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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: IIdots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: Theophilus
    Elite Ratio:    3.91 - 116/174/95
    Words: 435
    Class/Type: Random Thoughts/Misc
    Total Views: 941
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 2290



    Description:
       this is about hope. its about looking for love and getting burned again and again, by the foxes (that are off dancing with the pretty girls), the owls (that wont give you the time of day), the wolves (that seem so pretty until they bite and break you) even the stupid vultures (that are the most pitiful excuse for men)---- but its the noble one that you deserve. the one that will wait for you while you make your stupid mistakes. lion, lover, king, God.


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

    dotsIIdots
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    Ill wear a dress to my knees and you wear that hat of yours and that smile I love, wide eyes, snowfield eyes, it’s a blizzard, but your breath on my neck is a scarf, your arms are a blanket wrapped tight around me. Don’t let go. Promise? You keep me together like a ducktape mummy. I’ve been so still for too long. I'm getting cold. Getting old. Fraying around the edges. I might unravel with just a slight breeze, so tie it tight, with black thread. A spider web. Lets dangle far above the world and stare down at the city lights from a rooftop, me and my spider man, boy , baby, lovely lovely lovely the winds spinning us in circles, I feel sick, tornado screaming in my ears, toes on the very edge of a rooftop sea cliff, I don’t want to fall, I want to jump, I want to fly, let me go. Swear you never will. I'm so scared. Determination wavering. My heart is shoving, ramming its fists against its ribcage, looking out with inkspill eyes like the moon gazing at the night sky. The wolves are circling the cage, vultures overhead. Their breath is like chocolate syrup but there’s cyanide in their eyes and razors on their fingertips. Somewhere a snow owl mummers and turns his elegant seaside eyes to me, I blush, he looks away undaunted. A smiling rusty fox bounds into view, he prances around a bonfire field, his voice is a celtic lullaby, he sings with the elves and dances with pink sugar lipped fairies, andandand he parties with the gypsies with love potions and wild flowers. I choke on the potion, it makes me ill, the flowers turn grey and wilt in my hand and he runs off.

    I glare at Hope with murder in my eyes.

    Somewhere near I hear a lion growl, thunder in the sky rattles my bones. I wont be destroyed again. I'm roses and a black dress, I'm a songbird that hums and cries but never goes silent, I'm a dove with fierce eyes, I am alone. I lean against an ocher wood tree, he doesn’t lean into me. I hear a rustle and I glance up to see a lion’s great bright teary eyes peering at me from the shadows, a golden king, a jealous lover, I run to him and he purrs into my chest and I fit into his side just right and I'm okay I'm okay again. I'm alive again, I dance I weep I laugh as I catch fire.




    Submitted on 2009-11-08 17:11:07     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      God, this was simply fantastic. You've got a gift, and I'm trying to find flaws very hard because I don't like dealing with perfection at all because it [censored]s with my viewof reality, and I feel horrible giving you two gushing comments in ten minutes, but I adore this, though the concept of a foxy person is cliché a little. Then, we all think in clichés. Simply amazing.

    Slainte,

    DW
    | Posted on 2009-11-22 00:00:00 | by Shadowstar13 | [ Reply to This ]
      It is really hard to fill up a favorite pair of old shoes.

    This is just blazing, electric and beautiful and sizzling with reality woven into fantasy. Being in love is certainly all the wonders and winter and summer burns rolled into one. Everything is beautiful and spectacular when you're with the right person. Even the ugliest things have a grace, a lonely noir-effect that makes them beautiful even when they're not.

    And then, it all goes wrong.

    I'm roses and a black dress, I'm a songbird that hums and cries but never goes silent, I'm a dove with fierce eyes, I am alone.

    THAT is brilliant... that is one of those Kahlil Gibran moments, doll. That says everything.

    I am one of those vine-swingers... I change vines and cross the whole jungle. The that last one, I just hung on and let the rest fly by me, thinking, it won't ever snap. You're suppose to hit the ground, bounce a couple of times if you just have to, then grab those lines and vines swirling around your head and get your wind back. But I guess if you bounce hard enough, walking is just fine and gets you there on your own. Flying can be really overrated.

    | Posted on 2009-11-11 00:00:00 | by Runes | [ Reply to This ]
      Intense to the max, the pains of making mistakes and learning lessons the hard way and realising it is the only way to progress and learn truths in order to be able to choose right from wrong or perfect from farce. A myriad of emotions here and an equal load of images. This is good.
    | Posted on 2009-11-09 00:00:00 | by Clayman | [ Reply to This ]


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