Everyday caught
In the labyrinth of mind,
I am,
Where dreams,
And desires
And lust,
From nothing
Conspire something.

Destination: Canada Water.
The next station is Surrey Quays.
Doors will open on the right-hand side.
Exit here for Goldsmith's College.

In the cerebellum
Fragments flash cerebrum bright:
Wheels in tunnels burn,
A neural screech amplified deep,
As waves of electrons churn,
And in multiple places keep.

This stop:
- My birth -
Is in Westminster!

It’s time:

Do you love me?
DO YOU LOVE ME?
          Yes, No, Ohhh (the audience).

In the space-time continuum,
The labyrinth is forever,
Within a fourth dimension.

It’s time …

You love me, right?
YOU LOVE ME, RIGHT?
    Yes, No, Ohhh (the audience).

DO-MI-NA-TION
DEATH FREE
DO-MI-NA-TION
ASH FREE

Lost in the labyrinth: a journey to an exit.
The Overground train pulls!
And from floor to ceiling,
Between vertical orange pins,
A medley of languid listless limbs lulls,
       Seated hips,
       Angled legs,
       Dangling feet,
And neck-less heads,
Lost, ghoul-like,
The disconcerted move doggedly on,
Everywhere somewhere; but forever nowhere
Through London's hills and bogs.

From  STOP to STOP,
In the labyrinthine network,
In tubes splayed out on cubes,
Of bright brushed viscose comfort,
Overhead, the ads exhort:

       Top Up Your Soul,
       Fast Forward Your Escape
And
       uSwipe
       uSwitch
       uSave

Like these,
A hundred escalating messages,
Each more insistent than the last,
Compel, enough to distract,
So man’s desire enslaves his heart.

Its time…

         You love, right?
YOU LOVE, RIGHT?
    Yes, No, Ohhh (the audience).

DO-MI-NA-TION
DEATH FREE
DO-MI-NA-TION
ASH FREE

How? Why?
Has bacterial sludge,
Built these edifices of glass and steel.
This labyrinthian cage,
Whose walls race up at the speed of light,
While the inner commuter flame gutters,
Everywher, in multiverses,
Supernovas explode in showers.
And for a moment, in the moment, The Overground chromatic glows.

New Cross Gate, Canada Water, Southwark.

Lit and digital and LCD:
        
  ALL CHANGE, PLEASE.
  THIS TRAIN TERMINATES HERE

A few automated steps, and:
       Southwark,
       Green Park,
       Then Baker Street,
Appear, fade and disappear.

Now walking down Belsize Road,
On the evening of the
Super Gibbous Moon,
As it rises high over the Ziggurat dimensions of the Alexandra Estate,
And all is blood orange at dusk,
As I, a slinking silhouette,
Make for the event horizon of home,
For surely given, and taken,
A few more bends, another turn,

It’s time, again.

         Love, right?
         LOVE, RIGHT?
    Yes, No, Ohhh (the audience).

DO-MI-NA-TION
DEATH FREE
DO-MI-NA-TION
FREE ME.

To the event horizon of consciousness,
To that black hole at the core.
In death's star-like eye,
Embrace, pass through,
(Fear not),
On, through the labyrinth northward,
Entering and exiting,
We go awhile, a little longer.

Stars, my Stars,
Again, it's time.

You love me, right?
YOU LOVE ME, RIGHT?
Yes, No, Ohhh (the audience).

SU-PER-NA-TU-RAL
SU-PER-NA-TU-RAL
DEATH FREE.
LOVE!
BE,
WINGS FREE:

     SU-PER-NA-TU-RAL

One more stop:

       New Bond Street.

GET BEYOND
DESIRE,
BEYOND THE LABYRINTHEAN LIE,
CONSUMER, DIE!
BE
MATERIAL FREE.

Last stop:

       No-name, this one:

BE:

     SU-PER-NA-TU-RAL.

