Gord
2024-08-29 05:28 am
There's no corset for age, Inevitably, masks degrade, What cannot be truly said, Like what is inside of a bank? I think: Narrow focus, quests for fame. Yellow, orange, redder grapes, Yellow locusts, yellow cobras, Despite the sweetness, slaves, Yellow, love, and disgust of stage. It's the red that keeps you away. It's the red that keeps you awake, It's red that made me ashamed, Less sweet and prearranged. There is no chorus of praise, Inevitably, that's an act of faith. Like no corset abound my waist, Only orange, celibacy and rage. However, It's yellow up for debate, Yellow in me sees people change, Yellow, to me sits out by the stage, Yells out in unison to the play.
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Gord
2023-08-13 08:22 pm
'I just wish, with all the time I have left', As she squeezes her fists, laments, Her eyes see ideas she never said, Sadness bookends her existence. She knows what she is, and lies, She thinks she knows what's best, But she is losing her desire for life. I just wish, like all the cows she loves, She would fight and fawn over me for once. The person she sees staring into the sky, It seems she likes, but she rarely sees herself. Mostly other men, me, and occasionally, marquee lights. She thinks it's for the best, I'm sure. The person she reveals herself to be, As the ocean fares, she holds against, My love can only take so many hits, She says, as she sets the table, For two people, but never herself. She says in the end, it's for the best. What happened to the things she liked? She thinks to herself in a flight, Reminded of a dream, desires, Meets someone else and tries. Time is a god of fire, however, So it takes and destroys her, Inside first, then outside. What she does with her life, It's none of my concern, Fans in the crowd fight amongst themselves, Not with players they revere and beheld. I think I know what's best, but in the end, I knew very little of what I said, Even less of the outcomes she had. So, who am I, to wish?
Gord
2023-03-29 05:31 am
Swordsman, go home! Forests shall be no more, Our taste for war is gone, Favoured trees have grown. Nobles shall be no more, No new kings be proclaimed, Of all her princes, gone, Her world led astray. Open doors, open forms, Cold, Enourmous castles, Forts, or formal courtyards. Informal castes, people, Making walls, floors, or ceilings. It matters where you stand, to the boards. Suppose also, toward unknown, Battlefields always need a war, Despite reform, broken bones, Foreign loans, foreign ownership, Moral codes or mortal blows. For it heeds no appeal, Not even for their souls. Dinner for four, e un quarto However, foremost, they see trolls. A photo's floorboards, reasons for war. Yet they sit aside and hope for resolve, Fear in their heart they hope to ignore.
Gord
2022-12-09 03:01 am
In his future he sees tired coughing, The seer mundane usually finds nothing, Only peering back upon seared meat, Apparently to be, or feel something. In his mind, he wishes to be someone, See his sums upped, feel unusual. He is detached, however, like Buddha, But he has an even broader usage. Once again he peers into the ether, He sees himself equal and decent, Sears at the breathing creature, Fears his lack of freedom. "Coward", he screams, "Coward", he casts his disease. Pulls from inside himself, meaning. He sees his reflection again in the mirror, Breathing heavily into the air, at first, But eventually he cried with realization.
Soulwolf31
2021-07-27 11:38 pm
As she floated through the air She looked down on all she loved as if she didnt have a care Death betrayal and pain All emotions that drove her insane Her legacy she wants to instill in all to be better than most Now she is her own worse ghost You see she always did the opposite of all she said To her but not most her most valued accomplishment is that she is dead She was jugde by all as she tried to stand her grounds and be true to the morals she set As there stare grew bolder and there words direct and hateful she felt death was her only bet So she closed her eyes took the blade and stabbed herself in the chest Praying that god knew her heart best As the blood oozes from her white shirt all she feel is relief And now that shes gone she leaves thoses she loved with her beliefs Everyday she graced this earth with her present she was haunted by her memories that was drowing her in a sea of tear Her biggest regret is not that she lived but that she lived her life in fear As her body was lifed to the ceiling the darkness that once ironically consumesd her was replace with a light And as she moved closer to the light it became so bright There was a voice that she had heard many times beore Telling her this wasn't the end and choose the other door She heard the message loud and clear and vowed to do right And even on her darkest day she remain true to the light Because on that faithful day she died she really literary died however was born again Not to live a life of hell but to do her best and at the end of her road know that when darkness and despair set in she will always win
Blake Garner
2020-09-15 10:47 am
No secrets You keep me speechless, I can not lie I hate that I love you, If you knew the damage Would you love me correctly, The hell you put me through I no longer want to be on the ride, You knew I from the start That I fall hard and fast, I try to feel ok While you play with my emotions, There's no need to explain If you think what your doing is ok, I can try to get up and feel ok again But I'm just domino in your game, Does this make you feel better Being on top in this one sided love, I wake up in terror To ask myself what am I doing here, Why do I let myself endure The torture of your love, I can not lie I love you, No more holding inside This dirty little secret I keep, I'm tired of the mistreatment I'm tired of the avoidance, You say I hurt you From a drunken fight, Its time to bring to light Your drunken words, When we met you knew I was unwell, One night amongst your drunken lips You spoke to me a terrible fate, It haunts me in my thoughts The DJ to my demons party, You spoke love sober Yet you spoke death drunk, Your tinder lips slipped I wish you would've died, You hated me for what I did You hated the fact I was broken, I set it aside for the sheer fact That I love you truly, However you still to this day Blame my mental instability, I try so hard every day I fight for my next breath.
