~Chestnuttreecafe

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About Me Member Pseudo-Intellectual Chestnuttreecafe16/Male/Canada

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Lung Foundry

Lung Foundry   -A poem written in response to: To Da-Duh, In Memoriam
An mountain surrenders,
To a city’s Skyline. In the distance, an archaic grandmother keels over.    She is dead. And why shouldn’t she be?  She is a thing of the past,
A false memory.     She could not adapt and as a result,
Grew inefficient. Excess:  Another mouth to feed.      Save the children.
But overlook what’s already forgotten.    She is dead.    She is dead. And we are not.   &nb

Newest

Macbeth SonnetA Macbeth telling of modern economics from the point-of-view of an economist after the crash looking back to find out what went wrong.
From smouldering apocalyptic ash, Mourns a new day short progress and flood, Victims sinking down the black, empty past, Will all great Neptune’s ocean wash this blood?
This stain, this incrimination: my hands, Ambition teaches a slow-learn’d lesson, Progress drove us to ravage fragile land, Opportunities seemed to have no end.
Inevitably, this day, this horror, Wear a heart so white, cast out brief candle, Regrets, stepp’d Macbeth Sonnet
by ~Chestnuttreecafe

UntitledSound the alarm. The children are on their way in. Heaven forbid we should live in any state other than constant fear of each other. fear of nature. fear of the unknown. Fear. Scream it. Sing it. Like it. Breathe it. Fear. Fear drought. Fear famine. Fear war. Fear God. Fear not being absolutely perfect. Any imperfection is flaw, and nothing more. Fear diversity. Fear trying something you’ve never tried before. Fear doing something no one’s done bef Untitled
by ~Chestnuttreecafe

Death Clock.Death Clock
Once, a very long time ago, there was a city that had in its possession a Death Clock. Now, if the name hasn’t spelled it out for you yet, a Death Clock is, itself, a very queer contraption. It has a series of hands that rotate the clock face in the same fashion a traditional clock does. However, this death clock is not limited to the standard three hands of a traditional clock. The smallest of the hands that rotate the clock’s face measure a second’s span, the next a minute’s. Subsequently, the next covers hours’ and then days’. However, i Death Clock.
by ~Chestnuttreecafe

Lung FoundryLung Foundry   -A poem written in response to: To Da-Duh, In Memoriam
An mountain surrenders,
To a city’s Skyline. In the distance, an archaic grandmother keels over.    She is dead. And why shouldn’t she be?  She is a thing of the past,
A false memory.     She could not adapt and as a result,
Grew inefficient. Excess:  Another mouth to feed.      Save the children.
But overlook what’s already forgotten.    She is dead.    She is dead. And we are not.   &nb Lung Foundry
by ~Chestnuttreecafe

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Devious Info

Current Residence: Ontario
Favourite movie: Princess Bride, Fight Club
Favourite band or musician: Chopin
Favourite artist: Dali
Favourite poet or writer: Palahniuk, Orwell, you?
Favourite photographer: killingjoshuaparis
Favourite game: The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time
Favourite gaming platform: N64
Favourite cartoon character: Abe Lincoln
Personal Quote: "There is always some madness in love, but there is also always some reason in madness." -

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Flagged as Spam

~toxicxtearsx Jul 11, 2007, 4:46:03 PM

dont get emo we still love you we may not comment you but we still love you

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I'VE GOT A JAR OF DIRT, I'VE GOT A JAR OF DIRT, AND GUESS WHATS INSIDE IT!!!!!!!!