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Thread: Do you have a poem to share? - Undale (ALL POEMS HERE, PLEASE)

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I love the imagery, Arcormacolind’va. Especially the broken swing. Smile Smilie
Thank you for reviving the thread! Very much like the word pictures, Arco. No suggestions - I like it just the way it is.

And I love yours, Lady Fea. Mind if I borrow it for a story I'm working on? Not to be posted here, of course, just for my own entertainment. Wink Smilie
I have a poem, but i dont know if any of u will really like it. *sighs* but here i go....

The Lonely Traveler

I am but a lonely Traveler
No name, no address, no home.
I just am, I walk down all paths.

Some Paths are created by sins and regret,
causing me to stumble and become blind to all those around me.

Some Paths are created by justice and love,
trying to help me live a better life than the one I am living.

But I am weary and life seems unchanging.
Each day is a struggle of will to survive.
I don't know where to go or who to trust.
But if you see me passing by, please be kind.
I am just a lonely Traveler.

Sure thing Nil Smile Smilie
Elana-that is very good!I feel that way all too often...Here is a poem also,for all to (hopefully)enjoy-it is titled"Untitled #3".I am sorry if it isn't exactly in a certain rhythm...:As the chill air of darkness is dismissed and the apathy of the colorless night exiled,a vivid spectacle of extraordinary lucidity enters into the consciousness of the world.Shadows fleeing in desperation are replaced by a vigour and expectation.The creatures of obscurity go into repose,while the air smells sweetly of tulip and rose.Sickened by the illumination of the great yellow orb,the evil-hearted seek out the remnants of shadow to absorb.Yin becomes Yang,all is reversed and the millenia seem quickly traversed,as if one can witness the dawning of time,before words became language,before verse became rhyme.Renewal,expectancy,divinity,bestowal.Awakening of the pregnant fates,the new day comes in the form of dawn,given to those that retain their faith.Peircing beams of illumination sooth the souls of ones needing absolution.COME TO US,OH AURORA FAIR!That we may live free of despair!We praise you for your luminousity,and for your steadfast generousity.Dawn,aurora,sunrise,daybreak,blessed morning forever cherished.Forget not the morning,she does not forget you.Be glad to see her and that you have not perished.A new day is born. Sorry it's so long!!!!!!!!
Actaully, it was great, i liked that poem, or hymn as i believe u said. Its hard to actually show my poetry to my friends, they dont really understand but thanks for the encouragement!
To be a poet is to be frequently misunderstood...thank you for your encouragement!Keep writing down your thoughts-look what it did for Professor Tolkien!
Hey guys, Icey here, here's some of my many poems:

You are...

You are the object of my desire.
You are my flame, my heart's fire.
You my rock, my chain to solid ground.
You are my love, the one I want to be around.

You are the one I dream about.
You are the one I want all but out.
You are the smile that brightens my face.
You are my happiness in it's place.

You are the one, rushing through my mind.
You are the one in my heart I find.
You are the one for all I care.
You are the one, my breath, my air.

You are the one at which I'm never mad.
You are the one, when I see you I'm glad.
You are the one who brightens my day.
You are the one who keeps my sadness at bay.

by: carrie n. (Icefangs)


I sit here, contemplating life
as the time crawls by like a person
who's had too much alcohol.
I sit here, waiting for something,
wondering if i should sit here at all.

Should I sit here still, while
the world passes by, or should
I go out, find an opportunity,
waiting only for my eyes.

I concentrate on this while
ignoring the world around me.
My friends, playing outside, full
of ideas and such. If I've
learned anything in life at all,
it's this: don't think too much.

by: carrie n.(Icefangs)

Well, that's all I can find for now, and I enjoy constructivce criticsim.

Will no one read my poems?!?!?!?! *sobbing* nobody loves me!!!!
Not true. They are nice. I like the first one better. But i understand the second perfectly.
thank you, thank you, here's some more:

My Dream...

I tried my hardest
to make you forgive me.
I cried my hardest
to win your sympathy.
I missed your warmth
your eversweet touch.
I missed your voice
your unending lust.
I wanted you back
to feel you again.
I wished you'd forgive me
so my dream could begin.
I longed for you
to hold me tight.
I dreamt of you
all the long night.
You smiled at me today
with a goofy grin.
I have a strange feeling
my dream is about to begin.
by: carrie n. (icefangs)



The times we spent together
will stay locked away
tight in my heart
Until our forever starts.
I hope that you care
for those times as much as I,
because if you do not
I has all been a lie.
You hugged me and kissed me
during our precious times
please say you love me.
You're the reason to my rhyme.
Every day I'm with you
is like a lifetime
filled with happiness to the rim
I hope you will always stay mine.
You keep me company
all the times I am down
all the times I am sad
Because you, you keep my spellbound.
I smile when I see you
you smile back at me
the times we spend together
I hope they mean as much to you,
as they do to me.
by: carrie n. (icefangs)

I write like I've been in love, alas, I have not yet been blessed that way.

