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Best Louis Borgo Poems

Below are the all-time best Louis Borgo poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Details | Louis Borgo Poem

Moon Said To The Sun

Moon said to the Sun, 
Have you ever heard of a rising of a; Son.
Rising; like no other dynasty a sure sight to watch.

Come take flight.
Unparalleled to any dimension that decide to go Ape, 
What a species, 

Like a horizontal that meet's no parallel to meet one dimension 
In size, and or shape and left turn to speechless.
And rising; it shall come.

It shall be name Orion, 
A warrior like no other, known for such things as hunt and moon, 
Peace; grace the sky.

My son Orion; 
This shall be the beginning of a dynasty, 
Known only as the Sun and Moon Dynasty, 

Let the Bronze Age grace the heaven for years to come, 
And star to the Milky Way shall one day form, 
What is being?


Details | Louis Borgo Poem

PICK UP GAME FIRST ONE TO 11 BY 1S

FOR ME TO WIN IT HAS TO BE SOMETHING IN IMPORTANT.

WHY DOES HE HAS RUBBER BANDS ON HIS ARMS, THAT QUESTION SHALL  BE DISCOVER AS YOU GROW WE THE GAME.

ILL STOLE IT THREE TIME IN ONE GAME, HES A BIG MAN BUT THE SCORE 7-11, COME MY PEPS DONT LET ME IMPRESS YOU INN FRONT YOUR PEOPLE, THAT COULD BEEN ON A HIGHLIGHT REEL

GETTING SHUT OUT IN  GAME TO 11 YOU KNOW HE'S NOT GOING GET A NOTHING GAME.

tHE GAME OF BASKETBALL IS ALL ABOUT RESPECT, 
THE ULTRAMENT RESPECT IS TO GIVE NO RESPECT, 
WHEN IT COME TO THE GAME OF BASKETBALL.
thats how you gain respect! ! ! ! 

AND IM HURT AND STILL TOOK YOUR MAN GAME YOU TELL ME WAS WE PLAY TO A ELEVEN OR WAS I JUST TAKE YOU SCHOOL.

talking about running the city, we talk about that later after your lesson-

BECAUSE IF IT WAS A GAME FULL COURT FIVE ON FIVE AND IT GAME BASE ON STRAGTEY NOT SKILL WHO DO YOU THINK WOULD WIN.

RESPECT IS GIVING WHEN YOU SHOW IT, CHECK IS IN, 
BALL PLAY-

Hold ON "RECAP" what was the lesson-

10 years of trading and building 
techniques and incorporations skills can one say 
it was a waste of time 
or waiting on the right time, 

just to pass the ball down to protégées  
just a pick up game first one to 11 by 1’s

Somebody read the paper.
"City That Im From",


Details | Louis Borgo Poem

A Spirtual Warrior, prayer

God of most spoken literature and default, 
muted delima, 
frozen and site as peace was the crown, 
to lead.

Light of revealing smiles, 
I as a man look to heaven above, 
Like a sonnet of defrost ice, 
that prove there something is stiill above my kinging thoughts, 
and lost material.

Last of the saints and many eyes held high, 
founder of revolve plate stand still do to lack of gravity, 
my thought grow in patient of rules, 

like the souls of the warrior priest, 
stunt and honor, 
 only to the heavens to trinty meet  this deed. 
what more can man i ask but plenty lost hands of trees. 

bless it and translation the belly of the beast from east, 
with such sand to mount a 1, ooo diease fill find beads, 
 
god where is this hand? 

bless it again to know the words of the garden
 and the creature that once live, 
 i hope that history never fold in meaning as we see fit! 
counterpart, business and chancher what wars could be for saw through man eyes, 
I question the fold of the deck of cards, 
please reap to the barrier of lost soul.

Dividend in passage ultimately salavation, 
start which the eyes of our lords lost and barring fruit, 
hearts of all hearts look to know what a saint is but for me...,  
my self would dine last to see chance of man will and god, 
 bless me again for the words i speak once again, 
, 

Moving the crown to frowns of the holy spirt, 
dampated from the fire of the well, left with mystery of? 
or you could call it a sinner misfortune, 
rich with style, 
appeal in darkness and swim to profanation, 
sparkle as wine should, 
noise loose to up due a  crowd lookes to ruinies, 
the color of sky and sweep the wind to ashes and the sky is left roaten, 
where is the 
hand of god

fruit left by limits, 
the staff of wrath shacking to point to the direction of lost tactics, 
fitting as the back of quick sand what obsession, 
could hear this angel sing, 

This the legacy of a thosand saint march, with white horse and the immortal weapon  
where is this last son that the bible speak of, genesis 2: 13, 
the river of gihon seek sin

good grace, food and shelter, 
salt of lost throne, 
keys that hold no barrier where is a lost soul to at sea,

what men of all men would endurance such hurt, 
in the eye of the kindom it not women that knows there place but better yet the soul 
of a man, 

bless the hearts of all men....


Details | Louis Borgo Poem

The City That I'm From

This curse ambera tundra, hell bound between a street and a corner is what i call home. 

The  gemetric figuare, it sit with no pattern or rhymetic, but yet with class. class of middle class workers and classmates that made the name home sweet home.

Come take a walk with me and just whispher, 
Come take a walk with me and just whispher.

The hollow street spike's with swallow some towers, but envy me. 
cars all park in nerby by car ways. 
sweet dreams indeed, 

excuse my French my dear, 
but down here is different customs of how, 
we speak yes em deem.

saying nothing more if it is a recession then it is a great depression coming. 
Asking as what you can see from, as to say which part of the farm is you from, this here is the country 'let it go'.

a dropp of rock, a move of a tick, 
look so touching when its nothing but land and opportunity, 
yacks! ! how do we past time? 

so for us its practice make perfect for that year of a scholarship, 
cheers in deed.

