Calling-All-Poetry

Through concrete canyons, neon-lit and grim, I wander streets where shadows dance and swim. Amidst the towers that scrape the ashen sky, A sea of faces passes vacant-eyed. Each form unique, yet all cut from one cloth, Their strings invisible, their movements soft. They speak and laugh, they weep and rage and sigh, Yet something crucial missing, I espy. For in their hands, a glowing screen holds sway, The puppeteer that guides them through each day. From this small box, thin threads of light extend, Controlling every move, each thought they tend. Though each is dressed in different hues and styles, Their inner workings span not many miles. For deep within, where soul should brightly burn, I see but cogs and gears that blindly turn. They think themselves so free, so wise, so bold, Yet dance to tunes their devices have told. No spark of true self lights their glassy stare, No genuine thought disturbs the stagnant air. As night descends upon this bleak tableau, I realize with a chill

Father tells us that when the time comes for us to find a mate, find one who can relate and will not hesitate to protect the honor of the pack. Choose one who will take care and cherish you for your everything the beauty that beams in the light of your grandmothers sun, and the beast that hunts under the watchful eye of your darling mother's moon. As long as they can do all those things then they will be welcomed by all seven of your sibling kin. For the day my father walks me past the pews and down the aisle i hope to leave him with a smile and knowing that I'll be alright with the one i chose, that the wrathful mindset that I was born with will not sit ideally by as i knit the many sheets and blankets for my kids. I want to make sure that he knows that he has not lost a daughter to another who's entire design was to replace him in her life but one who will uphold the family ties and embrace the fact that i will always be my fathers little girl no matter the place ...or time...

it is not the simplicity of the game that baffles me nor the complexity of his wordplay that leaves me confused and pondering why i decide to continue to lose. For that would mean that between the bio logy of wraths chosen few we still lack the mental compacity to understand when it best to hold back and when it is best to let loose. For if I were to keep my eye on the ball i would not be able to notice the coin that this one attempts to pocket, nor the lock ette my incubictic rabbit believes would look good on his latest catch. But i will admit that this tid bit of jubilation has caused me to show a tad bit of hesitation for i can't help but imagine what father would do if he found a squab trying to hustle one of his darling daughters who could do no wrong so instead of strangling, breaking or crushing this peon who has wronged me, i think i'll sing a little song and point daddy dearest in the direction of the idiot who forgot his two coins for the reapers fee.

I swear, that i must declare, that to be unaware of a situation lacks a certain amount of environmental clarity for I am that much of a rarity, that any visual signs of seeing my voluptuous being would have you wishing that you never started teething so you could suckle upon my motherly bosom. I'm not surprised that your eyes are always locked on a prize that you can never win, unless you give in to a sin that has had a role in history as if it were the heroine of the story. Yes a crutch that has cause nations to crumble and treachery between kinsmen a demon that has mutated leaders and rulers into beggars. You see i am not above accepting the lapin way of life for despite my feral intensity my lustful desires tell me that we were meant to be and one way or another i will have the pleasure of having you inside of me.

We had to travel many miles through the tangled and whispering forests. The snow fell heavily, creating a white veil. The snow seemed to try to hold us back, with each flake acting as a cold hand. Nature may have attempted to protect us from the secrets hidden beneath. We swept past the skeletal leaves and snow, our breaths puffing in the cold. As expected, we discovered a freshly dug grave. The infant was wrapped in a ragged blanket with faded colors that were barely visible due to filth. He was buried alive, his only offense was he had started to cry. The mother, with sunken eyes, and track marks down her arms asked for forgiveness, citing how she was only 15 as a weak reason to have committed such horrendous act. Ants crept across the deceased boy's face, like tiny black shadows, creating a disturbing resemblance to life. We were told he could have been alive for hours, with his cries muffled by the ground. In the shallow grave He resembled a fragile

these heavenly bodies are no different than the bodies of water only separated by those many tides and currents that circulate as they manipulate the flow of one another; such as the pull of gravity that tends to hold our own bodies in captivity not allowing us to escape our fate yet altercate our destiny.  If i would be allowed to shift those bodies  till such actions were seen as nothing more than a mere hobby would you question my desire to bring all things closer till nothing but my singularity remained. could you fathom my intentions  if i were to go against your interventions to bring the sun and moon into my little game and bring them together till they were considered one and the same

why, hellow there are you looking for a way to escape your mundane and dreary life well then look into my cape but i implore you to not see this as some sort of chore for how can one be bored when there is so much to explore to stand a gasped at what my little store has to offer talismans, and enchantments. Oh, Cynthia? you can ignore her for she is just a showfer "Chauffer?" my mistake my dear but as i was saying, what ever you need i'm sure we have a clear ance sale on it and if not i'm sure we can make a simple deal one that i feel will make both parties happy let me just get my seal for once the paper work is signed there is no turning back but enough about bargains come on in Cynthia fetch this man a snack and a cup of tea for you see i always do enjoy another's company though i should warn you stealing is strictly prohibited unless you're willing to pay the fee

Days are now much shorter Nights are growing cold. Season of death is now upon us Summer withdraws her sword The killing frost has come to extinguish life once more There's a cruel change in this air Can you feel it? Everywhere…. Forget about your sun and fun Your peaceful, carefree days Feel that chilling sting upon your face Old Man Winter is… about to have his way In winter's silent embrace, as daylight fades to black and gray. The trees stand bare, their limbs crackling against the sweeping air. The earth lies snow-covered, a ghostly silent scene. With a crisp sense of death and decay. The world is blanketed in melancholy white— a frozen feel that numbs and slowly devours the soul. The sun sets, its exhausted light chills rather than warms. Beneath the cold surface, the seeds of life lie dormant. We put our faith in death's icy grip, praying for spring's resurrection. Winter, thus, represents the end— a time for rest and reflection. But death

A knight in armor, gleaming bright, Stood tall, his valor at its height. His deeds were sung in every land, His name, a legend, grand and grand. But whispers of his own acclaim, Began to feed a growing flame. His heart, once pure, now tinged with gold, As pride took root and made him bold. Each victory swelled his swollen chest, He deemed himself above the rest. His armor tarnished, bit by bit, As arrogance became his wit. The people's cheers, once warm and true, Now fell on ears that never knew The virtue of humility, Lost in his own nobility. His castle rose on broken backs, Of those he taxed with heavy sacks. The knight, now king, sat on his throne, His heart as cold as polished stone. Where once he fought for justice fair, Now cruelty hung in the air. His kingdom wept beneath his reign, A tyrant born of self-disdain. Oh, how the mighty truly fall, When pride becomes their all-in-all. The knight, once loved, now stood alone, His legacy? A heart of stone

She called me her grand opus her greatest achievement meant to live rent free in the heads of the sinners who fail to give her recognition and pray for redemption for their crimes. She called me her truest blessing to this retched society who's depravity only feeds into her already bleak understanding that everything must be wiped clean and she is the only one who can do it. Her greatest achievement her grand opus is what she called me, me who was once a sign of un-corruptable purity, who had washed himself free of the sin that he now sees as kin, dressed in the shadows of the moons darkest side. Where the truest of monsters return to hide from the sun. A sun that i once worshiped and praised everyday for granting me a moment to enjoy a life blessed with gold and beauty, for i thought as long as i did my sworn duty the light of my father sun would guide me away from and through adversity... but it would seem that his mercy has run out on me allowing her to countdown till my sanity