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Best Shaggy Vincent Poems

Below are the all-time best Shaggy Vincent poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Details | Shaggy Vincent Poem

The Deity of Days Destroyed

She destroys my day
In such a beautiful way
Its hard to be angry
She destroys my day
In such a beautiful way
Simply by being
There were i lay
Opening my eyes
To such a sumptous sight
Means its
All downhill
From here


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i silently sit

I sit silently
In the seat of psychosis
And watch my feathers burn
The wind whispers
Wicked words of blame
Lit by the light
Of self fuelled flames


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Its too late for 'I love you'

Its gone away
The river run dry
Like a sponge in my throat
The words i need
Just pass me by


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Tether end

I walked into the psychiatrists office and sat down/ I noticed there was a strong smell of strong wood/ the exact type you expect to find in an office like this/ He sat opposite me behind a large desk/ grey suit nicely pressed/ he leaned back and stroked his nostril hair/ “Why is it bothering you so much?” he asked/ What the nostril hair? I had thought/ But “Because it’s crippling my sense of self” was what I said out loud/ “it crushes my belief that I exist in time and space as a real and true physical entity with actual molecular integrity” I said through sharp breath/

He was looking just as perplexed as I was certainly feeling/ He fell to his knees as tears kissed his cheeks/ “Professionalism be damned, I have felt this way too” he spluttered/ my heart fluttered the way it does when faced with the possibility of human connection/ Using only my eyes I begged him to continue, this man made of not bone but pure PHD/ “When it happens, you feel the full force of the complexity of the philosophical conundrum within which we drown like helpless fish”/ Yes he was right, I decided to add “And when it happens you feel as if your actual soul is invisible and you question its very existence”/

This was getting heavy, the other psychiatrists just never understood/ but this one did/ he rose to his knees/ he looked quite majestic/ well, if majestic meant pathetic he did/ “no my boy”/ his trembling voice began to sing/ Well, if sing meant moan he did/ 

“No, my boy, not you nor I, nor any other man will ever be able to comprehend in any meaningful way, why we English feel the need to say sorry to someone who treads on our foot”/ 
The relief of hearing someone else say it aloud/ brought on a mass of tears. I hugged him and lit a cigarette.


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Iraq Afghanistan Libya the next one

They say a man that knows no fear can never be truly brave and the man who points the gun will never be enslaved we set you free from tyranny with tanks and bombs and planes we hope this brings you comfort as you lay down in your graves


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Aint love grand

Love is dirty And the corners are chipped Its not pristine Like the songs depict The signatures smudged It's a broken seal An imperfect copy Of a perfect ideal


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Church Window

sometimes i get it right
and you smile
your face lights up
like sunlight through
a church window
a beam of pure light

then othertimes
i get it so wrong
that i cant see my hand
infront of my face
the air, too thick with 
my mistakes

its like a feral kid got angry
outside the church

a tear rolls down your face
a brick goes through my church window


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love this

Altruistically hedonistic Your love flow Is specific Monosyllabic and rustic Your reliability excites me It’s refreshingly different I’m enjoying my life In this upright position


Details | Shaggy Vincent Poem

the drinkers dilema

I am the bleary eyed bemoaner
of self made misery
my body's not a temple
its more of a distillery
drinking doesnt numb the pain
but it numbs my awareness of it
sat talking to myself in the corner
like a sodden surly hobbit
the main reason your gone
is 'cus my drinking went on
and on, and on
i am the president of the broken soul society
yet im not even tempted by sobriety
wondering why i cant ever seem to keep my 
perpetual misery in check
as i pour another glass of liquid depression
down my grateful neck


Details | Shaggy Vincent Poem

Hunting backwards

I hunt through the past,
like a man possesed,
what do i expect to find?
something i missed,
something i forgot,
a piece of the puzzle
the one to stop the rot

i stand on the Island of hindsight,
oblivious to my whereabouts,
i ignore the present,
and reject the future,
and instead,
i choose to bathe in the taste of
a thousand tears
and shiver in the shadow
of a thousand former fears,

i can turn my face to the sun
but the darkness i leave behind
pulls like a hundred horses
and before i know it
im projecting myself
into a word in which
only the ghost of my former self
may inhabit

why is it so magnetic?
the lure of the past 
seduces me
and i go over a million mental
images
ones i have seen a million times
before
going backward seems the easy
option

but again it begs the question
what do i expect to find?
there will be no suprises
no new imagery
unless i can learn to plant
one foot infront of the other
and project myself
into the unwritten


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