Sleepless nights are rendered to as insomnia. To some degree, we all have it. Appreciate the who, the what and why, that allows you to get some shut eye time. Whether its inanimate or not, it is what is precious to you and your slumber. #Goodnight Let me know what you think about this one.
I don't see people my age outside anymore. It makes me uneasy. Makes me worry that all the friends I Will make In life will have to text me to check if I'm alright. That's not the kind of life I want to wake up to, for forever. I hope you don't either. @writersnetwork @mirakee
• Origins of the 'Concrete Poetry' format refer to the era of the 16th & 17th centuries, of more modern use; the 1950's. : poetry in which the poet's intent is conveyed by the graphic patterns of letters, words, or symbols rather than by the conventional arrangement of words.
As I watch from heaven, a tear drops with the rain. I gifted them this world, and they turned it to a grave. A vision so blinded by the facade behind a tourniquet of lies, they couldn't heal, the wounds so deep, a bleeding world dies. There was potential in this augmented race, I held such a majestic prize in a eternal sacred place. The faults of man grew greed from forked serpents tongues, they couldn't accept the warm cascade, nor the radiance of the sun. More and more they thieved from the child I created, never enough would their hunger fill the void so unsated. Burn away the blessing of nature in plumes so black and fragrant, the lost souls of eden and biblical hearts replaced by skeletal pavement. The seven days , I created the world you call your mother home, the seven sins driving nails into the innocent earthen bone. Take from the sky the very clouds and transform the atmosphere, steal from the depths my precious beasts and blame it on your fears. Let the lighting fill the forest within and shelter the remaining few, a black parade to celebrate the promise man askewed. The virtue of fire inside the kingdom burns without regret, a carnal lust , a future built on the grounds that we forget. A eden smoking under the thought that heaven not denied, fools I gave a paradise, you claimed it hell and this is all your pride ....