SAY IT:

     SU-PER-NA-TU-RAL
     SU-PER-NA-TU-RAL
     DEATH FREE.
     LOVE!
     BE,
     WINGS FREE:
    
     WE ARE:
     SU-PER-NA-TU-RAL

Where goes the time when it flies?
Simplified by expression, and stained by clarity.
Smudge by lucidity
smeared by simplicity
tainted by intelligibility.
Tempus fugit as in time flies.
Sharply distressing with painful feelings
to the point of mental instability
morning or night
we become possessed with its mystic dealings.

Where goes the time when it runs?
Not a solitary explanation is found.
It happens and it won’t stop
until life terminates as well
without cause.
Derived of rationalisation
lacking understanding
short of justification
bursting with vindication
persistently and with conviction.

Where goes the time when it sails?
From the second that we’re born.
Where were we existing?
We cannot be so sure
Cannot recollect the past
Not for the first five of our years
Memory so blur, so shadowy
Hazy with distortions
obscure and confusing
Unit our mind starts slowly to recollect.

Where goes the time when it escapes?
The chronology of life so mysterious.
Nothing can solve its ambiguity
for time is a complex case
with an infinity of secrets.
What’s the obsession when we have so many setbacks
drawbacks and obstacles
obstructions and conundrums
to take care of before time perishes away
and leaves us stranded in oblivion.

Oh time, you magnificent of all mysteries,
the high and mighty of ambiguities.
Show us mercy and explain
we are not detectives of secrecies
your spell with us reflects on the whodunits.
Oh time of things past and yet to come
give us a clue as to what is to derive!
“Remember”
it softly replies “Make most of your lives”
“Once I fly away no one can have a replay”.

A cruel Jack Frost blows icy floss
          (in front of spring a’ burstin’)
while shiftin’ sheaves of withered leaves
          near freezin’ streams a’ thirstin’.
A pack reviled runs roamin’ wild,
          the alpha wolf wakes howlin’
then scents a lean and lonesome scene
          while on the lurk a’ prowlin’.

A cloud revolts with spangled bolts,
          and starry skies start closin’
as wild geese soar beyond death’s door
          neath naked moon a’ posin’.
Electric shafts, like fractured rafts,
          sail night’s cathedral caldrons –
their cracking curse makes herds disperse
          in random splayed and sprawled runs.

A she-wolf sighs with hungry eyes;
          the ancient wolf waits, bayin’ -
with weary back, he’s lost the track,
          his bandied legs betrayin’.
The brood’s somewhere in shrouded lair
          with mama left to mind ’em -
the wolf, a’ drag with empty swag,
          is on his way to find ’em.

The pack rejoins with weary ***** -
          perhaps its days are numbered.
In evening’s night, he’s feeling tight,
          with aches and pains encumbered.
As morning nears, with shaggy ears
          (one droopin’ down, hung over)
he’ll set the course with renewed force,
          for, yes, he’s still the rover.

When snow enshrines the timberlines
          and skies are ripped asunder
though young, lupine, they’ll stifle whines,
          as gullies fill with thunder;
mid echoes in the mouth o’ death,
          they bid farewell the lair
while panting puffs o’ crystal breath
          float, hanging in the air.

Their path is black (they can’t look back
          for herds long gone a’ missin’)
as dusk profanes the snow-bound plains
          the sinkin’ sun was kissin’.
Neath northern lights, with barks and bites,
          he keeps ’em all in motion –
the speckled scars of fallin’ stars
          display the night’s devotion.

The sky’s a’ blushin’ in the east,
          and hollow wind’s are sighin’
while buzzards freeze in gallows trees,
          a’ roostin’, rapt and eyein’.
These ghouls of prey, they’re spooked away,
          like tumbleweeds a’ blowin’,
by tilted head, white fangs tipped red,
          and warnin’ wail’s a’ growin’.

