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Briscoe Sep 2019
I haven’t lost them,
I just don’t want to play
With them anymore.
I know it’s sad to surrender.
The dinners they bought me.
The debts I’ll never repay.
But I don’t want to play
With them anymore.
It’s hard to make believe,
When the toys have beliefs of their own.
So I guess I’ll leave.

God damns the fertile,
The futile rituals to grow a child.
"Daddy, I have had to **** you.  
You died before I had time——
Marble-heavy, a bag full of God,  
Ghastly statue with one gray toe  
Big as a Frisco seal"
-Sylvia Plath
Briscoe Sep 2019
A bird released
Three ethereal notes.
Perhaps it's the briefness
That lets them float.
"Then he sent out a dove from him, to see if the water was abated from the face of the land;"
-Genesis 8:8
Briscoe Sep 2019
The fortune teller yelled,
She told me
"There are two breeds of oathbreakers
The liar and the failure."

It is this feeble form,
With deep roots of saphire
Juxtaposed with soft silk
Spines, undermined by magma.
The milk of these bones are
From an unhealthy donar.

Great singers sing
Through happiness and sorrow.
The writers are writing
Whether with joy or woe.
The warrior fights on
For failure or valour.
The great fear not defeat
But the fleeting self
Who flees.
"12 Before a downfall the heart is haughty, but humility comes before honor."
-Proverbs 18:12
Briscoe Sep 2019
The hour hand swings around to twelve,
Like an executioner's axe
Or perhaps a guillotine
Towards the head of the snake
That feeds upon itself.
The Earth's orbit, allegedly complete.

Flickers of images, she dances
Round and round the embers.

Since this morn, a monarchy fell. To say
"All the king's horses and all the king's men
Toppling wood carvings, piled up like greyed hay."
All the landscapes and shapes of paint, blackened
By an incredulous shadow. "Lights out!"
Cried the wicker man, as the blaze burnt down
The last efforts and thoughts effigies
Can muster. His energies
Exhausted and run out,
Like children's feet over the ashes,
Like the last scampering echoes he heard.

"Burn the embassy.
Shower the embers
Over the Sea.
Recall the sounds of November.
Save for them, no mercy."

Oh! But isn't it a delight,
All flamenco shaped flames
Lifting throughout the night?
All the jokes, japes and games.
Flickers of images, she dances
Round and round the embers.
The Peruvians are bustling,
Stirring up some smoke.
The populous is burning
Tires to make them choke.

Since this morn, a monarchy fell.
Thorns in his hair, ablaze with red,
Burns In the air, unresurrected,
Fumes, firm pillared, piled firmaments
Not faintly reminiscent of Hell.
"my human resemblance turns around
and dispatches its shadows one by one."
-Cesar Vallejo
Briscoe Sep 2019
I see wet mirrors on the floor
As though skies pooled into puddles.
The reflection shimmers some more
As though sights shown, shone and wobbled.
Water covered tar's ignited
By streetlights' illumination.
Flickers of fire, flame and brightened
Colours of electrocution
Serenely, surreally, softly  
At peace.
Please, look up Leonard Afremov. It was a shame to hear about his death when I woke up this morning. He was an amazing artist and his paintings are all worth a look.
Briscoe Sep 2019
My wings are unburdened
But I fly not.

I see no seashore.
Just water, no more.
Swimmers among the shimmers
Murmur about the glimmer
Glittering above a drop.
I know what I'll do.
I'll build a tower of water up high,
Above the waves and weave of turbulence.
A reflection behind my closed eyes
Always flowing to this current moment.

Forget the question. Please, please, please. Don't think.
Build your tower before you sink.
But alas I think. I think and I sink.

Sometimes I stop to be swallowed below,
To fall to forgotten, forever nights.
The deeper you go, the better you know
How dark our sea is and how brief the light.
Both fast past and fleeting future shrivel
Shrink, sink, fuse together with tomorrow.
Shimmers on the sea and this revival
Are but surface echoes, not heard below.
We're just splashing around before the sharks
Slither from bottomless shadows of dark.

Why?
My wings are unburdened
But I sea nowhere to fly
But towards the end.
"“Where you are not conscious, there can obviously be no freedom.

Through the analysis of the unconscious, you increase the amount of freedom.

A complete consciousness would mean an equally complete freedom and responsibility.

If unconscious contents approaching the sphere of consciousness are not analysed and integrated, then the sphere of your freedom is even diminished through the fact that such contents are activated and gain more compelling influence upon consciousness than when they were completely unconscious.” ~Carl Jung, To the Rev. S.C.V. Bowman, December 10, 1953

We feel that Jungian shadow work increases awareness, and moves one “closer to center”, as it gives us reasons “why” we feel and behave as we do; where we make the unconscious-conscious in order to integrate our many unconscious reasons, so that we might transcend them.  The Kybalion outlines “closer to center” below…"

Taken from
https://theunityprocess.com/carl-jung-and-the-kybalion-on-free-will/
Briscoe Sep 2019
"Yes!" Some teardrop moon reminds me,
"Summer's always on her way."
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