Crippled child, crippled man,
crippled lame man,
who could ask more of me than God,
who broke me, before I even came.
and so, gnarled little stump of a boy,
who only felt shame,
he who could have known love,
felt only shame.
How could this happen
It wasn't supposed to be that way,
brave little boy though,
held his head high,
and walked forward,
but who could know the fear he felt,
terrified, he took the next step,
and at every turn, the looks,
laughter and jeers sounded beyond the senses,
How it felt, horrible,
but still the head held high,
such strength and valour,
oh, beautiful child
I am here now,
I am the light in the darkness,
and I can see,
you have returned to me,
and what can a father say,
except forgive me
even a God will cry, at times....
Let me make You remember that time when we fell from grace,
We were a pair of Angels - Gabriel & Isabel in The Team of Ace,
We fell in Love with each other in January - The Month of Face.
Though we knew Love was Forbidden in our Cult - The Angels,
Still We fell in Love for We were most beautiful of - The Angels,
Uriel sought to gain all the power though I was The Archangel.
Dragged we're to the courtroom of God and holy Angel Father,
Though The Holy Mother tried We were still given punishment,
So we fell from Grace they forgot I gave the prophecy of Christ.
My HP Poem #312
The first thing went through my mind when I
saw a beautiful woman was.
1. what does she taste like. Her skin. her mouth. that spot right behind her ear. just inside he ear.
The soft curve of her neck. Her shoulders. The junction where breasts meet her arm. That long expanse of her soft belly. Her sweet lips as they parted to allow access. Tart,salty, sweet all combined. I could see myself eating all courses slowly savoring.
2. What does she smell like. Not her shampoo or lotion or perfume or body oils. I mean her pheromones.
that deep unique essence of her.That smell at the base of her neck. under her chin her armpits,the hollows of her elbows. her belly button, her beautiful mound, that simmering potion be it ever so slight or close to overstated as I gradually slid down to Taste. To nibble at her taint and stab gently with my tongue. Her ass. That never- never land of sensual convergence.
3. What does she sound like in various modes. Her voice lilting, high pitched, throaty, nasal. he cadence of her speech. her laugh nervous, content, sing-song. early upon waking.so many undulations and coloration's.
4. What does she think like. concise open, flowing restricted, guarded,untrusting, fair, fearful,provocative, sensual, sexual,cold, shallow, deep,intelligent, smart,vengeful,hurt,
carefree,calculating,ditsy,unsettled, divided, loving,caring,nurturing.
5. Is she Clit or Vag or a combo of both. And what other erogenous hot spots. Which one gets her out of her head and free falling in unabashed ecstasy. Which hollow or crevasse or soft expanse is a fuse. Another ingredient to her potion. how many stimuli could I apply and keep in her sensual Calliope until a thrashing conclusion or a cessation of movement, breathing or sound that will bring her release tumbling down in near syncope.
6. If she had on no lipstick I would imagine her breasts/aereolas/nipples. brown, wide, smooth , bumpy, pink,caramel thick long endless.
7. what comes through her eyes. my god her eyes. That is another universe worth of endless research and
Now I don't do the subconscious speed of light hound dog amalgam.
Now I just see the woman and see the woman again.
All is still applicable but is casual thing. third nature even.
God. Thank you for your gifts.
This soul you gave
Has lost its way.
It doesn't know who made
This soul, supposed
To feel brought to life,
Feels numb, confused,
A little old.
This soul may be typical,
Or maybe outlandishly wise for its age,
Or maybe it's a rebel,
For all its rightful rage.
This soul in me's got
A little identity crisis,
With mind and matter tuging left
And faith in nature yanking right.
This soul you gave
May be ungrateful--
For all the life and love it has,
It still feels, oh, so hateful!
This soul needs help,
It's lost its way.
It doesn't know what made
i walked into the night,
and felt the cool air's breeze.
stepping away every once in awhile
usually gives me enough to release.
in an attempt to sober up from binge thinking,
i noticed i was alone, moreso than usual.
not a single car on the street,
no single individual.
this is common after midnight
but i thought there had to be someone who is also deprived of sunlight.
it was then that i was blinded by unusual headlights
on a vehicle known as hindsight.
abandoned the instincts of fight or flight,
because i was curious.
it turned into my driveway.
it felt as though there were some undiscovered forces at play,
as i lay in wait.
the door opened up, and a man with a bright white aura stepped into view.
i gazed upon his face and then was at a complete loss as to what to do..
he looked at me, smiled, and said, " yes, that particular thought is correct,
i am you.
you needed someone, and so here we are.
see this distance between you and your true self aren't so far apart.
it gets hard, when dealing with passions of the heart,
but every day, every minute...moment, can be a new start."
Everything happens as it's meant to, though, right?
" destinies are in the hands of everyone who believes it,
but most don't see to seize it."
are you, God? an Angel? a jester in disguise?
"you naturally won't want to accept this statement initially,
but i will tell you no lies. i am from a faction of lightbearers,
to help illuminate the path. the variables you add and subtract though, changes the outcome like math, heh heh."
where am i to go?
