The stories of the street are mine,the Spanish voices laugh. The Cadillacs go creeping now through the night and the poison gas, and I lean from my window sill in this old hotel I chose, yes one hand on my suicide, one hand on the rose.
I know you've heard it's over now and war must surely come, the cities they are broke in half and the middle men are gone. But let me ask you one more time, O children of the dusk, All these hunters who are shrieking now oh do they speak for us?
And where do all these highways go, now that we are free? Why are the armies marching still that were coming home to me? O lady with your legs so fine O stranger at your wheel, You are locked into your suffering and your pleasures are the seal.
The age of lust is giving birth, and both the parents ask the nurse to tell them fairy tales on both sides of the glass. And now the infant with his cord is hauled in like a kite, and one eye filled with blueprints, one eye filled with night.
O come with me my little one, we will find that farm and grow us grass and apples there and keep all the animals warm. And if by chance I wake at night and I ask you who I am, O take me to the slaughterhouse, I will wait there with the lamb.
With one hand on the hexagram and one hand on the girl I balance on a wishing well that all men call the world. We are so small between the stars, so large against the sky, and lost among the subway crowds I try to catch your eye
I was your knight in the tin-foil armour you were the queen, beautiful as can be But now I left that world, now being sober The carboard world I left, lost of glee for now it was left in the rain, soaked And I was with despair, broke I wish I could go and see you again, beautiful queen
But growing is a curse, that the witch threw on me So now I rip my armour, and shove it in the past And now I see you, surrounded by wilted grass I'm sorry, that I grew I'm sorry, but I can't be with you
Nothing lasts forever So she pushed the thoughts from her mind pushed them with depise But now she wears a coat of black with lack of air in her lungs Now she finds herself to be alone as she push's the thoughts into her bone "They say Nothing is worth it, that's what I'm told. But Nothing is the heaviest to hold."
"Happiness. It isn't always fulfillment of your goals. It isn't always acquisition of your dreams. It can be the simplest of things. Happiness can be a glimpse of the stars through the clouds. Happiness can be a patch of sunlight in the forest. Happiness can be the most unexpected and out of place thing in the universe. And that is what makes it so brilliant. Happiness is the smile of someone you love. Happiness is knowing that everything will go right, even just for a second. Happiness is the realisation that you are not alone in this world. And happiness is helping someone else to realise this too. Happiness isn't just a reaction to certain stimuli. It is an attitude, a mode in which to put yourself. It is a state of bliss, not ignorance nor defiance of all that is evil, but understanding that there is no such thing. More than anything else though, happiness is the purest and most spectacular light shining from every hole in your body, and it shines onto anyone around you, rays of brilliance and joy. So be happy, and spread the light, because sooner or later, it will be dark, and you had better hope someone has a light. And it will shine."
Once upon a time you dressed so fine You threw the bums a dime in your prime, didn't you ? People'd call, say, "Beware doll, you're bound to fall." You thought they were all kiddin' you You used to laugh about Everybody that was hangin' out Now you don't talk so loud Now you don't seem so proud About having to be scrounging for your next meal. How does it feel? How does it feel To be without a home Like a complete unknown Like a rolling stone?
Thanks for reading guys. I call it "The Ballad of Assface McGee."
>>7556763 that voice that voice that voice that voice that voice that voice that voice that voice that voice that voice that voice that voice that voice that voice that voice that voice that voice that voice that voice that voice that voice that voice that voice that voice that voice that voice that voice that voice that voice that voice that voice that voice that voice that voice that voice that voice that voice that voice that voice that voice that voice that voice that voice that voice that voice that voice that voice that voice that voice she will drown you that voice that voice that voice that voice that voice that voice hngg
With ink-dripping, shaking finger, I tried vainly to stain on charred paper the words which no tongue could blaspheme, about the secret of your promenade, on the hidden face of the moon, about the silver dust which graced your feet on your nightly escapade
but you left me with nothing, took all even the rhymes in my songs, even nails of my cross, took the feather of my ink, the dust of the pages, of my story. took the chains, which binds poets to the night, made me free made me naked as God made me
Girls in their winter clothes A tree’s falling leaves Shade from the sunshine A cold windy breeze The moon’s somber face A shadow’s dim light The things that I love in life Just don’t shine bright
A song whispered sullenly The sun’s gentle flare Soft snowy fields of white And long flowing hair A night’s somber cold embrace A distant church bell My mind slowly crumbling My thoughts locked in cell
For all the thoughts that I’ve fought And all I might as well For all the care that disappears And passion that’s been quelled No more time to stand around No more time to grieve For girls in their winter clothes And trees’ falling leaves
Feel like it's a bit childish to me, but I liked it quite a bit when I wrote it.