With snout upturned the moon’s discerned
          as well as wafts a wendin’
and muzzled growls and shriekin’ howls
          mark wolves in quests unendin’.
With fragrant hint, the wolf’s a’ sprint,
          the pack begins t’ rally –
in swift descent they’ve seized a scent,
          that’s flowin’ down the valley.

The wolf moves on behind the dawn
          and shades the pale horizon
as she-wolfs vet his silhouette
          each time they lay their eyes on.
With trek discreet, a trail is beat
          across a river frozen –
when day’s complete, just mice to eat,
          a choice despised, but chosen.

A stillness jeers the shaggy ears
          (one droopin’ down, hung over),
while caribou, with much ado,
          drift, seekin’ blades o’ clover;
the wearied pack picks up their track
          (with stony stomachs pangin’)
through endless seas of barren trees
          with ice like daggers hangin’.

The wolf invades forgotten glades,
          the pack stays close behind ’im;
the caribou, in his purview,
          seem far too far to mind ’im.
Above, a baleful moonbeam wails,
          “oh god he’s gonna’ catch ’em”;
the scene is grim, the Reaper dim,
          the night has gone to fetch ’im.

A moanin’ mynah’s crying loud
          as birds of prey are preachin’
to cravin’ ravens prayin’ proud
          and wide-eyed owls a’ screechin’.
The wolf, unrushed, is breathin’ hushed,
          his hollow eyes a’ narrowin’
and focused hard in fixed regard
          on herds they'll soon be harrowin’.

The morning breeze is ill at ease,  
          a surge brings sudden silence –
then haggard swarms launch poundin’ storms
          and hurricanes of vi’lence;
the herd’s surprised and paralyzed
          all over hell’s half acre –
the leadin’ buck’s run out of luck,
          he’s soon to meet his maker.

The old wolf creeps, the old wolf leaps
          on prey he’s been a’ trackin’ –
a deer adorned with branchin’ horns
          is torn by beasts attackin’.
The morning quakes, a shadow shakes,
          tined antlers left a’ lyin’,
and spattered spots and scarlet clots
          repaint the point o’ dyin’.

A magpie flies with frightened eyes
          (on ebon wings a’ wavin’),
spies wolfin’ jaws and sated maws
          of wolves no longer cravin’.
The snowdrift clears, a cool wind veers,
          a dying breath, moreover –
a wraith appears, with shaggy ears,
          (one droopin’ down, hung over).

Dawn’s sunbeams crowd, ignite a cloud,
          its threaded strands a’ weavin’.
The pack awakes and twists and shakes,
          for soon it’s time for leavin’;
it’s bleak, it chills on shallow hills,
          as she-wolfs come a’ nuzzlin’,
but north winds scold, the wolf lies cold,
          the pack stands back a’ puzzlin’.

On crimson snows neath perchin’ crows,
          the pack abides a’ guardin’;
while nights are tight with Harpy kites,
          the she-wolves wait an’ harden,
until a groanin’ blizzard stones
          the barren forest stowin’
his shaggy ears beneath the weirs,
          with icy hails ’a blowin’.

The storm abates and terminates,
          the glacial wind’s subsidin’;
the past is past or passin’ fast
          and life goes on abidin’.
The herds, today, roam far away,
          not thinkin’ of the dyin’;
the pack’ll stray from day to day,
          ’a stalkin’ hard and tryin’.

As spring sneaks forth upon the north,
          they’re lean without their leader.
A she-wolf (bound with belly round)
          strains neath a budding cedar.
Upon the morn a whelp is born
           (the future forest drover)
in new frontiers, with shaggy ears
          (one droopin’ down, hung over).

If the soul is dyed by thoughts, I will rest in my reason.

By following my just nature, I will let my desire find its termination.

For I am made of the stars. I will let my spirit shine.

I am a rising star, not a falling one. I am divine.

Nothing outside changes the value of my shining nature.

Despite criticism or praise, nothing shall perturb me.

My loveliness terminates in itself. My beauty evolves with the seasons.

I will love my nature. I will rest in my reason.

