From under the depths of darkness. A sad child peeks out. He cautiously looks around. The sun is so harsh. He can’t see. The light feels good. He does not belong here.
the stars. I lay under the stars and wonder what actually exists beyond them. the trees. I lay under the trees and watch their leaves shimmy in the wind, sometimes some shake loose and tumble to the earth.
His cheast beat heavily… The floreboards above him seemed to come closer with every step. He half his hat on his head so it dident fall onto the dirt below. “Bustling train station, loud people. Lets just list everything I hate…” And as he crawled towards the lunchbox. He wondered…. “Why had I hid it here?”
It was under that bridge where George had spent the majority of his adult life. There were many stories as to how he had gotten there, but no one was quite sure what the truth was. Even George didn’t know anymore.
Under a blue sky, I relax in a chair, reflecting on days gone by. I don’t know what today will bring, or tomorrow, or even the next day. I don’t really want to know. To be here, now, in the moment, I am grateful just to be alive. Under the blue sky, I am content that God loves me. I am glad to have Him in my life.
Under the old aok tree sat an old man who was comfortable, with the treeshade canopy letting in just enough light for him to bask in rare bliss. After all, his third grandchild had just beeen born, a girl to spoil and watch grow, he dreamed.
Under a bridge sat a girl. She was half starved and shaking from the cold. Neither of those things mattered to her at the moment. She was too busy focusing on not being discovered. If she was discovered, she was as good as dead.
Finally, the moment was now. She was alone, sipping on some egg nog, standing under the mistletoe. He thought about a plan all evening to get her under the mistletoe and there she was, already there. Now he just had to find the courage to walk across the room and seize the moment.
So heavy you can’t feel the pain. Its just the main thing on my mind. The boulder lays on my aching body. No feeling. No pain. Dark covers my eyes as I lose the world around me.
There is a place that you might not know. It doesn’t show up in most people’s sightline but if you can find it you would be rewarded. It is underneath. Under the blankets, under the masks we wear, that is the place where true happiness resides.
I go under the bridge and through the woods to Grannys house. She has a husband and that’s her spouse. I spotted a wolf on the way there. I looked and ran without a care.
Living under the old mill bridge , was homer the troll. He and his family have lived under the bridge for hundreds of years, and have managed to keep the city safe from terrible monsters and invading armies.
under. one word. under what? underwear. under is scared and timid. under is afraid. under is what is beneath the surface. of a novel? or what? doesn’t matter. under is always something more. something that can’t be freed. something that is under because there is something above it. under wouldn’t be under unless there were something above. so what’s above? is it bettter than under?
Under the hill, the hobbits had their dinner party, flush with ale, seedcakes, and after dinner pipe smoking. Nothing but the best would do on such an extravagant occasion. Bilbo had returned victorious and satisfied.
Under is negative. Under-challenged, under-educated, under-paid. Unless it means under a man, because that is very positive. There is something undeniable hot about a man on top of you, muscles flexed holding themselves up, loving you. Or just being Mr. Right Now. That’s under-appreciated.
Under all this turmoil, the water is much calmer than you might imagine. It runs deep and clear, sometimes warm and sometimes cold as ice, but not ice yet. So right now, bouncing in the waves on the surface, I just want to dive deep and swim down for a little while before turning upward again.
She rolled under the fence, in one swift movement and ran. The grass seemed like it would go on forever, and it brushed against her feet as she ran. She finally sat, after running as far as she could. She was all alone, other than the company of the healthy green grass, and she liked it that way. The grass rustled around her, whispering secrets, and sometimes she whispered back her own.
under us, under them, everything things the same no matter where you’ve been.
Today’s the day we see, we what we become things we never thought we’d be.
Under the bridge is where it falls.
Deep down where it can’t be retrieved.
So far it will probably never be found.
That’s where it falls,
my ring, forever gone.
Under that palm tree I seek a little hole, a hole that only alice would fall into. But I, I am a person with understandings that fantasy is only in the books I notice that she is also a blonde so go figure. I sit there a stare at that hole as if it is waving its arms to tell me to come towards it. Now its my turn to discover what this is. A signal to tell me to dream, dream like there’s not tomorrow or just wonder. Wonder if stories become into realities.
