mitigation, Circumventing a sky, of no direction, Stars without conviction, shy to glow. Mine to hold, like guy insecure, They lie themselves, of times of old. Of Starlight swung across the shores, However permanent their sky azure. Like fire burns, administered thrones, A King burns, as his kingdom below. Too hot to be stolen, too hot to hold, Yet hands like cold, death incarnate. Lies foretold of fellowship honest, History written of crying sole.
Eric
2018-01-08 03:19 pm
Goodbye old friend, you've served me well; you did your job throughout this hell. Exhausted - now you're lying here; within your eyes I see the fear. My pal is calling...let him go, he'll never learn, he'll never know how dire it is to lose a friend, but I'll stay with you to the end. And if the Hun should come before you've breathed your last in this damn war, then, so be it, I'll die with you, for loyal friends must see it through until the end, when we'll be seen as one - once more on England's green and pleasant land for which we fought, to plough God's fields as we were taught. I hear the bullets whizzing by, the screaming men, the battle cry. You lift your head to shield my heart, and bullets tear your neck apart. I hold you tight with bloodied hand, I try to rise, I try to stand. I feel the shrapnel from the shell-- Goodbye old friend, you served me well.
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