My flesh desires sugar, but sugar rots the soul.

To nurture the character of my mind, I’ll feast on the fruits of wisdom.

I’ll feed my soul thoughts ripe in virtue and I’ll let my spirit shine.

For tranquility is nothing but a good ordering of the mind.

I will not be troubled in any season.

When my flesh desires treason, I will rest in my reason.

Time terminates all inner truths.
Years will pass, we are the hare,
And time is the tortoise.
We will wake, from this delightful dream, and find ourselves
Excluded from the final prize.
Down your pens now, poets, live, live, live!
Take risks, love freely, be daring, try sharing,
Be the hare, but be aware,
You’ll look around one day and there’ll be nothing there;
Up in front, a smiling beast in a shell
Will watch you crumple, overtaken,
Speed is futile,
It’s the journey that counts.

594

The Battle fought between the Soul
And No Man—is the One
Of all the Battles prevalent—
By far the Greater One—

No News of it is had abroad—
Its Bodiless Campaign
Establishes, and terminates—
Invisible—Unknown—

Nor History—record it—
As Legions of a Night
The Sunrise scatters—These endure—
Enact—and terminate—

I have reached the end of this corridor.
The space between the walls either side; where I stand.
This space is tiny.

I have been funnelled here. The route was so direct, so easy.
The easiest.
The end, so predictable and terminal.

We walk this path so well. Along the way we read such inspirational things in such cheap places.
The sentiments and motivational words surround us so much that we are numb.

The inertia set in years ago, but sparks have ignited in me in these late times.. Each one all the more misguided and further from reality.
Far from this reality.
I suppose, where I crave to be?
The results are unsuccessful.

My dreams flicker through grey matter like remnants of a Universe lost.
The distance from whence I came?
So great that I can only produce tears in response, as I comprehend it.
Silent ones.
Nothing should be spoken of this - I see that now.
*Deaf ears

She'd walked to work at sundown  
When the blue dissolved to evening              
Past the roadside vendors cooking fires,
Not yet bright enough for deepening                
The outline of the factory-house
Where night-time shifts were gathering          
'Round the early evening cooking scents,
Boiled rice, and bread and lentils
Carried on the twilight breezes with  
A light refrain that mentioned
The hunger in her mid-riff
And the mild persistent headache
At the urgent anxious anger that
Her fears and hopes resembled.
And the nagging hopeless worry
That the money wouldn't stretch.

Treading lightly, sandals slapping
In a rhythm never blindly
To be misconstrued as anything
But a walk to work, and quietly.
One hand clutching at her sari,
Coughing mutely through her head-shawl
Barely breathing through the mocking
Of the jeering tuk-tuk drivers
Past the dust cloud covered concrete
With the reek of sun-soaked diesel
And the mouthing finger-thrusting
And humiliating cat-calls
That permeate her modesty
And her sense of self-retrieval
With a fierce determination
That the future must be faced

She'd felt the first forced tremble
In the walls and floors beneath her
And the slowly sliding shifting
Of her sewing, soiled machine
As it cannoned past the T-shirts
Through the carefully folded blouses
And toppled from the table top
To smash against the floorboards
When the building crumpled inwards
And the chaos and the screaming
Chased the panic to the exits
Down the staircase to the ground.
Then the ceiling at the center of the
Wide, high whitened work room
Caved in with crash and cursing
As the lighting dimmed and died

Now, far above she hears the cadence                    
Through the gauze of dimming clarity              
Fire truck sirens moan hysteria
Within the tinnitus of silence                
Tumbled past the dust caked boulders
Of the colorless construction                            
Prostrated down below
In the humid darkened stillness.
Trapped and jammed into the spaces
Where the falling floors had forced her.          
Where the grinding groaning echoes
Of the debris and the torture                        
Close her throat to swells of  panic
For her mother and her daughter              
In the two-roomed cardboard shanty
Miles above and hours away

