hold the line
thread of life
everywhen
timeless encounters
visions and dreams
keep me moving
one more day

liminality;
barely there
ask if it matters
care if you dare
believe in impossibility

mind framing liminal spaces
places of liminal mind-frames
filaments between contexts
capturing subtleties as moths

liminally reaching inwards
map of a shady threshold
twilight netherworld border
between now & everywhen
cusp of crisp discovery
intangible as of late
  
liminal during daylight;
stars, fireflies, lanterns
night itself being liminal
colors need brightness
shadow for textures  

whispering worlds
peripheral vision
vibes and feltsense
inner underworlds
embracing hell
reversing it

.
Rain fell in commotions—
The birds would have none of it,
The moon bellowed in ghostly white,
Faced in the sprite, ringing indifference
Of low fading stars, trees in posted dark
Scratched the grasslands of the fallen
Firmaments and the small creatures
That are holed up in days, scurried
With the creep of night and moan
Of oceans slide, mangled clouds
Clutched the murky burn of sky
And smallish eyes everywhen
Shuddered in the frosts
Of a shuttering rose.
.

If God exists
He or She knows All
Is Everywhere
And Everywhen
And lives beyond
Space and Time.
For so it is to be a God.

She is far too great
To concern herself
With this grain of sand
Lost in the vastness of our Multiverse.

Our words can’t hurt Her,
Maybe make Her smile at most,
Even as we take Her name in vain.
Our petty squabbles
Are but fights
Amongst the ants.

She Loves all Life,
Though some be sacrificed at times
For the Greater Good.

I ask you all
To open your mind
And see us through Her eyes.
She cannot want us
To martyr ourselves
Or **** those who are different
In race or creed.

She will not give us Heaven
If we sacrifice our lives
To **** Her creatures
That she made
With such magnificent grace.

Above all else She is a Loving God,
Cherishing ALL that Lives.
Forget the ancient histories
Of warring and strife.
NOW is where we are,
And now is the Time
For Love.

Paul Butters

If I could, still, I would cry
A well of the tears of my Love for you
And taste the acrid waters
Of a depth great enough to soar
Transcending into the Sublime
The Infinite, The Beauty... off the grime.

But I cannot, anymore.
So I dwell into the Lack, of You
In an emptiness large enough to fill
Each, every and all of the Spaces
Between Here, Now, There, Then
Between You, I, and All...

Between Everywhere, and Everywhen.

-Emelit

Now as you stand in armor chivalrous
And win by arms this castle all for us,

It feels as though I’ve kissed your lips before
And lost you to some other timeless war.

So when red peril spawns itself anew,
I know you’ll save me like you always do.

Our future vows wrap me in memory,
Embraced by souls and your eyes seamlessly.

Though still our fires flash and turn to shade,
And from our hearts eternity will fade,

Our ashes skim the pool of everywhen
To build the stars until we love again.

the ghosts of past poets peruse my prose.
"alliteration?, that was a cheap opening"
these shadows seep into my soul, showing
me the ways to silence the sirens inside;
through letters in words in lines in stanzas
through poems through syntax through imagery.

they led me down the road to a radio tower.
they let me go up it, to shout these words into
every ear of every man everywhere everywhen.

the ghosts, vanished
the people, terrified
the tower, toppled
the I? i am still
finding out.
where it is
that I
fell
to.

just need to keep asking
  how long do you think it might be
    until there's even a mote less agony in me

and i was once more wondering
  what ******* year will i again get to be
    anything even remotely like what was me

please please please pity my pleading
  and promise that some eternity maybe
    someone shall seal & heal these soul holes in me

oh look, he's back
  poor pained poet
    oh woe is me

whistle whining back down the track
  poor pained poet
    oh woe is me

******' boo hoo
so she doesn't love you
just becuz she was The One
  and without her dead is the sun

are we all supposed to suspend our lives
  just because you'll never again be alive
NMFP
  not my ******* problem

oh wait
  i'm the broken boy begging
    don't let it be too late

no-one else needs to care
  about the shredded regrets i share
but that don't diminish the damage
  from landing on the razor
    after being thrown over the edge

