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He was created to be destroyed.

He was invited to be denied,
and when the ice melted his anger,
and when the fire froze his joy,
he watched the sea swallow his love...
He watched the sea swallow his love.

Due to unintended mirth,
He complied to fate without worth,
He witnessed a damnable birth,
A thing with sinful girth.

He worshiped it still,
until he lost his will,
swallowing pill for thrill,
every **** for the mill,
to be ground into waste.

Even the moon was draped in slime,
even the sun ran out of time,
even the stars lost their shine,
even beauty no longer sublime.

I was there when he took his life,
I watched with hunger--holding knife,
to devour what was left,
a box of cereal; ate and left.

He wonders continually in another realm,
wondering at fore of helm:
why spit out of life like phlegm?

He was destroyed to be created.
Just wrote this, so I don't have much to say about it.

However, I will say that life is dangerous when you surrender your will to forces that either do not care for your happiness or that cannot care (inanimate things) for your happiness.

So we're talking about false-gods, *** (lust) and ***** (drugs).
Anyone who has given themselves over to those things will tell you the same story, or they will lie to you so that they can continue to lie to themselves, because if they wake up, they will die from the pain.
He was leather clad hero
Always ready for action
She was a gypsy queen,
Fresh off the scene.
Together, they were unseparable
Alone, they never were again
A vision of white light emitted
from their souls
She brought happiness to him
and the same of him to her
Physically apart, their souls still touching
Together they breed happiness
in a world of non-believers.
Charlie and D sitting in a tree, Henry VIII comes along, chops down the tree.*

part of me constantly and perversely anticipates
what Islam holds dear, the cult of the moon
rather than the sun - sleeping nudges of inquiry
and reminiscence of Freud rather than this constant
pulverisation of scientific safety-nets -
the sun and the scam of diet - Narcissus myth
all too apparent, too self-conscious to feed
the beauty, laboratory type beauty,
statistician's paradise - sun and skin cancer collective,
i'm not an Arab, and i never will be,
but this sort of weather and jet-stream excess isn't
exactly helping either - Einstein might have
saved you from exacting the thought process
(never experiment with it, never)
behind Newtonian cause & effect, but this ****
isn't going away, and you won't be exactly barnacle
jumping mad with Jack & Jill if you voice your
concerns; for all that urbanity the village life
is having a comeback - hello brick, hello tree,
hello tomorrow: the day of never-be -
the Spaniards had a second try at an inquisition
via Gibraltar - the Scots sailed to Brussels -
the village life is having a comeback -
the Americans are hoarding guns prior to enacting
scenes from Bastille Sq. with the guillotine -
they don't know it yet, but they're hoarding guns
to topple the government over - elsewhere
a bunch of Palestinians were throwing stones
at bullseyes for a fluffy toy in a theme park.
So much time has come and gone,
Yet I still feel like you’re the one,
The person who is meant to be
With me, and only me.
Here we are at an impasse
Not quite sure if even our friendship will last,
But nevertheless I grasp onto it still
Trying to forget what I feel.
And somewhere you are doing fine
Completely happy that you’re not mine
Living with other regrets
But none that deal with our past.
And here I am, still crying out
Wish I knew what this was all about
Wondering if I will ever be okay
And when this pain with go away.
Ajoke, daughter of moremi,
Beauty is a predicament in your lineage,
Your beauty bring out star at night,
Stars even told the Wisemen about it.

The beauty that runs in your blood,
Mama kola makes a lot of profit at dawn,
When men gathered to drink and speak of
Your beauty.
Each making a bet to have you.


Ajoke, your ęwa(beauty)  is angelic,
Your tiny voice is mellific,
Your dimples is intoxicatic,
Your ostrich legs so charismatic.

But your beauty is delusive,
Think not that a derisive,
I must be Ilucinating!
Stop appearing in my dreams,
Come to my reality!
This joy is one to have.
This joy is one to know.
This joy was once a calf,
Into ox it soon will grow.

I've made up my mind about darkness,
And made it up about the light as well,
So when the darkness wears a dress,
Although it hurts, I'll send it to jail.

My heart won't pine for lust,
Its silver sheen won't rust,
Its daggered teeth won't injure,
Its pretty mouth won't whimper,
But when it's had enough drink,
Of the nonsense in this life,
It will spread irrepressible joy,
Knowledge of God not strife.
I actually prayed before this for the power to write a good poem.
I'm glad I was given this to share, I like the rhyme and the rhythm :)
 Jul 2016 Finley in Despair
Moose
There is another option
                                 And it's still quite taboo
                              But it just might help greatly

                                    Perhaps for even you

                     Or perhaps

            You will lose your mind
         At least what lies remaining
All your thoughts and all your dreams
         Could rapidly start draining
    The memories that you've clung to
          At once flung out the door
    But it truly may not matter much
        
      You won't remember any more
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