Barely conscious, breathing lightly
Through the dust and reek of faeces
Thinking of her crowded back-room
Where she'd bathed her infant daughter
In the tin-roofed cardboard shanty
By the stinking standing water
And where her husband’s insobriety
Nightly terminates in snoring
After shouting and the swearing
And occasional forbearance
When her mother’s stifled terror
Terminates in tempers risings
And the all pervading violence
That resolves in resignation
And completes the shaming sequence
By the act of copulation

In the wreckage work continues
Where the rescue teams are scrabbling
In the arms of their dilemma
To keep searching or accepting
That the paradox of seeing and then again
Believing in the hopeless expectations
That some persons can be found
Far below and hours away
The burning thirst has found her
Past the pain of her right shoulder
And the numbness in her legs.
The acrid smoke that holds her  
Transfixed in shallow coughing
While the sari starts to smolder
To the agony of breathing
As she hoarsely tries to scream

In a conference room in London
In the tautly tensioned Aerons
Women smooth their sculpted short skirts
As the slicked-down young supplier
Holds a T-shirt for inspection
To the murmured confirmation
Of the busy buoyant buyers
That the pricing must be right.
Miles above and hours away
Six degree's of separation
Form a loosely joined connection
Out of mind and out of sight.
One by one the vendor cooking fires
Turn to embers and to ashes
While miles below and far away
Comes the dying of the light.

Not long ago, the writer of these lines,
In the mad pride of intellectuality,
Maintained “the power of words”—denied that ever
A thought arose within the human brain
Beyond the utterance of the human tongue:
And now, as if in mockery of that boast,
Two words—two foreign soft dissyllables—
Italian tones, made only to be murmured
By angels dreaming in the moonlit “dew
That hangs like chains of pearl on Hermon hill,”—
Have stirred from out the abysses of his heart,
Unthought-like thoughts that are the souls of thought,
Richer, far wilder, far diviner visions
Than even the seraph harper, Israfel,
(Who has “the sweetest voice of all God’s creatures,”)
Could hope to utter. And I! my spells are broken.
The pen falls powerless from my shivering hand.
With thy dear name as text, though hidden by thee,
I cannot write—I cannot speak or think—
Alas, I cannot feel; for ’tis not feeling,
This standing motionless upon the golden
Threshold of the wide-open gate of dreams,
Gazing, entranced, adown the gorgeous vista,
And thrilling as I see, upon the right,
Upon the left, and all the way along,
Amid empurpled vapors, far away
To where the prospect terminates—thee only!

Sent away from the church
To keep her hipsters away
And that almost transparent dress
That terminates
Several inches above the knees

Told that she was,
A stumbling block to the sheep
Soiling the mind of the male congregation
The pastor still in the brackets
Denying the chosen ones
The power of the Holy Spirit
And the Spirit of God was moving
Above the surface of the waters
When Adam and Eve were very naked.

Told she stirred the Spirit of desire
The spaghetti dress
Starting too early and ending too late
Cooking immorality in the society

Hungry men, say lustful
Evil minded
Yet they claim the Spirit reigns
Overcome by their selfish nature
A willing Spirit
But a weak flesh
They blame it on the church lady
And I have never seen
A bull ****-and-******
And never seen also
A dressed Freshian cow
And they call her church demon.

Mankind destroyeth another
Predicted long ago;

Mankind killeth sister and brother
Predicted long ago;

Mankind plundereth the earth
Predicted long ago;

Mankind eliminates the newborn
Stained blood upon church snow;

Mankind terminates with weapon's
Predicted long ago;

Mankind to God they get angry and question
Predicted long ago;

Mankind escapeth with addiction
Predicted long ago;

Truth bringer's sit in prison
Predicted long ago;

Politicians ****** with unlawful invention's
Predicted long ago;

Immoral parading of falsehood
Predicted long ago;

Thugs and dope in the neighborhood's
Predicted long ago;

Earthquake's in diverse places
Predicted long ago;

Mankind changing natural faces
Predicted long ago;

Mankind of their father the devil
Predicted long ago;

Mankind worshipping hell's level
Predicted long ago;

War's and rumour's of war
Predicted long ago;

Syria turning to a ruinous heap
Predicted Isaiah 17:1,
For thou whom don't know.

