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  1. #1
    a.k.a Clint Eastwood
    Abyssal's Avatar
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    A Simple Fella's Inner Workings

    Innocence in the Winter
    A pure white state of mind,
    frozen in place and yet
    surrounded in serenity
    above all else.

    The heavens have descended
    upon the Earth in masses.
    Angels roam our lands, their wings
    wielding ice in their wake.

    Atop the mountains and the
    throat of the world they stand.
    The clouds rain from above,
    and love showers humanity amidst.

    Suddenly the world is changed from
    a wasteland, into a wonderland -
    and we forget what makes demons
    the evil among us.

    Humanity is equal under the
    fragrance of frost.
    And we dance under the light
    that the good angels bring.

    And in brisk fashion, we find
    the positives in the gifts
    Earth’s sky gives us
    in our time of need.

    But even positivity breeds
    greed in plenty.
    And so the angels seek
    death when we ask too much.

    The winter’s breeze turns into
    a whirlwind of disease.
    And the land into
    certain chaos.

    As the storms barrage the
    lands and the winds pierce
    the hearts of many
    we wonder.

    That with the dawn of the days
    and the dusk of the nights,
    at the sunrise’s haze
    and the moon’s bright lights,

    Is our innocence really worth fighting for?
    Last edited by Abyssal; 12-13-2016 at 09:28 PM.

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  3. #2
    a.k.a Clint Eastwood
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    A Wanderer's Creation of Life
    There was life here once
    as there once was there.
    I have walked for months
    where no man would dare.

    To soar among the skies,
    and traverse through the seas.
    It is with these eyes
    that I go where I please.

    In wake of the unknown
    that hides atop the clouds,
    is a land of graceful undertone
    and sweet purity abounds.

    It is here I escape;
    it is here I stay
    in order to reshape
    the world my own way.

    For there will be life here soon
    as there once was there,
    and we will sing tune
    where no man would dare.

  4. #3
    a.k.a Clint Eastwood
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    Scarlet Sunset
    Dreaming on the evening seashore
    We sit atop sands of serenity
    Your eyes of faint emerald allure more
    Than the scarlet sunset's daint destiny

    Underneath the pearlescent open sky
    We bask in each other’s warming embrace
    The diamond sea whispers a gentle sigh
    As the stresses we face slowly unlace

    And I think to myself; “there is nothing
    I would want more than to be here with you”
    Yet here I am, and here I feel something
    That laid in my arms I hope you feel too

    A sensation of love where we first met
    Under the guise of the scarlet sunset

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  6. #4
    a.k.a Clint Eastwood
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    Spider
    She is on my mind like a spider; ever-presently lurking in the corner.
    Watching.
    Waiting.
    Her machete-esque fangs, red hot for the corruption of flesh.
    Her army of eyes, quick and instinctive, marking her prey for the kill.
    She is on the hunt.
    She scares me, and I cannot let her go.
    Last edited by Abyssal; 02-11-2017 at 06:41 PM.

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  8. #5
    a.k.a Clint Eastwood
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    Couple a' Haikus #1
    He shone in the night
    Like the moon with two faces
    One dark and one light.

    Her thoughts were adrift
    Floating amidst empty seas
    Scattered in the breeze.

    A mind not at ease
    Brings death only in itself
    Hunting down others.

    Enter planet Earth
    A place of corrupt beauty
    Where all is wicked.
    Last edited by Abyssal; 12-13-2016 at 10:59 PM.

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  10. #6
    A Simple Fella's Inner Workings A Simple Fella's Inner Workings

    Circe's Avatar
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    WOW, I love your poems. Amazing vocabulary, imagery, and emotion. Keep it up!
    pretty when you cry.

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  12. #7
    a.k.a Clint Eastwood
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    Positive Vibes
    Loom your liberty with leeward leisure,
    Partial to persistence and playful pleasure.
    A master of mercy at a mindful measure,
    Triumph, you tempest of tailored treasure.

    Freely flourish like the flames of a fire,
    Direct your destiny with a dominant desire.
    Soon you shall stand atop the sphere-some spire,
    And adore your accolades that others admire.

    Vocalise your value as a valent visionary,
    Or convey your candescence as a crescent cassowary.
    Embrace your echelon as the empowering emissary,
    as nurturing and nourishing as needlessly necessary.

    Jester and jape with jolly-some jibes,
    Banter and baffle with battering bribes,
    Soon you will be summoned by seminal scribes
    As the person with valour and positive vibes.
    Last edited by Abyssal; 12-13-2016 at 09:37 PM.

  13. #8
    a.k.a Clint Eastwood
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    The Queen of Wishful Thinking
    Lilies amongst a clear blue spring
    Their petals as white as snow
    She is the queen of wishful thinking
    Nourishing a woodland chateau.

