poetry
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I have a theory of everything That theory is accepting I know nothing, I have a super string theory about how we live life And that is we don’t use our conscious mind, Why is it we have the eyes that give us mind sight And yet we live life, like we are blind.
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Angry, angry the whole world’s angry Shouting from in your car during heavy traffic, Raging online over some internet belief Arguing couples fighting over bills and trust, People getting angry over so much, That is so trivial, it’s nothing like life and death Do we really not get it yet, being angry is a waste…
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When I first started I thought no one would read this But if one person did I would be happy, If what I say touches just one person Then that would make my day, If what I write resonates with one soul And gives them hope or promotes change, Then I thought that would be…
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The Nephilim are among us They walk where normal angels fear to tread, They are iconaclastic they’re seen as deviant souls They are ancient and primordial, They are representing the oldest souls You look to me and wonder, About this, how could I possibly know, It’s because I am Nephilim The thing of which stories…
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I don’t think I could love more Or as a result, feel more vulnerable, I don’t think I could ever feel more emotional And to think I’ve gained all this through, the hard knocks of my life, Through owning and learning from my mistakes Because it I am flawed and not always right, I don’t…
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Trust your intuition And what you feel deep within, Not your wild and untrained mind But that which grows in your conscious being, Nurture it like a beautiful bloom So that it will prosper, And manifest into the most beautiful flower, That ingrains you with compassion, empathy and tolerance, Which will highlight your inner peace…
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The wisdom of the old Often conquers over The impetuousness of the young, The careful considered approach Over the overeager jump right in attitude Often sees the old triumph over the new.
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There are some awesomely talented writers Who all deserve utmost respect, But some people for some reason Just can’t bring themselves to do it, They can’t separate the artist From the person they represent, This was the same with Oscar Wilde Who they judged more about being gay, Than these few did about his artistic…
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The world for some can be dark and wicked Those who live in fear of those with the guns, Those who have the money bask in the sun Moving the pawns, those they control and own, To instill fear upon those in the oppressed zones, And through the wickedness and darkness People are killed in…
