Chaos With A Cup Of Coffee discussion
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❅ Lyn Nguyen, butterflies by johnny stimson
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Jun 02, 2022 08:42PM
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The fear in Para and the shock of noia has caused because of something in Minnesota. It could’ve been too many crime story’s told. Or too many kidnappings that were very old. Either the stories of the people whom are gone. Have brought “Paranoia” together by dawn.
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The moon hated the sun,
For the sun shown brightest in the sky,
Leaving the moon to darken the sky at night,
Invisible.
When the sun heard of the moon’s loathing,
He looked at the moon.
The sun saw darkness,
He saw peace beyond the darkness,
And so the sun shone on the moon.
“Once a month you will turn dark,
Once a month you will turn light,
In between you are half each,
You will be my sister,
I shall be your brother,
You rule the night and I the day.”
The moon found happiness,
She found peace.
The moon found love,
She found friendship,
And the moon found her light.
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When I’m at school, I ask my friends who the most dangerous person they can see is. They say the principal, the PE teacher, and the math teacher. They’re wrong.
Beware of the person who’s nose is always in a book. They wear their masks better than the rest, they know how to hide in plain sight, and tend to have dirtier minds than the rest. They are broken, and whole, and healing at the same time. They have lived thousands of lives, lived in millions of worlds, and died many times.
We go by many names, bookworm, book lover, book reader, but we all prefer our books to the real world. Our books are an escape from our lives, a way to live as someone else. If we are separated from our books, we become lost, caged, even. And a caged animal is a dangerous animal. It will fight for freedom.
The world sees us as lonely, but we have more friends than you can imagine.
When I got kicked out, my life wasn't completeAll I did was just read and read
I missed my GR friends,
And I felt like my life would end
But I'm screaming when I'm back
Oh, I'm too happy to rhyme anymore
But all I know is I'm grinning on the floor!
Daysi wrote: "I love it XD it’s perfect 😍"thank you!
In Britain’s Isle, no matter where,An ancient pile of buildings stands:
The Huntingdons and Hattons there
Employ’d the power of Fairy hands
To raise the ceiling’s fretted height,
Each pannel in achievements cloathing,
Rich windows that exclude the light,
And passages, that lead to nothing.
Full oft within the spacious walls,
When he had fifty winters o’er him,
My grave Lord-Keeper1 led the Brawls;
The Seal, and Maces, danc’d before him.
His bushy beard, and shoe-strings green,
His high-crown’d hat, and satin-doublet,
Mov’d the stout heart of England’s Queen,
Tho’ Pope and Spaniard could not trouble it.
What, in the very first beginning!
Shame of the versifying tribe!
Your Hist’ry whither are you spinning?
Can you do nothing but describe?
A House there is, (and that’s enough)
From whence one fatal morning issues
A brace of Warriors, not in buff,
But rustling in their silks and tissues.
The first came cap-a-pee from France
Her conqu’ring destiny fulfilling,
Whom meaner beauties eye askance,
And vainly ape her art of killing.
The other Amazon kind heaven
Had armed with spirit, wit, and satire:
But COBHAM had the polish given
And tip’d her arrows with good-nature.
To celebrate her eyes, her air -
Coarse panegyricks would but teaze her.
Melissa is her Nom de Guerre.
Alas, who would not wish to please her!
With bonnet blue and capucine,
And aprons long they hid their armour,
And veil’d their weapons bright and keen
In pity to the country-farmer.
Fame, in the shape of Mr. Purt,
(By this time all the parish know it)
Had told, that thereabouts there lurk’d
A wicked Imp they call a Poet,
Who prowl’d the country far and near,
Bewitch’d the children of the peasants,
Dried up the cows, and lam’d the deer,
And suck’d the eggs and kill’d the pheasants.
My Lady heard their joint petition,
Swore by her coronet and ermine,
She’d issue out her high commission
To rid the manour of such vermin.
The Heroines undertook the task,
Thro’ lanes unknown, o’er stiles they ventur’d,
Rap’d at the door nor stay’d to ask,
But bounce into the parlour enter’d.
The trembling family they daunt,
They flirt, they sing, they laugh, they tattle,
Rummage his Mother, pinch his Aunt,
And up stairs in a whirlwind rattle.