Gord
2020-06-18 02:23 am
I wrote the list upon my hand, because I was wont to forget. Memory was always a weakness, since birth I assume. I had since then learnt to cope. Would it rain? I wasn't sure, but I would be ready if it did. "Ready to go?" I heard a voice. I nodded, we were probably already late. It was dark outside, raining. The blacktop shimmered with the small bit of dwindling light that escaped through the clouds. The day was early but the day already felt long, characteristic of the gloomy weather. I opened the door, however, to sunlight beaming in my front door. "Great! Looks like it cleared up outside!" but all I could hear was the ocean. The noise of waves tossing themselves on the shore was overwhelming, their loudness filling the air. "Are you alright?" I snapped back into reality. I assured myself I was fine, just lost in thought as usual. I tried to make myself more comfortable by focusing on the inviting weather, although I was visibly nervous. I felt like something bad was going to happen. My foot stepped to the concrete, bending the leather of my shoes and causing them to crease. We walk beside one another in a peaceful silence toward the bus stop, eyes trained on the puddles of the sidewalk. My foot lifted for another step and as it comes back down to reach the water, I felt a wind rush past. I looked up, and I found myself all alone. Once again, I felt the rain upon my face.
Lynn
2020-04-26 07:53 pm
I am a infinite work in progress. Who I was yesterday is not who I am now is not who I will be tomorrow. However long it takes me to answer, the clock keeps ticking. The past increases, the future recedes. I'm not me, I'm a traveler. Whatever I do, wherever I go, it will pass. When whenever ends, finally I will know rest. Peace.
Gord
2020-02-13 04:33 am
Who was I to write down? Key turns loud, however, The key turns around. Free me of my bounds, I can free you of yours, My art, part astounding, Mostly aster pounding, Hoping for brighter pink. Who am I to press down? Pestle grinds slow, A Mind grinds slower, Eventual beach polluted, The key turns around, It says: "Free me of these clownfish, acting clownish and catfish. Art is only partly a mish, Mostly is unequalled feeling." His art, part niche, Part for seating, Parts for kings, rich, Parts for heathens. Parts to reason other parts, Written partly to see them.
Gord
2020-02-12 07:31 am
However you write your novel, Heroes with their giants toppled, Macabre, of work with shovels, Endeavors for Turk or Zionism. Write of your heart problems, Can they be solved, by starch and auburn? Your not in danger, Neither is your offspring.
Gord
2018-04-12 05:46 am
His life a vine, with walls to climb, A sign of reeds, tall as the ceiling. It reads: peace on earth, healing. He easily remarks, needing, tired, With nobodies hiring he sings songs. Shouts at the crowd pink psalms, skimmed, Thinking along, forward and onward; Successor non, foreign legion stalwart. His heart a fire, with walls to climb, Passions fleeting, of paint peeling, With art to desire, of maxims meeting. Of dirt green, or fences mended, Grudge son's, however defenseless.
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.
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.
Gord
2017-09-20 04:07 pm
So sits a homely giant, Face sagged into manic, Stone eyelids and mask, Seeing the world as past, He undoes his passing; Leaving literal caves, Only breaching a cage, Mitigating his laugh, He upstages his own fate, Teaching pupils who stay afraid, Egg on his dress, Stag of the forest, Unwashed, unclean. Walls silver and platinum, A giant horse still gaits, Walks circles then defecates, Sleeping soundly until dawn; Enemies however struck down, Their laughter an afterthought, Justly he can run far, fast, Never figuring in absence, Filling him with maxims silly, Father pays the bills, He lives simply. Simply living a masquerade, To hide a face so pimply.
Marcus Bales
2016-03-20 12:00 am
Clevelanders are practical: they see A chance to make some money off the rich And near-rich who make up the GOP. We want it to go off without a hitch And keep the fearful bastards spending free For rooms and food and drink and sex for which We'll smile and hustle, taking every trouble To earn big tips and charge them more than double. The Trump supporters think that they are clever Well, let them think that everything is sunny; We Democrats are smart enough, however, To make sure nothing happens that's too funny While we make sure our principal endeavor Is separating Trumpies from their money. We march here to an economic drummer; It's going to be a profitable summer. They say that violence may be Cleveland's diet If Donald Trump expresses his frustration. Not to worry, though -- it will be quiet. Not even Trump's most fascist agitation will prompt the local Democrats to riot If Donald doesn't get the nomination: There just is not enough white trash around To get a good disturbance off the ground.
Gord
2015-02-25 12:00 am
Gold dinar seemingly portrayed free, Creased jeans denote not experience, Nor worn strings of the old guitar. Popular opinion seems to be, Gold crowns hold some sentience, Power, However is only an art; Movement of heart is truly living, Prudent hopefuls, human beings, Students convalesce upon the sea, Trading complacence for femininity;
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