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#31
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It was on a rainy day I saw her. She ran through the forest like a nymph unseen - to catch a glimpse of her beauty would be to catch her soul. And, so, it was with only the corner of my eye I caught the smallest part of her soul and held it near.
When I followed her, I never dreamed I would catch up with her. I thought she had gone like the illusion she was. But, no, as I approached her, she welcomed me to her kingdom. We sat and talked, and played games with each other's minds, until we grew weary, and the day began to form into night. Under the canopy of the great trees we slept, not feeling a bit of the evening rain. It was, perhaps, what could be called magical. Later, when I awoke, she was gone. I was left with the stark reality of being alone in a dark forest. It was cold, I was sweating all over. My clothes were covered in lichin and grime. Had she been here at all? It was with great regret, I left that hallowed place, and went once more into my desolate home in the city of shattered dreams. People all around, like me, had left themselves in that forest, or one similar, but most had done it a long time ago. All that was left now was to forget. And if I found it hard to forget, I knew, it would be simpler just to ignore what I had left behind, as though she had never been there at all. (author unknown) |
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#32
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Thanks man!
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My Journal |
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#33
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Wouldn't it be wonderful
if life were just a dream We wouldn't have to hurry not to worry about "What THEY say" We could stop and smell the flowers any time of day Things couldn't be right not as though it seems But wouldn't it be wonderful if life were just a dream The only poem I have written and commited to memory.
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Be Polite, Be Patient, Be Planting.
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#34
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Quote:
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My Journal |
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#35
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Universal thought caught up in naught
somewhere between revelation and forgiveness One must insist that we consist of actions and resistance with a persistence toward excellency Tendency to overthink may sink sorrow so low undertoe grabs you, sweeping you out to sea See what you find in your mind a treasure, a talent, a dream Know what I mean Streams of spirit flow into the deep blues Keep paying your dues, but only on Tuesday Who is to say Justice is served, Justice is a verb are you disturbed that it's happening always around you It surrounds you and who knows where she is bound, but we are all sure to follow So swallow your pride, we're in for a ride Take it in stride, cause steady she goes Something written but not memorized. Titled too. Woo Hoo!!!
__________________
Be Polite, Be Patient, Be Planting.
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#36
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Clinically Dead
I was born and alive Maybe fallen instead They said I was dead. But technically they hooked me to a machine and said He’s Clinically Dead. And from the land of the unknown Stood the pillars enticing more to become Clinically Dead. So pick up your microphone And pretend the rules don’t exsit. Just wrote it . . .
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My Journal |
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#37
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Newgroth poetry keeps growin' on me
like I am in vegg on stage, but are we on the same page Rollitup.org a smorgishborg of marijuana mages in a rage at all who would deny our purple Sages throughout the ages have sought wisdom from the pot schizsm the man plays we pays for daze on end Bend the rules without clout to break the laws we take pause in our busy day to pray with eachother We ain't gettin' dumb we bustin' lungs fire up the dutch Bowls, bongs or blunts we burn to discern write from long wrong drawn out stanzas hittin' bonanzas with these ponderosa trees Smile'n with ease if you please perma grin sets in sweets are treats best consumed in double time For no rhyme waits just creates itself from words heard in silence From the dome, the top... cream of the crop, I Rise you Drop but not really thats just silly we alll equal in God's eyes there are no surprises. Do it again.
__________________
Be Polite, Be Patient, Be Planting.
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#38
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OH TO BE FREE FROM DIRECTION
To float and be pushed along like leaves in a river Brown mound, ants cover and scatter, but all return Tree sway in the forest wind playing Oh to be free from direction. To create the ideals and morals of oneself is life. Carried out in every moment of every second we become ourselves. Our morals are just descriptions of ourselves as compared to the rest of the population. Our lives are all judged. We are all judged, by the rest of society who then judges themselves as compared to you. WE ARE ALL COMPARING EACH OTHER. Contrast, compare, judge their right from wrong. What is right and wrong? Does it form from what we compare from others? Does our gut tell us what is right and wrong? What if you are wrong and you don’t know it? I simply want to exist, but I cannot stop asking these questions. I can cover myself in shit, is that wrong? I can gorge myself on food, is that wrong? I can hold myself above the entire world, is that wrong? I can sleep all day, is that wrong? I can take drugs, is that wrong? I can hate others, is that wrong? It all seems wrong. But this world seems wrong. This world is fucked up, so I am too. I am god’s dead coal.
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weed, hoes, dough, thats all i know. http://www.rollitup.org/grow-journal...seriously.html |
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#39
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Eyes mourn for sleep
Nightly, my dreams they eat. Waking, they slow and dry 4:00 am tears of sand i cry. Nobody up now except the kids reading the internet watching porno vids. Dreading the time when head falls to the chin, To fall asleep for a week, then start over again.
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weed, hoes, dough, thats all i know. http://www.rollitup.org/grow-journal...seriously.html |
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#40
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Ten Thousand Dollars
Two Thousand Miles Don't Fall For My Tricks Back Underground To Hear the Waves on the Sound Sun and Surf I Found My Place I'm Home Here
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My Journal |
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