" you are not to know, yet, what's the fun in that?"
true, but then what about this,' shedding light on the path'?
"all that is within you, is everything. unlimited potential and power to benefit the universe.
before i disperse back into the cosmos, i am here to ensure that your own light grows. the love you emit causes radiated blooming within the chakras of others, but your aura has diminished, do you know why this is?"
" embrace all that you are, Ryan. i needed to remind you that you are loved deeply. take care of yourself, so to not be the cause of your own reaping. your efforts are never exhausted, i see and appreciate all you do, with a smile. now go the extra mile, cross the line and let your divine shine through. you are never alone, remember things from the past you wrote. every word still holds true.
i must be leaving, but listen to what's inside when you're unsure of what to do. Namaste, Ryan."
but wait! who really are you??
as I stood in bewilderment, he ascended into the sky with a smile, and his vehicle disappeared.
would this interaction have happened had i displayed my primal urges of fear?
when he was no more than a sparkle in the eye that is the ever-expanding sky
i didn't feel so dry and lifeless, but rather moist with creative juices from all that sunk in.
and the warmth, it was a love you could touch without touching.
this is what i was missing.
and so when reminiscing, i show gratitude and blissful appreciation,
because too much can be lost in the translation of contemplation.
Fay sat with Benedict
on the grass outside
Banks House. He wore
his faded blue jeans,
white tee shirt; she
wore a lemon dress
(one he liked) with
small white flowers.
It was warm, a summery
sun was in the sky,
trains moved over
the railway bridge
just over the way.
She talked of a nun
at her school, who
was strict and carried
a ruler around to hit
the hands of girls who
spoke out of turn.
Benedict sat cleaning up
his six-shooter toy gun,
wiping his handkerchief
over the silvery barrel.
Girls live in fear of her,
Fay said, she creeps behind
them and pokes her
finger into their flesh.
Have a teacher at my school
who pokes with a pencil,
Benedict said, digs it right in,
especially when he’s making
a point about something.
Fay’s eyes caught the sun’s light;
he thought he could see angel’s
playing there. She caught me
over my knuckles last week, Fay said.
Did you tell your parents? he asked.
God no, she said. Daddy would
have beaten me for sure; upsetting
nuns and such. O, he said, he loved
the way her fair hair shone in sunlight,
the way she moved her lips to form words.
He put his gun back in the holster
(the one his old man had given him)
around his shoulder. She spoke of
the mass and the priest who came.
Benedict didn’t know what the heck
the mass was, but he just listened to
her talk, watched her lips make words
like some potter makes bowls.
He studied her hands as she spoke,
how they gestured along with the words;
small hands, thin fingers. He couldn’t
understand how anyone could want
to slam a ruler over such thin knuckles.
She spoke of the Host and that it was Jesus
in the form of bread. He was stumped,
but listened on, taking in her every word,
the sound of the word, the way she
shaped it, the way her tongue seemed
to hold then throw out the word.
Then she stopped and pulled off her
yellow cardigan because of the heat.
He saw on her upper arm, a fading
green bruise, like damaged fruit gone off.
She put the cardigan on the grass,
and talked on about confessions,
about the confessional, how dark it was,
how the priest was hardly
visible through the metal mesh.
Benedict half listened; too concerned
about her bruised fruit flesh.
If memory serves this was a special branch of the
Those boys came to town to play.
Weekend rabble loose on leave.
Ready set by the truckloads.
Bully mother fuckers in jungle boots.
Ready to blow a few months pay
And whip anyone's ass for looking the wrong way.
Rowdy and loud.
Long on swagger short on dick.
Eh mate got any sisters about?
Asked one blatherin putz as he stimbled about.
Every now and then one strayed from the pack
Drunk and disorderly. Four sheets to the wind.
Well... he kept close after that.
I was about 8 when I became aware that
The big loud men in kilts and fatigues were men
On a mission an ill wind.
but victims of power same as we.
God save our gracious king
God save our glorious king. God save the king
Send him victorious.
Happy and glorious.
Long to reign over us.
God save the king.
Those blokes were bigger than life. And not all bad either.
My mind's bleeding out, and no one else knows. My thoughts plague me with doubt; and my world's full of holes.
I better pick up a pail, and start saving myself, cause this water is rising, creating a hell.
So on frail wings, I am learning to fly, making up things, to put on my mind,
Now I'm so far from land even these angels have died, I look in the mirror but I have gone blind.
Left now to wonder why oh god why.
Your life is just a work of art
A masterpiece painted
By some big brain
With double-folding sentience?
Do you ever consider
The beauty of the detail(s)?
What if that weird coincidence
That happened today
Really wasn't a coincidence at all?
What if there are no coincidences?
What if when we go to sleep
Our brainwaves change
Because our minds go elsewhere
And it's best we just forget
When we wake?
What if reincarnation is real
And just at a universal scale?
What if life didn't originate on Earth?
What if there's something huge about
That we don't yet understand?
