Poetry... I do a little.
I wrote this one tonight after mentally making a list of tasks I have ahead of me for the next couple days:
Death can Wait I know of a man; Too busy to die He woke each day to more chores on his mind For each Score he worked, not a minute of rest He surely would grind himself to his death He took not a breath, break, nor a bow Ne'er did he wipe the sweat from his brow His hands they were rough and worn from the labor All this toil, not ever a favor Death knocked at my door, and I told him to wait Work's left undone, can't die on this day! I'll post more as I get the feeling for it if anyone's interested. People reading: Please don't steal my stuff. It's just plain rude, and I have dated copies of all of it anyway, so I'll win. |
p- p- poetry. Paranoimia :thumbup:
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...me too:
"Hickery, dickery, dock; Three mice ran up the clock. The clock struck one, but, the other two got away OK. Hickery, dickery, dock." |
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I am terrible with poetry.
I am terrible with art. Seems too slow to me, it is not my heart. As it turns out, I am a tiny human being, I'd rather shout send people fleeing. and what I like to say, it is already written. Like the common pray avoid getting bitten. Every once and awhile, a singer sings, if it means not being in the top ten hip hop passing the tiger woods "player of the year award" here is some david ford: Code:
Sweet dreams, all met with derision |
Here is one I wrote................
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Good stuff guys.
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somtimesyourebetteroffdeadtheresaguninyourhandpoin tedatyourheadyouthinkyouremadtoounstablekickingcha irs&knockingdowntablesinadivebarinawestendtowncall thepolicethrersamadmanaroundrunningdownunderground nadivebarinawestendtown.
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