mikerophone
01/08/10, 10:52 PM
they are always the difficult part. here's some old (over a year, at least) ones of mine i found interesting in one way or another. seems i'm easily distracted by rhyme, alliteration, and assonance. meaning is a secondary concern.
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we're babies at a digital nipple, sucking hard to satiate. to state it plainly, we've become crippled, dependent on progress to pacify. our parents tried, or did they? the market raised us as targets, and now they're hard-pressed to move on with no heart left. it happens when we kill all the artists. or maybe it's just artists that have it the hardest. we know full well that we aint the smartest, but we see things with different eyes, and your world is not a looker... or a feeler, or a smeller, or a listener for that matter. it's a taker and we have nothing left to offer.
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the songs you'd sing a smile would bring and offering of something i'd not recognize. the feeling, fleeting, leading what? where and when and how'd i miss it? now i'm listless, a belittled idiot, insisting my mistakes stand made and wishing i could shake the shade, but i called the clouds myself.
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i try not to dream of a life worth living because i'd rather just be a being worth being.
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another said it best, but were there words i'd say it better. be it jest it not be said again, and again, lest existence let up. set to spark a speech, and speak a spark to spin what's said and what is meant, when what is meant and what is said connect but seek escape from this instead.
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as fair as not, what wants what's wont to disappoint wants not to stare and miss the point. this here's a beast, and the least of my worry. what's scared is unleashed as bare skin burning. fire of sin, covetous and yearning in the worst, best way. at best, hope seeks what's scared's retreat as it faces defeat to this boar, this beast. at best two hearts bored through by sharp teeth of he who seeks more than he can keep.
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we're babies at a digital nipple, sucking hard to satiate. to state it plainly, we've become crippled, dependent on progress to pacify. our parents tried, or did they? the market raised us as targets, and now they're hard-pressed to move on with no heart left. it happens when we kill all the artists. or maybe it's just artists that have it the hardest. we know full well that we aint the smartest, but we see things with different eyes, and your world is not a looker... or a feeler, or a smeller, or a listener for that matter. it's a taker and we have nothing left to offer.
-
the songs you'd sing a smile would bring and offering of something i'd not recognize. the feeling, fleeting, leading what? where and when and how'd i miss it? now i'm listless, a belittled idiot, insisting my mistakes stand made and wishing i could shake the shade, but i called the clouds myself.
-
i try not to dream of a life worth living because i'd rather just be a being worth being.
-
another said it best, but were there words i'd say it better. be it jest it not be said again, and again, lest existence let up. set to spark a speech, and speak a spark to spin what's said and what is meant, when what is meant and what is said connect but seek escape from this instead.
-
as fair as not, what wants what's wont to disappoint wants not to stare and miss the point. this here's a beast, and the least of my worry. what's scared is unleashed as bare skin burning. fire of sin, covetous and yearning in the worst, best way. at best, hope seeks what's scared's retreat as it faces defeat to this boar, this beast. at best two hearts bored through by sharp teeth of he who seeks more than he can keep.