Land for sale, houses being refinance, 
and what do the youth say a book is there best friend, 

so twitter this and twitter that, 
we made something outter nothing by investing in the youth and winning games and making each donates for a club to a fine arts.

Let it be know my city sit like the tale of two city with a voice it has coming from a country to a city, 
but how big of a city only time can tell.

once again coming take a walk with me and whispher, 
coming and take a walk with me and whispher, 

because its not what you say you would do it with it's what us 
youngster did for our community.

(a movement has gotten bigger then me! ! !)   

Will a city chance or will we, 
Pick up the Daily Star will you? 

Have you every heard of Livermush and Baseball, 
Well have a seat and enjoy the game.

better known as the 'Village'
Once again come and take a walk with me.

Borgo Baby,


Details | Louis Borgo Poem

Song Cry

A song of a blind bird,
stale and cry.
hymn of a song in hormony to fly by,
is sure to set  feet.

Note by dexter fold arms to sheeps,
foil and cope,
with the mild do throttles to thirst,
seminary.

like symantec of dirtection,
as the heaven snips to the moon rites of memories,
learning time motion of tears,
my heart flirts with literature ,
like hope to a good well.

note of notice,
just luck of verbal communication,
to conscience of intelligence of just words,
and tone turn to lust,
and lust turn to light moods,
where did i leave my capitavite?
in this room.

like a flower to dawn,
we rise together, 
morning to sweep of shore,
like a pastor store in barrels, 
for the fruit of yesterday to pour,
for todays taste ,
of years to past,
of course it was a good year.

like tinkle bell to a warm  berry,
my wish is sit next to you.
to reach is to bring towards,
 to be patient is to remain of stone.

i'm pasting my self with this meal.
to bring friendship to a new conclusion.
will you sit eat with me and bring in the New Year.
or will be know as our anniversary a reason to write.
I mean a reason to continue to write was left to be written!!!


Details | Louis Borgo Poem

Eyes of a Angel

 

Feathers of dust & charms of wedeling windows, 
Unheard sound of wisdom, 
Street with line of mellowing willows, 

The cries of indefinitely breaths of sympathy tales, 
Of modern days hero’s, 
That fought the sight of meditation of midnight capabilities, 
Structure of liberation's, 
Of an anatomy figure, 

The sights are so bright of lights,
Loom within time, 
Swiss true lies, 
That ridiculous riddle of due time,
 
That tangle like new moons of lunettes moods, 
Of rules of tides! ....

Words fully digestion, 
Containing that of words of contracting, 
Pasting that of satisfaction,
Thoughts of wound that every lasting, 
That will be the world I never fall from....
'OF HOPE'

Could this be Heaven witness?
Within her eyes of satisfaction,
Eyes of an angel,

Riddle me this, 
Riddle me that, 
The view still hasn't change...

Is this true love or a dash of forbidden passion?
Open the gate for me!!!!

Is this love or something like it?
Eyes of an angel…


Details | Louis Borgo Poem

A Solider Ambition

The sight of blood, savage limbs, 
Perpendicular glossary to sky, 
Why so symbolic could it be, so divine? 

Melting skulls, haste tongues, 
Humble severed from commands, 
Is it a war zone at its end, or something like slim disease to propose? 

A wise man once said, 
That the term Love, Should never be thrown around if; 
You can never feel or distort from it.

My question to the wise man, 
When will war end, 
But I never got to propose such a question.

Young brother young brother I see we are close to cross that mountain, 
No matter your age origin or color, or creed. 
I consider you my young brothers.


Details | Louis Borgo Poem

Word On The Street

If i aint the man speaking then i must be the man sitting,
do the equation the varibles are there,

Man walk into the barbarshop wanting a fade, 
you know uptown fade even all over and hit corner and ponding on back of the corner.

Look to the left its a poker game going on look to right nothing but empty sitties,
Billie boy pop those collide so what will be 60, 72 and fold! odds over cards

So a man like that you think is it a holiday and where the jingle(got money on him)

you see the man speak your linguarie why not give him fade and shack at that 
respect it everything you call that street sweeper!!!

So word on street is????
you back in town

you now in every town the barber shop is where all the talk is done in town?
word on the street.


Details | Louis Borgo Poem

Heaven Touch

It was like the day twlight it into heaven, and past sophisticiation stomped like a rope to a wedding, taps of light, of moonlight's caliver to smile of panic enlightment, love sitting next to true love.... Touch by touch, thought to passing of the moon, and lips of wrath of wax, playing tag. and asking why beg sure of sure wind, passing the mystic sunlight, as we kiss sun up and sun down. tales of time and ticked and called grace for new wishes.... Footprint's of shadows of malign sculputres, drag on and clipped of, sprint of this here prints, luxury spring, stream like sappire dream, invested in such a beautiful queen!!! lips to bit of crushing melting ice, asking it to rain...... and i am sanking as the rain by past.... But i cant sit still wonder with of words running around, like such fragments augements do and do tell, dizzy with dogmatic and wrap in patiented, like a lock with no pediment, It seem to be a new grind of a map like literature and i seem to be the lead character. what hopeless wish's but sit and sting, and in deed it must be in fact that of, or was, first love!!!


Details | Louis Borgo Poem

Winter

melting of ice soup warming,
heart is where the ring should be,
Termites joy wait for it,


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