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Earth Bound

rmscott73 — Wed, 18 Nov 2009 05:23:20 GMT

enjoy :)

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Trip on this....

rmscott73 — Fri, 06 Nov 2009 03:34:23 GMT

:p;):D:o:):rolleyes:

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made this while very high

scbudz — Tue, 03 Nov 2009 00:53:28 GMT

YouTube - College Cribz Myrtle Beach

Feelin Froggy?

rmscott73 — Sat, 24 Oct 2009 06:17:00 GMT

just some of my "stuff"....hope u like :)

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certainleeNotMe!

Seedless — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 23:41:12 GMT

It started
with a song
this song passed and again the mood spun around the room faster then i toll
collect
roll
it
not y
ou
am i going to fast for you////.
Danger
Always danger
and this re--building
'dont walk away'
all that was said.
She ran faster then she had ever run
she ran
and could not stop
forever
"dont

Some Poetry

420_jesse_420 — Sun, 18 Oct 2009 00:10:42 GMT

This One is called..
The Evolutionist

The most noble and discreet creature,
producers of oxygen and overseers of life itself.
Undertaking evolution of both nature and everything around.
Twisting in different forms of matter towards the great blue abyss,
embedding and connecting to the great mother.

Kind these creatures are, underlining the fate of the future.
The bottom of life but delicate and fertile.
Undertaking the most important roles in society.
The evolutionist and provider is patient but powerful
in the everlasting centenarians.
.
.
.
This One is called...
The King Is Dead!

The king has died
And the new ceremony is complete.
Transferring into the worldly unknown is the new trade.
He is now longer part of the concrete
image of society but a larger allied variety.

His soul is brave, flying higher then the eagle�s axis.
Connecting with the ceremonial feather
Altogether he�s a mad minx whose tail is sly.

The wolves act out defeat

The king is dead,
Now bow your head,
Allow your conscience to
Set free.

Alters of genuine stature form is his valley,
The people. Sad that there ruler is gone.
Performing rituals at his worldly calling arrival.

His words of wisdom shall forever be held by the threads of humanity.
Remembered for eternity in the souls of his followers.
Rests in the hearts of the true.

The wolves act out defeating horror

The king is dead,
Bow your head,
Allow your conscience to
set free.

You may talk to him; he the shaman can guide you to a new state, an unknown.
Your dreams will deem your fate and retaliate you to a new insanity.
Calling, calling, calling the sacred one, chants the shaman.
Your trance induces, takes over your material ridden soul.
Ego- death is a certain death. Which impeaches your mind?

The rhythm of the drum consumes your consciences.
Drowning your principles from one-self.
The task of finding truth is a prosperous
Sega of the images mind.

The King is dead!

What do you think?

If you like it I have a Bunch On Allpoetry.com.Let me know

Ellis D. Trails

MikeIsGreen — Fri, 16 Oct 2009 01:20:10 GMT

phine arT..?

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A poem by me

kiddo — Fri, 25 Sep 2009 02:38:34 GMT

So I wouldn't call myself an artist by any means, just a freelance writer that every once in a while talks about life, mine and others, through poetry, and maybe I'll write a book one day if I ever get any good. I've been going through a funny phase lately, I wasn't going to share it here, but you guys are my friends, hopefully you won't be too harsh lol. I don't really share too often, so feel special.

Now Boarding Kiddo..... (by, well duh, kiddo)

The kiddo creeps without a trace,
a strewn distraught look is glazed across her face,
trying to comprehend the reality she's in,
doesn't know where life begins.

A cackled cry sweeps throughout her mind,
and suddenly it doesn't matter where she is for she has been stuck blind,
sweeping thoughts form timelines and worm holes that span across the years,
and for every mountain of joy there are four waterfalls of tears.

The mountains all fade the farther she walks,
and the ground becomes torn and jagged,
and our girl becomes lost.

So then she decides to go back through time,
to see where everything begins to unwind,
but a fog comes in and hides the road,
it makes everything tranquil and lightens the load.

The pain stops and blurs out of sight,
all that is left is warm and fuzzy delight,
so what if our heroine never completes her quest,
Sometimes with pain only comes death.
;bonghit