FM Tuning (Underscore point Underscore)

In-between-Stations
By: Uriah "The CivILLian" Walters; The Escribe Adventurist

All that could be heard outside was static
The fuzz of phonetic fashion

It was a coveted earmuff
Drowning out each moment of silence we'd got accustomed to
It was a cozy hiding place with tantalizing acoustics
seducing the very drums too
uninspired to play since the heart's beat broke
It was a mind boggling, awe-inspiring
oxymoron of simple complexities
that could arouse the envy of child prodi-geniuses
Because its tunes played notes of rage

It was an honest pastor's sermon detailing
the bruises he inflicted on the flesh that wanted to consume him
like wrung out brains used to wipe down rock-bottom's feeders
It was a filthy rag where all men saw themselves
and what righteousness they thought they had
It was a symphony
Because its tunes played notes of rage

A lapse of irrational wrath fed the orchestra.
Professionalism, Ettiquette, Lowkey,
mattered not to the sounds we heard.
Only the feasting on the disproportions
the imperfections
the woes that stabbed deeper than lingering insecurities

Then the sun rose...

The Primetime of a Teller's Vision

Sitcom(ed).
By: Uriah "The CivILLian" Walters; The Escribe Adventurist

So long as our stride is tucked
within the casings of limp egos
pierced by the critique of Pinoccio noses
Leaking the blood of a once healthy morale
With no novel incisions to resuscitate its
Now pathetically pretentious build
Nothing will ever change

I know we asked for this last week
But if we could just have 30 more minutes
Just 30 minutes
We could explain to you ourselves
Our plans of conquering the woes of a (recycled alloted) time
where everything was Prime

The glamour of our mishaps, we despise
And out of spite, we repackaged them
Dressed them up to fit any style
entertain any bored face
And nothing changed

We were still the same hollowed out puppets
Drowning out crickets with unwarranted encores
Dressed down in spoiled flower-collared tuxedos
Reciting the famous lines of our bland scripts

I will I will I will
I am I am I am
But nothing changes

We did however feel renewed with each seasoned resolution
We made speeches and declarations once again

Awaiting the signal to act when the nothing is changed

But when will the nothing change?

... in the eyes of a confidante (Verbose Stanza)

Treasured Visions

By: Uriah "The CivILLian" Walters: The Escribe Adventurist

The pupils of my peers house museums
Accented by unique Irises and tears
The depth of their sight seeing is a temptress to their mouths
To which often times their lips must perform it in a shout
WOW!!!
But as seas of skys spiral to and fro
And the Seasons find a time to bloom and to doze
So goes the cascading of the lids
A vast fading in the lens
Taking breaks in dark slumber
from the Masquerading Images
Spurts of rejuvenation from eye candy land
So as to not irritate the migraines and flash attacks
and seizures with delusions of grandeur
and jaundiced galore corneas
The eyes sleep
The I's would speak of pulchritudinous wonders
Vivacious in the essence of their syntactical structures
One could hear the intimacy in their expressions
Relieved of the ulcerous legions of lesions they intercepted.
They would wring out of their ducts
Puddles worth of tales
That by each rolling dew
A slew of sip-sup-sobs would imbue the trails
The mechanics of their woes and wails
crystallized in turpentine cones of pale
Turned their faces into portraits of autumn
Until what blossoms in the gloss of their twinkles
Projected on the palette oh so radiantly
However,
Recently they insisted on wearing shades.
Opaque reflections channeling an unplugged
Cathode-ray tube television screen
So the I's eyes' liquid crystals
wouldn't display trickles of
what hope underwent abrupt cancellation
The framework excelled at jotting out the vulner-abilities of the able-minded
And magnifying the lowkey pose which
really is a cover to hide the sudden unreasoning fear that propped itself
within the midst of the projector
This panic was,
it was a tainted scene
Perhaps headquarters made a technical difficulty in which
The world is supposed to look like it's turning upside-down,
Frail, bottoms-up, with its cheeks spanked lest that it not be alive.
And one would want to say to it "be at peace, be pacified, for as a child, you weep at simple times"
However, it never listens. For it cries, and it whines and it throws tantrums with its spoiled, hungered belly
And it screeches something immobilizing to the will of man that tends to break down his build, starting with his I's.
His I's, the center of his pride
Plucked with lashes worth of lacerations 'til his lashes lash down to hide his eyes
The demise of his drive, captured in some somnolent REM cycle ride.
Like, this is where dreams die
But what would happen if the eyes weren't so affixed on "I"
And wherein developed a fixation for "I AM"
Rather than shouting I CAN'T
Plentiful times as a mind chant
For the tongue to wind and encamp in?
What would happen if the shame could be lifted
By knowing the fearfully and wonderfully made frames existed?
They would be sported fashionably
Adding purpose with visions of masterpiece

Baby Food for Thought

Baby Food for Thought
By: Uriah “The CivILLian” Walters

You get no piece of me
Not a morsel
Nor a fragment
Not even a bite.

No matter how much I mush it down for your taste buds to decipher
And force feed a portion of myself to your hollow abode
I just can’t seem to be digested.

You salivate a hunger and crave for satisfaction
To which I can’t make myself of any avail

So long as your teeth have not matured enough so as to help you understand.

I have no title for this...

