From Defense To Offense by Know-The-Ropes, literature
Literature
From Defense To Offense
Use your mind
As your sixth sense,
Forget past tense,
Only in the form of remembrance;
Thoughts should not be on clearance,
Not sold, not bought,
Use in the form of reference;
Here and thence,
Hop the fence,
Our bodies are tense,
From those controlling our ignorance;
Let's commence
To the answer
That lies behind
The importance
Of our minds.
Where The Yellow Hills Hide by Know-The-Ropes, literature
Literature
Where The Yellow Hills Hide
Where the yellow hills hide
Untouched by hand,
Deference upon the land.
Where the yellow hills hide
Young breeze confide,
Since birth, stars eyes.
Where the yellow hills hide
Sea of no salt,
Waves of no foam.
Where the yellow hills hide
Time can never touch,
Glasses may never see.
Where the yellow hills hide
Mustards no better taste,
Light side of moon's face.
Where the yellow hills hide
All who know,
Know not of it.
Where the yellow hills hide
No conference will ever hold,
Such beings are never told.
Where the yellow hills hide
Sound is mild,
No wail from the child.
Where the yellow hills hide
We so desire the hope,
If the World reflected off our moon
Our secrets wouldnt be kept inside
Its green lands borders would be seen
Its vast blue oceans could not hide.
If the World reflected off our moon
Then maybe we can see our flaws
We could look up to its orbicular features
And use words instead of claws.
Although this friend of our planet,
Always tagging along,
Is not always audible to our human ears
Its rotund, rich in sound, a song.
If what we feared most became of us
We would become our own languisher
Looking up wed have that friend to guide us
That fully shaped one of cheddar.
If the World reflected off our moon
On
Autumn Meadow
September wasted ten days in,
The drying of colors will soon begin.
Tiny threads fall from the sky,
The Thread Catchers have no eye.
In this open cage of shade,
My eagerness to stay will not fade.
Bark in the chain of the linked fence,
Has a power to deflect what keeps me tense.
Scent washed from meadow's basin,
Leaves shrivel like grape to raisin.
Earth's yellow eyes far past bloom,
Thread still woven through the loom.
No difference from heart in nature and heart in flesh,
Dreams and reality start to mesh.
From under the towering giant of brown,
I state the true fact: "it's impossible to frown".