They say that music and maths are the worlds unifier,
its non-barrier standard. All can unite in music and maths.
Yet, they forget the literature form of Poetry.

Poetry its long history, dating back to the Sumerian Epic of Gilgamesh. Evolving from folk songs such as the Chinese Shijing, or from a need to retell oral epics, as with the Sanskrit Vedas, Zoroastrian Gathas, and the Homeric epics.

Poetry is the history of mankind. Memorable for its form, rhyme,
meter, subject, symbolism, metaphors, similes, hidden meanings,
Truth, fantasy and fable.

All human emotion, no matter what colour, gender, creed, faith or belief system, is welcome through poetry, gains from poetry, learns from poetry and in return is taught by poetry.

Those lines in a myriad of languages, styles, form and content is mankind's story, a poem can feed your soul 'Invictus' taught humankind through one man's struggle. Not music, not maths.

From a Sonnet to ****
Villanelle toTanka
Haiku to Ode
Ghazal to Narrative poetry
Epic poetry to Dramatic poetry
Satirical poetry to Light poetry
Lyric poetry to an Elegy
Verse fable to Prose poetry.
We write poetry because we are human! filled with passion.
And other pursuits are necessary to sustain human life.
But poetry IS what I stay alive for.

I can feel it in the very air I breathe.
I can see it in the blackest night.
I can touch its coldness shrouding me in silk.
I can hear its suggestive words, constantly whispering.
I can taste its need to feed on my fear.
I can and will ignore this monster.
After all,
Its just my reflection.

Ever thought you had friends you'd know until you die?
I did.
I wish with all my heart that a clock could be rewound,
revisit old mistakes, erase them and rewrite.
Life isn't like that.
Life is a ***** in heat scratching away at mental scabs.
"Friends are the family we choose ourselves"
*******.
It's a fridge magnet quote for a reason.
                        ~
Fickle, feckless,
Replaceable
Idiotic individuals
Endlessly
Needing a
Damn hard
Slap.
* Stepford friends*.

Do you see the child you were? loved? Teased?
Do you see the adult you are? Responsible? Tired?
Do you see today's society? Disintergrating? Not caring?
Do you see the past, and miss what's gone?
Do you see the future? Is it bright, or bleak?
Do you history repeating itself?
Do you see the chasm between the rich and richer?
Do you see the poor?
Do you hear the politicians lies and promises?
Do you fear tomorrow?
Do you watch the world and think why? What's the point?
Do you self medicate? Drink, take drugs just to ease the pain?
Do you sleep peacefully? Fitfully? Not at all?
Do you fear the day that you realise you could be a part of Armageddon?
I DO.

A tie that binds,a sacred bond undone by lust.

My wonderful friend
You blend words like a wizard
Evoke imagery out of syllables and rhyme
Leave us breathless at your unique insight
and jealous of your zeal for being a wordsmith.
Were I able to, my wonderful friend I would knight thee
for services to the beauty of words.

Weave a spell with your words,
entwine the words with my heart strings.
Knot them tight so that they never loosen.
Hold fast your words upon my heart,
impart your loving syllables into the chambers of my heart and soul.
Gracefully guide the silver thread through my core.
My heart gracefully guides your hands as you work to bring what is truly your spirit to life, in me.
Teach me that love holds true, braid yourself to me.
Scarred though it may be, my heart belongs to thee

Pay attention to detail, for as they say
"The Devil is in the detail"
Pay heed to that small voice inside,
warning you to an unseen force.
Don't shrug off the feeling of being watched,
don't put a shiver running through you down as a breeze.
Take mind, that sometimes our sixth sense is our
safety sense. Don't shrug off a feeling, be guided by it.
Embrace it, learn from it.
Modern fast living has blinded our senses,
negated our intuition, enfeebled us to spiritual guidance.
Science does not hold all the cards.
Nature revers life and should in turn be revered.
You return to the earth, our first mother.
And mothers can be kind or harsh,
so observe kindness to all creatures, plants and people.
As above so below. Note that magic and religion are akin: both require belief that a miracle will occur.
And, remember when you sup with the Devil;
Use a long spoon.

Indefinite black pervades the air,
a darkened sun casts no shine
luminous black, like concrete surrounds you,
light is absent, Cimmerian shade is all.

Sonorous, sullied, sooty black cloaks all.
Shimmering, in the corner is a jet black,
obsidian hard sparkle, it's just a puddle.
A puddle made to sparkle in the street light.

A joyless sight in the darkness of a Stygian night.
Indistinct figures rush by, oblivious to the sparkling puddle.
Somber souls,mournfully groping homeward in the false electric light.
Home to a comfortless home, having failed to see the sparkle in the dark.

Suddenly, life comes crashing in
calling you to participate or leave.
Run or stay, either way life wins, you die in the end.
Spin that roulette wheel, red or black
place your bets, live or die.
What if living is a form of dying?
And dying a form of living?
Who are we to conform in this beautiful carousel of life?
Why do we have to live by rules?
Who made these rules?
Rules are made to be broken.
Hearts are made to be broken.
Why try? after all no one gets out of death alive.
And no one alive gets out of dying.