Poems

[Orzmund]

Beneath the bustling storm
Rages a fiercer, wild swarm;
Against pelting rain and lightning
A lost, wayward herd tightening
Tramples over the feeble kin.
Muffled gags and shrieks the din.

---

Honesty broken,
Promises long since spoken
Hath left no token.

Gone from honor’s grace,
The fiendish vile face.

---

“Silence” I say to thou moans,
For they pester me, thy groans.
Why hath thou forgotten pride?
Against the woes, thou ought glide.
Forever pain, I attest,
Is the cure for pleasure’s jest.
Too cruel is a promised glee,
It torments us ‘til we plea.
Thus, I chant in earnest hope:
“No! No! Never rest to mope!”

---

Lost in wonder,
World-pain’s blunder;
Joy’s hastened pace,
Life’s sweetened taste.

Dreams foresaw
The truth nude:-
Nature’s law
Now made lewd.

 

[daydreamER]

Did you make these?

My ideal vision for this forum has always been one where art, writing, and poetry thrives. I liked the poems, brocel.

 

[Orzmund]

Did you make these?

Yes. I was thinking about writing some poems and implementing their verse into an AI music generator to create songs.

My ideal vision for this forum has always been one where art, writing, and poetry thrives. I liked the poems.

That is a noble vision to hold dear my friend for it beholds itself as the object of covetous treasure. Art is the wonderous jewel of man's suffering, once the soul of art perishes only a vestige of our ordeals and woes lingers.

 

[Fuck Jews]

Sup nigga

 

[SoycuckGodOfReddit]

gotet's incel poetry is legendary:

My incel poetry

These are some lines that has been stuck in my head. Being sexless makes all kinds of shit pop up. I'm an incel and there is a price to be payed. It's fucking easy to stand when you have never been laid. Peter North has enjoyed many women. He never had to see the world with incel vision. I...

incels.is

 

[Aegon Targaryen]

Yes. I was thinking about writing some poems and implementing their verse into an AI music generator to create songs.


That is a noble vision to hold dear my friend for it beholds itself as the object of covetous treasure. Art is the wonderous jewel of man's suffering, once the soul of art perishes only a vestige of our ordeals and woes lingers.

No one can ever convince me that we aren't the most tragic romantic figures in our world.

In 1k years maybe they'll write poems about the men without love