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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: [work in progress]dots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: _proper_noun_
    ASL Info:    20/m/OK
    Elite Ratio:    5.36 - 106/88/24
    Words: 178
    Class/Type: Lyrics/Satire
    Total Views: 1423
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 1172



    Description:
       I realize this is absolutely the farthest thing from being finished, but I want some sort of type of opiniony kind of things. So, g'ahead.


    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dots[work in progress]dots
    -------------------------------------------


    The calm of the cup has died inside your veins,
    And the smoke from the cigarette won't mean a thing.
    Everyone's gone and you're falling asleep.
    The salt on your pillow never tasted so sweet.

    They say:
    "Glory
    To the God we believe.
    He lives in a book
    And from there He will look,
    But He won't do a thing for our pain."

    The mornings are blurry with tears in your eyes;
    Dust turns to mud as flesh turns to flies.
    You know the fathers who don't love their daughters,
    And all of the mothers who gave up their sons.
    The sunset looks bloody, just like everybody.
    Their faces are one and the same.
    You've seen the people who died with their steeples,
    And whose bright Sunday candles remained.

    They say:
    "Holy
    Is the God we can't see.
    He lives in a book
    And from there He will look,
    But He won't do a thing for our pain.
    We mothers and fathers
    Must pillage and slaughter,
    To live in this world we created."




    Submitted on 2006-05-01 17:02:04     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
    Submissions: [ Previous ] [ Next ]

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    1: >_<
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    ||| Comments |||
      "The calm of the cup has died inside your veins,
    And the smoke from the cigarette won't mean a thing.
    Everyone's gone and you're falling asleep.
    The salt on your pillow never tasted so sweet."

    That provided powerful visuals [at least in my imagination] the steadying moment availed from only on a quiet cup of tea or coffee - make that a mug - and the caffeine runs dry and the ceramic goes cold.... a smoke-filled room makes the denseness in ones awareness seem surreal. And as your 'peopled' yet isolated world fades into the dark of your room - the tears are your only constant and faithful companions as you cross over above the Styx hoping to meet tomorrow's sunrise.....

    Keep going! I await the completion of this poem!
    | Posted on 2006-05-04 00:00:00 | by CrypticBard | [ Reply to This ]


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