Each hole and cupboard they explore,
Each creek and cranny of his chamber,
Run hurry-skurry round the floor,
And o’er the bed and tester clamber,
Into the Drawers and China pry,
Papers and books, a huge Imbroglio!
Under a tea-cup he might lie,
Or creased, like dogs-ears, in a folio.
On the first marching of the troops
The Muses, hopeless of his pardon,
Convey’d him underneath their hoops
To a small closet in the garden.
So Rumour says. (Who will, believe.)
But that they left the door a-jarr,
Where, safe and laughing in his sleeve,
He heard the distant din of war.
Short was his joy. He little knew
The power of Magick was no fable.
Out of the window, whisk, they flew,
But left a spell upon the table.
The words too eager to unriddle,
The poet felt a strange disorder:
Transparent birdlime form’d the middle,
And chains invisible the border.
So cunning was the Apparatus,
The powerful pothooks did so move him,
That, will he, nill he, to the Great-house
He went, as if the Devil drove him.
Yet on his way (no sign of grace,
For folks in fear are apt to pray)
To Phoebus he prefer’d his case,
And begged his aid that dreadful day.
The Godhead would have back’d his quarrel,
But, with a blush on recollection,
Own’d that his quiver and his laurel
’Gainst four such eyes were no protection.
The Court was sate, the Culprit there,
Forth from their gloomy mansions creeping
The Lady Janes and Joans repair,
And from the gallery stand peeping:
Such as in silence of the night
Come (sweep) along some winding entry
(Styack2 has often seen the sight)
Or at the chappel-door stand sentry;
In peaked hoods and mantles tarnish’d,
Sour visages, enough to scare ye,
High dames of honour once, that garnish’d
The drawing-room of fierce Queen Mary.
The Peeress comes. The Audience stare,
And doff their hats with due submission:
She curtsies, as she takes her chair,
To all the people of condition.
The bard with many an artful fib,
Had in imagination fenc’d him,
Disproved the arguments of Squib,3
And all that Groom4 could urge against him.
But soon his rhetorick forsook him,
When he the solemn hall had seen;
A sudden fit of ague shook him,
He stood as mute as poor Macleane.5
Yet something he was heard to mutter,
‘‘How in the park beneath an old-tree
(Without design to hurt the butter,
Or any malice to the poultry,)
‘‘He once or twice had pen’d a sonnet;
Yet hop’d that he might save his bacon:
Numbers would give their oaths upon it,
He ne’er was for a conj’rer taken.’’
The ghostly Prudes with hagged face
Already had condemn’d the sinner.
My Lady rose, and with a grace -
She smiled, and bid him come to dinner.
‘‘Jesu-Maria! Madam Bridget,
Why, what can the Viscountess mean?’’
(Cried the square Hoods in woeful fidget)
‘‘The times are altered quite and clean!
‘‘Decorum’s turned to mere civility;
Her air and all her manners show it.
Commend me to her affability!
Speak to a Commoner and Poet!’’
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He gave her a ring of golden thorns and iron chains,
A ring she never asked for,
The thorns cut her and made her bleed,
The iron chains made sure she never left,
He walked around with her on his arm,
As her silent tears fell on the ground.
Three days and three nights later,
She had fallen,
So far down;
Down until she could not feel,
Could not hear,
Could not see,
Could not care,
Could never truly live.
He didn’t see her,
See her sink,
Nor did she tell him.
A fortnight after he gave her the ring,
They were to be wed,
She would be bound to him for eternity,
Chaining her broken soul to his thieving soul.
After the vows were made,
He took her to the balcony,
There she spoke.
“Until death we shall be bonded,
Until death I shan’t be free,
So let death claim me.”
She climbed on the rail,
She spread her arms wide,
And she did the unthinkable.
As she fell,
He wept,
For her beauty,
For her red lips,
For her soft hair,
For her warm skin,
But never for her soul,
Her broken, shattered soul.
How’d her soul break?
It broke from the ring of thorns and chains,
It broke from her silent tears,
It shattered from the vows.
Never chain a free soul,
The soul will break,
Again,
And again,
And again,
Until it shatters.
