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 Jan 2016 SJ
Black Jewelz
There lives a woman who
Seems mystical, even mythical
--It is true--
Because she is biblical;
Rarer than a precious jewel.

She is virtuous
She is loyal
She is courteous...

She is royal.

She shines brilliantly, like a star cluster trapped inside a room.
She glistens like jubilant sun rays dancing atop the ocean.
The wind of her voice sets inspiration in motion,
Like a sonic boom.

She is powerful.

She is virtuous,
Who is worthy? Just
Wonder & coil
In a corner & toil
As you ponder this.
And honor this
Acknowledgment,

Because she is royal.

Don't dare compare her to the likes of
Nefertiti or Isis.
They are not so estimable,
You couldn't buy her even with a million zeros before the decimal,
Because...

She is priceless.

So the King adorned her,
Because the King adores her.

She is beautiful, so they say,
But such a meager word could not suffice,
Because her true charm emanates like waves
In the ardent expression of her practice of life.
And from her mind and her soul.
Her precious heart--more precious than gold--
Looks like a kaleidoscope of rare gems,
Darting dazzling colors; the spectrum in whole.

Diamonds die in comparison,
Hand her a diadem...

She is special
She is jovial
She is gentle

She is royal.

She is not haughty,
Nor does she flaunt like worldly wenches do.
She tells girls who've been told they're peasants they can be a princess too.
She is not naughty,
Nor does she taunt like wanton vixens do...

Because she is godly.

Yes, indeed there lives a woman who
Seems mystical, even mythical
--But it is true--

She is virtuous,

She is royal...

She is you.
Written for a woman I adore. Not my wife or girlfriend or anything like that. Just someone I knew.
 Jan 2016 SJ
Chloe Zafonte
Toxic
 Jan 2016 SJ
Chloe Zafonte
Certain people are like snake bites, toxic deadly, once they're  gone you feel great again.
 Jan 2016 SJ
Ja
SOUL SURVIVOR
 Jan 2016 SJ
Ja
MAY LOVE FILL YOUR HEART
AND JOY FILL YOUR DAY
HERE"S WISHING YOU HAVE
A HAPPY BIRTHDAY

Hope you have a lovely lovely day
 Jan 2016 SJ
Matt
No Work Is Done
 Jan 2016 SJ
Matt
Appear here
Reappear there

No work is done
I am not seeking fame

Or claiming credit

When the end comes
For America

I'll be standing on some
Trail somewhere

And in those final hours
I'll dream of meeting
A kind and caring woman

And if she does not come

So be it I suppose
I'll sit on a stump
And eat my granola bar

Somewhere secluded
The cool mountain air
Feels wonderful
 Jan 2016 SJ
Akemi
There is a void outside my window.
Pitch cascading into itself.
No. I am mistaken.
It is just night.
Someone was knocking on my door at some point.
Nipah. Nipah.
Nevermind.
A curious hollow groan runs through the house.
Perhaps a tap is being turned.
Hiss.
A moth catches in a stream. Wet dust clambers for existence, affirmed in the moment of death.
Sometimes it escapes.
There is a glow.
A streetlamp lights up the void, strong enough to reveal a small part of the world, but too weak to remove the grain. The noise of existence.
Blood rushes through vessels. Neurons fire.
Silence is merely the body experiencing itself. The self subverted into the other.
Oh. I have slept through the day.
A train rumbles in the distance, sonorous and bleak.
A bird cries out into the void.
Nothing responds.
A miasma blankets the city.
The choke of lack.
6:13am, January 24th 2016

the void the void the void the void the void the void the void the void the void the void the void the void the void the void the void the void the void the void the void the void the void the void the void the void the void the void the void the void the void the void the void the void the void the void the void the void the void the void the void the void
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