She came back into the room. Slowly closing the door behind her. Nothing could be under the bed. She had imagined that movement from the corner of her eye. “Don’t be silly,” she told herself, “nothing’s under the bed.” How could it be? Slowly she stepped forward, each step increasing her heart beat until it was almost exploding inside her chest. “Just a few more steps and I’ll be in bed, don’t be stupid, monsters aren’t real.” she thought to herself, but still she couldn’t. Frozen. She thought, “Maybe I’ll just jump those last few steps. No. Just walk over to the bed. It’s just a bed, not a safe zone. And the floor beneath it, just a floor.” Step by step she is right next to her bed. She exhales a sigh of relief and exacerbation with herself for being so silly. Then she feels the hands upon her ankles. Her throat blocked from screaming for lack of air from her exhale. Instead making a small squealing squeek. Falling backward, heart in her throat, tears on her face. It emerges from under the bed. In a moment she’s face to face with her brother. His smirk disappears as he see’s her face, streaked with tears, and now with a definate look of betrayal and annoyance. “Why would you do that?!” she whispers, unable to yell from sheer confustion. The whisper is much worse for him. Maybe if she had yelled he wouldn’t feel so guilty. His insides squirm with regret. “I’m sorry.” She sees his sincerity in every inch of his being. Should she make him suffer more? No, “it’s alright. I’m going to bed. I wasn’t that scared anyway.” He knows she’s lying, but takes the chance to leave anyway.
Under the bridge was a stinky old troll. His name was Under done. He lived under that bridge for more than 50 years. Then the bridge was tooken away so he could not live under the bridge.
i go under the brige
From under the depths of darkness. A sad child peeks out. He cautiously looks around. The sun is so harsh. He can’t see. The light feels good. He does not belong here.
I’m under heaven not he**
trolls live under the bridge.
the stars. I lay under the stars and wonder what actually exists beyond them. the trees. I lay under the trees and watch their leaves shimmy in the wind, sometimes some shake loose and tumble to the earth.
His cheast beat heavily… The floreboards above him seemed to come closer with every step. He half his hat on his head so it dident fall onto the dirt below. “Bustling train station, loud people. Lets just list everything I hate…” And as he crawled towards the lunchbox. He wondered…. “Why had I hid it here?”
Under the rushing waves the sky and ground blend in a blur of blue, I search for air but find only water in my lungs.
It was under that bridge where George had spent the majority of his adult life. There were many stories as to how he had gotten there, but no one was quite sure what the truth was. Even George didn’t know anymore.
Under a blue sky, I relax in a chair, reflecting on days gone by. I don’t know what today will bring, or tomorrow, or even the next day. I don’t really want to know. To be here, now, in the moment, I am grateful just to be alive. Under the blue sky, I am content that God loves me. I am glad to have Him in my life.
Under the old aok tree sat an old man who was comfortable, with the treeshade canopy letting in just enough light for him to bask in rare bliss. After all, his third grandchild had just beeen born, a girl to spoil and watch grow, he dreamed.
Under a bridge sat a girl. She was half starved and shaking from the cold. Neither of those things mattered to her at the moment. She was too busy focusing on not being discovered. If she was discovered, she was as good as dead.
Finally, the moment was now. She was alone, sipping on some egg nog, standing under the mistletoe. He thought about a plan all evening to get her under the mistletoe and there she was, already there. Now he just had to find the courage to walk across the room and seize the moment.
So heavy you can’t feel the pain. Its just the main thing on my mind. The boulder lays on my aching body. No feeling. No pain. Dark covers my eyes as I lose the world around me.
There is a place that you might not know. It doesn’t show up in most people’s sightline but if you can find it you would be rewarded. It is underneath. Under the blankets, under the masks we wear, that is the place where true happiness resides.
I go under the bridge and through the woods to Grannys house. She has a husband and that’s her spouse. I spotted a wolf on the way there. I looked and ran without a care.
Living under the old mill bridge , was homer the troll. He and his family have lived under the bridge for hundreds of years, and have managed to keep the city safe from terrible monsters and invading armies.
under. one word. under what? underwear. under is scared and timid. under is afraid. under is what is beneath the surface. of a novel? or what? doesn’t matter. under is always something more. something that can’t be freed. something that is under because there is something above it. under wouldn’t be under unless there were something above. so what’s above? is it bettter than under?
