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One of the ancients,once said that poetry is "the mirror of the perfect soul." Instead of simply writing down travel notes or, not really thinking about the consequences, expressing your thoughts, memories or on paper, the poetic soul needs to seriously work hard to clothe the perfect content in an even more perfect poetic form.
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What is poetry?


Reading books RomanceThe unity of form and content is what distinguishes poetry from other areas of creativity. However, this is precisely what titanic work implies.
Not every citizen can become a poet. If almost every one of us, at different times, under the influence of certain reasons or trends, was engaged in writing his thoughts, then it is unlikely that the vast majority will be able to admit to themselves that they are a poet.
Genre of poetry touches such strings in the human soul, the existence of which a person either didn’t suspect, or lowered them to the very bottom, intending to give them delight.


There are poets whose work, without exaggeration, belongs to the treasures of human thought and rightly is a world heritage. In our electronic library you will find a wide variety of poetry.
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Read books online » Poetry » Transition Into... by A.J. Macabre (best novel books to read txt) 📖

Book online «Transition Into... by A.J. Macabre (best novel books to read txt) 📖». Author A.J. Macabre



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be still in my motion.

I'm under and I cant find the surface,
Listening to the sentences between the words,
And it's not only children,
That can be so cruel.

A different face,
A different place,
Still the war is always the same.

And it is a holy war,
But the halo is upside down.
Its crooked,
And in reverse,
How the absence serves you.
How the empty space where you fail to be,
Is raging.

Stifle the gasp between your lips,
You remain there,
Ever the however vauge,
Cradled in the confine,
Where I keep you close to me.

Where I keep the sound of dry earth and tiny rocks underneath my feet,
The stimulation pleases me,
The smell of dirt the air before a rain,
A breath sedates me,
Dirty fingers pointing out spots on maps,
All the places I long to be,
Scribblings in tiny composition books,
Some for future history to read.

Long stretches of nothing,
No pavenment in sight,
Just worn road and grass and ancient fence.
Just bodies underneath the dirt,
The bodies under my feet.
In decay and rot that seeps,
Into the virgin ground.

We all wake up to the news,
We all wake up dead one day,
Why then are there tears in my eyes?

When eternity is realized.
And the light is getting dimmer,
And the beauty of this world,
Compares to that of a dying rose.

Dont think that there is a way.
Dont think there is silence in what i say,
Or meaning in my quiet stare.

Every step I take pointless,
To what exists.

All my tears for nothing,
I still will die.
Lay on my death bed some day,
If not one day soon.

When my ties to life,
Connections to reality are severed,
And thinking back,
Causes me more grief than joy,
My heart is going to hurt,
Even more.

The end of pleasure,
Wrapped around my neck,
Something to take off the edge,
To conceal that nothing is done.

My hair was red, red,
From the gaping wound,
I remove the stitches myself,
And clamp closed the wound,
For good.


Straight Jacket Conglomerate


The cells divide,
They multiply,
Change form,
Form reason,
Reason and don't question,
They cry and smile,
Build fire,
Kill and injure,
Feast and pillage,
Desecrate entire villages.

The cellsdivide,
They multiply,
Change form,
Form reason,
Reason and grow concious,
They see stars, map constellations,
Build statues and molds,
Record and hypothosize,
Come up with theories,
Forever searching for their souls.

The cells divide,
They multiply,
Change form,
Form reason,
Reason why,
Question and deny,
They thirst and hunger,
Crave recognition,
Caffine and nicotine,
Alcohol and harder,
Some wonder why they even bother.

The cells divide,
They multiply,
Change form,
Form reason,
Reason build mmore religion,
They devise and sell,
Build mass weapons,
Congolmerates and take overs,
Recalls and bankrupsies,
They crumble entire nations.

The cells divide,
They multiply,
Change form,
Form reason,
Reason is ignored,
No question, just follow,
Advertising tells them how to live,
What to crave,
How to feel,
The cells are sheep for the slaughter.


Less Than Emmaculate


The insides, the outsides,
And everything connecting them,
The inside outs, Upside downs,
The birth and the death.

I've got my losses and my wins,
I've got my secrets and hidden sins,
Languish technicality.

What you say is strange,
And that thing that was you and me is gone.

You want to recover something buried,
But a serpant swallowed all of my fairytales,
Left me helpless,
A heap of flesh unable to move and barely breathe.

My serpant was you,
Gave birth to wriggling,
Angry realities,
They hissed and bit my hands,
Feasted upon my dreams,
Suckled from my abundant tears.

How do you recover something dead?
With some eternal shovel?

Hands of the damned reaching up from the womb,
To drag me down,
Broken finger nails grasp and tear.

My pathetic protest of pain at my current situation,
The demons can't be bought or wished away,
Their bellies bulging full,
From my forlorn lethargia.

Enough, enough,
We sowed, we reaped,
Complacency abound,
When did this inrtospection star your eyes?
This omen of unknown will.

Do my teeth sound clean?
My tongue sharp?

All cruel appeitites and eyes that look and do not see,
Feeding off of this minds death,
All reflection,
No exception.

This temporairy demise,
Eternal suspension in intoxicated ether,
I cant find the answer,
In heart, or bone.

Time takes on a weeping face,
Fear takes on a smile,
Dead joys are joys no more,
Still.

The writing on the walls,
Sharp lines like the devils hand,
And ink that may be my blood,
The prisons tt are flesh,
And familiarity.

I pray i dont awake,
Disconnected and light,
With the feeling of teeth,
Still numb on y neck,
From digging up these dead things.


Now That I'm Awake


She's the monster,
You're the child,
You're the victim,
She's not sorry.

She's indifferent,
And you're yearing,
She's walking away,
Your fascade is showing.

