Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Arcassin B Feb 2018
By Arcassin Burnham

Too late to call,
Deliberately passionate about how you've been doing,
Crossing fingers in hopes that you don't see someone else and give all of your fruit and your veggies to them,
Putting yourself on the line for them,
Waste all your time with them,
Make me jealous in utter Requiem.

Stone cold blind men could see you from miles away admiring all that you are in a world where some will degrade,
Fight the sun if you gone from the shade,
The Sweat and the pain to be thrown to the wolves and sheeple eludes to the people that don't give a care about what is actually really important to see and look forward to, this corrupted world got a hold of you,
But I still love you,
You're delightful,
Hot like the summer,
So insightful,
Wait am I degrading a little? the situation is belittled, playing fiddle.
©abpoetry2018


https://arcassin.blogspot.com/2018/02/i-see-woman.html
Tatiana Jan 2018
Take the medicine to feel well again

Allow sleep to creep up on you

Desire the sleep and count the sheep

The flock has grown too large

to control

and it stampedes over your soul
Graff1980 Dec 2017
Your consciousness is restricted by your self-imposed ignorance. You are so much more then your consumerism impulses, your romantic fantasies/heartaches, your political ideologies, and your religious dogmas. You are a universe of potential, something that can be developed in the stillness of introverted introspection, something that is unique and beautiful, something that longs to be shared with the world. You are your own mechanism for self-directed emotional, intellectual, nutritional, and  neurochemical evolution. You just have to look beyond the predefined prepackaged reality and realize just because it is done this way does not mean it has to be done that.
Graff1980 Dec 2017
The ride is
a sickly set of statues
circling,
an ornate beauty
of predictable movements.

A carousal of fools,
stallions set stern in silence,
a caravan
of unwilling men
and women
that never stride
outside
the pre-ordained.

I watch them
still as mannequins,
eye set in the same positions,
seeing and thinking
the same thing.
They do not listen to
or hear the words I sing
when I try to bring
them their freedom.

The circle stops,
plastic bodies drop.
Paint chipped
they all dip
and rise no more
as I go on to explore
everything, alone.
Poetic T Dec 2017
And so the sheep did follow
                     and fall to there knees
not knowing the truth of there
future folly.
For those before clothed the Shepard
and Fed his many needs.

While they were tossed aside
              empty vessels of false followings..
And when the knew were born
                          the shepherd smiled.

Not for the birth of new life,
            but to fed upon there insecurities
   knowing when they could walk,
they would follow his words that were
               just leading them to there inevitable ending....
Nathalie Dec 2017
i remember how you hated arithmetic;
the nights spent huddled over assignments,
and in the midst of sleep groaning about numbers i never understood,
i'd like to count how long it would take for you to drift off.
i remember that you have ten fingers,
all of which have once touched me on wintery nights,
all of which have traced down the 65 inches of my body,
and you have two eyes,
the blue that ogled every part of me while in the shower.
and i used to love numbers,
because i could count each time i fall in love with you,
over and over again.
i remember how you'd mumble formulas in your sleep,
and i'd count each breath you'd take,
smiling to myself multiple times in the dark.
and i remember spending the 391 days without you in my life,
and it makes me hate numbers, too.
Beatriz Couto Dec 2017
How beautiful it is
how the Shepherd cares of his sheeps
with all his dedication and motivation
look at him...
look at the ******* Shepherd
he never fails to them
rather, he fails to his unknown world
what's a world without a quadrupedal, ruminant mammal ?
11.12.2017
Poetic T Dec 2017
Sheep, the lambs to the slaughter of false words,
that were breathed by the misgiving of
                                our forefathers weaknesses..

But what is a word, it is power, and spoken in
repetitive whistles the sheep follow.
                                  stripped of there freedom
for they follow a shepherd of false promises.

Sheep are for meant for
                                   two things
to put the wool over others eyes
and to feed the hunger of another...
Next page