AskMeToWriteAPoem

Money is locked up, Like a blood bank Pumping plasma For parlor tricks. Sticks and stones in order, Break the aberrant bones. A diverse surface will suffice. Puppets are the same inside. Abide by the stringent strings Hooking your arteries. Tapped in, drying out, Foreign as any migrant. Tyrant, a nonsense word? Worn to dust in screams. Dreaming of the rust To coat their greed. Seeding the puppet show, Players wooden as a witch. The stiff improv of living Before the curtain falls.

Ask me to describe an Autumn's day and I'll try to grasp the subtle way, the leaves fall to the ground; Such a grand display Ask Me To Describe An Autumn's Day? no, I think I'd rather simply say the world in all its effortless splendor has all the glory of the Fae. Ask Me To Describe An Autumn's Day about how just before the leaves fall away the forests gleam all orange and gold; Soon the world will all be grey Ask me to describe an Autumn's day and I'll try to show you the subtle way, that all the world will change but for now? It's just an Autumn's Day.

Ask me this, or ask me that Step off the pulpit in your brown leather spats Keep your head high in the after math Make something new, forge a new path Eat only light, from the mountain's peak Turn slowly now, when you turn to speak Hate every breath you'll ever breathe In this disdain is seen a fist, when the Sentence starts with "Ask Me This"

Ask me anything about the winter falls Small grains are soft as a feather owned by lovebird soft cotton who touches the skin pure white color like the wings of an angel light like a feather Anything about winter falls like rain silky soft cotton greet you from the window invites you to dance with them in the blue sky and calm Anything about winter falls they greet you out there invites you to dance on a shiny floor dance until you fall asleep under the sacred cotton grain You will find yourself wearing a cotton dress silk blend air until it made ​​you cry happy up on the 12th of July, comes hurtful events there mu

Once upon a perfect Spring; it is of this my fingers sing. A tale of bold and a tale of new, that out from the dirt the flowers grew. Yes as the colors grow from white to pink, I shall paint a picture now with ink. The world in all its wonder still, I can watch from my window sill. I try to capture the colors with words. I try to describe the sound of the birds. Sadly, though, without having heard them, you can't comprehend Not the coo of a dove nor the flute of a wren Without ever having seen the colors, you couldn't understand. I can't tell you how they look, I can't describe the color red. I can't say the green of the grass is overwhelm

The Brooks; with nooks and crannies in their faces Every time I turn my back I think they're planning to be racist Contemplate this; yesterday they showed A brother on the news... Now the Brooks are acting distant and They're looking so confused Was that you? I hear them asking In the cockles of their minds As if the obvious answer isn't Right before their eyes I despise, such behaviour though I make a joke of it. Mrs. Brooks, why you shaking? Would you like my warm jack't? Doesn't fit; That's okay Wouldn't give it anyway They've been acting kinda rude Since I came on move-in day They display a vile terror For the colour of my skin It's

Fallen Petals. A damsel destroyed by her desires, her craving to accept her affection. Even though her front was pure, her alternate features were distasteful. Gently she began to derange herself, an appetite for sanguine fluids began. Her lips are left to rupture, physically as well as clutched disagreements. These sights of lime dripped, not by shades but more through force. An unsatisfied figure to her dreams, pulled markings cover unworthy torso. The outline of an illumination in the darkness, remanded only on her hand but never her wrists. A few individuals believe she has an undamaged heart, others would suggest her nature is revolti