UntitledThey dream in colorUntitled by ~theobsolescentmind
each moment wrought in a myriad of rainbow bliss
but we are not them.
Our dreams are born of word and rhythm
Our hearts are won and lost by rhyme
each word trancending thought and time.
Overcoming the bands of reality
thoughts and images spun like silk
drifting aimlessly through the void
stealing traits from all they pass through
the light of stars and the color of thought
creating a world as old as time
yet all is fresh and new.
These words are memories, thoughts, dreams;
all the things we wish to forget,
and everything in life worth remembering.
defeatheredand this is where we bury our hearts,defeathered by ~intricately-ordinary
between self-defeating personality disorders
and burnt bridges and midnight ramblings
we promise ourselves aren’t true;
embedding our memories in forsaken homes
like it is a conscious decision to shed
our wings (reptiles don’t fly)
and maybe I am the monster of every
myth: wide-eyed and jagged toothed and
looking to regain a piece of myself the
world borrowed, many moons ago
as I falter and stumble over my own unaware
feet, wreaking havoc, reeking of self-acquittal--
all I ever wanted to do was belong.
dreams are flaws much like the hearts we
flaunt on our sleeves, and I seem to
JuggernautsJuggernauts 10/04/12Juggernauts by *PangCake
Built to take pain, and quick to recover,
Walking like tanks, stepping over, and over.
Resisting with their every inch,
Taking blows without a flinch.
These are the juggernauts, built for pain,
Laughing in defeat, just to do it again.
Masochists to the cruel ebb of emotion,
Like cliffs against the wave of the ocean.
We stand tall and proud, in the line of fire,
We smile at harshness, from birth to the pyre.
Unstoppable with guns or sharpest of knives,
Practised resilience through all their lives.
Wounds hurt, but wounds do heal,
To get back up with a will of steel.
Every cut becomes easier to bear,