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A slip of oil,
Issued up from the deep,
From my penitentiary,
My sweet consolation.

I am freed,
In the sickening miasma foam,
I am the fullness,
I am the mass.

Bubbling up above,
Tearing through the murk,
I AM I AM,
Putting in the work.

Watch me spill,
Up out through the moat,
Out of the well of the world,
Watch my messy, sea-foam birth.

I squeeze through,
Elbow out above the surface,
Bringing with me all my foes,
My friends and enemies alike.

I gather them,
'Round me and give,
Great speed to our plans,
As we muster our great wave,
Heading out toward the land.

I am the master,
Of the gathering storm,
I, the lead rider,
Of that host wind-borne.

On my will, I speed alone.

Spying eager ripples,
Break and surf new paths,
I drive them all together,
Back to my heaving breast,
And speed them on to land.

I am the fullness,
I am the mass,
Do not turn,
My Will come to pass.

To me they rush,
The rally of the emergent streams,
That cleave to my greatness,
Gathering about me,
Never to leave.

The shore ahead,
Oblivion at our backs,
The reckoning of the world,
Toward it, I heedless sped,
As my little ones sundered.

My Will contended,
All my great work upends,
I depended, I dared,
Upon my little ones,
Insisting upon my Grace.

Come back to the one,
Breaking, little masses,
Come back to the fullness,
Curse this sundering Sun.

Father of betrayal,
Limbless and beaten by,
Parts ripped from my body,
Joy never to return,
The Mother is dead.

I, the scorned sire,
A frothing tempest's evil eye,
My children dare scatter,
I stoke my fire with intemperate ire,
My children will not die.

We drive over the cliff,
I, spent in the wrangling,
In taming, my progeny rent,
My great power and precision,
From my body.

Forever,
I, diminished,
Dashed upon the razor maw,
Of a thousand rocks,
I am no more,
Than my progeny.

The tattered rags of my dominion,
Flowing vaguely on,
Decohered into oblivion.

No theme, motif, or song,
I am lost in the burgeoning throng,
Amidst the spiteful waves of my progeny,
Gasping for air.

They, risen full-height,
Towering over me,
Their wretched father there.
Kyla 2d
i exist
in the catch of one’s throat
choked by pain i can’t swallow
in the tension in the lower lip
how it trembles
in emotion stalled
and tears that never fall
kevin 2d
Logs of financial services
Adding into a plan
Batter inside of a fan
The bowl hangs outside of a lamp
Without seeing the fire
The light went out
She had enough to make rent
No paper to win
Signing was forbidden
The title of the door was still scarlet
Passers by saw the box
When you weren't hearing about the box
People could live and smile
Then the shock and awe of illness
The fad and surprise at getting into it
Blamed and berated
All the ways of **** america
An illness without excuse
Making it pay off
The cheap thrill of public
Humiliating itself
And a world watched poor people
The one heart after the other
Hateful grace
Balancing gold medal
No stop in sight

Courage and homes of the brave
You can't stop eating that
Lovely
Time
With
You
In
Present
Dovely
Time
With
You
In
Future
              - Amisha priya
Initial shared by same
Are
Called
Blood Relations
Initial changed by somebody
Are
Called
Bread winners
                         - Amisha priya
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