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TheLordOfTheBooks wrote: "I don’t remember when I wrote this but idk I kinda like it XDSometimes I wonder if the moon feels lonely,
Revolving around the Earth kindly and lovingly
Always there, even in the day,
But the Ea..."
I just saw this. I really like it!
Kotlc is the best
Keefe probably likes ducks
And oh by the way fitzphie really sucks ☺️
Keefe probably likes ducks
And oh by the way fitzphie really sucks ☺️
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Smh,
Smh smh smh Smh. Smh smh SMH smH SmH
sMh sMH SMh SmH Smh Smh Smh SMH smh smh smh smh smh smh smh smh smh,
SmH smh smh smh smh smh smh smh
by SmH dude~Lynn
I feel emptyLike everything's been sapped from me.
Nothing makes sense anymore
How many times did I have to say
Leave me alone
It seems they've finally obeyed my orders
And I didn't get to see it happen
Disappointed
The only feeling that consumes me
How many times have I been left alone?
Too many to count
Yet
This time feels different
Like they won't return
How did this happen
I focus
On getting out of here
I try
I try
I try
Nothing
Anger
Replaces
Disappointment
He promised
He would help
He would get me out
Where is he
A tug
Somewhere in my mind
Strong
Repetitive
Something tells me
This is it
I relax
This has to be him
It has to
Has to
I focus on the pull
Get me out
Get me out
Light
Floods my vision
I am free
His face is in front of me
Gasping
I am here
Free
if Gisela had her mind broken and Keefe freed her
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I feel emptyLike everything's been sapped from me.
Nothing makes sense anymore
How many times did I have to say
Leave me alone
It seems they've finally obeyed my orders
And I didn't get to see it happen
Disappointed
The only feeling that consumes me
How many times have I been left alone?
Too many to count
Yet
This time feels different
Like they won't return
How did this happen
I focus
On getting out of here
I try
I try
I try
Nothing
Anger
Replaces
Disappointment
He promised
He would help
He would get me out
Where is he
A tug
Somewhere in my mind
Strong
Repetitive
Something tells me
This is it
I relax
This has to be him
It has to
Has to
I focus on the pull
Get me out
Get me out
Light
Floods my vision
I am free
His face is in front of me
Gasping
I am here
Free
Is it alright if I share a poem I didn't write?
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Okay, I copied the poem, and it's in caps for some reason?? But:"I'M FINE, I'M FINE! I'M OKAY, I SWEAR!" ALL THE WHILE YOU'RE DROWNING AND GASPING FOR AIR.
"I'LL BE JUST FINE. EVERYONE GETS HURT." ALL THE WHILE THE HOLE YOU'RE IN IS QUICKLY FILLING WITH DIRT.
"THIS ISN'T THE END OF THE WORLD. IT'S REALLY NOT A BIG DEAL." ALL THE WHILE YOU'RE FREEZING IN THE ICE YOU CREATED SO YOU WOULDN'T HAVE TO FEEL.
"MAYBE I'M NOT OKAY,
MAYBE I'M FEELING WEAK."
ALL THE WHILE THOSE WORDS STAY IN YOUR THROAT, BECAUSE THE TRUTH HURTS TOO MUCH TO SPEAK.
-The Shy Poet
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It iss. The Shy Poet is the best. I highly recommend checking out her other poems.
a s h e r wrote: "wrote this for my gf-“Ella es divina”
My mind was a storm last winter,
I felt myself freeze,
No longer a free-thinker,
Nothing in me was at ease.
Butterflies bathed in permafrost,
And within my s..."
Love it!
I am more of a beast than human, more drunk than sober, more of anarchy than order, more of a scoundrel than a saint, more of a fallen than an angel, but she loved all of my darkness. and so I gave her what's left of my light.- Daniel Saint
I- Woah
Omg that's so good!
I wish I could write like that
I wish I could write like that
@danny I read your poem, did you come up with that! It was great and had so many ups and downs, I loved it!
“The Godhead would have back'd his quarrel,
But, with a blush on recollection, Own'd that his quiver and his laurel
'Gainst four such eyes were no protection. “
-loved that.
I have to add my poems as screenshots because I'm too lazy to format them
