Real Dairy Ice Cream
New Member
In no perticular order the poems which i have sourced from allpoetry. If you're wondering why they're written they way they are; the answer I'm an amateur.
Enjoy.
-Mull oyster-
Plucked from its salty home,
Plonked into insipid water,
Trespassing if you will,
Waited several cycles of the minute hand,
I disregarded the barely moved hour hand,
Shell invaded,
The semi gelatinous "food",
looked at me as I looked at it...
Scooped from it home onto my tongue, pure tongue no longer;
Several thoughts followed suit, but most importantly, an image of myself drowning, in its salty home,
I succumb to its home,
I was overwhelmed,
I must admit defeat.
-Isolation in the shower-
looking up at its head, as the water trickles down my solemn face,
eventually my head cocked down,
vapid eyes, absent
in the vacancy of my mind,
two wet hands snuck up on my waist and shoulder,
a lover's embrace, a comforting touch, please ... dont, end-
rationality awoke, the touch stopped, the warmth stopped, shield discarded,
now even colder because of the experienced warmth.
-The sand of life-
Dragging your hand through the sand and slowly lifting it up.
before you can clench your fist, the granules have already slipped by their fleshy prison, returning home with relief.
Living life in a reactionary manner is no more than a waste, when you eventually realise all the possibilities you missed, all the possibilities change into regret caused by your inaction.
Even if given the opportunity to re-live life from your first day on earth, you would still miss them and feel even more regret and hopeless than now, then before.
your life is like the sand, when you try to grab the sand within one blink it escapes it's prison of your control, in the current moment only a small change is made but later it will be the same as before, as if there was no input from you, almost like its the wind of fate.
You are fated to be a loser, and die with regret on your mind.
-Heavenly inspiration-
-BANG!-
A superior idea emerged among the mediocre crowd,
distance from mediocrity the distance from heaven and earth,
years on years of struggle can be up to shame through a single and fortuitous stroke,
only slightly lifting the divide between the haves and have nots,
a great equaliser.
However in the end the equality it provides is only brief,
after the strike the haves continue with greater understanding of their talent,
while the less fortunate hope for another,
the divide ether increase with significance,
or a negligible deficit.
I and possibly you can share the title of " have nots",
fated fools longing for a stroke of fortune.
-Escapism's hope and realities hopelessness-
When both my eyes and mind are submerged in the comforting light of escapism,
I blissfully forget the regret of my actions and inactions,
How beautiful the bliss derived from escapism is.
When the light eventually fades, rendering the eyes and mind vulnerable to the cold, and unpleasant, yet vital real air born from the lack of that warm, and distracting flame,
Her bitter-sweet embrace welcomes me, to a world with lesser joys and greater griefs,
A world without fairy tale ends.
Dwelling on the past, future, and present,
Using lamentation as kindling for the flame
Occasionally the kindling catches a blaze, burning a flame significantly lesser in comparison, allowing brief escape,
Though a lesser fire is bound to be exhaust itself sooner.
Enjoy.
-Mull oyster-
Plucked from its salty home,
Plonked into insipid water,
Trespassing if you will,
Waited several cycles of the minute hand,
I disregarded the barely moved hour hand,
Shell invaded,
The semi gelatinous "food",
looked at me as I looked at it...
Scooped from it home onto my tongue, pure tongue no longer;
Several thoughts followed suit, but most importantly, an image of myself drowning, in its salty home,
I succumb to its home,
I was overwhelmed,
I must admit defeat.
-Isolation in the shower-
looking up at its head, as the water trickles down my solemn face,
eventually my head cocked down,
vapid eyes, absent
in the vacancy of my mind,
two wet hands snuck up on my waist and shoulder,
a lover's embrace, a comforting touch, please ... dont, end-
rationality awoke, the touch stopped, the warmth stopped, shield discarded,
now even colder because of the experienced warmth.
-The sand of life-
Dragging your hand through the sand and slowly lifting it up.
before you can clench your fist, the granules have already slipped by their fleshy prison, returning home with relief.
Living life in a reactionary manner is no more than a waste, when you eventually realise all the possibilities you missed, all the possibilities change into regret caused by your inaction.
Even if given the opportunity to re-live life from your first day on earth, you would still miss them and feel even more regret and hopeless than now, then before.
your life is like the sand, when you try to grab the sand within one blink it escapes it's prison of your control, in the current moment only a small change is made but later it will be the same as before, as if there was no input from you, almost like its the wind of fate.
You are fated to be a loser, and die with regret on your mind.
-Heavenly inspiration-
-BANG!-
A superior idea emerged among the mediocre crowd,
distance from mediocrity the distance from heaven and earth,
years on years of struggle can be up to shame through a single and fortuitous stroke,
only slightly lifting the divide between the haves and have nots,
a great equaliser.
However in the end the equality it provides is only brief,
after the strike the haves continue with greater understanding of their talent,
while the less fortunate hope for another,
the divide ether increase with significance,
or a negligible deficit.
I and possibly you can share the title of " have nots",
fated fools longing for a stroke of fortune.
-Escapism's hope and realities hopelessness-
When both my eyes and mind are submerged in the comforting light of escapism,
I blissfully forget the regret of my actions and inactions,
How beautiful the bliss derived from escapism is.
When the light eventually fades, rendering the eyes and mind vulnerable to the cold, and unpleasant, yet vital real air born from the lack of that warm, and distracting flame,
Her bitter-sweet embrace welcomes me, to a world with lesser joys and greater griefs,
A world without fairy tale ends.
Dwelling on the past, future, and present,
Using lamentation as kindling for the flame
Occasionally the kindling catches a blaze, burning a flame significantly lesser in comparison, allowing brief escape,
Though a lesser fire is bound to be exhaust itself sooner.