Murderer's stealeth for keep's
Predicted long ago;

Beast's dressing up as sheep
Predicted long ago;

Hatred from their bellies
They get hired on whom they know.

Dollar bills come to naught
Whilst debt in every abode grows.

Unorthodox affection's
Like bloomed flower's show.

Sign's in the sun and moon
Predicted long ago;

Prophet's telleth truth beyond the tomb
Predicted long ago;

The world is in chaos
Predicted long ago;

Iran joining with Russia
Predicted long ago;

China practicing for war games
Predicted long ago;

Revelation 9:16, nuclear bang,
An Oriental blow;

A false prophet to bring religion's together
Predicted long ago;

With the Antichrist as his helper
Predicted long ago;

Underground shelter's
Where rich men hide their woes.

Whilst some prediction's hath happened already
Predicted long ago;

More art being fulfilled
Predicted long ago;

More to cometh
Predicted long ago;

Soon Christ's light shalt shineth
Predicted long ago;

Every man to bow their feature's
Predicted long ago;

King of king, lord of Lord's
Whom many hath rejected before all they know.

Broken glass in blown out stores
Predicted long ago;

A disappearance of many Christian's(rapture)
Predicted long ago;

World war three
At the step's of thou
And me;

Predicted long ago.......



©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Prophecy

Out across the Northern sea
she sits serenely watching me as I sit watching her
two chairs,one space
and Skype lets me
look on her face.
So beautiful,
I'm full of glee
but she sits quietly watching me and sees in telescopic sight a man that might appeal and could he feel her heart beat tenderly?
somewhere across the Northern sea.

I felt the winds ride in her hair as the ocean carries me off,where we'll meet,and yes, her heart beats tenderly.
I'll be her picture on the wall,with colours bright so when she calls to me across the Northern sea,
I'll be in frame
Just wait and she will call my name.
This type of Skyping is no game for children or for lesser men.
When oceans rise and flow quite freely from her eyes
I shall sail across the sea to be wallpapered on her screen,compute the distance,data insistence regulates
and eventually terminates the nightly talk.
tonight I walk
tomorrow free
for we will skype again,
I see the Northern lights
she sees in telescopic sight this man
who waits upon the Southern shore
wanting more.

Oh internet
you'll not regret this meeting of the continents and quite content I sit and wait
until the data gate is opened up for me.
she sits and waits somewhere across
the Northern sea.

under pressure
terminates leisure
quit it
whether
it is loud
or rather.
no need to
whack
when it
can tact.
time
to sack
is the perfect slack.
let it not
flack
when it
can pact.

the sign at the side of the road says "right lane ends"
i yell at it "everything ends"

people act like a breakup retroactively erases
all of the joy and value a relationship had
like its impermanence somehow robs it of significance

i figure every relationship terminates
either in breakup or death
i don't think it makes them any cheaper

to regret anything is to wish for your own non-existence
without the steps and forking branches that brought you here, you would be someone else
someone that your parents and best friends might mistake for you

i regret

I have tried to give birth to a new and improved version of my vision
Exulting blips of exactitude and ambition
Flashes of pretension on a screen of pending dreams
Lacking mobility and projection
Inertia writhes

I'm mainly advertising trying to sell and intrigue
To those who have enough eloquence to persuade my predilection and schemes
Endorsing me providing lifelines and pure consciousness
Lacking the force of extorted themes and exulting worthiness
Cleansing my mind of the mocking bird's trash heap
Help me dissemble the falsified declarations and professions of fiends

I want to be pristine
I beg thee to teach and galvanize me
Endowing me with inexorable sight
Keeping me keen and full of bold might
I am willing to fight

