My Margins Left Scrambled

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  • Fantasy

    My Margins Left Scrambled

    Dark as my cooridoors are
    Etched in light afar they're seemingly boorlerless floors are doors ajar
    Vested in the art, a guard who's smart's leaving horrible scars
    In and beneath the arc, never to see the art falling from par
    Enter, touring the heart's mind...in choosing the whores for parts
    Rearanging these ten brewing storms'll mark

    As plain as a frosty white plate

    Ever he's so clever, a wizard if ever
    Whether or not together
    Never not weather, the weather, the blizard, forever

    Entering villanous, the stillest ill in this feeling is so real
    Little by little it steals from me still
    Nill to the writer, to the villian's the till, in his reeling is no feel
    It'll only by little chill from these pills

    Obligations for the lame mens sake, his stake as late's forsaken
    For making himself an abombination, his take's great for taking
    Rhymeless, these crossing faces across these races, they're cross and faking

    Your minds not really seeing in it
    Really being in it
    Viscous, these vissions within weening visits
    Elicit lips are whispering tips
    Exit now before there is no meaning with it

    Remember to close the windows, don't forget about these fellows
    You'll get a chill so real and morbid it bellows
    His mellow...soft and yellow
    Eventually you'll need so to tell those fellows a hello
    Me, I can tell those fellows are from hell though

    I've seen 'em at road side

    Intertwined with bushes and brush fire
    Within the bussom of lush bryers
    Rush...
    There trying to push cryers
    Eyes wired, pleading please, 'til minds, they retire...expire

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    dahlusion commented on My Margins Left Scrambled

    01-29-2009

    An exhilarating trip through rhymes & reasons: leaves the reader breathless…

    ThePen commented on My Margins Left Scrambled

    01-04-2009

    Man!!! I see why you got exhausted.

    The true philosopher and the true poet are one, and a beauty, which is truth, and a truth, which is beauty, is the aim of both.

    Ralph Waldo Emerson, American Poet (1803-1882)

    Webbsy’s Poems (6)

    Title Comments
    Title Comments
    eyes of green 1
    A Rap 1
    My Margins Left Scrambled 2
    Baby Boy 3
    The Clearing 1
    True Bleeding Heart 2