    Lifting the ends of her milky silk dress
    She curtsies to the old world’s essence
    The queen weeps as she tries to bless
    The once heavenly forest with convalescence.

    Winds howl in sorrow and trees sway with caution
    As purity makes its final stand
    She knows that modernity is full of distortion
    As it claims to be the one true land.

    The skyscrapers shroud the forests in fear
    Their skies as dark as mist
    Sacred lands she once held dear
    Will one-day fail to exist.

    And so she waits for what time will bring
    Just as a captain goes down with their vessel
    She is the queen of wishful thinking
    And into Earth’s remnants she will nestle.
    Last edited by Abyssal; 12-14-2016 at 08:25 PM.

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  15. #9
    a.k.a Clint Eastwood
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    Couple a' Haikus #2
    The howl of the wind
    Unites all amongst the snow
    To burrow below.

    Let the truth reign free
    So we may reshape the world
    Into something new.

    Sully with feint bliss
    Along the fountain of youth
    For it is fleeting.

    Live wild and free
    Without persuasion or hoax
    You are your own world.

  16. #10
    a.k.a Clint Eastwood
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    City of the Damned
    Slinking about the city
    In the midst of the night
    Like the river styx
    There is corruption hidden
    Amongst even the tightest pockets
    Of urban sprawl that salts the Earth.

    In a world where it is
    all for one and one for all
    even the most righteous
    of humanity’s finest
    make deadly hunters
    inside the concrete jungle.

    Predators hound their prey
    and seek nothing but turmoil
    in the eyes of the weak
    For such beings wear suits
    in an effort to justify their
    animalistic ambitions.

    The poor get by barely
    With little help from those above them
    Their world, a fight for survival
    Compared to the suits that
    Have the chance to save them from hell
    But instead choose to keep them there.

    But somehow those that have less
    Continue to smile amidst the horror
    While the cashmere cacodemons
    Revel in their greed
    And blindly follow what they can’t have
    While ignoring the power they already wield.

    But things will never change
    No matter how hard they try
    Because just like perdition
    This place is doomed to profit off of
    Seduction and sinners
    For all eternity.
    Welcome to the City of the Damned.

  17. #11
    a.k.a Clint Eastwood
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    The Monk
    Upon dawn, a weary Monk sat atop a great monumental temple. His eyes were directed at the fiery world below, and his heart toward the waking clouds.
    There was an amount of displeasure hidden deep within his soul, caused by a great plague that spread across the land. He wanted to help the Earth whose destiny was hidden in shrouds.

    The hermit’s vision was focused, and what he saw sent chills through his spine. It disrupted what he thought was an endless trail of knowledge and power.
    His home was in turmoil. The people fought each other over petty squabbles, killed for a violent change in temperance. Some conquered while others would cower.

    The bright and innocent fauna around was all but absent and frayed beneath him. The people had slaughtered and demeaned it in the wake of technological ‘wonder’.
    Such artificial constructs had doomed them and taken away what was truly human about humanity. Instead of fuelling their freedoms, it had torn their existence asunder.

    Nature’s way had been replaced with materials that falsified its way of life. The Monk could merely watch in horror as the planet seemed to drip from the sky.
    He stood up, wanting to do something. He could save his race, somehow, someway. However, there was a little voice in his head: telling him “you cannot, no matter how hard you try.”

    In that sense, he chose to defy. He left the safety and comfort of his monastery, knowing well that he had the power to solve the world’s vexation.
    He abandoned the clean air, and the pure surroundings, for a world polluted by itself. On arrival, the Monk knew that it would take some time to cure this place of its devastation.

    Death was all around him as we walked the streets of damnation. The culling of the weak jarred him with thoughts of violence and bloodlust, he continued headstrong.
    But the more he tarried, the more susceptible he was to the corruption of the mind. He continued to practice his abstinence, but it was clear to those around him that he did not belong.

    Soon after, he was attacked. By vixens, by killers. By criminals and rulers, slaves and kings. He acted in self-defence, at first staying weary of his actions, but losing his grip.
    He indulged in the vices that had claimed so many others. He spilled blood in the name of peace, and in the end, it was vanquished. He succumbed to his want for a power trip.

    The blood of his enemies had caused him to reminisce
    In his final moments, he said “ignorance is bliss”.

  18. #12
    a.k.a Clint Eastwood
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    Couple a' Haikus #3
    Demons in the sky
    Fogging up our perspective
    Salting Mother Earth.

    A frog in a pond
    Floating wearily in wait
    Soaking up the rain.

    Roads of cobalt blue
    A trail of nothingness
    Leading nowhere good.

    Determination
    is dead when it’s forced about
    from bounds of nothing.