Beautiful. They seem as though they come from experience, but since they don't, it shows you're a romantic (I think). I have never been in love either (I am still young, though) so I write poems about wanting to be in love. They always seem more sad than not. But your poems embrace the hopeful aspcet of love. I like them.

Thanks, I had a bunch more, but I cannot find them. darnit.
Well ill just write everything Cano wrote, exept that i dont write poems.
Poems are strange and wonderful things. They means different things to different people and effect us all in different way. Even interpretation can change. Here, we also have people whose mother tongue is not English, writing in English...... I take my hats off to you! Not being multi-lingual myself I wonder how others see poems; does the interpretation change because of the wording, are meanings and nuances lost? What are the difficulties of reading or writing a poem in another language?

And is English good for writing in? I personally think English is the most beautiful language for poetry and literature but then I am biased just very slightly.

The times we spent together
will stay locked away
tight in my heart
Until our forever starts.

I loved this, Icey! It's what I like in poetry - the feeling it gives. It is not always, I feel, necessary to understand exactly what the author meant but it is the feeling it gives you when you read it, the pinprick of a tear or wobble of a lip, the shiver down the spine.....

People often say 'write from experience' and to a point this is true - use what you know, but I think it best to write from the heart , spirit and imagination and then use your experience to temper the words. At 14(I thought somewhere you had said you were 14 but you might be older) you probably don't have much experience in romantic love but you have experience in wishing and longing for it. Those are the feelings you use, then you extrapolate them. It is possible that when you are 100 years old (maybe a bit younger) you will read them back and think...... ARGGGGGH! but you will be reading them having gained all those years of experience and it will all seem so different. Be as proud of them then as you are now and remember how, why and when you wrote them. Also, poetry can be termed 'work in progress' and you may find years later that you rewrite some, keeping the best bits and reworking them.

Talking of interpretation, I posted this in my journal recently...

We aliens
Set apart
Reach only
With fantasies

I'd be interested to know how people interpret it - quite a few interepretations have been put forward from different people. I won't say what those interpretations are......
As in all texts it takes a good translator to transfer the feeling and meaning of a text from one language to another. Words are different in length, sound, rhymes and rhythm. Words with double meaning can be lost if one is not careful. I have one little poem I made that I'd like to post (my only poem actually), but there is a word with double meaning which I need to have there. It won't be the same without both meanings, though you wouldn't know it was gone. Wink Smilie But we'll see. Maybe later. If Iook a bit harder I might find a suitable word.

We aliens
Set apart
Reach only
With fantasies

I'm thinking loneliness, reaching out but not connecting to.. well it could be anybody, could be the world but I immediatly thought about lovers who have drifted apart and the sadness it creates. I also see, like an illustration to the poem, two green aliens on seperate planets who want to meet but can't reach. Very childish and cartoony, can see the animation in my head. (Yes my inner child is very much alive.) But I think it fits the poem. Simple words with a deeper meaning.

Another Vee poem, the poem of the garden slug. For some reason I can't open the journal (I'm on the wrong computer) but I remember thinking it was such a cute poem untill I looked up the word I didn't know, and found it meant the slug was disgusting. Poor slug, I thought I had found a little tribute to the stange little slimy creeps.. I still haven't accepted that word. It's not there. Wink Smilie
Green aliens! Fantastic.... And yes, lovers, friends, sadness....... and also appropriate for the internet.

The slug poem...

A loathsome thing is a garden slug
Like a lump of dirty grey jelly.
No arms or legs or hands and feet
It slides along on its belly

They are not cute!

And I am intrigued. What is this poem and this word you mention? Come on, post it here and maybe someone will come up with something.
loathsome was the word, and yes that is the poem. Maybr not cute, but it was funny sort of. Got to run.
I was referring to.....

have one little poem I made that I'd like to post (my only poem actually), but there is a word with double meaning which I need to have there. It won't be the same without both meanings, though you wouldn't know it was gone.