Verse 1:

Now, This is somnolence
With nonchalant carelessness
They call it a lazy man’s fearlessness
For some reason, my confidante’s embarrassment
Seems to be rellished in
My lack of sentiment
I’m only looking for the evidence
Where my experiments
Held present tense hesitence
That I dared to grip
And could barely spit
As I was fairly jipped
By the glares equipped
Within the stares from whence
Came a pair of intense
Piercing eyes from the chairs where blends of diverse ears’ll find
An impairment of reverse gears
Inclined to steer drive
And fear to try to clear the mind
From a nightmare
Right there where the sight bares
Quite scary visions of plight
Varying in its prize due to tarrying
in the lines where they cherish sheeple
Whom cry in a merry steeple for
Pi to give angry people
A slice seen through several peepholes
To vy from detestable evils
Oh why
Do they say I wrestle with this ego?

Verse 2:

Now, Where is the common sense
That the common man has dismissed
And done replaced with a fabric gift
Composed of platinum coating
and some plastic lips
That give a “magic” kiss
That bestows placidness
To shutdown worry and effort
Just to transit this:
A fresh new brand of wit
That only commands you submit
Then, you and your mans could get
All that you demand and wish
Including the ransom for which
Got you handled and whipped
Rattled and ripped
With a gradual drip of tears when you cry
From that smashed hip and spazzing glitch near your spine
Along with Massa’s grip to your shackled wrists, ears and eyes
To put a fear in your mind
And a spirit that dines off of veering your sight
Into a nightmare
Right there where the sight bares
Quite scary visions of plight
Varying in its prize due to tarrying
in the lines where they cherish sheeple
Whom cry in a merry steeple for
Pi to give angry people
A slice seen through several peepholes
To vy from detestable evils
Oh why
Does the whole world wrestle with this ego?

Verse 3:

Now, There goes the dominance
That got lost in our “awesomeness”
And boastfulness spat across our lips
With the power of a Hyper-tuned Rocket ship
Leaving its exhaust to drift
Believing you’ll call it quits
The dynamics of our words echo
When we claim “I’m the sh..
And you don’t want this…”
That’s us being dauntless
And we make silly promises
As long as you spot us with
Money
Our words pocket pick
Everytime you’re watchin’ us
In our defense, it’s like we are heaven sent
Thus here’s the fine
For when you thought our scripts were fradulence with sheer decline
Towards true heartfulness with imparted gifts, or were WE blind
To just get on our grind
And make billions of dimes
While the children still cry
There goes a nightmare
Right there where the sight bares
Quite scary visions of plight
Varying in its prize due to tarrying
in the lines where they cherish sheeple
Whom cry in a merry steeple for
Pi to give angry people
A slice seen through several peepholes
To vy from detestable evils
Oh why
Do we all seem to wrestle with this ego?

Before the summer ends, you should go to the Carnival with me... Pt. 3: Merry Roundtrips

Merry Roundtrips
By: Robert "The CivILLian" Walters

I was, I was mesmerized
I was, I was hypnotized
Not to sympathize for the crooked guys
Whom held poker faces and snake eyes
With deception in every lieing line
But then, I dabbled in the rattling
Rackets and practiced in
Between the same spaces adjacent
To what attracted them.
Tried to escape, but ofcourse
I was, I was mesmerized
I was, I was hypnotized
Not to leave behind what I've kept in mind
The only option left is to abide
With my conscience then taking a step aside
So I do my dirt to live on earth releasing thirsty spurts
That blasts and hurts the worth of brain power afforded in this work
The best turn to worse, then lives in a hearse
Then catches a curse and is set for rebirth
I tried to hit reverse, But ofcourse
I was, I was memerized
I was, I was hypnotized
Not to live a lie, let the past subside
Though what I live is criminalized
With perjury every time I get tried
The irony is blasphemy that fastens me rapidly
To catastrophe for actively attaching these
Tragic themes passionately as a phylactery
Knowing it was attacking me and bashing me
But ofcourse...

Before the summer ends, you should go to the Carnival with me... Pt. 2: Emotion Coastin'

Emotion Coastin' (HIGHS's & LOW's)
By: Uriah "The CivILLian" Walters

She puts me at HIGH's and LOW's
Because I felt HIGH by her presence
Making me present presents in present time
So as to get more than a HIGH five
I can start with a HIFI HIGH pitched "HI!!!"
As I fly by
Subtly awaiting the kiss I'll receive on the moonlit HIGHRISE
And I may be highly ahead of myself
If I want to be her LOW day's HIGHLIGHT
I'm HIGHSTRUNG
But what if she smirks
Says "nice try" and "goodbye" to my acting shy
Pulling me down to LOWBLOWS & chokeholds of the LOWKEY
The strike of a LOWTIDE
LOW frequency though frequently,
HIGHTIME I'm LOWLY
...
now...
Should that make me a HIGH minded
HIGH spirited LOW profile loyalist
With HIGH sounding wisdom that showboats LOWLIFE HIGHRUNNERS?
But that's like being HIGHFLOWN, then lowercasing your HIGHBROW
Scoring HIGH levels in compromise
Succumbing to the LOWDOWN, (which by the way was HYPER lugubrious)
Then ending your day with a LULLABY from a HIGH born
One who obviously does not cope nor sympathize.
HIGHLY praised statistic shows a LOW percentage
Of the LOWEST of the lovesick
Deep in his LOWLANDISH pit
Unless he HIGHTAILS it out of there
and rearranges it to say...

She puts me at LOW's and HIGH's

*******

Quite quick and to the point with loops and curves. Sort of like a less wild Joker's Jinx, unless ofcourse you've experienced these words emotionally.