  19. #13
    a.k.a Clint Eastwood
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    Rage
    A man on fire ventures through the land
    His cries wrapped tightly in toil
    The flames of rage rip through his hands
    As his home begins to boil.

    He flees amongst seas of green and brown
    But the fire burns at its brightest
    It feeds on its surroundings and attempts to drown
    The Earth in amber zest.

    Friends and family run at his approach
    For they cannot hope to halt the hate
    That the man preaches upon encroach
    And continues running rampant straight.

    Tugging at life’s vital strings
    The man clutches his beating heart
    He destroys all the happy things
    And tears the world apart.

    By unleashing his inner most anger upon his home
    There is nothing left to help him atone.

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  21. #14
    A Simple Fella's Inner Workings
    Queen of the leeks

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    Feedback for 'Cage'
    An intense poem, the feeling of something being bottled up inside for so long until it just breaks free is heart breaking to see.
    Especially a feeling so corrupt, like anger or hate. The best thing to do is let the person be until they've calmed themselves and then see if there is a way to help, if you haven't been driven away, a very good thing to look for if someone you know is having trouble.
    I don't know what to put here.

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  23. #15
    a.k.a Clint Eastwood
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    Yin and Yang
    He rose from his bed with a head that rang
    And nerves that cascaded within his mind.
    It occurred to him that the yin and yang
    Would never have thought to leave him behind.

    His double edged thoughts began to unfurl
    And filled him with a sense of jagged muse.
    Did the media thirst for the world’s news?
    Or did they hunger to swallow the world?

    His eyes darted from good to evil, and
    Were not enough to quell his emotion.
    It seemed his sense of moral devotion
    Was dead from personal contraband.

    The veil was thin in the endless void
    A mind that could not hinder nor sleep.
    Was it the good of man that was utterly devoid?
    Or was it the bad that cut too deep?

    Double, double, toil and trouble
    His morality was all but shattered.
    But in the end, it was the yin and yang, battered
    That survived amidst the mental rubble.

    The angels have sung
    And the devils will fight
    But which is right?
    And which is undone?

    He laid back down in his bed with his morals dancing
    And nerves still troubling his mind.
    For the yin and yang had long been prancing
    And would always leave him behind.

  24. #16
    a.k.a Clint Eastwood
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    Room 42, 3rd Floor
    Small apartment; cramped, one room separated
    into four shoulder-length hallways. No lights,
    sign of amber neon peering through the blinds,
    sushi restaurant. Good food, could be better. Close
    door, lock’s jammed again, wood’s fraying away at
    the seams. Should get it fixed one day. Creaks like a
    madman howling at walls. Heater’s broken, winter
    breeze wisps through the cracks in the salt-glass window,
    example of another world. Yank tie away from neck, free
    again, throw it aside. Not like this. Turn phone on, use it to
    navigate a one-way hallway. Footsteps pry into an old-world floor,
    hate waking the neighbours, succumbing to their death threats.
    Box TV, black and white, reception’s bad. Some 70’s reruns, over
    and over, every night. Hands along the couch, little to no stuffing,
    scratch marks in the arms, war-torn upholstery. Stupid cat.
    Floorboards to tiles, more black, more white, washed out by the
    sushi neon. Never any grey. Open the fridge, one true light in this
    wretched place. Reflection bounces off bottle of whiskey, need a shave.
    Clasp it in hand, between chapped lips. Feels rough, like blunt razors
    cutting away at a liver in limbo. Shove it closed, dark again. Always.
    Pull at drawer, stuck on something, riling up. Fucks sakes. Yank it
    out, falls to the ground. Knives and forks spill, death-traps. In need
    of one thing. Hear pills shake about like a rattle, into the bedroom.
    Follow like sheep to the slaughter. See bed through blurred eyes,
    need glasses, cannot afford them, capitalists at work. Kick loafers
    off, under metal bed frame, cold like snowfall. Take another gulp,
    burns even more. Step on something – sleepers. Bottle of good
    night. Grasp it. Need this. Uncork the treasure. Not much left,
    need to buy more. Always with the buying. Raise it overhead, open
    mouth. Too many at once, too little care. Fuck it, really. More drink,
    hard to swallow. Down it eventually. Stare into the abyss, sit upon
    hard mattress, like concrete to an aching back. Alarm clock
    reads: 4:42AM. Turn it on, radio blares feedback, garbled noises,
    trying to scream. Mind trying to scream. Fucking scream. No. More
    alcohol, dull the urge, neighbours are murderous. Out to kill.
    Rat races across the floor, under wardrobe, getting into clothes.
    Need the exterminator. More alcohol. Unbutton shirt, most of the buttons
    are torn off any-fucking-way, throw it to the ground. Defiant only
    when nobody else is around. Light begins to flicker, almost closing time,
    going back home. To safety, maybe? Despair? More alcohol. Don’t
    want to think about it. More alcohol. More alcohol. More alcohol.
    Bottle’s toe deep by now. Starting to feel the sleeping pills kick in.
    Have to buy some more, to do this again. Wake up, fuck myself over,
    repeat. Isn’t that what life is? An unsteady bridge built on the “what if’s”
    and “might have been’s”. Throw the bottle to the ground. Shards of glass
    everywhere. Bad idea.

