Great oaks still grow from little acorns...
I could tell the story of a boy and do it chronologically But it’d be too easy as I love to get deep into the abyss… Of a soul, displaying thoughts and feelings sociologically Squeezing every little piece of deepness into madness Damn how he reacted, she whispered and he got pissed One fist, a cavity in this little miss; all so brittle n crisp She riddled his mist and blew the cold aura away quick Makeshift facelift n yea she got more of that swayed fist …Dumped in the trunk were a hatchet and two spades Shift gear, one ace that swore not to brace her face It was their secret; she was supposed to keep the silence Instead she unleashed the violence and squeaking sirens Alarmingly she screamed; sounds echoing in the basement… There are still stains in the pavement from where her face went Pieces of chipped teeth and fractures in her jaw and his palms But finally…that was what could get his raw n untied fists calm So he broke her nose, smashed this beauties looks in awe Books got flaws but a poet’s word is still real with feelings This mirrored image of a retreat, built still images of dealings… Not meant to work, she still cried and told him that she’d leave And so he shed his leaves shook it off and tried to believe But great oaks still grow from little acorns… And trees fall from storms and beauty got her face torn They tried to break norms, a couple that didn’t shape forms Instead this beauty got her face torn, some say hell is deceit But it came to a cold ending; how he embellished her heat He gave her a last hug, dug a hole in the dirt under a tree It all came to one choice between staying this hurt or flee She fucked with his dignity for that she got fucked for infinity Faith? No she diminished the symmetry of trinity and all divinity
"I know not with what weapons World War III will be fought, but World War IV will be fought with sticks and stones." ---Albert Einstein
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