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Life, Love, and Consequences

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Well, I took up poetry for the heck of it. Don't worry, it's clean, it's safe, and only a few of them are not serious, although quite a few have somewhat silly names. Here it is:







Which is so entirely filled with strife,


Is a wonderful thing.


Whether the Universe is out to screw you (precisely),


Or everyone is out to do you (unlikely),


It all ends the same way.


It all depends on luck.


You could be hit by a truck!


Or not. What does it matter?


We all end up dead eventually.










Oh love


How do I know to call you,


When do you know when I call?


If I ever wished to see you,


If I ever took the fall.


Would you come to me?


Or would life take its twisting path


And I never see at all?


Why must I always suffer?


Always be down on my luck?


Clearly I have no one to care for,


And Honestly, it really does suck.





The Vigilant


The vigilant man is always there.


Always listening.


Never sleeping.


He always knows when you've been bad.


Always watching.


Never unaware.


The vigilant man is always aware.


Always conscious.


Never deaf.


He always seems to be mad.


Always angry.


Never unfair.


The vigilant dog is always barking.


Always sensitive.


Never asleep.


It always knows when noise is made.


Always hearing.


Never silent.


The vigilant man is always foretold by the vigilant dog.


Always wary.


Never failing.


The vigilant woman is never vigilant.


Always catching.


Never intending.


The vigilant woman is always there.


Always there.












My friend


He is writing


He is acting


He is charisma


He is killing


He is over-dramatic


My friend


He is madness


He is riddles


He is entertainment


He is bacon-soap


He is hyper-activity


My friend


He is movies


He is sanity


He is directing


He is calling


He is depressed


My friend


He is cheerful


He is sense


He is kindness


He is helpful


He is knowledge




I am illogic


I am logic


I am disliked


I am loved


I am oblivion


I am artist


I am eccentricity


This is our friendship.










Everything has a consequence


Every action, an equal and


Opposite re-action as if


Something planned every


Response ahead of time.


What entity runs the Universe?


Surely there is some sort of


God who watches over us and


Makes sure things don't get


Too out of hand?


Maybe there really is only chaos


Or possibly only math and science


But what is the point of it all if


There is nothing after life?


Perhaps there is an answer.


Perhaps there isn't.


Or maybe we're just fooling ourselves.


Maybe the real answer is that there is no point


In wasting one's life by pondering such


Eternal questions which one will


Have an eternity to ponder


After death.













Where else but in one's sweet slumber


Could one find an enigma quite like?


Nothing else can compare to the feelings


Of which one is aware while dreaming


Their dreams away.


No other medium can be as strange


(Not even truth or madness)


No where but in a dream


Can one live out their deepest desires


And greatest fantasies.


And yet dreams can torment one


And cause a fear unlike any other


Be it horrific monsters a-chasing


Or surreal terrors around one's self


or perhaps merely death.


Clearly Heaven is but a dream


If not one that is infinite in length


Hopefully one is able to have some control


So they can have a choice in their fate


For all eternity.


And Hell is an eternal nightmare


For the tortured soul


Where all the wretch's regrets and fears


Materialize and torment


For all time.


Dreams are enigmatic.


Dreams are surreal.


Dreams are wonderful.















Every time


I look into the eye


Of what I do not see


I stop and wonder if


What I see was really me.


And every time I wonder right,


And every time I'm wrong,


I always stop and listen to


The harmonic, melodious song.


What song is it?” you inquisitively inquire?


I respond,“That knowledge is for me alone,


And not for you to acquire.”














Solitude in C minor


Silence. I type softly at my desk.


Suddenly, I hear a noise, something from outside


I look around and...!


Nothing. Shaken, I return to my work.


Solitude. I nervously make progress.


Suddenly, a person calls, yet nobody is there


I look around and...!


Darkness. I block out the sound.


Imagination runs amok


All while I sit in the dark


I hear things that are not there,


Or when these noises are quite real,


I give myself a scare.


Fear is everywhere.











Pineapple Pancakes


I once thought up a tasty treat, and thought to search the web.