Time passes as the lights slowly dims to a dull glow, minds suddenly realizing the time of night and thoughts screeching to a halt, demanding reprisal to the time wasted on pointless activities. But what was there to do? Give in to sleep that ended too quickly, and work that dragged on too long? It all ended up the same, days that lasted in all the wrong ways. Fleeting moments overshadowed by countless worries. It’s a funny thought that such worries were a luxury of the fortunate, a trouble that bothered none but the ones with no troubles. It’s Ironic in its own way, an oxymoron describing the problems and lack of motivation of the modern world, the same issue that brought down empires of the past and would destroy many more in the future. And here it was again, affecting the life and mind of a single individual amongst many, wasting away alone despite being surrounded by those who understood and want, each blind to another. Where solidarity falls raises melancholy, and where melancholy ascends so too does apathy. And apathy thrives more so than any other feeling, slowly taking control of men. It steals from them their time; all the fleeting good times, the endless bad times, and the lonely spare time.
The truth is that things never stop, that the only two things that matter in life, the beginning and the end, are nothing but illusions and distractions. What is and what will always be, round and round in an eternal spiral that has always been. The same roads being taken in circles as we ponder at the map we were given and wonder what road we missed, what fork we mistook for the Promised Land. Continuation. Perseverance. Repetition. These are truths, these are facts, these are the rules of life. There’s a saying that the definition of insanity is trying the same thing over and over and expecting different results. That saying is wrong. True insanity is finding success and throwing out the method. True insanity is winning the fight and fighting your choices. True insanity, at its base, must be change, mustn’t it? Constant and pointless adaption to possibilities and scenarios that never have or will show themselves? Growth that destroys who you were for some misconstrued definition of better? True insanity is this base need, this base philosophy, that change is always good and that to be content and at peace is the great evil. Repetition. Perseverance. Continuation. These are the rules of life, these are facts, these are truths. All things must begin where they end, and so they must end where they began, and so must the cycle of life continue as it has been and always will be. Nothing ever stops.
You intoxicate the air, so much so I exhale in shades of gold. The color of your skin. The scent of cigarettes on my fingertips. The sedative feel of your lips. The night is mine. I wonder if it can handle me, this unprecedented audacity. I wonder if two stars collide, would the gravity cause the sky to ignite? Maybe. maybe your waiting for me in a timeless void. Maybe if I hold you, and feel the electricity flow... Feel that magnetism you wear so effortlessly, swimming through my veins. Nothing will ever be the same. I want us to to melt into the sand of a bulletproof hourglass. Rotating endlessly. I hate everyone but you. What does that mean? I guess I love you. Who would of thought... Well... Can you blame me?
I fear perhaps thou deemest that we fare An impious road to realms of thought profane; But 'tis that same religion oftener far Hath bred the foul impieties of men: As once at Aulis, the elected chiefs, Foremost of heroes, Danaan counsellors, Defiled Diana's altar, virgin queen, With Agamemnon's daughter, foully slain. She felt the chaplet round her maiden locks And fillets, fluttering down on either cheek, And at the altar marked her grieving sire, The priests beside him who concealed the knife, And all the folk in tears at sight of her. With a dumb terror and a sinking knee She dropped; nor might avail her now that first 'Twas she who gave the king a father's name. They raised her up, they bore the trembling girl On to the altar- hither led not now With solemn rites and hymeneal choir, But sinless woman, sinfully foredone, A parent felled her on her bridal day, Making his child a sacrificial beast To give the ships auspicious winds for Troy: Such are the crimes to which Religion leads.
All trademarks and copyrights on this page are owned by their respective parties. Images uploaded are the responsibility of the Poster. Comments are owned by the Poster.
This is a 4chan archive - all of the shown content originated from that site. This means that 4Archive shows their content, archived. If you need information for a Poster - contact them.
If a post contains personal/copyrighted/illegal content, then use the post's [Report] link! If a post is not removed within 24h contact me at firstname.lastname@example.org with the post's information.