here
here
A few achievements here and there
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The sad clown....
"Cut me, Do i not bleed?"
"friends die, do i not cry?"
"Stab me, do i not die?"
the clown told me as he stared int my eyes,
i stepd back and got the feeling of desception,
"my best friend died and this rose is for him"
went away with the breeze and the leaves,
as i heard that i began to studder,
dont mind when others die,
they live deep inside,
our hearts 4ever,
let em depart,
we may need em,
but they are long gone,
if you keep em in your heart,
their spirit lives on and on and on,
99% OF ALL I SAY IS SARCASIM
DONT TAKE IT SERIOUS
IT'S THE INTERNET FOR GOD SAKES
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awe... i like that poem chris!
thanks.. i try...
99% OF ALL I SAY IS SARCASIM
DONT TAKE IT SERIOUS
IT'S THE INTERNET FOR GOD SAKES
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Just a quick key
She constanly played games & tricks which made me sick,
Forever the clown bitch, so i laced her flowerpots with arsenic,
Her eyes swoll & seeped as i awaited her eternal sleep,
Fake eyebrows raised i got the last fucking laugh, so sweet
As she stares without a blink, unable to move & think...
Th
FLOWERS AND CLOWNS
Less smiles and roses, more infiltration w/ our soldiers posted.
More people in life just barely coastin', enemies who think that i'll never toast them.
I look at this clown and see life upside down, flowers in her hand in life burn on the ground.
Knowing full well things never work out, remember 2pac ran with the Underground?
Remember when Presidents were decency bound? Remember when we acted not stand around?
Remember when we had more than flowers and clowns, what world do we hand our children now?
like the poems i cant write poems worth shit
wow that shit was crazy this is nice
different
It's show time,the lights dim as i enter the ring,
It's different this night,for my heart aches.
It aches of sadness, and grief.
A tear enters my eye,as i look into the crowd,
i scream.
I wonder why they laugh,they're no different from me,
The only thing different is that they have family.
Someone to love,and to love right back,
together they sit here, they sit here and laugh.
i can't stand the life, or my job any more,
i step out of the car,i fall to the floor.
embarassed now i get up and run, i didn't stop running till the morning sun.
I finally stop in a meadow of beautiful flowers,
i pick up a tulip, and i smell it for hours.
i lie there motionless and still,
forever the same, different at will.
Looking back at my portrait sad times resurface
..Being a clown in all seriousness is really worthless
Jokes are cracked when you have to act that way
..Only another clown would know my day to day
As this rose contains so much beauty
..This single tear on my face is screwtny
When will I feel complete again, when will I
..As I'm being sketched the inner me begins to die
I cant help but help it all fall apart
..The candle has blown out into the dark
Illuminated by heartache and tragic pain
..What color will this portrait be, basically plain
Why am I still sitting here with all of this inside
..I want to scream to release frustration and hide
I'm not a coward, I'm just like any other
..The difference between us is love for one another
Last edited by Him; March 18th, 2005 at 02:34 PM
A divine beauty may be found through a weeping eye
Creeping by
is the fainted thoughts of tragedy
Gradually
that tragedy turns into a noble light
Global sight,
all of man experience this divinity
Infinity
is the counts of misfortunes occurrence
Concurrent
in this lifetime
Rife,
sublime is the tragedy of man
That be thy tear? That be thy heart?
Or they just water and a flower?
That be thy card played, that's thy part?
Or thou art play my mind so sour?
That be thy smile? 'Tis our end?
I hope not... wish thy body more...
For thou art me, this letter sent
Comes back from mirror to your soul... *to me*
She stands all alone,
in the darkest room ever made.
The story for her,
is just a bit past the darkest shade.
If her life were replayed,
she'd do everything different.
She'd be proud, strong willed, and have ambition.
Instead she let's men use her up, her hand and heart are never enough.
They need more to be with her.
then she finally gives in,
and after that date they just resist her,
spreading roomers about how everyone has done more than just kissed her,
her venture,
will soon come to an end,
for the next person to call her a slut,
the scars on her wrists will open up again
this is real life and you got one invitation in,
the sadest of all people,
are the best at playing pretend.
dude i like that poem. mindone u got a way of speaking.
Harlequin
The comical tragedy of mock tears move laughter
Brewed in bellies (that have strained or housed pain
Once or more before) with ease and agile splendour
Swiftly colouring the stock mishaps of a harlequinade.
The truth in a muted frown is forgotten in their laughs
And fades away with the sound
…But in the silence between breaths,
A split second’s frame of time within the pantomime…
A solid tear, poised at its fall’s peak burns with familiarity
For those once acquaintances with troubled times.
Eyes bright and lonely as a free petal swell for empathy
in brilliance inside the body of a blink’s course.
And only for those who instead of pity,
feel through each sound, breathe and blink:
Her sadness is beautiful