To my surprise, “Lo!”, and, “Behold!”, I got several results instead.











The Wizard


A friend once saw the wizard, a wonderful man indeed.


As it turned out, this friend skipped about! And thus, his spirit was freed.











Farmer's Juice


A farmer once said to a man,”You will never get results in the can, I have what you need!”


So the man, he drank juice, it occurred in his caboose! He sued the farmer out of greed.











Mystic Sky


When he looked at the sky, so clear, the mystic hungered for deer.


Once he got a gun, he immediately bagged one! And then he went out for a beer.













There once was a man from Nantucket, and that is all I know.


I've not heard the rest, and to this I attest, that that's all there is to this show.













I once asked a questionable question, it was quite questionable, indeed.


Questions were asked, and in sunlight we basked, and that, son, is how babies are made.













Where has it gone,


The wondrous warmth


That aids humanity?


It's clearly disappearing,


Disintegrating slowly.


What was once there


Is now gone,


That's clear to me.


What is the reason that it is going?


Is it technology?


All I know is as such;


If the world does move on,


And this thing disappears,


That world will have no help from me.








(Try to figure out what I'm talking about in that one ^, I bet you won't get it.)

















The Wandering Magician


A wanderer, a thief. His magical prowess is untold of.


No one else is as skilled at the art of making love.


The magician continuously travels, doing shows across the land.


But he's mysteriously never around whenever things get out of hand.


His tricks are revolutionary! Every one is new!


They defy the laws of Gravity! Is what he says to you.


The fee is not large, his genius at work,


For the word of his wonders passes quickly and then,


Everyone shows up for a show!


He comes up and performs several tricks and magical techniques to amaze,


And then in the middle, he always performs the greatest trick in his arsenal:


An escape, an attempt, that is always successful.


Trapped in a locked up coffin lowered into a shark tank,


And the coffin is stabbed several times!

Then, once the sharks have gotten to it, and it has filled up with water,


The coffin will always implode!


The magician, he enters, his assistant makes sure he's in.


And the coffin will always be oozing with gore, once it is destroyed:


The magician will walk onto stage, perfectly fine!


The wandering magician, his charm knows no bounds!


His knowledge of the ladies is the greatest of them all


No woman can resist him, and if they can it's not for long.


Yet it's always just a passing fling for this magical, mysterious man.


The magician, satisfied, packs up and leaves,


Taking his caravan.


Going to amaze another tow, to have a new affair,


The things he does, his tricks, his magic,


His journey will go on.

























Come inside with me


And enter into an unlit chamber.


Everything you see around


Are untold horrors on the wall.


At first you reassure yourself about the spectral presentation,


The fears, the ghosts, the monsters, it's all just imagination!”,


But soon yo are no longer sure at all.


A somber voice calls out to you, you turn around to see


An ectoplasmic image of what is not reality.


Logic begins to fail you,


Like it never has before,


And you fall victim to the primal fears


Of ancient, primal lore.


Ghastly images play within your eyes,


Your heart leaps inside your chest whenever you hear a noise.


No matter how much or how hard you try to quell the fear,


You cannot help but think some hideous beast is drawing near,


Stalking your every move.


You close your eyes and say,


None of this is real, go away!”,


But, sadly, when your eyes open, the lights are still not on,


The paranoid delusions in your mind are, therefore, still not gone.

















The Witch


A village, oppressed by a hag,


Whose cruelty was well known,


Decided to hire a gallant knight


To defeat the evil crone.


This knight had traveled from afar,


To help this village in need,


He came upon the desparate citizens,


And satisfied his greed.


When they finally directed him


To the Witch's Lair,


He entered, and inside he found the hag,


Playing with her hair.


After the knight issued his request in turn,


The witch started to complain,


How dare you! What kind of man would harm me, the oldest in Thypern?!”,


But the Knight, unfazed by her evil tricks,


Took his ball and chain,


And then he smashed a support pillar,


And stopped her in her tracks.


The knight escaped the building,


As it was falling down,


The crone, however, was not so lucky,


And was crushed right to the ground.


