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A poem (for the sake of writing one)

Creator: JEFFY40HANDS July 19, 2011 6:39pm
JEFFY40HANDS
<Altruistic Artist>
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Permalink | Quote | PM | +Rep July 19, 2011 6:39pm | Report
The air is thick and calm, warm even.
Quiet as a grave yet quite alive.
Deep and overwhelming, seemingly unending.
Yet, what man is a man who conquers all.
If he cannot hold the sum of Earth's air in a glass.

A man wearing invisible threads has more sense
Than one who would say he has conquered all.
The man who says he holds all of Earth's air in a glass is called fool.
Though I being such a man, that would attempt such a feat, am I
Fool? Or perhaps am I the dreamer?

The air is thick and warm, though intangible I feel it all the same.
Like silk across my fingers it wriggles and writhes as though alive.
Though no more alive than a corpse, it moves, it breathes. In and out.
It has motion, depth, and weight. So a man who tries to catch all the Earth's air
Is a dreamer. And the man who holds the cup is the fool.

Yet we all claim to be the dreamer when indeed we are all holding the cup.
jhoijhoi
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Permalink | Quote | PM | +Rep July 19, 2011 6:52pm | Report
I really liked this. Reminded me of:

Auguries of Innocence
William Blake

To see a World in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
And Eternity in an hour.

(poem continues for AGES, but holds the same principle)
JEFFY40HANDS
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Permalink | Quote | PM | +Rep July 19, 2011 7:16pm | Report
ohhh I likes dat too :D
JEFFY40HANDS
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Permalink | Quote | PM | +Rep July 19, 2011 9:48pm | Report
Here's another on the spot poem.



LIES-
Cool and wet, like drops of rain on one's silver tongue.
Whispered words of false wisdom trickle down to the shore of
One's subconscious. There it rests, sleeping like a dormant dragon.
Guarding treasures deep within. Though this false beast guards reality,
It festers in its own device. Blocked and unmoving, stagnant like
The very river of its birth.
Oh foul and vile thing that birthed this beast, what tempted your deceit.
Though no retort, nor resounding breath be heard the answer lies within.
For false truths are many when and where men speak their honor.
To slay this beast would be akin to slaying one's self, though the latter choice
Be darker, better liars dead by their own dark hand.
Than mankind for their whicked silver tongues.

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