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Rejoice, muses, for the traveler, descended from his namesake:
Odysseus, son of Archon. For he carries in him the spirit of his ancient father.
Time immortal has lost the tale of the ancient King of Ithaca,
Odysseus, son of Laertes. This explorer will travel the stars,
The vast Unknown shall know his name, and he will know it's spirit  
As his ancestor traveled home from Ilias
His way inhibited by the gods
Meeting strangers along the twisted road.

Odysseus, son of Archon, rests upon his Captain's throne
Observing through the glass the void which called his name:
"Come, Traveler. Come, Adventurer. Come to me,
And all which is unknown will be known.
Come and see, Traveler, and I will set you free.
There are no endings here; no edges of the map.
There is only that which has always been, and will always be"

The Captain: alone in his ship. No crew would follow him, no crew was needed.
He was afraid. Odysseus knew his choice was made, and
He knew what lay ahead! He knew that he knew nothing.
A push was needed, and to his log he spoke:

"I embark today from home. This journey will take me far away;
Farther than any man before. I begin at mother Earth, and I go out and away.
Away from Mars, the crimson orb of furious war
Past Neptune, the super giant with its swirling eye.
All of this behind me, I will continue still.
I will follow the Unknown, to the vast beyond."

With that, the Traveler ****** forward the controls,
And in so doing, lost all reservation.
For seemingly innumerable days he did not stop,
Streaking away from home faster than light;
An arrow, which was not released but which leaped forth with joy.
Not fired away in anger, but shot into the stars, ablaze,
Seeking a place in which to bury its point.
A signal to all who saw or cared: man is coming.
 Oct 2015 Jesse Madison
vivianne
gold lights light the city
the softness in the curves of your face
remind me of the security in innocence
you take a flower off a tree
dangling right above your gold head
and you put it in my hair
gently as if everything were made of glass
when the petals are in my hair
you call me angel
i take your hand in mine
you kiss me on the forehead
i feel like gold when i am with you
i feel like you, and you are my treasure
you are gold
i am so obsessed lately
This is definitely not a love poem.
by
Jude Kyrie

Don’t take this as a love poem.
I do not care to relive our moments.
Like when I saw you for the first time.
And the songs of angels rang in my heart.

I will never write a love poem for you again.
Like when we sheltered from the spring rain
Below a maple tree in olive greens
And the colour of its leaves
Were the exact colour of your eyes.

I am finished with silly love poems
And will never mention again
How I stop and my heart skips a beat
when I hear a laugh
exactly like yours.
Or see a woman from behind
and her hair is burnished gold
Just like I remember yours.

I am now quiet over you.
In fact I hardly ever think of you anymore.
Except perhaps in blossoming springtime.
But then I should never think of springtime.
For that would surely
break my heart in two.
 Oct 2015 Jesse Madison
mike dm
first comes the awe
then

the some

you
know
nothing

and that's something

yuh know??
 Oct 2015 Jesse Madison
Tea
purpose
 Oct 2015 Jesse Madison
Tea
at the end of the day
all that remains
is what you have done
and not what was shown,
along with two strong arms
that you can call home.
the last few lines of a bigger piece
"things that I've learned and should never forget"
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