The knight hopped on his trusty steed,


And sped right back to town,


And he proclaimed, “The witch is dead, you're lucky I was around!”


The villagers, everyone cheered on,


As the knight rode off.


But after a month, the knight learned


That what he did was wrong.


The village collapsed into anarchy and ruin,


Now that the hag was gone.


You see, that female dictator, hated all around,


Was the only force inside that town


That made sure that things got done.








The Master


The master, a powerful fighter,


Faced a difficult foe.


This foe, it was a powerful biter,


And got the master in the toe,


An injury not that severe.


The master fought with all his mighty power,


The monster attacked him constantly,


And the master could not long bear the beast's unspeakable glower,


A minor injury had weakened him unbearably,


And he began to fear.


The master, he never surrendered,


And beat the fiend there and there,


But his injury, it never recovered,


It forced him to limp everywhere.








Shadows in the Form of a Halibut Sky


A friendly face approaches


To offer its support,


Because everything a good friend does


Will help hold up the fort.


Alas! This fort is shaky,


It's structurally weak,


For enemies have been attacking


For nigh upon a week.


And yet the diety in the sky see this,


And it knows just what to do,


A shadow doth appear on the enemy,


The shadow is quite large,


And on top of this shadow falls


A fish the size of a barge.


The gigantic fish destroys the foes,


And ends the short conflict,


But through the resulting quake, a result of the fallen fish,


The fort itself does not make it, and soon it does collapse.


The diety that is in the sky, it loves its irony,


For the friendly face that had come near


Is quickly driven away.





(That one ^ is actually totally serious. Think about it.)











Illusion Man


Meet The Travelling Illusionist,


A man of mystery.


The archrival of The Magician,


Who wanders oh so free.


A master of the art of projection,


Mirrors and distorting light,


He can conjure anything,


And put it in plain sight.


This Illusionist, his skill is definitely clear,


He can make a puff of smoke,


And simply disappear.


Everything that man does


Betrays the logical,


Every time he raises his staff,


A flame shoots out, dazzling them all.


He and The Wandering Magician


Are bitter foes indeed,


Their apprentences work so hard,


Their hairlines will receed.


These competing performers,


Names known far and wide,


They are the greatest of them all,


None can stand aside.

















The Exhaustion of Mr. Penton


Mr. Penton hated his job,


His wife always nagged him all day long,


His children, they were not much help,


Whining in his ears all the time.


Mr. Penton loved his family,


But they were always a frustration,


He was always so tired from all that he did,


But on the salary he was paid, he could not afford a vacation.


His boss hated him,


No matter how hard Mr. Penton had worked.


Mr. Penton always did his job diligently,


His boss never noticed his work.


No matter how hard Mr. Penton had tried,


Nothing could satisfy those who surround,


Their constant needs never stopped,


No one ever credited him for his work.


He did all he could, but now they all suffer,


Mr. Penton could not last.


Exhaustion killed him,


He never got a rest,


No one ever cared about his needs.


He gave and gave until he had nothing,


And now, to which those who received can attest,


They all have nothing, indeed.














Inner Desires of the Depantsed Soul


If you lose your pants,


You will feel full of ants,


Your face will become red and full of blush.


You will stutter,


You will stammer,


And possibly, go to the slammer,


If you lose your precious pants.


So remember child, you must know,


Always wear a belt,


And never, ever let any foe


Get so close to your pants,


Or your will regret the result.










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And...here are the last two:




Explosive Desire


Everything needed,


Everything gained,


Everything necessary


Is from an explosive desire.


The explosive desire,


A need for what's good,


A need or everything that should


Be happening to you.


Unfortunately, not all get


This explosive desire,


And thus they never do what would make them great.


One must find their desire,


One must be the best they can be,


Else they'll end up in the gutter,


A failure to everybody.






And here is my little 2-page epic:





The Epic Tale of the Gambler of Estradon


Go to sleep, child,


I'll tell you a tale,


A tale of the man,


The man who would never fail.


Everything he did, he did extraoridnarily well,


But his life, his life was not exciting,


It was a living hell.


