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Mundane(Hamster Wheel)

Folder: 
Thought For Food

this day will never end

i wish it never began

i wish yesterday

evening never came



i wish i woke sunday morning

i wish i was still carrying on

saturday night, late

i wish it was four p.m. on friday



the words on the screen are drousy

my spirit is mondane

my head is lazy

my heart found the exit



but i'm still here

i wish i never arrived

i wish i was sick

or at least retired



i wish i woke sunday morning

i wish i was still carrying on

saturday night, late

i wish it was four p.m. on friday



i cannot wait till tuesday

so i can wait for wednesday

twenty four hours twice more

and i cannot wait for the weekend



i'm ready to rush in

i'm ready to rush out

don't absorb anything

soak in alcohol



it keeps me preserved(as i'm getting older)

they keep me observed(on my hamster wheel)

i feign commitment(like i did to my dreams)

i've been committed



to a place where you forget the meaning of living



to a place where you forget the meaning of living

my hamster wheel is losing the last of it's color

i can't move anymore, i'm rusting

this cannot be the circle of life

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Impact of Ballistics

The weight of leverage within our modern civilization, while left unchecked, has been known to disrupt our logical ideals at unfortunate high-speeds.



With the need for recovery and repair drastic in number, the score of casualties continue to mound as they rise, dragged and fatigued, from a cursed dissolution.



Armor fused with ambition and admiration has proved to buckle, to cinder while the opposition has spent countless efforts to maintain the fires of its Scorched Earth Tactics.



The masterful penstroke crafted from towers high above has set forth the waves of pestilence that fog the air.



Set to digest all hope, engulf Dawn's dashing light which may provide guidance towards self-fulfillment.



A path for some, unpaved, a path for most unseen.



Stricken from high above, by a lance that rips through, words that cut off the knees leaving a critical wound open for all to see.



Left with little time to mend, with the battle still unsung

against words that harm, words that kill.

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The Last Freedom

Folder: 
2007-2009 Poems

Wake up at 6am,

At work at half-past seven.

It is morning and yet the sunbeams

Crash itself unsuccessfully

To the thick gloom of thoughts.



Planner.

Open the damn green notebook !

You know it will be a busy day.

Design how to keep sane in an ABCDEC world.

In bullet form.



Try. Think.

Try. Do. Think. Try some more.

Do. Cry. Die. Think. Do some more.

You envy the dog of your neighbor

Who can roll over and play dead.



But this is not you!



In the beginning,

This is not me.

Unbounded by time,

Undefeated by pressure,

Uncharacterized, unruled

By norms of the changing world.



I…

I love.

I love my work.

Love my work.

My work.

Where was “I”?



And I still love my work.

If it is my Romeo

I shall say, “It’s not you, it’s me.”

I don’t need a new job.

I need a new perspective.





I've forgotten who I am.

I’ve been near-sighted.

What used to be colorful, endless world,

Has become a 6x4 meter cubicle of routines

And grey towers of correspondence.



Try. Think.

Try. Do. Choose. Stand. LIVE.

Live. Learn. Love. Laugh. And laugh some more.

At the fall of night, life isn’t about proving oneself

…or beating deadlines.



Call of responsibilities.

Yes, it’s there and will always be.

There is no such thing as “Yay! I’m done!”

They’ll keep on coming even after I am gone.

If I’ll do it anyway, I need with it- momentous breakaway.



Demands of life are unlimited,

And I am a rare supply.

Life comes but only once, dare to dare.

Take chance of the gift of the last freedom-

Every sunrise, life is about owning every bit of it.



Live. Learn. Love. Laugh. And laugh some more.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

27Mar08-Was inspired to write again by pieces of sudden thoughts while sitting on the toilet after work. harhar...-jerlin

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tags:

My Heaven's Law

"My Heaven's Law"   2 - 17 - 2008 8am



with all these words can you see what i believe

that this life's too great to wanna leave

we got our ruts and our joint negativities

but we nhave organizations and social activities

but corporations and jobs take the heart away

they hollow the family and lead ideals astray

with pretty wrappings and holidays year-round

we've lost ourselves by the yen, dollar and pound



when i look into your eyes and you speak without words

i can imagine how your tongue can pick-up the slack with its reserves

but you've never held back and you're running out of pfft'ing

one day i'll make you cry and you'll know why i'm dorking

the trust is not blind and i know i talk too much

but your words always fall-short form the effects of your touch

one day i nearly die, a thousand deaths in my head since

and all i've ever reveled in has been held in a moment's bliss



but you make it last surrealily long

and i think i made-up that word wrong

you know i'm the King of Corn

and my own words are newly-born



why can't the world believe in what i see

there's so much distrust in our current society

but we can make a change with our massive communication

but it doesn't have to be held within the borders of a nation



if we can fight for our rights by Hobbes, Roussaue and Locke

then why do we say, "ohwell" and just live out the gridning-clock

i'm tired of hearing the tick and dreading the tock

i'm tired of hearing infallible "truths" from my boss

if compassion can lead us to end an animal's suffering

yet binds us in our own by morals and legal justicing

why kind of example are we leading by?

it's hypocrisy and i'll tell you why:



i'm a hypocrite, the Greatest Teacher of All

they all told me that if i Failed I'd Fall

they said i was smart but i wasn't applying

Author's Notes/Comments: 
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Camp Courage

Camp Courage,

Sometimes known as courage,

A place that is filled with,

Love, hope, smiles, and friendship,

Courage will always have a peace of my heart,

You could say it’s a home away from home for me,

It’s a place I love so much,

I have been going there every summer for more then 10 years,

Every summer is so different,

Filled with love, hope and courage,

New friends,

Old friends that I love so much,

Kids that come back from year to year,

And new kids that come each year,

Smiles, hugs, and laughs,

Are what I love so much,

Every summer I hope I make a differents for someone,

I love to hear kids laugh,

See them smile,

And ask for a hug,

I love to hear the kids and friends say my name,

Crazy Mist or MD,

Is what they sometimes say,

Or,

There she go’s,

Watch out,

I love this place,

And I know I can be myself,

It will always be in my heart.

2007

misty yanish

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what Work is?

the morning sea of silence broke

rippling into songs of birds. the tides of people

starting to work. we went out in search

of something. no-

-one knows what.

busy markets and cities crowded. people running

into each other. we moved

sandy desert, sand chocked throat, no

water or even sweat.

they left me, i saw them

i saw the blue lipped horizon

swallow them. no more

i rest now. i lay my body on the green grass

tied tight

motionless

in shackles of numbness

i think

what Work is?

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This darling
of my
was inspired by
Maestro Rabindrnaath Tagore ji and one very popular poet from my college, Philip Levene, he actually is my poetry proff's proff and her one very close friend. Lucky he....
hehehehehe
just kidding people....
temme what Work is?

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Untitled -- 11.16.2006

i must be addicted to smoking, twenty dollar bills

watching greenbacks with sunburns

chemical smoke

but, i'm just a face in a frame today.



cheap, stationary monument to the forsaken gifts

poorly dressed symbol of the self-defeating underclass

store branded

a dull yellow box on the shelf.



shivering in a chair

too weak to get up and close the window

who am i?

forever waiting an injection of life?

preparing the needle from within?



the tides of my body are coming in so slow today

my chest is caked salt residue

i breathe out the dying sea

i dry up and prepare to be blown across the loose prairie

a lightweight inertia.

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Difference a year makes...

Folder: 
Poems

Standing in front of the class on your first day,

heart thumping away in your chest.

Assuring yourself they’ll all like you,

”Just go out there and do your best”.

A hand shoots up at the back,

The body attached jiggling up and down,

itching to remind you it’s time for milk and a snack.

When they’ve washed their hands and picked up the paint,

You survey the carpet, a nice shade of primary colours,

like you’re going to faint.

But skimmed knees soon become a breeze,

and you sing nursery rhymes.

They like story time outside under the trees.

And you deal with that one little monster,

the darling who’s determined to be a tyke.

You hear stories about the Tooth Fairy,

and about learning to ride a bike.

Finally your heart swells up with a tear,

Looking back thoughtfully “How did we get so far?”,

at the end of the year.


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Luck is not for me

Folder: 
All About Me

Luck is for the losers that can't take steps

It's for that girl with no date

hoping when she get's to the bar

shell get "lucky" and some guywould speak to her





Luck is for the kid

hoping he'll get "lucky" and

get a job, while sitting on his

ass playing video games.



Luck is for the lottery players

hoping that by doing nothing but

spending a dollar a day and, watching tv

They will make their lifes so much better.



Luck is for the losers, the lazy

and the ignorant. I'm not lucky,

I work, because Luck is lazy too.

I don't wait around for the Lazy.

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