The Hymns and Rhymes of Stone's Whines (Poetry)

The Hymns and Rhymes of Stone's Whines (Poetry) (Full Version)

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Mister Stone -> The Hymns and Rhymes of Stone's Whines (Poetry) (9/24/2012 18:32:49)
Comments go here! ~Dove and Troy~ You're Troy. Hi Troy! Adolescent; boy. You told a lie, So sly; so Clyde, You are distraught, You are— You're not? How rude! So bad! So sad. "Untrue!" You loved; you lied. I loved—you too? You fool! You gnat! You tool! God damn! I'm Dove; your love Your "trust" Your "fun." Die; You guise; Your pants alight. You trick; you pry You hitch; you lie. You latch; you rat And you're— What's that? What? Why? My Gosh; It's fine. That's all behind. Just Apologize

Mister Stone -> RE: Dove and Troy Poem (9/26/2012 16:56:53)
Dying I am dead There was once But a time I was with Human beings But I’m dead So that means That I am Many things! So I’m dead I am “he’d” I am “was” “Used to be” And I’m dead Thereby made To be torn At the seams With my death I can’t read I can’t eat I can’t “do” Anything Per my death I am sleep Even though I don’t dream As I’m dead You are free To do with me As you please My death entitles Thee to cremate And deface And do worst To He Who is dead Can be chained Can be caged Can’t be freed To be dead Is to be Damned to fate From Beliefs When you die You don’t rage You can’t leave Can’t escape While you’re dead You can’t hate Ill-resent Not a groan I have died Since I’ve spoken To God In that tone Since I’m dead This coffin I suppose is My home Though I’m dead Should I really Endure this Alone? In this death I’ve surmised Something I’d rather Be besides Being dead In this grime I have come To realize Being dead Is not something Ideal To alive Being dead I regret What I did To my wife Being dead I regret That I did Suicide. ~Removed non PG-13 content. Mritha

Mister Stone -> RE: Dove and Troy Poem (10/12/2012 20:41:15)
In Stupor It’s like I’m atop a beam, The crowd is all a dream, Like I’ve bhen heaved, spit out, and hit up neatly ‘gainst a tree: I’ve had too mhuch the Devil's Leaves. Seems that my vhisions blurred. My already horrifying speech impediment is slurred. I really hate the lot; They’re such pretentshus things. They’re underservin', bad, and horrifyin' human bheings. I tried ta make a plot, A shtory for myshelfv; Not a rotten torn up journal on dhe bhottom shelf. Sure I was optemistik, And I showed some bvlank indifference, But somehow I figured it’d be nice to get myself mixed up in; And inishully it is it: De Facto Sahrge ‘O Bhizniss. People showed meh some respect and got off saying ‘sir’ and ‘mistah.’ Bhut now I dhon’t got a home, Or a Me that I own, And there’s not a single de-shent person listed on my phone. “I tryed ta tell ya if ya screwed yerself then damn a loan! Don’t nobody wanna pay for a wretched mess’s prechus ‘bode!” So with dhis stoke 'n Smirn, My izzues dhisheppear, All these chokes 'n hoax 'n folks with smokes 'n mirrors. I’m not'n ekunamics bherson. I can’t predict de versus; So I turned into that sleuthy dude that shnatches others purses. Bhut dhid yhu hier dat tune? Dhat kar eng-'n soundin’ boom? 'Nd is the sheilin' ghettin' dahka or ama bwingin' out a mood? I’ll book dhat ahs mhoot. The abwenue’s mah tomb; And dha streaks levtovah in dha suites of Hampton is dha food. 'Nd I seem ta ehnvy dhose dudes with hopes that go right on through; Dhen I kick mahsevf for not doing it as hard as they do. ‘Nd Dhear it whuz ughaen! Fhowhelled bai-uh whince? Dhen a nobeen’ ache ‘n ghaudy phade ‘n qhou-did mhist? Dho I’m zhure dhe ohnli dhing I rhe-he nheed’s a Nestle sip. Add a ‘notha shlosh ‘o green dhen dhat’ll rite-leh do da trick . If I’d-ah to dhrop dhead on dha fwhoor whud ah be found ‘nd mhish’d? Or will ah jhust bhi on dhe FB-gai’s ahbrita-ey list? Ahm not dhoin’ ghuwd. Dha Lhittle Eng-‘n Could! Dhats whut mhe uhkul rhead ta mhe whin ah whuz dhoin’ like ah shud. ‘E sed ta ovahcum dha obstaculs yew’d shove ‘n push, ‘Nd ah rheminbah whin-‘e sed ta meh he dhot ah wud… Hfhsafosu dnf aow ewb fpaw... Awfiw jbfibafii o webf uibaeof... Wfiuw bfasdjs ifa skdfl baskjdf…. Qgaeig erae unaei fan fnfoenfo... “….Are you okay?”

