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Soundless poems Volume II

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Alike, Yet Not

Heartless, yet joyful.
Hopeless, but mindful.
Screaming, yet silent.
Different, but alike.
Greedy, yet selfless.
Sheltered, but homeless.
Fearful, but brazen.
Alike, but not the same, that is how we are.

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Lost In a Dream

Frozen, floating, adrift in the sea.
Loving, empathetic, but yet it is not me.
Wandering, pondering, lost in a dream.
Heartless, painful, broken at the seam.

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The Curious Girl

White as snow, is the glow, of the drow, in the mow.
Meek and playful, quaint and heartless, is the girl, upon the doe.
Black as crow, too large to stow, dangerous though, that I did not know.
Sly and deceitful, violent and hateful, is the girl, one would not trow.

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Life and Lies

Moss envelopes the rotting wood, much like dust on the old cloak’s hood.
Mourn the dead, forgive the living, one might think that one just should.
End all wars, save all lives, some might think that man might could.
Slaughter the women, slay the children, does doing so make mankind good?
Life and lies remain a mystery, quite much like the rest of history, but all that being said and all, should peace and harmony try not to stall?

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Mysterious Riddle

I have no heart nor solemn regrets, and yet I lay atop the cradle’s nest.
I need no food or heartfelt rest, so why do I even exist?
I watch thy suck on thy mother’s breast, without it thy child can get no rest.
I float in air, with moonlight crests, as I watch the morning guest.
I have no mouth, and I’m no guest, and still I lay atop the cradle’s nest.
What am I?

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The Riddle of Time

Dust and grime will cover the shrine,
as men won’t solve the riddle of time.
For one not to define my soul, they themselves must be quite refined.
Hear the birds sing morning chime, as the orphaned children dine.
Hear me not, hear me once, for as I said, and I’ll say it again: man will not solve thy riddle of time.

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Broken Soul

True to heart, strong in mind, weak in soul, rich as gold.
For every death, it takes just one, drop of blood, to fill the bowl.
Deep in earth, is the mole, turning dirt, into coal.
Guilty men, locked away, some of them, thrown in the hole.
Rather high, is my goal, to make thy ocean, rather shoal.
Cold and distant, blue and gold, is thy dreamer’s, broken soul.

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Shattered Sky

Pointless truth, justful lies.
Hopeless are the ones who die.
Men never thought I’d aim so high.
Some might think I’m rather shy.
Oh what I’d give, just to fly, in thy heartless shattered sky.

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Dry Like Grain

Inhumane, quite insane, flush thy heart, down the drain.
Crimson red, not quite dead, says the stain, in the flame.
Down pours rain, upon the slain, they shall die, but not in vain.
Bloodred pain, is thy mane, like dry grain, such a shame.

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Why?

What is to fly, if one is to die?
Why should one lie? If it’s seen by the human eye?
Who is so shy, that they hide in the rye?
How is it sly, to deceive the heaven’s sky?
Where is thy cry, lost high in the sty?
When’s the end nigh, when one’s yet to try?

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The Old Iron Shack

Mankind will lust, hearts lost in the dust.
Gatekeepers must, as old iron rusts.
Defenseless am I, like bread with no crust.
Children stay shy, as voices are hushed.
Blind is the eye, who gives not one back.
Empty is my heart, the color of black.
The hopeless take heed, in the old iron shack.

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Empty Husk

Loud are the followers, yet not one is shushed.
Fight for your minds, as we all must.
Naked am I, like bread’s missing crust.
Scour the lands, in search of bloodlust.
Hopes and dreams fly, in God’s empty husk.
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Broken Sky

My oh my, what a lie, is the rather broken sky.
My oh my, oh just how shy, is this rather gentle eye.
My oh my, quite to sly, for the rather ugly sty.
My oh my, oh how I wish not to die, beneath the sturdy broken sky.
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Sunlight’s  Flare

Most do not dare, give deafening glare, to ocean’s mare, for some become ensnared.
Flecting in thy moonlight, is something rather rare, of which I wish to share, with with they sunlight’s flare.
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A Slice of Bread

Down floats the blue snow, while the sky dazzles red.
Some may not know, when the winter gods shed.
Few will run away, when the demons are fed.
Oh how much I crave, for one slice of bread.
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Searing Rockets

Dry rain and hot snow, can be quite the winter show.
But not quite a malignant, as the riverside’s flow.
Men will stand and embrace the glow, of the searing rockets of thy foe.
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Snow

Oh snow, don’t you know the show is over?
Is this really the best maneuver?
A thousand times my mom’s pulled over.
Quite to scared to look over her shoulder.
The icy roads are quite a mess, when there should be only springtime grass.
Haven’t I already asked you?
Quit stalling, we’re hauling, your snow that has fallen.
Quit crawling, bawling, my hot water’s gone.
For some strange reason I have a hunch, that this should’ve ended last month!
Trees have fallen while the wind blows, oh how much I miss that sweet summer glow.
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Soaking Ground

The atmosphere is stronger now, different than before.
The droplets on the window, fall onto the floor.
Puddles big as lakes, the solemn skies surround.
Quieter than usual, are the subtle sounds.
Growing fast and slow, are the muddy mounds.
All earth seems to run, when I see thy hounds.
Don’t forget the faces, on the soaking ground.
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Purple Mockingjay

Such sweet sounds, followed by hounds, is the purple mockingjay.
Lost and hopeful, scared and helpless, are the children led astray.
Some birds wonder, if daylight’s sunder, will ever end in sorrowless way.
But in the end, without wonder, the light of day, rests upon the purple mockingjay. ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The Fork in the Road.

The fork in the road, another story untold.
Men cry on property sold, aghast in the cold.
I stare at hillbilly toad, to the earth, just a lode.
For once it has snowed, and the treetops, they hold.
A little boy once showed, that dirt can be gold.
As long as you follow, the fork in the road.

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Yet You Delight

The sky is blue, and so are you.                                                            The grass is green, and yet you’re mean.                                            The sun is bright, and yet it’s night.                                                           I scream in fright, yet you delight.

 

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Soundless poems Volume II