What if everything is a computer simulation
And everything above the first dimension
Is just a folded-up illusion?
What if we're not the only ones out there?
What if one time
At some random point
Along your vision's axis
You stared right at a planet
That harbored life?
Or even a star system?
What if religion and science collapsed in
On each other?
And what does this whole Eye business
What if the multiverse
Is more connected
Than we ever imagined?
What if God is a number? (a chuckle)
What if God is all the numbers
And combinations of them
And possible functions
And every algorithm
Every discordance and solution?
What if fate and free will
Don't really hate each other,
And it's just a game they play?
What if, just as we imagine characters,
Scenes and fiction
And paint them with words, sounds, and pigments
Our lives and interactions
Are painted by some society of higher beings,
In some fractalesque twist?
What if perception and emotional value
Are just the icing on the cake
And they are what makes life more
Than numbers and figures?
What if art
Is more than human?
What if the magical spells we once dreamed of
Have become our reality-
Songs, pictures, symbols flashed on the TV...
What if it really is like good guys vs. bad guys
And it's all just whispered above your head
Just within earshot?
What if it's not so black and white
And our only true villain
Is the stupidity of the mob?
What if it's somewhere between
Like it usually is?
What if we were always happy
Or always sad?
Would there really be a difference?
What if you could escape the circular nature
What would you see, looking down?
What if every system is circular
Because they're all gears
In some big surreal machine?
What if you're dreaming?
Nope, still here.
What if you're not dreaming at all
And it's really just that strange?
What if everything that could happen
And you are only allowed to see one of each?
What if the laws of physics
Are only so set in stone
In this universe
But there are others that vary?
What if the speed of light
Is the universal speed of time?
What if I'm actually dead
And this is just a virtual world
And I'm living through a computer?
What if reality is a very complicated computation?
What if I woke up as someone else tomorrow morning?
Would I even realize it?
What if one of my poems caused two people to meet
and fall in love? that'd be cool
What if one of my poems accidentally somehow set off
A chain of events that killed someone? that's weird and sad
What if gravity were as strong as magnetism
Or the other forces?
We'd surely have no planes
And getting up in the morning would suck even more
What if for once you were grateful and happy to wake up in the morning?
Ooh, got you with a tinge of guilt din't I?
What if the whole thing was a joke and no one likes getting up after a nice rest?
What if looks didn't affect judgment so much?
What if this is your very last breath?
If so, look out-
What if my imagination didn't have a bottom?
What if the act of believing in something
Made it true?
What if my red was your blue?
What if you could see tenfold more colors then most humans
Because you had an extra type of cone in your gene code?
What if the very fundamentals of science you were taught in school
Were mass-spread so no one could know how strange the universe really is?
What if the moon landing was fake?
What if conspiracies don't really affect you that much in the end?
What if there was an underlying pattern of questions and statements
Following a free-flowing logical train here?
What if it just crashed?
What if when the light went off on your webcam
That didn't mean it was inactive?
What if you had something to hide?
What if they're out to get you?
What if they're everywhere?
What if it's way over your head
And it's time to get out of the house?
What if Uncle Ben never got shot?
What if Tony Stark is just a friggen' badass genius dude wonder?
What if some levity never hurt anyone, but what if it did?
What if some guy was telling a joke, not paying attention
And he fell and broke his left arm?
I bet it's happened on numerous occasions.
And statistically, probably more if you change it to 'right'!
What if you didn't help that old lady cross the street?
What if the old lady never crossed the street
And she just sat there forever like a lost puppy
Doesn't it just make you want to cry?
What if you were sitting on that thing you're looking for the whole time?
What if your life is a TV show
It's all staged, Truman!
What if I'm not real
And a secret artificial intelligence project
Wrote this to test how convincing it is?
I promise I'm not but you have no way of knowing!
What if some of you start to suspect me of being a robot?
What if in some ironic twist of fate that made someone crazy obsessive about it
And writing it led to my very death?
What if I'm just here for the ride
And I don't have time to worry about things like that?
My eyes are getting heavy...
As much as they tell me
I need to focus.
I need to concentrate...
And leave the la-la-land dreamscape
Of my head,
I'm proud to even
I m a g i n e.
64 squares and 32 pieces
white and black or black and white
pending your thesis
whether your black or white
they all have the same features
8 pawns, simple creatures
8 x 2 is 16
infantry disguised as peasants
trying to get above the 7th
to the 8th and replace
their meager form for something more severe
2 rooks, sitting on the edge
2 crooks robbing everything perpendicular
to the perimeter provided the king
doesn't falter in his pledge
When the night rolls through,
the knights roll through.
Puffing green goo, these squares or cubes
will move an L make a 7 and snuff you.
The bishop will say a blessing
as he stumbles across the board.
Moving forward diagonally,
these drunken priests drink towards
a leader hung with dressings
The queen? That greedy broad
thinks everyone is a pawn.
constantly placing her place
in the face of those trying to take her place.
The king orchestrates the beat
carefully placing his feet before god.
His feat is living, no great givings,
giving up the wrong square will make his crown your treat