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One must believe in something be he misanthrope or gambler
In tomorrows omniscience or the future proof of God
The penance in a drunk's decay sets self destruct's imposer
Wether speaker phone's on disconnect or cellphone's in the bog.

Conveyance of a threat to adherents of St Selfwise
Show atheist's are proof here, in belief of disbelief,
Haunted by the images painting painful retribution
Picture sympathetic **** star's allocated hand relief.

A moments allocation of a syllogist abstraction
Shows perspective of the caliber we now reserve for Saints
A paradox regarded as autistic fascination
In a one act play of living disregarding all restraints.

Deliberately indicative of fraternal heat's expression
Notebook at the ready and deep frowning at the brow,
Question definition's collage of confusion's contribution
Do we sit it out pretending or just catch the late bus now?

M.
13 February 2014
© 2014 Marshal Gebbie
A conveyance of a threat to adherents of St Selfwise...An invented saint for the Age of the Self Righteous!
Both a mockery and a mirror.
"Do we sit it out pretending or just catch the late bus now?"
A perfect existential shrug!
This one's got teeth, and it bites with purpose.
An oldie but a goody....and I was three parts cut when I wrote it!

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ
Your approval I used to seek                                                             ­   but  that  gave you power over me                                                               ­Taking my life back made you weak                                                             ­  I  opened my eyes up, now I can see                                                         I'm  not like you, nor do I want to be                                                    you  made  me  ashamed of being me                                                      I  broke  away, you can't catch me                                                               ­   I  don't feel lonely, I feel free                                                             ­                 So full of judgement, peppered with hate                                                             ­                                       your  jealousy  made  me  feel  second rate                                                             ­                                              My  wall  is up, I locked the gate                                                             ­     from here, I see you, as you deflate                                                         How  does it feel to be all alone                                                            ­I  couldn't live under a dome                                                             ­            I  am sure I won't be the only one                                                              ­           to  experience  your heart of stone
Let hate become a feather
- Light as air
In the midst of the storm
- Let it fly away
So that if you look for it
You will not find it there
- Let hate become
Light as air and float away
Isaace 7d
Who are you? Who goes there? What's going on in here?

What is this? Where are we? How can this situation be rectified?

I must head home now and recommence my slumber and then recommence my daily routine which involves business and transaction.

Where is the sky? Why is it so dark? There is no wind. This silk conforms to the malice of my twisted features and to the protrusions of my warped physiology. Why am I within a cocoon?
Concepts go to things
Things return to concepts

The thing itself, the vessel, the concept

Incomplete completeness
Complete incompleteness
The empty house of concepts and things
A cup of wine drunk in that house
That is the beginning of poetry

Before the mirror
One sees not one's own image
But the world in which one stands
If
That is not seen
They are not a poet
But a wastepaper dealer
—it is money alone.
Jasper 7d
I feel like dying. It would be so easy. To give up on this.
But I can't.
Something's restricting me.
I still feel like dying.
Living is like crying. Try to hold it back. I never can.
It burns.
Somebody come.
Please.
Help. Please. Help.

Nobody's coming.
The smoke doesn't fly high enough.
Nobody knows Morse.
I'm sure the Morse code could've been more cleverly imbued but I was in a rush
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