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199

Truth be told I am but a simple brute; rakish, unseemly, some might say uncouth. Extolling her beauty would prove the truth. So I set about to disprove the proof. Her smallest smile outshines the sun and moon. And here I am burned by my wasted youth.

Shed the binds of time; future, present, past. Put to the universe what must be asked. Are these lines stale as old wine in the cask drank by a drunk to drunk to think to ask? Minutes, hours, days... Accounting time passed. So pressed for time how can the moment last?

Truth be told I am of a simple mind; not wanting passion, passion I will find. Did I see it in the flash of her eyes? This fantasy is my whole life defined. The depth of her eyes is the whole of time. I'd live there forever if she were mine.

Shed the lies from these endless fucking words. From all of this the truth might yet be lured. She has a piece of me now, rest assured. And I pray for the utterly absurd: A prayer to the silence might yet be heard; that I might vanish without another

Truth be told I am but a simple brute; rakish, unseemly, some might say uncouth. Extolling her beauty would prove the truth. So I set about to disprove the proof. Her smallest smile outshines the sun and moon. And here I am burned by my wasted youth. Shed the binds of time; future, present, past. Put to the universe what must be asked. Are these lines stale as old wine in the cask drank by a drunk to drunk to think to ask? Minutes, hours, days... Accounting time passed. So pressed for time how can the moment last? Truth be told I am of a simple mind; not wanting passion, passion I will find. Did I see it in the flash of her eyes? This fantasy is my whole life defined. The depth of her eyes is the whole of time. I'd live there forever if she were mine. Shed the lies from these endless fucking words. From all of this the truth might yet be lured. She has a piece of me now, rest assured. And I pray for the utterly absurd: A prayer to the silence might yet be heard; that I might vanish without another
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[–] • 1 pt

You hate for the exact reason I wrote it. It's a revision of the poem I posted a couple months ago . I let a young woman read that one and now she doesn't talk to me so I thought I'd try to tone it down a bit. I fucking love that you hate it as much as I do. It's watered down counted syllables and staged rhymes trying to extort emotion through calculated manipulation. I even included a superfluous obscenity to attract the attention of any wayward onlooker who might happen upon the piece in the wild. The only redeeming part of the whole thing is the last line. It meets the syllable count but fails the rhyme leaving the reader to decide how the poem really ends. Beyond that, you should hate this poem.

[–] • 1 pt

You hate for the exact reason I wrote it. It's a revision of the poem I posted a couple months ago My Worst Habit.

Lmao, I remember really liking that poem.

I let a young woman read that one and now she doesn't talk to me so I thought I'd try to tone it down a bit.

Retard move.

Never let a woman 'read' your poetry. Actually, never let anyone 'read' you poetry.

Read it to them, whether they like it or not.

That being said, read my

[–] • 1 pt

Retard move... ...

Solid point. The situation didn't lend itself to performance and she'd already politely declined a date so I thought I'd shoot the moon. I might have chosen a too strong poem for a "Hi, how ya doin'?".