JohnnyCurcio

No time like the present, that's why it's a gift. At least that's what I've been told too often of ten, too old to remember that the past is also a gift because it's been wrapped up nicely. You might, as well, well up with emotion if the motion moves you. Bereft am I and beset by time after time has slipped away. I saw her in a slip once. Time is a valuable thing. For having no physical form, it weighs heavily on my mind. A land mind for pearls of wisdom is suffocated under layers of conscious thought. Here I thought nothing of it until the time came to put away childish gifts. Youth is a gift wasted on the young. I hope I'm not the only one who looked at a gift, hoarse in the mouth, in a dry manner. Handing out presence in the absence of hand outs will out presents as hand me downs from presenters.

has lead to a... Big Bang Life Instinct Death Fear Innovation Society Individuality Mortality Reflection Superstition Imagination Morality Conflict Connectivity

On deviantart the collaboration Based on mutual admiration Building the verses together Joint work will make it better With every permutation And random variation And every verse added to the mix Of our mutual quirks and tricks Included are our thoughts collected into lines most unexpected Thus we proceed this operation Poetizing in the name of cooperation We'll reach an end most satisfactory Unhindered by minds refractory

Image made clear to me, as I rummage around, in the vibrant plumage undergrowth under crowned head of a sovereignty earnest in platitudes, but thick headed in fact, who shares no gratitudes. There did I find the king, replete with clothing bright. My hope? Peaceful discourse. The result was a fight. His mind had been clouded and his heart had turned dark. I turned to the magic drawn in an arcane mark, and in that short instance, brought out ghosts most disturbed. Their wailing and flailing toward the king inferred that his past had returned to haunt his waking thought. Not once did he suspect that it was he they sought. Instead it was he who, feeling quite victimized, requested my presence. Though 'twas he I despised I felt compunction still to offer him service. His promises were lies and his oaths were worthless. However, my station as a sage conjurer meant so much more to me than some fool conqueror, so I then acquiesced. After the rituals he, in light of my work

For goodness sake, as baker's bake, so does she shake her yummy cake. Her body draped, with clothes opaqued, teases the shape of hidden cake. I explicate, my high heart rate communicates my passion traits. I hesitate, I stand agape, and salivate at choicest cake. Can you relate?

Old was the age when I found my way, New was the knowledge that I had learned. Elder were those who wanted to stay, Youth was the epoch for which they yearned. Mature were those who understood need. Juvenile were those who were put in charge. Senior members were guilty of greed, Junior staff appetites were too large. Aged are the books of language arcane, Fresh is the blood for the spell casting. Ancient ruins are the foundation lain, Modern is the buildings contrasting. Past is what has inspired this mission. Future is a promised sedition.

The shallow, like a petri dish, infected body of water is cultivated by its namesakes for the sake of making a name for themselves. Every body, per cysts, is a persistent tryst that envelopes (in envelopes) a black and white snapshot. This memory of low fidelity runs its intercourse at a breakneck speed. While ex's excuse excuses as cues to use their obtuse understanding of views they knew would imbue the accused with the truth; the defensive who sieve the defense ends any attempts at amends by the friends caught in friendly fire. Burn. Call the ambulance.