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Touch the SkySurely nothing is better than a trampoline.Touch the Sky
Bouncing higher and higher Propelling yourself skyward with every bound Feeling the air rush and whip around you as you gain momentum
But best of all,
Harnessing that incredible freedom
Like some fantastic bird riding the wind And having the entire world at your fingertips.
But in the heat of the moment, at your maximum height Somehow you lose balance. And as you stumble, you stub your toe And you fall, robbed of the experience,
your fingers nipped in the harsh metal springs
by ~Chrylibis
Monday Morning MelancholyHow I’d love to smash that loathsome alarmMonday Morning Melancholy
Hurl it across the room and watch it break The delicate springs within snapped and twisted The hateful clockwork forever destroyed And maybe get a little sleep
The once-pleasant whistle of the kettle Is now a shriek of anguish and solitude The coffee mugs are cracked and stained With pathetic, uninspiring slogans “Have a productive day.”
I dread the stacks of paperwork They may as well be towering mountains Insurmountable castles and stone walls Showering me with boiling pitch and deadlines Perhaps the
by ~Chrylibis
Random Favourites
Quasimodo ComplexIt's not much different than climbing up a concrete wall. It's a matter of perception of impossibility, A sort of gravity amnesia, Forgetting where attraction is. I'm paid my salary without bells tolling And I've eaten my celery, my greens, All the while watching the stagnant clocks To see if my laundry's dry, If it's time to eat, If it bothered to rain, If my airplane took off.Quasimodo Complex
by ~mutilatedsideburns
To Properly AdmireTo Properly AdmireTo Properly Admire
Oceans are deep. They are long and bright. They are warm Cold Average And significant. And writing about them means nothing. One can present the seas with a fine piece of poetry, With a, “summer’s day” A book written on their swells and curves, their swills And ripples, The way in which they toss glassy sand across their walkways, and carve them Full of rumples like an old mans face, or his hands; his pet
by ~deathschronicles
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I thought I was a trowel. Then I felt I was going up the garden path, and now I feel I'm in the door.
I'm not like pint of milk or hoover but I'm like
hatstand now.
~the late great Eddie Izzard
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Poetry group - [link]
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Welcome to The ReVoLution.
The here starts now.
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Poetry group - [link]
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Wasting your time since 1985
Orful films---> [link]
Orful Comics--->
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you're one in a crowd and you're paranoid of every sound.
luckkky. :/ Never actually been to a real ska concert.
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you're one in a crowd and you're paranoid of every sound.
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