Keep it short,
Keep it sweet.
Drag it on,
You lose your aim,
And become a puzzle no one wants to play.
White lies cover what is blank.
Truth is a punch every word said.
The best there is?
Be there a way around it?
Questionable every say there!
Too keen on falsehood and genuineness words.
Brought soon misunderstanding,
A likeness all can relate on.
And be shown with fear.
That is just how things are,
Sadly not true but fill with lies,
Where holes are tend to be found.
Too wrong to be right,
Too right to be wrong,
A cube of six colors,
And one path it will make.
If one wishes to do so,
Not for I,
Nor you if you think not or do,
Too many answers will lead,
For a one lone question there is.
Beyond The Five SensesIf there is a moment to misuse something,
Why not the five senses we use?
Dumb as it sounds,
It does have its interesting moments.
Able to see colors through smells,
Feel or taste sound or sight.
But what if there is a hidden meaning to it,
Besides the oh-so easy LSD drugs,
And it just happens.
Ponder a moment at the thought,
And go with it when questions follow.
Could the meaning of how life becomes more simplex?
The symbols of differences soon become likely toss aside finally because of it?
Have becoming complex be only know as random word play?
Many more questions will come in time,
On answers relies on who is being asked,
And will it be answered with childlikeness or maturity,
For so again,
Are you asking or is another asking you?
A thought as any other,
Becomes a hedge maze,
Some are likely to never escape from,
In the twists and turns,
An exit is bound to be found,
Is the person ready to leave?
Or do they wish to walk on
Gift to FanFic CriticAs people has said,
This critic takes a lot of shit,
And how she handles it,
Is a good role model!
Say what others speak about her,
In between the lines,
What she critiques,
Holds a lot more than just fan fiction.
Such as this,
At a form of being creative,
Minds of the young,
Are at the ready to grow into something more!
Sadly at times,
Not all of those of an older time,
Don’t see it,
Just kids being extraordinary kids,
Of an enigma that should be left,
Of have any free thinking and become confining.
This critic has seen the sad minds,
The crazy minds,
The wrong minds,
The misjudge minds,
And the minds of the unsure!
Creatively is a tender subject,
When others may throw it around,
That not all have it,
But in different strokes,
But in same rhythm!
FanFic Critic may not know it,
But does it so anyway,
Looking into the minds of many,
And be a humble voice,
Even if no one wants to hear,
But it’s a loss for those only looking skin deep.
F.A.L.L.F can be as that simple Flop of coming of too short on something, ending close on the knees with loss perceptive of how it happen, only knowing it did.
A is how the Aftermath of it, leaves many star struck, hurting in places not all thought were pain and emotions go to.
L as for that at this moment it’s to Laugh or remain still, shaking off that death was close, but was off a few centimeters of catching the one quarry.
L could go for that Lying it didn’t happen, for the sake of face, but the scars linger as a reminder just how much life can slip away, because of one mishap that is out of one’s hands to control.
Gift to Moderately Annoyed CanadianWhen coming to knowing someone,
It’s best to do in small doses . . .
A MODERATELY intake of someone,
Before knowing who’s your buddy or opponent,
In a case like this,
Screw the rules!
It’s not wrong to be ANNOYED by people,
Grinding at moments,
Nothing wrong with it,
Makes this man all the more of an individual to others,
In a landslide matter,
He’s best at what he does,
Laughing at problems coming his way,
Drinking along with misery because he don’t give a flying fuck,
At what the world does!
He might CANADIAN,
But it’s no excuse to what he is,
As he just plans to sabotage everything,
Because he can,
For nothing is easy to get or earn,
It’s a battle and he’s the referee of life,
And will continuing doing so,
Well . . .
I hope so anyway,
A little wakeup call never hurt anyone,
Paint a Picture No. 27 (Special Edition 3/4)They march on. Intensity craves into the lands, through and through, departure from cascade of a hot summer storm.
With nothing but the imprints of life before, left behind; heading on, to where ever the compass leads.
The feet look nothing but straggling to keep on, with heavy weights of packs and resolve tall thin stature of hope, disappearing each breath taken by them. With the rumple of thunder strike, the nonconformists and trots of body armor cars trailing ahead or behind, to that a forever so echo through the bewilderment of afforest.
To that when the sun sets afar, the moon will rise. Yet, the bombs keep falling. Screams of fleeting life fill the air as the downpour masks it, but for only so long, as in night, it’s gone. Harbor high in the sky; blank as the faces of the unknown death.
Spotted with unnumbered of stars; just as bodies littering the cold ground of night: but soon warmth and baked by the hell’s heat of the sun. As to that again, days pass, nothing chang
7-14-14A Bitten Summer
So warm this heat has become . . .
Unable to breath to live . . .
Summer has taken a new approach on this.
Drying the rivers,
Thinning the puddles,
Lower the ocean level,
Completing everything without even trying!
Why has to this come,
Now of all time!
So will breaking . . .
Skin brighten to a shade,
Bitten as a snack from the sun,
Leaving on a burn of an itch behind!
O’ thy one suffering hath taken a new form.
One would find less of pleasing moment as this . . .
Summer is fine,
To a point,
This is not one of them.
In the pleasures and twinges,
This is a price to pay,
When summer is here!
Just as spring is here to ill one body,
Fall confusing the temps,
And winter being the hardest to make by,
Summer is just the same.
But to have a stiff upper lip,
And let it play out,
If knowing that having the heat,
Means only that a win has happen,
And that cup of cream waiting is to melt,
Just as one baking on low on the streets.
Summer . . .
Gift to richbEver have that moment of nostalgia,
But unknown sure of how to look back,
Remembering what was great and how later in life,
All seems forgetting what makes some grand to . . .
And the memory!
With how everything is now,
The needs and wants of having that feeling again,
There is one of many to the turn,
In hopes of remembering that feeling again!
That would from richb,
A simple man,
Who lives on remembering the nostalgia . . .
Grand and crap of it all!
Some come in facts,
And from the heart of one’s being.
In this case with richb,
All three are at his control,
And he makes the time worth it all.
Look through his blogs,
And they’ll prove you all wrong.
Read them just look back for the sake of nostalgia,
Because at times,
It’s all one has.
And richb makes it worth it,
As its on all the memoires.
Fear Thy One Fear Is . . . (No. 2)I’m not asking much, just turn around; look . . . I’m right here.
You keep saying my name, and I return you call, but again, you don’t look back.
Please don’t do this!
Screams are just whips of winds to you!
Look this way!
I’m right here!
Don’t leave . . . don’t go . . . you’re all I got!
Even if you can’t see me, I see you! Just turn around.
Time will tick away, with my voice raw and thinned, and you have yet to look back.
Blind to know I am here.
Always have and always will be, you would know, if you haven’t . . . Look!
Damn it all to hell, I’m here!
No . . . don’t walk away, farther away from me . . . no!
A chance to stop you, but you only seem to get farther away, look, I am here and well alive!
Please . . . oh gods . . . don’t let this be it for me?
Unless, you as well are the same and have no clue of this voice calling out to you . . . No!
Just look this way