Under the hill, the hobbits had their dinner party, flush with ale, seedcakes, and after dinner pipe smoking. Nothing but the best would do on such an extravagant occasion. Bilbo had returned victorious and satisfied.
when you quit weighing me down
i floated into the sun,
and, inevitably,
got burnt.
thanks a lot, asshole.
who asked you,
anyway?
I was under the table when this beautiful girl saw me. We looked at each other for some seconds, but she didn’t seem happy.
Under is negative. Under-challenged, under-educated, under-paid. Unless it means under a man, because that is very positive. There is something undeniable hot about a man on top of you, muscles flexed holding themselves up, loving you. Or just being Mr. Right Now. That’s under-appreciated.
They told her drowning was peaceful.
It wasn’t.
Under all this turmoil, the water is much calmer than you might imagine. It runs deep and clear, sometimes warm and sometimes cold as ice, but not ice yet. So right now, bouncing in the waves on the surface, I just want to dive deep and swim down for a little while before turning upward again.
She rolled under the fence, in one swift movement and ran. The grass seemed like it would go on forever, and it brushed against her feet as she ran. She finally sat, after running as far as she could. She was all alone, other than the company of the healthy green grass, and she liked it that way. The grass rustled around her, whispering secrets, and sometimes she whispered back her own.
Under.
We hide, in plain sight.
Under veils of sharp moonlight.
under us, under them, everything things the same no matter where you’ve been.
Today’s the day we see, we what we become things we never thought we’d be.
under the tree it is nice and cool. going underground to hide or to find. the down under in Australia. under the influence. under watch.
Under the bridge is where it falls.
Deep down where it can’t be retrieved.
So far it will probably never be found.
That’s where it falls,
my ring, forever gone.
Under that palm tree I seek a little hole, a hole that only alice would fall into. But I, I am a person with understandings that fantasy is only in the books I notice that she is also a blonde so go figure. I sit there a stare at that hole as if it is waving its arms to tell me to come towards it. Now its my turn to discover what this is. A signal to tell me to dream, dream like there’s not tomorrow or just wonder. Wonder if stories become into realities.
under means to go under an object.
Tucked under myself, heavy and damp with old dreams that have rot within the fibers of age.
My puppy would hide under my bed when my mom would get mad at him.
my little sister hides under the bed at night when she is scared… she hides from the “monsters”.
You can hide under my umbrella ella ella eh eh eh.
i threw timmy under the bus
down under the bridge, the internet trolls browse. they troll everywhere. the trolls are never down, though…
I im under the bed!
She came back into the room. Slowly closing the door behind her. Nothing could be under the bed. She had imagined that movement from the corner of her eye. “Don’t be silly,” she told herself, “nothing’s under the bed.” How could it be? Slowly she stepped forward, each step increasing her heart beat until it was almost exploding inside her chest. “Just a few more steps and I’ll be in bed, don’t be stupid, monsters aren’t real.” she thought to herself, but still she couldn’t. Frozen. She thought, “Maybe I’ll just jump those last few steps. No. Just walk over to the bed. It’s just a bed, not a safe zone. And the floor beneath it, just a floor.” Step by step she is right next to her bed. She exhales a sigh of relief and exacerbation with herself for being so silly. Then she feels the hands upon her ankles. Her throat blocked from screaming for lack of air from her exhale. Instead making a small squealing squeek. Falling backward, heart in her throat, tears on her face. It emerges from under the bed. In a moment she’s face to face with her brother. His smirk disappears as he see’s her face, streaked with tears, and now with a definate look of betrayal and annoyance. “Why would you do that?!” she whispers, unable to yell from sheer confustion. The whisper is much worse for him. Maybe if she had yelled he wouldn’t feel so guilty. His insides squirm with regret. “I’m sorry.” She sees his sincerity in every inch of his being. Should she make him suffer more? No, “it’s alright. I’m going to bed. I wasn’t that scared anyway.” He knows she’s lying, but takes the chance to leave anyway.
Under the bridge was a stinky old troll. His name was Under done. He lived under that bridge for more than 50 years. Then the bridge was tooken away so he could not live under the bridge.
I have a very scary monster under my bed at night some times I cry…………