Bring me to the surface of these turbulent seas
No need to mention my frailties and anxieties
All I ask is a breath from the surface of true realities

The urgency constrains my needs for rejuvenation and appreciations
For all those little beautiful things that once meant the world to me
Like pink carnations

Sleeplessness morphs into spells of insomnious hauntings
Stunting my contractions
It's completely and utterly exhausting
A labor deprived of true initiative and wanting
It may sound silly but everything is contradictory

It is these pains that leave me incomplete, ineffectual, and in paralyzing omission
Excluded and feeling great depths of oppression
Despairing and kept in solitary confinement
  
Suffering more than I'd like to profess
Distressing the matters that cave into my chest
An infiltration of insurmountable anguish
Abolished
Untouched by a shoulder or hand of accommodation
Is it selfish to push for this magnitude of isolation?

I crave cultivation
I want to grow into the Giant Sequoia
But the fires of self doubt leave my branches in ruins
Smoke signals sending sirens
A constant affliction
It's all my own doing

Contingency pleading for nourishment
Somehow knowing thee and ye could constitute for something of legends
Tell that to our reflections
Or maybe it's the fear of fire that terminates our pregnancy
Causing us to introvert instead of projecting
Withholding both you and I from mastery

Holland park to Queensway
Safe as houses
North Acton to White City
Stay on the train
Finchley Road to Wembley Park
"All change please"
"This train terminates here"
West Ham to Star Lane
6 minutes to walk 6 minutes to wait.
Elephant & Castle to Lambeth North
IWM you know what I mean!
East to West North to South
Oyster at the ready!
LNDN
O I love it!

Friday reminds me that Thursday's behind me and the fun of the weekend's
yet to come.

Sat on the jubilee
with the rest of humanity
Traveling to the end of
the day.

Quiet evening on the porch . Explosions in the distance , the  soldiers are getting small , incoming ! Attention subjugated from intense light to the west ! It's storming in Alabama tonight ! I'm sure it is ! The insects , mesmerized by porch light , are growing in numbers , catapulted East by violent winds , the prequel to our own battle with Thor and his army ! An entire Division , preceded by artillery , wave after wave ! Refugees have flooded the screen in rear combat operations tonight , confused , terrified faces are flashing before my very eyes ! Sergeants are screaming commands on both sides of the road as the skirmish recedes !  Rain ... Puddles .. At six a.m. as the fog begins to lift , siren of whippoorwills , ambulances rush forward to gather the dead , the toy soldiers have bled all they can ..Their really just plastic anyway ! Play things , hallucinations , flashbacks , whatever word conjures , terminates repetitive mind games , conflict witnessed many years ago , committed to endless replay , delivered by a Summer storm from Alabama last night !

Is the dream finally broken?
Can not be deciphered, the writing of destiny!
Then, wandering towards the stark reality.

In purity of soul, remembering Him,
Determined determination.

In receiving the order,
No more pointless crossings.

What a lust called!
All are illusory, all are mortal,
When the day terminates, all will be covered in deep darkness.

No more the temptation of hypocrisy,
No more, inevitable bleeding of the heart,
O Indestructible!
Permeate my heart,
Unconditional return to You.

Love a Test
Love terminates but at a real test
Which a lover has just to celebrate
With all its odds and trials at best
It is a state and one has be straight

I take your love as charm so warm
My sweetheart be mine under stress
As atrue lover I will follow the norms
Even pain in distress remains a bless

My God is my love my love is my God
Where I don't have cheeks to complain
Whether I go through just soft or hard
If you ask me just the taste I can't explain

Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2018 Golden Glow

Head smacked
With an abrupt thwack.
Nose aggressively shoved in the corner;
Followed by the crazed rant
Of an old school rhymer;
Unaware their current act....chant....
in the Future be court docket tabled....
Labled...
And designated a "child abuse" crime:
Breaking news at prime time

"How dare you speak to me?
Didn't your mother...
Or father teach you proper manners?
Look here, look listen! Directly into my eyes see!
So... I may know you understand clearly.
Little girls (and boys) are to be 'seen and not heard.'
You disrespectful ****."