Mister Stone -> RE: Dove and Troy Poem (10/19/2012 17:19:44)
Pour Inside, My mind, Confined, Resides, And deemed, The where, I take, My time, To think. My brain; My make; In here, Enclosed, Spilled out, In rain, I fear, It may, Be shown, That I, Dream up, Some naughty, Things. A precious, Mix, That drips, Across, My mending, Drought: Like rage, And pain, And high, From steam, And wrought, To fought, And ecstasy, And fear, And cheer, And lost, In song, And nice; Destroyed. And right; Then wrong. Then trapped, Denounced, And fake, And broke, And cold, Encroached, Without, Escape. All merged, And lodged, Throughout, My mind, And hurled, Confined, And kept, Around. Contained, Refrained, Alone, Unheard; My brain's, A den, Of no, Return. Inside, My mind, Describes, A place, That I, Cannot, And will, Not say.

Mister Stone -> RE: Dove and Troy Poem (11/13/2012 7:59:00)
Almighty Beautiful. That is what I feel now. Glorious. Happy. Fulfilled. That is what I feel always, now, throughout, inside, and all around my entire being. The wafting aroma of magnificence fills my nostrils. Grace and serenity touches my essence. Absolute harmony rings into my ears. Before my eyes stands such a gorgeous perfection that I glorify with such contentment that I find with such an inconceivable fulfillment that the person that is capable of eliciting such elation, such ecstasy in my own self is— Me. Mine is splendor; I ooze expertise. Mine alone outclasses the tranquil symphony performed by the melodious creatures in the starlit night. Mine alone surpasses the scarlet radiance mirrored in the still waters from the sunset’s glow. The intrinsic vision of an Omnipotent who in sees all beyond the land and peaks and hills and trees with such an immaculate clarity cannot even hope to compare with the incredible, miraculous god that is— Me. I summon life. I decide justice. I form illusions. I instill fear. I invoke judgment. I guide success. I permit chaos. I create nature. I invent tools. I choose the date. I make the time. I pick the place. I know the start. I cause the end. I’m never blamed. I’m, infact, praised. I’m never harmed. I’m never seen. I’m always there. I’m always watching. I’m always creating, making, crafting, building the only sort of excellence accessible and desired by man on such a universal scale that is— Art. It is me. It is that enticing touch that fills my soul. I am starving to do more. I am famished to proceed. It is that holy and dished chalice brimmed with power and control that makes each and every dip of my pen that in I demand and attain something so prospective, something so impossible, so blank and empty and so full of such a remarkable potential that I create— Art. It is my being. It is my expression. It is my assurance that I infact control the tides and move the mountains. It is my dedication to myself and of my artifacts. It is with a yearning and allegiance that christens my being that I contribute to myself, and to my all, and to my kin, and to my mind and create— Art. It is my philosophy. It is my whole. It is my premise. It is so unique and unfathomable. The depth of which the confines of my mind sink so deeply into is my own creation. I am able to shape my character. I am able to shape the character of others. I am able to create character. I can build character, destroy character, master character. My philosophy is to understand the philosophy of character. I am my own and others profile. I am selflessness and righteousness. Mine is a sacred oath that is coveted by those of noble birth and those of common place. I am a messiah. I am all knowing. I am immortal. I am history. I am legendary. I am fear. I am intrigue. I am prospective. I am perspective. I am beautiful. I am art.

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