Come on - we need to know!
Yeah, we need to know! Thanks for those wonderful and insightful thougths about my writing, Vee. It is true, I am 14, and will stay that way until this November. The slug poem is so cute! Its a funny little piece, and hold on, I may have found another poem...


Laughing, smiling, grinning, and glaring...
expressions that show
how you are feeling.

A nod, a handshake, or dancing a little jig...
motions that reveal
what you are thinking.

A hug, a kiss, a slight touch or two...
movements that proclaim
your passion for one,
and, if returned
their love for you.

Jumping, running, swimming, and playing...
actions that show
how you are feeling.

This one may not be as good as some of my others, but, nobody's perfect. I'll have some more up soon.

Ahh more than 15 seconds to post, good.
The slug poem is so cute!
Yey!! I'm not alone! It is the description of the slug that is cute, not the slug itself. Like seen through the eyes of a child, simple but also brilliant, like a childs obsevation often is.

I love you poems Icey! I haven't got much insightful things to say, but they are beautiful!
Thanks very much, Amarie.

Hahaha! Oh how quickly I forget! I was at my parents house looking trough some old things when I found a four humourus poems I had written in in the.. *thinking* 8th grade or around that time. Then I remembered writing several silly songs and poems when I was at that age, fun to see Smile Smilie

Still, the only serious poem I made is this one (yes I am posting it now), which is written to go with an art project in school, but the poem also works well on its own.

is it really so
that I
with these wings
will soar high in the sky
and not fall down
flat on the ground

am I really
ment to fly
maybe I really am
an ostrich
an emu
a penguin
or a rubber ducky

soon I will throw myself
out into the World
and find who
I am

I'm adding the original text too since I like it best that way

er det verkeleg mogeleg
at eg
med desse vengjene
skal flyga h’gt, h’gt mot sky
og ikkje falle ned
boms i bakken

er eg verkeleg
meint til ’ flyge
kanskje eg eigentleg er
ein struts
ein emu
eller ein leirgauk

sanrt skal eg kasta meg ut
i den Store Vide Verda
og finne ut kven
eg er

(Not a great work of litterary art but it's mine Wink Smilie )
The word that had double meaning was "leirgauk" - occarina but litterary clay cuckoo, rubber ducky had to do (for now at least).
(Not a great work of litterary art but it's mine Wink Smilie )
Be that as it may, I found it was a fun poem and was it understandable in English forming visions in my mind's eye, which is what any poet desires.

Yours being an old poem from your formative years reminded me of a short paper I wrote for an English assignment at Uni. It was about a visit to my home town barbershop as a youngster: I got an "A" on it. Many years later I wanted to put it into my computer because it in pen on paper; however, when I read it over, the grammar was so atrocious that I guess the "A" must have been for the descriptive quality, rather than the use of the Queen's English. After trying to edit it, I finally gave it up as a lost cause: humanity would just have to survive without my remembrance. Elf With a Big Grin Smilie
It is fun to find things you made when you were younger, brings back so many memories. Smile Smilie My poem got an A, but honestly, there is no way to grade a poem just the same way wou can't interpret ia poem wrong. So what could the teacher do? Wink Smilie (we all got As on our texts I think, maybe there was one B)

Just thought I should say that the poem is ment to be a little bit childish so no need to tip-toe around that fact. Wink Smilie

I was 19 years old, but it is not me speaking, it was made to go with the art project and I didn't realize it could fit others untill someone saw the little exhibit we had and told me. I even objected. "but that's not what I.. hmm... true.. yes... " Wink Smilie
A few more of mine...

The Dance of the Sparrow

Mindlessly a golden flower fell,
Glazed with scarlet, crimson pulsing
'Cross an empty, shattered shell
Ripe ere descent, she now was spent
Spilling her sweet juices.
Who knew her but the sparrow? who
With cautious eyes watched ceaselessly,
Opening his great pinions he had
Danced with the flower, falling
Lifeless to the ground beside her.
His life's blood now with hers mingled:
From two became none,
And yet there lay none ’
For the Dance of the Sparrow
Ceased ere it begun.

(Quenya Translation)
Ils’mav’ laur’a lots’ lantan’,
T’pina carnenen, serc’ s’rala
R’cina, lusta loiconna.
M’ra ep’ lanta, s’ nes metyaina
Palyala lissi s’varyar.
Man istan’ eryo hequa i aiw’? ya
Hendunen halyaina tirn’ ’-tyeld’o,
Pantala r’maryar, ery’
Il’lti’ i lotsenen, lantala
’-cuil’ i talanna ara eryenna.
I serc’ cuileryava s’rala serceryanen:
Attallo tul’ min’,
Ananta n’ ’nat,
An i liltal’ i aiw’o
Etyeldi’ ep’ yesserya.