" thwackity thwack"
A hard double hit reverberates  
(Emotionally terminates)
As a forceful chalked blue
Cue
Smacks...
Cracks...
The backside of the child's red
Pigtailed Head
(Thrusting it forward in an eight ball call shot
Designated for the left corner wall slot).

Nose banking the wall with a hard ******.
Dripping blood
(In full crimson flood),
Invading her mouth with copper waste
(Mixed in with the salty taste
Of tears falling in silent haste).
Destined to dry with a tinge of rust
and crust.

Followed by a loss of parental guidance trust.

Daring not a single peep--
In weep.
The child covers her bloodied mouth
(With trembling hands)--
Muffling emotional cries at an alarming rate--
(In a fearful state),
Dreading a forced follow foul stroke:
That a single sound could provoke.

Contemplating her prelection:
In extreme sudation.

She wondered why her mother....
Father..
Encouraged her ranting chatter
And told her that all questions matter?

Didn't they know that bubbly banter...
Chatter...
Would cause her
Disciplinary stature
(Possible nose fracture)
And a guaranteed position in the corner
(Under the care of an old timing
Rhyming....
Bitter....
Head splitting
Sitter)?
Marie Moldovan ©️ 2021

take a look at your hands, notice the veins

the skin cells

your cuts and scars.

this is not important.

this is all there is.

this is the sole manifestation of yourself.

time is finite and death terminates all.

you is one of many?

you are part of a whole?

you are part of a system?

like the water cycle?

some may spend eons trapped in glaciers?

and others roam free?

But the beauty is that we have a choice?

now?

where would you rather be….

Light, from a billion years too late
Creating states of existence
In an essence of brilliance
On a journey that deliberates deliverance.

Belonging to all
These black nights filled with pockets of galactical,
manifested mystical’s –
of fire and pure delight.

Welcoming all, to join them in a dancing rage
Screaming to all who look upon their fate
Come and join us and live among this artificial state
The black holes creating galaxies of continuous rate.

Follow me on this journey of magnificence

Stars falling in from everywhere
Dust clouds manifesting inside out
Colours only seen to believe their brilliance
Planets colliding
Solar systems offering silence
Moons defending restless meteors that seem lost at the gate.

A planet resides west offering food, shelter and light
Are you ready to hold on tight?

Entering the atmosphere with the weight of an eternal flight
Help me
Ready to die with overwhelming fight
A raw silence hits the delicate shields of plasma that give off a radiance of fire.

Shades of blue await
Living eyes that are here to communicate
The journey is only beginning
As this one
Terminates.

Slight seeing.

Wet
wet
wet
wet,
I bet it's not wet
in Ibiza.

Got my wellybobs on
to go to my job,
soon be done

and then there'll be sun.

She's tapping it out in Morse,
but of course
she's just playing Candy Crush.

Even later
the people look similar
to me.

This tube though
still terminates at
Stanmore
I'll be getting off
before then.


Next to the
'Fertility open days'
poster
is one for a mattress,
'Have a 100-night stand'

( the law of unintended consequences )

but it's true,
I wouldn't lie to you.


just looking around
as I travel deep
underground

Arnie Saknussemm
would be
proud of me.

Lust is gone because of broken hearts.
Living terminates as excitement fades.
Love stops when meaning is lost.
Life is arrested at the scene of the crime.

The tube terminates at Kennington which is nice but it's not Wimbledon and it's not as bad as Paddington,
the bear will bear me out on this.

Say your goodbyes at Kensal Rise because at Warwick Avenue they'll ****** love you unlike West Ham where they don't give a ****.

Little Venice, Hampstead and St. John's Wood are all very good, Sloane square for the toff, Knightsbridge where they'll rip you off and
Brixton station where gentrification has changed the atmosphere,
the map tells me
'You are here'
but I can't see you.