    Do it all again tomorrow if I wake up from today.
    Last edited by Abyssal; 02-08-2017 at 03:40 AM.

  25. #17
    :3 Crippling Depression WolfyWolf's Avatar
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    Grimsby (House of Memories -P!atD) - YouTube

    When it comes to writing, I like to think it doesn't always take fancy words and metaphors to convey strong emotions. Love these poems.
    >:C ech

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  27. #18
    a.k.a Clint Eastwood
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    ドラゴン
    A dragon sat atop a mountain
    Pearlescent in shade and nature
    He was most humble and wise.
    A sprawling blanket of trees surrounded his home
    For he had sat there for a great many years
    Feeding words of wisdom to passers-by.

    However, the dragon was old and fray
    He had not spoken in years upon years
    But rather sat in meditative silence.
    This did not worry him, though, as he took the time to reflect
    Upon the very nature of the Earth’s existence and what it meant
    To be free from the clutches of a materialistic warlord tyrant.

    This all changed one stormy day
    As a little girl set upon the mountain
    Red-cloak and smiles draped across her chest.
    She brought gifts for the old soul
    And did not say from where
    But promised it was for the best.

    The dragon smiled for first time in aeons
    And accepted the gift from the rosy-eyed girl
    He lowered his neck to listen to her call.
    She asked the great one, “Mr. Dragon, heed my words
    If you may. If there are stars in the sky, and souls on the
    Ground, then where do we go when we someday fall?”

    This intrigued the dragon greatly, curiously, he questioned
    “We? What do you mean? Do you not refer to your human kin
    That plague these lands with buildings and feelings of fervour?”
    The girl’s smile diminished, she questioned once more
    “When we are finished, you and I, the same, as one.
    Where will we flee when the skies reign terror?”

    This worried the old soul, for he was immortal. He could not die,
    But the girl’s determination and wisdom had disturbed him in such
    a way that the world felt as if it were closing upon him with haste.
    “I am sorry, dear child, but I cannot answer your question. If there
    Were such an answer for such a question, then I would be much
    Wiser than I appear to be at present. Your journey is at waste.”

    “No, it’s fine.” The young girl laughed, her cloak of blood-red silk
    swaying slightly in the breeze. “However, your words against
    Humanity have harmed me dearly, we come only to please.”
    It was then that snow began to fall from the sky, and the ground had started to freeze over.
    What was green had turned to white, and it worried the dragon, for he had never seen it before.
    “Here come the Angels, Mr. Dragon. Tell me, do we trust in them and let them kill us with disease?”

    And so she departed down the Mountain.
    For all the dragon knew, she was correct
    And the world was coming to an end.
    This disrupted the dragon’s thoughts of peace among nature
    And saw the salt in his words, so he left the place he called home
    He spread his great wings and took to the skies, never to be seen again.

  28. #19
    a.k.a Clint Eastwood
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    But Never, But Always
    Seeking, but never finding
    Fighting but never winning
    Writing but never smiling
    Thinking but never meaning
    Freaking but never minding
    Moving but never spinning
    Looking but never trialling
    Sleeping but never dreaming

    Seeking but always dreaming
    Fighting but always spinning
    Writing but always finding
    Thinking but always trialling
    Freaking but always meaning
    Moving but always winning
    Looking but always minding
    Sleeping but always smiling

  29. #20
    a.k.a Clint Eastwood
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    Old Uncle Sam
    Shades of gun metal grey
    Carving through the jungle
    Keeping nature at bay

    Footsteps through the mud
    Dusk seeping overhead
    Ready to spill blood

    Men bred from Uncle Sam
    Whom they kill in the name of
    Good morning, Vietnam!

    Napalm screaming in the trees
    Incoming army of Helicopters
    Flight of the Valkyries

    People taking back their land
    Huts of strength set alight
    Falling at the Eagle’s hand

    Faces down in the dirt
    Earthquakes across the village
    Shoot, kill, hurt

    Straw hats fighting back at a cost
    Sam curing the world of evil
    War’s meaning is lost

    Sierra, India, November, Kilo
    Tango, Hotel, Echo
    Bravo, Oscar, Mike, Bravo

    Ashes to ashes
    Wars and clashes

    Survivor’s begin to swear and damn
    Spilling their sermons and praying for their dead
    Good old’ Uncle Sam

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