In an empty house lies a darkened window
That opens up to nothing.
Shadowed, red-streaked,
Frozen in time; it lays locked
Reflecting, mirroring, its gaze never sleeping
As the glass cracks and the frame withers.
It awaits the One who can open it,
A number hidden yet counting down,
One is all and naught,
Vast yet void, within arms' reach
Yet unreachable.
Never forgotten, a silver key dwells inside One.
Spinning, tarnished, and bare
It has never been noticed ’
Soundlessly the window shatters,
Fluctuating in the turmoils of its nonexistance.
Broken fragments fall soundlessly,
As One became None.

Fading of a Sinking Star

Of five and twenty
He pondered in darkness;
Power came with the dawn, arrayed
In scarlet and gold:
Black linen streamed over flower-studded fields,
As roaring trumpets ceased, and then honeyed tongues:
A loaf-warder captured, and yet was caught:
Listened, and much was taught.
For lightning struck, and green waves rolled:
Sunset was forgotten
As Eternal Night shone.


Burning in a twinkling forest of crystal chalices,
I follow the butterflies as they weave
Through my outstretched fingers,
Blackened and charred, burnt from within
My body wanes as my heart is waxing,
Fingers smoke as my mouth is asking
"Can I ever hold you in my arms?
Can I ever look into your eyes and
watch that smile come again one more time?
Or is this all a dream; my delusion;
a hopeless illusion made in my confusion?"
Flesh peels away, the body convulsing,
Fingers twitching, my heart is pulsing
Thick blood across the lawn of
Faded trees.
The silver rain beats down upon my shaking shoulders,
Washing away ...
My dreams.

Wink Smilie
Arco: I really like your Keycheck, the visulization became alive for me.

Death in the Geriatric Ward

Afraid of growing old, Vee? Wink Smilie

It seems those horrible places are the same the world over..
And you wish you'd worn your sneakers
'Cos the noise of your boots
Echoes loud.

Thumbs Up Smilie I always wear sneakers, but it still sounds like an oliphant on a skate board in those corridors! Aagh!
It was written a while ago when my then mother-in-law was dying in hospital and was written with feelings of hopelessness and inevitability and the hatred of the clinical, souless hospital environment she died in. She regained consciousness shortly before she died, seemingly unaware of everything and everyone around her and the only thing she said was the first part of the Lord's Prayer - Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name......

Sneakers was appropriate at the time - today I would have probably used 'trainers' but I didn't want to change it.
My youngest brother has been helicoptered to hospital for emergency brain surgery a number of times. My mom now hates! hospitals. The hospital smell makes her shudder. Not too nice associations, to put it mildly..
When this thread was transfered from old P-T, some of the first posts were missing and others were out of order. Today I have rectified the situation so that they are all there and now in order.
This is something that started off in the thread Something Different to Do..... the idea being you write a short story of exactly 50 words.

I wrote something there which to me was more a poem than prose so I've tweaked it a bit and may tweak it a bit more but here it is.....

If God Were A Writer

Empty of words
I listen to time;
Nothing comes
And all worlds sleep.
A moment between
Coffee and cigarettes
This universe waits.
Noises invade
And memories stir.
I cannot lose them again:
My children.

At some point I will add this to my journal.
OOOOOOOH, that's good, Vee!

I especially like" I cannot lose them again, my children."-great stuff. What a neat idea to try to write a short story in just 50 words! That brings the creativity out, to be sure-if you're not creative, you couldn't possibly do it , in so few words, especially.

I wrote a short poem of my own yesterday, and it seems fit for today as well, so here goes:

You and I
are the last remnants of a forgotten race
with roots extending
to a distant time and place.
Kindred souls
on a road uncharted,
each time reuniting
after we have long been parted.
May we meet again
in the next cycle around,
for you and I
are eternally bound.

A little corny, but isn't life? Elf Rolling Eyes Smilie
That one had a hint of elves about it. Just one quick observation......

are the last remnants of a forgotten race

I'd leave out last, as remnants are that anyway.

You and I,
remnants of a forgotten race
with roots extending what I would say....... not that I know anything of course, it is as you have said before if it works it works.

My but aren't we busy bees.......

