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Contributed by alister on Saturday, 22nd January 2005 @ 01:02:46 AM in AEST
Topic: EmotionalPoetry

Many blank spheres, crestfallen to unknown, have no content.
A stretch or bend pretending to be a variation gives no regard.
Drums are beating a cadence of doom but none will hear.
None will listen
Cipher the fluctuations, even those from a euphony of chimes
Or an enchanted female voice that is an indiscernible Siren.
We have language of guilt, fear, sorrow, remorse, envy, greed, evil, and even the Rarity of love to entangle in hypnosis.
Quench and stir. Pull and question.
These will all be done,
But ended without a dissertation.
Its the person, only an acquaintance, that says they love you,
The person that refuses to acknowledge, and prefers a 90
Turn of the neck to peripheral, that is unconscious.
So many greens promoting escape.
Stains left from an individuals cup.
How long did they wait? How long did it wait?
Even with microscopes, lifes like this will never be examined.
He lifted a delicate hand caressing his manuscript of the future.
A map of false importance.
What is he thinking or not? What disturbs an
Opened door with no look back?
If Cambridge was paradise, no one would know it.
Possessing an arsenal of modulations, equipped without foresight,
Unused in lue of a tilt to the right,
It eludes us all.

Copyright © alister ... [ 2005-01-22 01:02:46]
(Date/Time posted on site)

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