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 Aug 2012
Seán Mac Falls
Garden speaks to me,
Simple tale— all in one day,
Flowers follow sun.
I am a vessel
waiting to be filled with doubts and reason
waiting to hear the songs that wave in the atmosphere
let your influence flow so that we all can pollute our seasons

without a blend of innocence and curiosity
you cannot have clay that molds to your liking
at least not to your tasteless velocity
rushing away any thought of magic

at one point nothing needed definition
life was all and pure to the touch
connection gave us premonition
to a universe of one

Downwards is the direction of a new soul
to land and welcome the progress
purpose and destiny do not have their hold
for we question instead of taking the chance to cherish

Now a war exists to fight for the past
while building a narcissistic future
we grudge and we pride in a false ability to last
when the cycle and spiral is infinite

we are dust for now
energy to be
a dimensional vow
spoken continuously

I am a vessel
**Faded Fate**
As swift as they come our reality strikes
we try to define what is around us instead of just existing
we're always asking who made us and what goes beyond the stars
I used to question it all until I realized the truth
every choice that we make puts us on a path to a certain destiny
we make more than one choice to each question we come across
but a part of us is only conscious for one of the choices
because of the world we are in and the people that we are around
we have trouble focusing on all of the options that are acted out
so we look to the one that is easiest to see
we are universal
our own God
we construct all that we have
subconsciously we make everything happen in our movie that we play out
and our conscious acts it out
we come down to this universe as a gray
no tainted thoughts
no influence
no decisions made
completely pure and innocent
and as we live
we begin to gain a blend of black and white
balance is key
we continue an infinite cycle that only multiplies more and more
there is no end
and the beginning was only the beginning of a new thought
time is only a human thing
So one would ask if it never ends then what's the point?
The point is to continue the story
to live
to love
to be happy
Those are the cherished elements
the most powerful elements
they are the best of reality
the rest you must feel so that you may understand
so you may help others see too
we are here together
and when we die
we will still be together
though there will be distance between us
we all will still make a part of the balance
that is our purpose
To just.......be
**Faded Fate**
In the Beginning, there was only The Divine Song;
The vibration of which gave birth to the ether.
The ether coalesced
And begat the Great Evil.

It grew, and grew, and grew Greater still;
The Evil wanted to be God so it denied us free-will.

The Divine, being sublime, decided not to Fight,
For the Love that is ALL prevented the exercise of might.
The Evil appeared to overtake the Light.
Until The Divine whispered the words:

You shall NOT surely die!

T'was the antidote for the Original Lie.

His plan foiled, The Great Evil grew Angry
And he cursed all of Humanity for insulting his vanity.
The Divine could allow this, as it is his nature.
He still loved the Evil, it was his creation.

There was but one rule:

You may not deny them their Free-Will!

You may control the prophets.
You may tell them you are I.
You may command them to do whatever you wish.

You may even send MY son there to DIE!

You may command them to write down your words,
To worship you most high.
You may set up establishments all over the globe.
It will only be more of your lies.

No matter how you torture them on Earth,
They will NOT surely die!
 Aug 2012
Roger Turner - Poet
Sorting boxes, packing clothes
Assaulted by the past
When you stood and said forever
You both thought it would last
A jewellery box, a trinket here
A gift they never used
A present from five years ago
You smile, a bit bemused
The boxes fill, the tears arrive
You know it must be done
It's the one part of a person's life
That surely isn't fun
Textures and scents surround you
They take you back in time
To a place before computers
When a phone call cost a dime
You fill one box, put it aside
"Donations" on the side
You can picture every item
That you piled up inside
You put them in there lovingly
You didn't want to let them go
By releasing them into the box
It forced you to....you know
Accept that you're alone now
That your partner is not here
That the life you built together
Is now remembered by a tear
You gave things out to family
Though you do not know just why
They will stick them in a drop box
And that just makes you cry
You picture them inside the clothes
And you hear their laugh as you
Put magazines and tolietries
Inside Box number two
You put aside some things you like
To remember better days
Though you know that in the future
You'll remember through a haze
Time will mar your memories
Keep the good times, wipe the bad
You'll forget about the smile
And this really is quite sad
It takes days to sort the boxes
Fill the others, pack them all
By the time that you are finished
They will almost fill the hall
When complete you think on
What is in the totes
There's clothing, jewellery, memories
And magazines and notes
You don't know where to take them
You balance on a knife
The question here before you
How do you give away a life?
 Aug 2012
yanci colon
What a ferocious attempt,
Forces that closes, came up with a dent
Technological courses ideas that start to invent
"well done, good job money well spent"
Fate, sin, holy, evil either or believe to repent
Messages from the sky that were inpropperly sent,
Only caught the ears of a few, still didnt know what it meant
I'm sorry so here I'll start to lament
As I commence to intent
I just want you to know, I don't even know what I'm capable and what's its extent,
I inform you That what im about to present
Should only be kept in a mind blocked off in a tent
That message god sent:

The only reason you exist.. Is because god still has my gift of life that I had let lent...
 Aug 2012
Seán Mac Falls
The fly makes his way through the house.
Its tongue, like billions before, is tainting  
All it touches.  The fly has wings to spread  
His mess, and though he has innumerable  
Facets to his eyes he cannot see  
The swatter coming.

The house surrounds the fly and is sacred.
As the great blue world beyond is sacred.   
And the fly is spreading fast, flitting here  
And sticking there trampling his own  
Shelter, spreading pollution and excrement  
With a rolling tongue  

That spews and spits upon his own home.   
And though he is happy while he soils  
His house his eyes are two dead worlds  
Barren and still, born to die by the hand  
That flies even higher, so, the fly cannot  
See the swatter coming.