shhhhh
  don't wake him up
    he hates waking up

cuz he had a breakdown?
  ****** duh!
thrown from heaven to the ground,
  uh, broken, duh
(did i mention the ground was spikes,
   serrated poison-dripping spikes)

dead but unable to die
  death-breath-kiss in every way that matters
but not allowed to die
  just destined to be bleeding amongst the shatters

why must i wake up again
  every ******* everywhen
    without Shannon

Rain fell in commotions—
The birds would have none of it,
The moon bellowed in ghostly white,
Faced in the sprite, ringing indifference
Of low fading stars, trees in posted dark
Scratched the grasslands of the fallen
Firmaments and the small creatures
That are holed up in days, scurried
With the creep of night and moan
Of oceans slide, mangled clouds
Clutched the murky burn of sky
And smallish eyes everywhen
Shuddered in the frosts
Of a shuttering rose.

As far as I'm concerned
Your sexuality means nothing
To me --> No effect; no affect!
Know thyself and be content -
Your happiness is beside the point.
Your Life - Live it as you wish;
Just don't try to force me
To subscribe to your way
Of Life if I'm not interested.
Good luck to you - have fun:
Your fingers; your tongue;
Your ck and your ct;
Your brain --> use it 4 pleasure.
I'm hedonistic to believe
That what goes around
Eventually **** everywhere,
Everywhen and everytime.
So...go f**k yourselves!
(In a good way, or not...Freedom!)

sometimes I long to know the meaning of life
to know if I must choose my meaning or if it's inevitability will somehow manifest in meaningful ways
sometimes I wonder if God is part artist and part practical accountant
frustrated and creative and stifled by I don't know what
or content to crunch the digits and let the sequence unfold to a beautiful resolution

generally the church tells us our maturity can only be developed in community
but Jesus always retreated to be alone, to talk to God, to talk to himself
what does it tell us, that he died for his creation out of some kind of unconditional love
but that he also needed to connect to his higher power to make that sacrifice
that while asking for the prayers of his friends, he wanted to be alone with the part of himself that knew the plan
I wonder if my spiritual self knows the plan that my body does not want to follow out

and that while he already knew the plan he would ask himself to not have to do it
for there to be any other way without suffering
isn't that what we all ask God
if there's a better way, one without having to suffer and self-sacrifice
and even God had to lead by example, by sacrificing a part of himself to be mortal

it feels like a horcrux perhaps, having a child
a part of you that you cut out of yourself and that exists vulnerable to external forces
a part you can be separated from by governments and space and death and miscommunication
like separating our spirit from our flesh

I long to create and yet cannot be satisfied
I suppose that's why to love our creations we must learn to love ourselves
even if our artwork doesn't look like we want it to
even if it kills and lies and steals and is corrupted by some flaw
if it can choose not to love us

it's all too complex to lay out like a map
why create beings to love you and share in your life
why have disciples when you are three in one

to understand why we sleep
if it is an illustration of some kind of awakening
to prepare us to wake after death which is so similar

I can't describe how meaty and empty it is when someone is no longer home
when they've moved away
and their body is solid and cold and yet still looks a lot like them

I don't believe the point is to proselytize
As in go about trying to change everyone to believe the exact same thing
I think Cubism is helpful as ugly and distorted as it appears
That it carries some truth that we all have validity in our different experiences
In the different ways we've colored our memories with feelings and interpretations
I wouldn't want to steal that from anyone
Or try to invalidate it

I don't think any of us have the truth except perhaps someone who is everywhere and everywhen
and maybe like the elephant or unitarianists it will all come into picture

"each must be fully convinced in their own mind"

in that way, perhaps my meaning both matters and is overruled by some larger meaning
perhaps it is a colorful piece of glass in a larger mosaic
perhaps our broken experiences will be made better than before

I never thought of myself as much of an optimist
I've actually been told I'm quite dark

but I suppose I do have faith
faith that there is an artist who will call things into account
that we won't be abandoned half baked
that those who seek will be rewarded