This story, it starts like this;


In a time which was long ago, in a land unfamiliar to any living soul today,


There lived a man named Senaldi, whose poverty was extreme,


His luck was always negative, he couldn't get a job,


As no one would hire Senaldi, for he couldn't come there clean.


His home, it was a cardboard box,


He hadn't eaten in days,


His special way of making lox,


Earned him little pays.


But on a day, while scanning the ground,


Looking for loose change,


He saw inside the gutters,


Something stuck inside a cage.


At once he gripped the bars,


Opened up the hole,


And lifted up this very strange container,


Holding an equally strange creature inside.


It said to him, "Sir, if you let me out of this infernal device,


I'll give you whatever you want, whatever it may be,


Money! Power! Fame!


Just let me out and I will tame


The forces of bad luck surrounding you."

Senaldi, who was skeptical at first,


He realized there was nothing to lose,


His fishy enterprise was a failure,


He had nothing to his name,


So why not take a chance at getting money, power, and fame?


Senaldi quickly opened the cage, and the curious creature flew out,


And landed next to him.


It quickly cleaned up Senaldi's act,


And it got him some nice clothes,


And it gave him a forgéd resumé,


So he could get some work.


The being told Senaldi right here,


That he shouldn't abuse this chance,


Of which it is giving him.


For now Senaldi will have great luck at everything he does,


With this luck, one can get carried away,


For if one is unable to fail, one can easily lose touch


With the world that they came from,


And become ignorant of their birth.


The being, it told Senaldi one last thing,


That he must use his newfound luck, which will bring him excessive wealth,


To use it to help those who are in his situation,


To allow the poorest of people to be in good health.


It warped him away, and he applied to a good college,


In which he entered, of course,


And after he had been thouroughly educated, he started his own fish business,


And Senaldi became incredibly rich.


At first he followed the creature's instructions, and hired only the poor,


His luck and success only multiplied,


And no employee went out the door.


Eventually, Senaldi, now wealthier than he could imagine,


Bought every other business available,


And when his employees did everything for him,


He became incredibly lackadazical.


In his boredom, he searched for something to do,


He found a casino, and knowing that his luck would never run out,


He went inside and played a few.


He'd win every game, and never lose!


Soon he was known, far and wide, as Senaldi, the Gambler of Estradon,


Who could do as he would choose!


But in his rampant success and luck, he became addicted to his new trade,


Of which he played all day,


He forgot about his task given so many years ago,


To help those who need it more than anybody else you could know.


Slowly, his luck ran out, and it is sad to say,


He lost all his money playing these games of chance, his business quickly failed without him around,


And Senaldi ended up back in the box where he started,


Trying to sell bagels and lox.


The moral of this story, of which I have just told,


Is that he who does not work to earn his gold,


Or does so through crooked ways,


Will eventually lose what he made.







Well, all of my friends say that a lot of stuff that I've written is good, and I've only gotten good reviews so far. What do you guys think? I'd love some input, and I'd love to see if you guys can figure out what I'm really talking about in my poetry. A few of these mean nothing, though, so be careful.

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Wow... that's quite a lot. I don't have much time on my hands right now, but I promise I'll try to get to read these soon :)

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Holy cow dude, I haven't seen this much poetry since second semester English.


How long did it take you to create so much?

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Actually, I started after I got back from being sick, and for some reason was really inspired. Considering the fact that the fatigue from the sickness and the fact that I was kinda depressed last week, not to mention the gloominess of the poetry...I was probably greatly inspired by the depression and great deal of stress I was under last week.


Obviously, the rate in which I've been writing poetry has slowed down quite a bit. So yeah.

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Here's my newest poem:

Melodic Interpretation


The melody of the wind


Blowing through the trees,


Or of the quiet rake,


Brushing through the leaves,


It is unique, not all can hear,


The quaint harmonies.


Music is all around,


Anything that makes a sound,


Footsteps walking down a hall,


Shouts of children in the Fall,


Even, even the hammer hitting the ground,


Can be heard by all.


One does not have to be a genius to hear


The music can be heard by anyone with an attentive ear.



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