Buzzing, like a burn, through the innocent  
Air he dreams of vast minions rooting  
His world with legion hands.  The house was  
A garden that led him in, he cannot  
Wait for his seed to fester, all's he needs  
Are God’s green plants  

And clean water, some fresh air to conquer.
This house was made for him he would have  
Himself believe.  But when all has dried  
And all is soiled the fly would wish to move  
On, if only he could, trapped as he is  
In the earth and wooden house.

He could taste it all, oblivious to oblivion
In God’s green wooded world— all spinning,  
The sands are running in the sacred home  
That he himself has always defiled,  
As he has never shown any grace;
The swatters hand is His  
Own hand.
 Aug 2012
Seán Mac Falls
You've asked me how can I see a future when love, in all
Its numinous beauty, is waning?
I reply, the immortal stars still shine above the veil of clouds.
You say, why are the salmon swimming to their pools of origin
Only to die as they spawn?  Only to die?
I tell you their love is unconditional, like mine.
You ask me did the giant sequoia know it was shelter for the burning grasses
When they walked from the seas?  I reply yes they knew.
You question me about the lofty snow cranes that fly over the Himalayas
And I reply by describing
How the priestly flocks, chanting on their mission, honk—
Announcing the mantle steps to the heavens.
You inquire about the elephantine manatees gracing the shallow banks
And wonder if the sea mermaids remember their lives beyond the latitudes
Of capricorn and cancer?
Or you’ve discovered in the wind a new reasoning as to why
The talons of the paired eagles lock in midair as they court?
You want to understand the nimbus garden, ocean slate, of lake Titicaca
Where resides the Andean sea horse gliding above the clouds?
The whales that circle dance in unison collecting krill?
The noetic display of the birds of paradise, the songs of nameless creatures
Playing in the wilderness like a forgotten melody only lovers lips remember?

I want to tell you that true love knows this, that life in its
Prismatic shimmer is all the myriad colours of infinite existence wrapped
In time to the sublime structure of white and bones.  I must tell you
That the flower is mighty in its opening, the humming bird is a sorcerer
Who needles ambrosia with vortex wings weaving his way to the Gods.

But I am nothing beside your disbelief which has arrived, before
I can even imagine the sweet awakening, like doom, my shell is the iridescent
Hollow of the one eyed Abalone, discarded in the deep fathoms
Of the ocean pressures.

I swim the tides as you do, investigating
The endless tendril seas,
And in my chest, during the night, I woke up empty,
The only thing treasured, a golden face
Trapped inside my dreams.

                                                                   
                              ­                                                      — after Neruda
 Aug 2012
Seán Mac Falls
Leaves dance as they die, birds sing as they fly.  Where is weeping?
Why such silence in the exploding heavens?  I know the desert thrives
At night, I know the ocean depths have light, what's left is always right
And the sun is stored in cells as the crystals are growing in the frosts.
Don't you hear the music that runs cross the tracks?  Can't you see
The Sirens floating on their backs?  Bound to a ship that tips and flays
About the maelstrom we are spinning bobs to the edge, we are blind
By our own hands.  The shape is the binding journey and all around us
The feet are worn with miles and leagues as many have been moved;
As many do make what was always ready to be born like a new voice
Ringing in the colour of absolution and truth.  The maiden Earth is all
A blossom, and our tears, are a salt ocean and death is a supernova,
Death is a Star.  Is those around us the shaping of the hardware?
We are born unto a crown of thorns.
Our tender skin rendered vulnerable
to self-made deities, rambling idols.
Our minds are roped and tied, binding
our thoughts with punishments.
Punishments disguised as pathways of love.

What love is brought into this world, when love is
taught by the bloodshed of others. What people
are created with love made from threats
of searing flesh? When did love become less
about acceptance and more about separating
those deemed worth and unworthy?

Gods of fear curse our world with tainted
versions of love. We are forced to our knees
before the power of an almighty being unknown
to mankind. In searching for purpose, we have forsaken
our freedom. We fall victim to the fears that numb our
brains liked "Grade A"  pharmaceuticals.

If your god is almighty, all loving, and all seeing,
why does he rule without mercy? Why does he
require full and complete submission as the only
pathway to him?

We go to war under the guise of bringing freedom.
Our politicians preach out from mountains our right
to freedom and free will. But when the votes are cast,
and the campaigns are run, we scuttle home to spread the
single most imprisoning ideological mindset to others.

Why fight for freedom,
when we give it away so willing
to a man behind smoke and mirrors?
The thoughts of a girl raised in a Catholic household, sent to Catholic school her whole life, with nothing but hypocritical beliefs forced down her throat by con artists in robes.
From birth children are told that love is bowing before an almighty god.
Bowing before their parents, priests, and teachers. Instilled with fear
of going to a fiery hell unless they believe what is laid out before them.

Is it a wonder how our world has turned out?

Tell me a truth I cannot challenge. Can you do it?
Well, with me, no. I will question and challenge everything.
It is with my curiosity that I take in the beauty of life, it is with this
curiosity that my perception changes from a fearful child to
an empowered, hopeful, and critical thinking adult.

I have not turned to science, but is more solace found there?

Scientists are not looked upon with fear the way gods are.
Scientists tell us of the enormity of the universe, how we connect
to it and are already a part of it. Instead of handing us impending
apocalypses, it hands us a galaxy that can support life for 30 billion more years.

So why not turn to science?
Because, once science told us the earth was flat.

Challenge your world.
Never stop asking questions.
Take not religion as your decider.
Take not science as your crutch.
Sit in silence and use what you find
within yourself to judge and perceive
this life. Here you will find freedom.
Here you will find personal truth.
Inspired heavily by Science Saved My Soul by Phil H.
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