Cherish what little time we have, they say. Politics among the coursework for the day, Perhaps the housework can justify a stay, Though setbacks can justify means to create. The weed, it stays dope, We changed though, Peering through grass, We see our hope. Not one being persecutor, But blame to the group. Fire and flames on a hoop, Would not you jump officer? Or frame up and shoot?
Panic as the ship hits the shore, Not Before, la vie, con amore, For love does typically live forever. Only old men break for the weather, Feverish in their love of pleasure. Deacon finding the failure of people, Lights fires in the place of beacon, Wooden beams crumbling beneath him, He is the lighthouse that never was. I am the rocks that never could, Smashing rocks of greater virtue, I am then accost and pursued, Masticating grass of rain and dew, Too ignorant to stand. Too ignorant to move.
Bird sings low Everywhere it goes Solo Volume decreased Old Crow can't hear Intricacies Flyin' from old notes Higher than most tho Song ain't loud Used to be Bird's quiet Crazy Speaks Feathers in beak Live Vibes to the beat Heat Released Birds flapping their wings Squawking their beaks Bending their knees Leaving their feet Lotus grows pink Cutting through deep Low melodies Low sounds of the songbird Played on repeat
Pastures dry, the people see, Move on and feel their freedom, Seldom hearing people eaters. Creature seeking not being a career, Having not done it for twenty years, Seeking all monsters to be sought. Tables turned, the people rot. Yearning on for cannot be. Informed thoughts cannot read, Nor breed cattle to buy bread. Masters of a humble rest; Grow their own bread, Farm their own cattle, Fight their own battles, Propagating views to their peers, Which idealize each other, Making careers of judgement.
Feather aloft, with folded wing, Birds gliding as the summer sings, Turning only to check the fitting. Bastion of the great lords, Last swinging his great sword, Breaking bones he sees fit. A life in three parts, As though it was, And so it is. Life lays it's judgement, As one tries to live.
Once great poems in the form of epic, Tragically short was my bite of danish, Therefore I re-post a poem from 2012. Current relevance being to a shelf.
It's you I want I just mean Do it Want me I'll scream Drown them More feelings Of wanting Longing For something Aloof Trot of the hoof Fall from the floor Land on the proof Smile at the whore Missing her tooth Trying to score Good times with the roof Ease to cool her Down and pass out Songs of abusers Speaking of peace Echo through darkness Then she falls asleep For something Standoffish I just mean It you whose the problem Not me I just solve 'em I can't be wrong 'Cuz I'm peaceful And honest And a really chill guy If you don't mind me talking At lengths just to show I'm not racist I'm mocking Their race 'Cuz it's funny Not Angry Just Loving That Pain From Above Automatic Dark static Creatures of habit Throwing outrage around Myself I won't have it Outraged at myself Myself never planning To be holed in a cell Living under you bandits You won't have it yourselves Yourselves being outraged At all of yourselves For all of your work Education and health Yell at your brothers Strangers Mothers Escaping from hell By throwing dirt At the world Insurmountable selves By the billions All with a version of self I'm doing it now Laying a seed To expand And develop I mean I just want to scream These guys I girl dog about I'm mad 'Cuz I'm me
Waiting for a miracle to save us, And we have saviors, But they're controlled by secret agents, Waiting for a miracle to save them, And they have saviors, But they're controlled by secret agents. His father wrote his epitaph, I know. He captured the hearts of the young and the old. God given talent given highest awards. He was yesterday's child, So the day he got old... Like midnight's stars he disappeared. Fagments of influence rapidly spread, Directing the youth of the afteryears, But the man wasn't dead, I can prove it, 'cuz dead mean don't sweat.
If the American government told you, life over death, Would you just believe them, and choose to live? If the American government told you, We're just having fun, drawing lines in the sky, Would you believe them? If your president warned you, Of the coming apocalypse, Would you believe the Americans? Or choose to live?
Sides of my mouth Beaten and battered Cucumber Cheese Salted crackers
A cold man prays for food. A fed man prays for heat. The rest pray obsolete, Needing very little. Pittance and a needle, Praying a life discrete. Peering through sheets, Never seeing sunlight, Only what cannot be, and the divine.
I wish I could be like you, So fucking great, The Grand Satan I erase. With time they wash away, despite their wish to stay.
In his future he sees tired coughing, But the seer mundane usually finds nothing, Only peering back upon seared meat, Apparently to be, or feel something. Caravans of the sky desire furniture, Of which the past robbed the future, Paradigms of the mind flipped suture, Lying prone as a feat of nature.
Ire of the God that creates, Pasty hands, adoration of the fans, And regret of a moving caste, Published spine of too much paste, Toiled upon by uninitiated masons. Cannot we end this race? Show tolerance instead of patience? Forget the genocide of ideals, Lest we deal in inaccurate traits.
Crystal eyes. By:James Williamson Pierce through me with your crystal eyes. Look deep down to my shame and to all things hidden. Allow me only my breath, Inhale and exhale. We will test our limits, as perspiration on my face begins to glisten. You are my lonesome shadow, the dagger between my breast plate causing unforseen pain, yet If pulled out results in my demise. So look deep my dear past my darkness, fears and hatred.See my heart, cradle it so maybe it will become like you, vulnerable and crystallize.
The spirit of a stallion. By:James Williamson A wandering spirit lives in me, no board or brick may be my home. With the soul of a stallion, through this world I will forever roam. Consisting of a two stallion band, only me and my lack of trust. We run towards the unknown future, followed closely behind by regretful memories and clouds of dust. My shadow is my mistress, the world is my wife. She is where my heart lies, and when I am tired of running, she will take my life. Until then I will drink from the sea, and gaze into oceans of black. From the world my heart emerged, and when it beats for her no more, she will submerge it back. My spirit is a stallion, forever running until I ache. A thousand times in this life, my brittle heart will shatter. Yet solid remains my soul, that no one can ever break.
Deep in the forest Between pleasure and pain Screams are so violent Yet silence remains How often do you think of me? Or remember my name? Am I just a memory? Or do you ever think of me? Stridently hopeless Lotso' talk about games Stammers to silence There it goes again again How often do you think of me? Or remember my name? Am I just a memory? Or do you even think of me all? Tomorrow, if you picture it; Another chance to witness someone else's bliss And envy it And live your life in envying Green both in your mind and in your skin Clad in purple cloth worn to protect your sins And mourn the loss of love you stitched into it Around me I see Ghosts of a memory Smoke in the air I breathe A complete lack of energy Dogmatic discomfort Dogmatic disbelief Friends crushing my dreams Becoming the enemy I'm Building a fortress To honor my name To scream at the silence To wander in pain To wonder in fantasy Living each day the same Do you ever think of me? Or am I just a memory? Deep in the forest Between pleasure and pain Screams are so violent Yet silence remains How often do you think of me? Or remember my name? Am I just a memory? Or did you ever think of me at all?