Stained glass looks like romance,
A love that can last,
Or shatter to bits,
And become tainted past.

Laughter like an exhale,
Momentum just to breathe,
A sigh of relief,
A proclaimed gasp of injustice.

Jumbled self doubt,
And rue colored vision in waking hours,
Clenched jaw and teeth grind,
Nightmares rule the world held in sleeps grasp.

I don't feel the same,
Giving up the change,
Change the disguise,
Unless it too holds regret.

Do what you have to,
To leave me behind,
Let your heart heal,
And your head forget,
Pretend that I never happened.

Unfortunate circumstance,
You addict,
Find your methadone,
To my heroin kiss,
Reconstitute like wine,
Reform your misused soul from mine.

The stellar divide,
Cataclysmic burst of outward feeling,
I saw star shine,
A sparkle in keen eyes.

But there are shades of gray,
I fall into the blur,
Between white and black,
Between good and evil,
Here and leaving.

You didn't have a choice,
You didn't have the grasp,
You didn't hear the shouts,
A voice saying, last call.

I go on,
You cant chain me,
I stay strong,
You cannot sustain my needs.

She's the monster,
You're the child,
You're the victim,
She's not sorry.

She's indifferent,
And you're yearing,
She's walking away,
Your fascade is showing.

I don't feel the same,
Giving up the change,
Change the disguise,
Unless it too holds regret.

Now that I'm awake,
I dont feel the same,
Nicotine burning,
Paradoxical behavioural disinhibition,
Held under my little finger.

Time for reality,
Heart at grave level,
I am what I feel,
And I feel nothing.

She's left you wanting,
She's behind glass,
And you're leaving fingerprints.


On the Bridge Home


Winter kissed her flesh with lips of ice,
Smoke rises to her eyes,
From spent cigarrette,
And prolonged breath.

It's been so long since she's been home,
Like eons passing by,
To that warm familiar place that never turns her away.

The cold stone,
The only thing between the water beneath her feet,
A drop into black oblivion,
The well known sights and sounds of her beloved ground.

She thinks,
I could have said how i felt,
I could have,
But i didnt.

His ghost already haunting her,
Like the sun rising black,
The conclusion of thing's,
Too much emotion invested in one place.

Her story doesnt have a happy ending or a hint of glory,
Unperfect, alas longing to be,
Like an itch she can't reach to scratch or find.

Ancient books full of her pages,
Pages full of words that mean nothing,
You wont find her confession of crimes,
Anywhere between the lines.

She say's,
Her souls too sore,
From gladly burning bridges down,
Of always just passing through,
Never crossing half way to half way there.

The ingestion process,
Swallowing of pride,
She say's,
I want you to kiss me,
I want you to hold me,
I want you to remember,
Remind and tell me why,
You fell in love with me,
Those lost years ago,
When our bodies embraced in rain.

In the throes of our lamentation and joy,
When the smell of a new summer night was wet
And fresh with childrens' dreams we drowned away.


Half Way to Half Way to Hell


Something about the dark,
It trouble's me so,
The black stitch in eternity,
And the seam that is unravelling.

I see text when I hear the words,
Semi-translucent reflections of lines in scraps of broken glass,
Fallen from my cup half empty.

I drink in the pain,
It comes uncumbered,
Remedy in a razors glistening blade,
Lies in the halo wire,
One foot in the puddle,
The other in the grave.

And hell tastes like home,
A warm place i'm going to,
A place i'll never leave.

Will you listen to my voice?
Or will you hear only the worst of my words?
I feel I need not justify my actions,
Nor make any excuse,
This pain I wear is a ribbon,
Tied red 'round my neck.

My heart in its own rythmn,
So unlike yours,
It flutters and murmers it's mysteries,
The muscle that makes me stifled,
The muscle underneathe.

I smell a demon,
Fire, and the stench of sulfer swirling black in the back of my throat,
All ash and ember arms that wrap tightly around,
And eyes that tell me what I already know, as he drags me down,
Eternally infernal.

Lost faith doesn't wait,
Doesn't congragate in corners of dark rooms,
With dark curtins,
It sinks, insubstantial,
Snuffed from oblivion.

No trust can be gained,
Are you listening to my voice?
Soft conviencing coaxes.

No concoction strong enough to poison my vindictive nature,
My snarl of indignation.

The flames lapping high,
A serpants burning tongue,
Here in the stark,
With no eyes watching over,
Pray I do not listen to the whispers that come in the night.


Copasetic


Wont wear my heart on my sleeve,
It gets spit on,
It gets dirty,
Gets the world on it everyday.

The fast and easy,
It's better that way,
Long gone by the time you've awaken,
Or just simple understanding.

Dont need to be silver spoon fed,
The red and blue capsules are to my liking,
Dont need to be silver tongue served,
Each rose colored a different lie.

The flowers die,
Each lost it's petals,
But the thorns are still sharp,
They drip with dew and this mornings dose of blood drawn.

Floors covered in feathers from angel's wings,
Spent love, rejected,
Spun from the skies above,
Spit from gods own throne.

Ripped the hearts right from still beating chests,
Love took remorse,
Plucked the pity right from them,
Till there was only emptiness left.

Light faded from broken halos,
What was good once now destitute,
Broken promises scattered with the leaves,
The lips no longer lay down sweet prose.

Those who choose to walk alone,
After heartache, misery stays,
Those who choose to recliam control,
And embrace lust.

A chance to take the devils hand,
A chance to be not invisible,
To reside where there are only shades of grey,
And endless disguises.

Pound away at the wall,
There is nothing behind it,
Stab away at the heart,
There is no way to find it.

I smile upside down,
It isn't a frown,
Just turned around,
And I'm sensitive,
Except for my numbness.


Razor
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