I've never written any poetry linked to Tolkien but thought I'd have a go and have played around with this one today taking inspiration from when Sam sees the fallen Southron.... (thank goodness that little bit was included in the film, even though it was given to Faramir to say.)

My Enemy

Another time, another place
I'd call you friend and watch your face
And share the wine from last year's vine.
We never walked the fields you loved
We never talked;

We never laughed at stories bold
I never told how I found
You lost upon the muddied ground;
Victim of his lies, you died beneath
These foreign skies

I never knew your peaceful life
I never met your wife and child;
I saw your body left defiled
But never saw your road to war
Or your battle brief

Yet when I sleep
I hear them weep
A rhythm of
Their grief.

Again, it may be subject to more tweaking and will be put into my journal.
heres a goofy poem i wrote in 5th grade about my teacher:

My teacher's name is Ms. Trice*,
She's really really really nice!

But today she's really mad,
Because I spilt pop on her new writing pad!

She's furious and sent a letter home,
I wanna rip out my hair and throw it away with my comb!

I better go get her,
Because I still have to tell her,
That my dog chewed up the letter!

*name changed

From dreams that
Turn and burn
The soul,
That torch and scorch
To tantalise;
As breathe exhales
And pales
The shades -
Then fades.
Overload...too much good poetry...cannot...compute...

Vee! Why are you not published? Have you ever seriously considered it? The one about the fallen Southron is very touching-soldiers, regardless of nationality, are not just nameless faces-they are all induviduals with lives and loved ones of their own. I can imagine Samwise thinking up something along those same lines, but less eloquent, of course. Your other one is good, too-almost like a prolonged haiku, minus the syllable structure, but with the same unclouded simplicity.

Also, you are right-I was being quite redundant-"last" did not need to be used along with "remnants" as it connotates being last in itself-I need someone like you to watch my grammar-could you come here to my home and stand over my shoulder? My parents have never been much help; I need someone's guidance...I am trying desperately to get published( though I believe that actually requires work and contacting publishers, doesn't it?). Any way, good call, Vee.

Great ode to your teacher, HobbitHomie! Much nicer than the ones I wrote for my teachers in school...
Now, here's my poem for today!

WARNING:this does not rhyme.

The Value of One

When jewelery has lost its shine,
do you throw it away or polish it?
When the weather changes for the worse,
do you count the day as lost?
When someone passes out of life,
do you mourn their loss, or praise their life?
When your favourite shirt gets ruined,
do you repair it, or part with it?

Does something lose its value
simply because it doesn't do
what it once did for you?
Or can the value within it
draw you to repair the wounds
of time upon its mantle?

Is value strictly for face value,
or is it found more easily in the heart?
Is the answer to your needs
something that can't be bought?
i love all the questions!! its great!!
Thank you, HH.Smile Smilie

More poems please!
Loni - I have moved your post to a more appropriate thread in The Green Dragon - Quote Something from Tolkien as this thread is for sharing and discussion of original poems and it will be confusing if people start quoting other poems here.

Well done on memorising that poem though - I have trouble memorising my telephone number!

Vee - Council Member
A while back in this thread Nessa wrote a poem and asked for, and got, constructive criticism. Having read the poem I have to say :

firstly that for someone who does not speak English as a first language it was very good and it improved as she worked on it using the advice given.

Secondly, I'd like to see it again and any changes she has made to.

Thirdly, it was suggested that the line
Let us wander in the moon pale light,

be changed to "pale moon light". However, that is a phrase often used and I preferred her original line but would offer one suggestion -

"Let us wander in the moon-pale light".

A simple hyphen makes a difference and it becomes a more original description of the light.

So Nessa, if you are still here can we see the poem again please?
Vee! Why are you not published? Have you ever seriously considered it?

I had a couple of poems published in some magazines years ago but I wasn't that keen on the poems (I think they just fitted in with a theme) and they bought the copyrights to them for a pittance which I regret now.

As for real publishing - I always feel my poetry is more for me rather than inflict it on the rest of the world. There is a lot out there and I have a snowball's chance in hell of getting anyone to seriously consider publishing it. So I'm not really bothered. I'll do it for me and if others happen to enjoy it along the way........

Wiggle Smilie
moon-pale ; kennings : compound words that evoke vivid pictures Very Big Grin Smilie
Yes, I just call it poetry.

