#PoetryScraps

This is a short song part that I thought up while driving.

I'm not in a hurry 'cause I've no time to waste.
You won't catch me going 'cause I'm already gone.
Someday you will find I'm in a better place
Where your worries won't trouble me long.

#PoetryScraps (continued from previous)

As I climb these fragile fragments of history,
All these remnants of society -
Every man who fell before me -
The shadows converging fast; I cannot outrun my past.
But when the overbearing shadow of doubt is cast upon one's heart,
And the world is serrated by chasms, society falling apart,
I fear not the darkness, for it knows me much too well
And I will soon be departed of this recurring hell.

When morning comes, the shadows dissipate and the night's events I recreate.
My eyes are clouded by a haze and my racing pulse will soon abate,
Yet it is beyond the mirror that I find what will make my mind sedate.
If the sun heralds in the day, then I herald in the sun for,
Where I have been, there has been none
but darkness, not yet won.
To the quiet streets I turn, though they seem not quite so vast
As the decrepit streets through which I had been running, last.

#PoetryScraps It's been a while, but here's a part of something I'm working on.

Broken buildings, crumbling down. Shattered shelters - devoid of sound.
A soulless city, sunlight takes, and slices to slivers with golden rays.
The pavement, worn and overgrown, still echoes footsteps of pasts unknown
And I am reminded that everything breaks but regret for bygone days.
What little warmth is left in these lands lays creased betwixt metallic sentinels and,
Leaping into the abyss, my life feels two-dimensional.
There is something to be said about a fall; it is divine flight - a setting free
Of soul and mind and causality, and for a moment, one can soar
Above planes and strains and memories rent from days of yore.
Then, the world crashes down upon me like the swell of a turbulent tide
And I once again find myself running through the realm where shadows reside.
To no rules do these shadows abide.

#MyBestGiftEver
Perhaps the greatest gift I have received in my lifetime is that of trust and opportunity. As a person with a severe cognitive functioning disorder, I struggled to communicate and had a different way of thinking. Because I couldn't explain these processes, I was frequently discredited, even when I had valid responses. I was given a chance many years ago to do my own thing, and because of it I am able to excel in class and work where otherwise I might not have even passed high school.

#PoetryScraps (continued from previous)
I think that I would like to be a sprout snaking through the earth.
A splash of verdant growth on long-exanimate landscape,
Solitary harbinger of warmth and herald of new birth.
I think that I would like to be a flourishing tree, branching towards the stars.
My arms a shelter for the diminutive denizens thriving amid my roots.
For, when the chill once more returns, my leaves will warm the earth.

#PoetryScraps
I think that I would like to be a leaf floating on a breeze.
Going neither here nor there - left to the whimsy of the wind -
A veil-thin vagabond signaling nature's impending slumber.
I think that I would like to be a snowflake falling from the sky.
A unique crystalline curiosity, yet indistinguishable from the masses -
A reminiscent remnant of skies torn asunder.

#NameReveal
I've mentioned my name before in my introduction post on the forums, but I don't see any harm in saying it with this as well.
My first name is John, though John is a very common name (especially early on in school, it seemed, where there were 4 others in my grade), so most of my friends know me as Kody.

#PoetryScraps (continued from previous)
They'll say I rolled the dice: I didn't live.
The greatest sacrifice a man could give.
Mama, I'll come around, but man don't make a sound when he is six feet underground.

You'll see me in a box, but I'm not there.
Look to the aerodocks - pour out a prayer.
Mama, I'll come around, but man don't make a sound when he is six feet underground.

#PoetryScraps (written as part of a steampunk RP I took part in, sung by dock workers)
I'm coming home tonight; Please wait for me.
I'll spread my wings in flight - finally free.
Mama, I'll come around, but man don't make a sound when he is six feet underground.

I'll let my spirit sail across the sky.
I'll leave a vapor trail each place I fly.
Mama, I'll come around, but man don't make a sound when he is six feet underground.

#PoetryScraps (continued from previous)

And I feel I've been losing who I am,
And the lies that I have told
Are a bridge I cannot hold.
And I feel that in time I will be damned,
But this life is hard to live.
I've got nothing left to give.

#PoetryScraps

They say everyone has one voice.
What you do with it is your choice.
But this record I have shown -
Will it be how I am known,
Or can I lose it all and let it fall beside?
My whole life I have been faking
While myself I've been forsaking.
Can this be who I've become?
I've been playing deaf and dumb,
And I've been asking how when I must now decide.

I am now hoarding the plushies of Eevee and all of its evolutions.

#PoetryScraps (another song one)
I'm out of orbit; I'm getting lost in space.
No more your gravitation to keep me in my place.
But as I travel on this lonely flight,
I've got my whole life left to realize
That there are many more stars in a midnight sky.
No matter where I go, towards one I'll fly.
I'm just a satellite.
And there are many more ways through a broken day.
When the chips are down, you just walk away
And start a brand new life.

#PoetryScraps (more of a song this time)
Down by the river, under the day's first light,
I folded my troubles into a boat and watch the river carry them out of sight.
Now, there are times for laughter, and there are times we fight,
And the world seems in a hurry, but I haven't got a worry 'cause I know that things will be alright.

#PoetryScraps
When the warmth in me fades and my hour is at hand, do not long for me as I go. My soul rejoices to rejoin with the land that gave me life so long ago.
When you're sad just sing a song and know that I am singing along. In the babbling brooks, in the whispering trees - that's where you will find me.
When you're down, stand up, be strong, and let the world know nothing is wrong. In the depths of your heart, inside your memories, I'll live eternally.

So, I have a bit of an obsession with creating overly intricate floor designs in Minecraft... It just sort of happened

#PoetryScraps
Where will we go at the end of days? When endless rain fills the skies, the barren landscape shrouded by haze, and celestial bodies cease to rise.
Where will we go at the edge of space? With naught beyond but the abyss, the past and future interlace and forsake those left to reminisce.
Where will we go at the loss of love? When bleak animosity endures. Significance, now absent thereof, and solely one's own self assures.
Amidst the decay will we fall astray?

#PoetryScraps
The nightmare cares not where it sows its seeds,
For all will eventually turn to dust.
The dark ones come when the world sleeps;
They steal the breath. They steal the life.
Through one's dreams the darkness seeps
And seeks to steal one away for eternity.
If one could only awake before the dark obtains victory
Then perhaps they might avoid death's scythe.
Expel the shadows - push them out of mind!
They cannot harm that whom they cannot find.

#PoetryScraps (continued from previous)
Therein lies a most remarkable truth,
Which I had misplaced since my youth.
For man to be equal in all but name
Mankind must essentially become the same
And abide by the laws of conformity.
Unknown, the cause, but not the blame,
We forego any hope of exigency
To become naught but lemmings of society.

#PoetryScraps
There is a set of standards we must abide,
Lest views collide and conflicts arise
And wrongs be rights by another's eyes.
Through syllables resplendent
And calls to repent the immoral, the unjust,
To what extent can be begin to trust
The word that is not our own?
For, if the truth is to be known,
It must not be universally subjective;
Rather, rely on the collective perspective
Of all to which its wisdom might loan.