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Acrostic poetry -Daisy

 

D utifully fights death with hope

A ccepts pain will help shed its old purpose

I n light it seeks for a rebirth – instincts prevail

S adness embrace – for loss will lead to freedom

Y esterday is a forget me not – a death sentence.

Random generation of Procrastination

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News

Makes this tale mangy from substance abuse.

It rips at the soul-

 Makes censorship an ideal way to protect society

from the ugly truth.

Weak humans

Covering up their tracks.

 

Idle loneliness

makes for an abode

 Senses  summoned in to serve

 body possession

resembles

a genre of  the common trap.

 

Jedi modification

trance.

silence

or

Depeche  mode

Crazy contravenes with inner child’s freshly painted creche.

 

 

Dynamo

Isn’t as mighty

 Paired up with a jogger,

 a fit bit,

and a

radiant glow.

 

Three strikes.

When did time get so slow?

this temple-

Armour of organs in free harmonic flow.

one

Sincerely thinks.

Yes.

It is wise to know.

Faithfully your

beat  sets up another trap for

The inner mouse.

 

Eventually,

it will come out.

lose control.

 

No.

Leave.

Go!

 Big Ben caught in the designated zepherous zone.

 Failed  to save uncapped pressure

 Builds up into a deafening detonation.

Unintentional.

The inner logic was damage limitation.

 

The government ordered trench coats

  In full sight.

Tainted

 unprotected,

pollution seeps out from a  piercing moan.

 

Bridal mess   Sleuths about

 in slippers.

 Track tips far too early.

Nevertheless

behind.

 

Hands cover sight.

Mind convinced its temporary.

Blindspot.

Nevertheless

It’s all right.

Habits washed in  deficient  light

 credit token-

a  gesture.

kinder

More compassionate.

Guilt?

perhaps…

 

The decision fully saddled.

Vows  riddled

Wholly broken.

The course is  hardened terrain

Rumours rustle  barren branches

 summer shamed of its remaining leaves.

 

Scarlett

Stops

Shaded

Strangers

Point fingers in one direction.

 

Signpost makes a statement!

all-inclusive meals

Beyond

The border of Insanity.

Handstand

then

 the cartwheels-the body released from  tension

 Moment  of clarity

woe, for  the gifted

gasping on

thorn scented roses

Stoney  carves out

The centurion tone.

Inflicts an incident.

 

A beat.

A blockage.

A seizure.

 

 Arithmetic arrests Maroon’s motion.

Apprehended by fear.

Not one morsel intervenes.

homebound

Iris catches sight

 A distasteful  Discovery.

Host

bloody

broody

burnt the ceremonial toast.

 

Finally

Alone

A legitimate  excuse

 eyes wide open

 shed

Timely tears.

 

 

Janus of global slang

Inspired by his lyrics – it’s not exactly physics.

Big boy

Little boy

Atomic bomb don’t come across as coy.

Paranoia looms over a  shadow with no owner.

Scented thoughts hang outside on the laundry line –  drying out, pegged up, sketchy.

Nowt out of the ordinary.

The demise of senseless beatings.

The savage frolic in secret meetings.

Can’t keep these eyes open – Mind is wired to sensor an alert token.

Add a word to the vocabulary list.

Reading made up stories,

Can’t get the gist.

Thinking of  the times I’ve reinvented my speech,

Just so folk wouldn’t turn away

Or,

Mistake me for a blast of mist.

Solar plexus

A libran to balance my ails.

 If vaccines worked, would I even need this skeleton tail?

I’m proficient in scripted fulminate. 

A non- believer has to have a reason to detonate.

Terrorized by bones unhinged, pelvic oddities, a face grappling on the fringes.

Uncertainty – you can do it!

Mascot duty bellows:  You blew it.

Everyday the input becomes more,

Ouput audios in a  fervescent roar.

Fading into a nebulant place slowed down by brain freezers swimming in a shoal.

No  near-empty dregs to fill my soul.

Restricted by self- limitation.

Hear me when  I say,

I’m not doing this for inspiration.

What to do in a world knocked into  askew?

Nondescript,  omniscient  eyes

Know when to usher in the seasonal yule.

Nonsense?

no sense.

Prop me up.

Inhale oxygen.

Don’t give up.

Against all better judgment – I implode from the inside.

I had it all figured out until I became a seeker in need of washed out make -overs from dead flotsam at low tide.

*Inspired by internal conflict and the world.* 😀 

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