Wiggle Smilie

Anything grammatical that has some finesse, whether it be a word or repeated sounds or verses, etc., can be poetry. The unspoken can also be poetry; the delicacy of a moment, the wind's song through the trees, the weather, your family's understanding of who you are,etc. It is something felt from the heart deeply enough to strike a chord.
Summer's End

Summer's end is measured
In stiff stacks of hay
And underlined
By the wretchedness
Of scorched stubble.

Summer's end is echoed
By the electric buzz
Of grasshoppers -
Last Night Promenaders
Who sing as the slow tick
Of falling leaves
Scratches the seconds
From the last days;
Scurrying after
Softly exploding clouds.

Summer's end is caught
By neon sunsets;
Green switches to amber
And the redness of Autumn
Swells the gutters.

Suddenly at 6 o'clock
It's dark;
The days eaten
By cancerous gloom,
And even the Promenaders
Are silent.
So visual! And yes, the end of summer does have a certain lonely sadness...brilliant one, Vee.

This is my poem for today. It is called "Lament of the Sage"

A callous on the desert floor,
the aging man sought for more,
following whichever way
the desert wind dared play.

A shroud of doubt had lifted and gone
until before his eyes, a horizon dawned,
distant and barely on the edge of sight,
but somehow familiar and very bright.

Upon a large oasis
he fell around dusk of the twentieth day,
but instead of a falsity that most visions are,
he found an enchanted place.

A life he grew and lovingly tended
in the heart of the heat,
nestled inside of a tiny fortress,
an evolution from lacking to complete.

Then on an evening dark and lonely,
the wandering call came to him,
and though he left home behind and the world ahead,
only then was he alive within.

Fortunes change, fate sways,
love remains, a strong heart never fades.
The wind can blow one's soul to new ways...
A callous on the desert floor,
the aging man sought for more,

Yes - I like that!

So what happened to the poem a day? Huh? Been slacking, have you? Grrrrrr!

Well - I decided I was going to try and write something about a favourite piece from LotR... and I then decided it was going to have a particular structure..... and this is what I have so far. Not sure whether I will change it.... it reads with a rhythm... whaddyerthink?

The Song of the Rohirrim

Rohan rides and
Strides 'cross plains,
Stains with blood the
Mud and field.
Yield! they sing,
To Theoden King!
Theoden King!
Of the Golden Hall;
Fall before him
Grim and great.
Await the sun,
Come, fire the soul
Come, seek the goal,
The Victor's fate;
Late in his day
Say not Old Man,
Say King again.
Raise the shield,
Wield the sword;
Lord of Rohan!
King of Rohan!
Theoden King
To war!
"On Thinking"
Trapped in a thought, an idea going round
The dulling force, the foggy cloud controlling
No liberty in the mind, no ideas to be bound
Thoughts are obscured, nowhere to be found.

For a thought to be right, who is to say?
Look over your shoulder, they are patrolling
The need to check if our thoughts are okay
Not to be confused with the diligent way.

Does it make any sense, and if not, who cares?
Strict by the guidelines, the cloud still fading
To judge by one’s thoughts, something one wears
Thinking of Jupiter, inhabited by bears.

Crazy may be, in the mind of crazy beings
But is the cloud gone’or is it just hiding?
Thinking eternal, infinite round of the rings
But no one dares nor talks nor sings.

We wonder sometimes, would the cloud let it pass?
Does it matter tomorrow, or will it just be tiring?
No one cares nor knows, its up to you, not the mass
Obscurity only reaches till your expressions are last.

Nowhere to be obscured, thoughts are found
No ideas to be in the mind, no liberty bound
The foggy dulling force, the cloud controlling,
An idea in a thought, trapped going round.
’Ode to Guitar’
Giving my life
That topping
That extra
That reason for living
And that cause for happiness.
Making the senses at ease
Something the world all needs.
Supplying the beat of the soul
And giving that
Extra boost to
My clogged
Stressed mind
Through the fingers and ears.
You are my anti-depressant
And my time-spender
My hobby
My joy of life
My friend
My life.

My fingers caress
Your smooth neck
While my other hand
Helps by playing on your body.
You join
My friends and I
We gather around
Caressing and massaging
You and your friends
Down in the basement
Where no one can hear.

You are the essence
Of my life.
I create your creation.
You create the music
The music
That keeps the world spinning
You are my voice
When I can not speak,
My thoughts when I can not think.
’Ignorance of Innocence’
Is it good or bad?
The innocence that we had
Do we want it back?
’Creation Controlling’
We created it.
Now creation controls us,
Now, no stop top this.
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