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As a new king in an old country rules With the laws of the land already made. Or when a new teacher arrives in school, Even the thought of change can seem forbade. I was first born, a gift to those who bear, Though often raised with ignorance abound My small missteps would lead into despair For oft I felt mistakes were not allowed. Through error leads the strides in life, For hindsight sees all annals in new lights. No longer the need to stay on the knife, Discovering the way to blunder right. Accounts may fade and records ever lost, But this new view comes with no extra cost.
Remember when you cut your foot on the guardrail? The fireworks were booming around you like sharp music As you stared out into the fading blush Of the sun’s glow. And on the walk Home, when the neighbor boy held the flashlight You turned back to see, retreating into darkness, the woods. How much time have you spent in those woods Or walking barefoot on that sharp guardrail? How many times have you been so captivated by the blinking city lights That you forget you’re even there, forget sometimes to listen to the music As you stroll along the paths on which you so often walk In the later hours, under the sky’s dwindling blush? Watching the sunset, colored in its sky-blue-pink blush As your mother fills the firepit with sticks from the backyard “woods”. You observe the deer as their babies learn to walk And creep tentatively through the bushes, over the guardrail, Leaping on shaking legs. You listen to the music, And although you cannot see it, your smile casts a blinding light. Outside your window still glow the streetlights. Their security breaks at the end of night with early morning’s golden blush And the bird calls echo like long-forgotten music. As they flap their wings over you and the deer, the once-dark woods Come alive again, sunrise catching on the rusted guardrail. Your mother goes for her morning walk. Each night again down the darkened alley you walk, Peering through the trees to catch a glimpse of the lights, Teetering dangerously on the coarse edge of the guardrail, Admiring the way the growing cold makes the trees seem to blush In the speckled red canopy of the woods. You close your eyes and bury yourself in the music. What simple pleasures of life we often overlook! Music, Bringing its contemplative distraction to even the most dreadful walk, The sights and smells of changing seasons in the woods, The moments of peace before we surrender to the death of light, The faces of the ones we love, aglow with rosy blush, And the long, cold nights spent sitting and thinking on the guardrail. Don’t forget to appreciate the woods, or to photograph the light Which resonates like the soft music of fairies. You hear it as you walk. But no camera could ever truly catch its blush- that is for you; well, you and the guardrail.
Tic tic tock. Around goes the winding clock. You know time is of the utmost essence. It’s every man’s walk. From morning twelve to evening twelve o’clock, you detect Time’s unrelenting presence. Tic tic tock. Around goes the winding clock. We may awe at forceful Time, sit and gawk. Or fight inevitable senescence. But we know, it’s every man’s walk. Time can write our whole life in sidewalk chalk. Time knows their infinite quintessence. Tic tic tock. Around goes the winding clock. Time seems to hunt us like a dogged hawk, until we have seen it’s omnipresence. It’s every man’s walk. Time is everyone’s ultimate roadblock. We feel it much before adolescence. Tic tic tock. Around goes the winding clock. It’s every man’s walk.
Recollections of dreams, in state of waking Free will is therefore achieved, allowing us to perceive No recollection of waking up while dreaming As a result of our actions while awake Life lessons we progressively learn No recollection of waking up while dreaming Confirms the dream state’s enlightenment Especially true during sleep, where mental images are forgotten No memory of waking while dreaming Debilitating drop in awareness the mind can be a concealed forest Recollections of dreams, in state of waking When all of the states are equal No desires left, which may tremble No recollection of waking up while dreaming Regardless, continue to move on, Despite the fact that life is complicated Recollections of dreams, in state of waking No recollection of waking up while dreaming
Perception clouded by a sea of timber Fire burns and ravages the woods Revealing the path, I can now see clearly Fire burns without remorse, leaving smell of cinder Born of nature it destroyed its creator, if only it understood Perception clouded by a sea of timber Who’s the man who lights the tinder? The forest burned down and there He stood Revealing the path, I can now see clearly The decision, the end, He aches from splinter He stepped on ash, walking forth as he should Perception clouded by a sea of timber He burned the forest, to show the kinder The way the woods had not withstood Revealing the path I can now see clearly Time will persist, the fire will simmer He marched through the woods, the way he never could Perception clouded by a sea of timber Revealing the path, I can now see clearly
The thump of the music numbs my pain, My every step matching the endless beat, As the rhythm and blood pumps through every vein. I hear it as I run through the pouring rain, I feel it as I push through the deathly heat, The thump of the music numbs my pain, The tempo inspires me to sprint up steep terrain The constant pulse drives me to compete As the rhythm and blood pumps through every vein Running to Nirvana stimulates my brain It’s the perfect distraction to my aching feet The thump of the music numbs my pain Soundwaves that motivate elevation gain Pound the pavement on the downbeat As the rhythm and blood pumps through every vein As the end is in sight muscles strain Overflowing pride comes with the last street The thump of the music numbs my pain As the rhythm and blood pumps through every vein
What is a world without the land and sea And what is land without wildfire and flood What for are plains and rolling hills to be Without the shed of Gea’s children’s blood They build, evolve, and spread as they begin Erecting mighty towers as their homes But what are cities without all the men And what are men to be without their bones As such we search and crawl along the ground Like worms and snakes we slither to and fro But what is lost can not ever be found And still, by nature we will come and go We cry for help but no sound will come out For we all clasp our hands over our mouth
O, I am not myself, we are two minds Ever in analysis, one scrutinizes the other The second is of another kind So impulsive, a fool, but a brother That scrutiny is what separates the two A scrutiny, reserved only for one’s own A game of self blame, but compromise comes true When I just kinda do whatever sounds good And it’s all justified cause it’s meta Maybe some time later, I’ll suss this out Spittoon, four syllables, poinsettia If you couldn’t tell I’m getting burned out Well now it’s all ruined, become some meme At least I should maintain the rhyming scheme
Coughing on the smokestack pipes She bleeds and sputters out orange, red, yellow fringed with purple As she falls to sleep after her day of injury, she blackens and the silvery pinpoints shine through her holed sheet Centered is a big gray mass She wakens and coughs up her colors again, this time they fade to blue On and on Undulating, just a dying background to the little actors’ meaningless lives