What would I give for a heart of flesh to warm me through,
Instead of this heart of stone ice-cold whatever I do;
Hard and cold and small, of all hearts the worst of all.

What would I give for words, if only words would come;
But now in its misery my spirit has fallen dumb:
O, merry friends, go your way, I have never a word to say.

What would I give for tears, not smiles but scalding tears,
To wash the black mark clean, and to thaw the frost of years,
To wash the stain ingrain and to make me clean again.

There were once men, playing a lying game.
They had no heart, they knew no shame.
Like Sirens, what their songs told,
were stories of flesh on beds of gold.

Merely this, is what their songs were about,
for wine and flesh they lusted sparing doubt.
For all their bubbles, fizzle, show and gleam,
true love for them was but a funny little dream.

Some, it is true, had  the voices of blue suede kings.
Yet, danced on rubble, coughing smoke, 'n' kissing rings.
Thankfully, their lyrics were quite naturally cold,
faintly sparkling true hearts, despite their gold.

No songs can, in the spirit, ever remain,
or one's path meaningfully ingrain,
unless dotted by a hearty blood stain.

Still, some blind and sleepy were enticed,
those who dropped their heart, who'd lost their *****.
Much like a robber, who rests his gun in a heist.

Others, scrambled to plug their ears
wishing to avoid both song 'n' tears.
They knew not, that when fighting fear,
'tis not enough to keep it from getting near.

Simply stuffing their ears with wax,
failed to fade the hottest new tracks,
cause tanks groove on these tracks.

As tanks, they pop 'n' roll till you die.
Therefore... relax, pick your time, and lie,
not to your conscience, but on the ground,
so they pass over you, leaving you safe 'n' sound.

"You cannot fear what you haven't tried."
Remember, Odysseus wasn't deaf, only tied.

He, chose to fight and listen to the Sirens' songs,
using threads of logic, to keep from snapping their thongs.
Tightroping on wrong, he but fell to the song.
He wailed and spat, yet, somehow grabbed the gong.

And after a short but needed rest, after this soul defining test,
he did not lament the virgins lost, but carried on with his quest.
He, knew the lying men and their calls were real,
but to forms he didn't kneel, nor aimed to cut a deal.

He, stuck to his dreams doing his best to warn and tell the rest,
that though Sirens charm, they harm. "'Tis Ithaca who gives zest.'"

So, next time you see the chanting men of lies,
and their enchanting plastic bunnies in bow ties,
know that rhyme and shine may polish coal,
but listening to your heart should be the goal.
*"With a twist of logic to correct your steer,
you will run through fear, and forever, keep it rear."

The yellowed dome cracks upon the surface
Of the moistened soil that stretches  to make
Their way, emphatically filling most base
Space between dried stubs of flesh - never fake
Fruitless fingers - cracking, brushing, but now
Healing by comforting the path I pursue
          With the wake of the rooster.

Home left warming behind, I gallantly
Saunter toward more humid, fume-fed airs
While leaving the thoughts that so quaintly
Filled my head, forgot to ingrain, and failed,
          Allowing growth to myself.

Sun hung, high-noon, the dew fades all too soon
Creating a creaky concoction kept
Together (of sounds) by bare breaking-bones
Feet against gravel, dusty, rocky steps.

Sky set so wearisome and pink, I fall
To my knees in the midst of high terrain
Marked by thin grasses and rolling hill plains;
As I beg for mercy, not from this all-
Endowed sight, but from God(s) who seem only
To make this life right - I'll collapse further,
My hands move mountainous dirt and holy
Diadems of twig, while I decide - worth
          When shall I dig?

The law said her body was made for love
The kind of love that wants to show you
just how much it loves you
by sticking things inside of you

hard
fast

Then slower

The kind of love that wanted to make the bible blush
make you quiver; the
kind of love when you put a female and male hamster together.
The kind of love that wanted to make music out of your ******

Love said "This is what happens
when you use
Needles to ingrain the words love
on peoples skin"

It feels a lot like pain did

Like when the first boy you ever loved
said I love you back
And proved it because he held you after
sticking sticky things inside of you
Like how he said hed wait untill you were ready
then said "You're gonna make me wait forever.."

How that guy on the third date said
"Come back to my apartament
So I can put what I want into you
Until you are empty
Because we might call it love"

Until you met a boy
who untaught what the word love meant
never asked you when you wanted to have ***
whose hands never roamed as greedily
searching for places to settle on your body
who didnt wish to make a home out of you by filling you senseless
and calling it his furniture
art
who traced outlines of constellations on the palms of your hands
and played
"Guess the Nebula"

Whose hardness never prodded you in the back
like a protest
in the early morning
whose breath always came easy
never hard
or fast

It was just holding you with no intention to
*******

He said
"Love isnt what you put inside a person
In hopes of making it stick;and naming it after something beautiful
I can pin my thoughts on you but
you are not my canvas. That wouldnt be fair.
I respect your property."

There was nothing broken when he left.

these feet, a rambler's. wanderlust
soles tied from genetics of the epi-
kind. his feet did ramble so as these
now do. his difference, he trek'd with
steel shunt in arm. he trek'd slums'
floors. grit-ingrain'd skin, pox'd wh-
olly and now pushing onlys. pushing
ash against the walls of Death's
container. body aged thru time,
more than doubled - more like
end'd - by that refined infusion.
these feet, a rambler's. walking forth
existences' hundred-mile wilderness.
his feet had also, and his feet defer'd
before sixty-six. these continuing
onward searching ancient trails. loo-
king to start another day, looking
for to never quit seeking another
day before the unlit walls of Death.
before the darkness consuming
of depths never known, always near.
these feet, a rambler's. of well-worn
leather. relinquish'd of cares, desire
or ambitions by brambles strangling.
blood running by access of natural
means. slate ****'d soles, crevices
open'd of the crust throwing chal-
lenges toward the sky. heights im-
aginable if only to forsake lazed
calves. heights set for disappearing,
where tracks never lead. no wrong
side in non-existence, no wrong
sight for the rambling feet worn lea-
ther.

Her small round face stares back at her
Blinking blue eyes in the bright blue light and
She looks around knowing it’s wrong but not daring to ask why
While chubby pale fingers type in the line
“Chat rooms for kids”

She know that she is not yet old enough to be here
She’s only nine but she checks the box to assure the website that, yes,
She is 18 years old or above and, yes,
She understands that there is adult content present inside of this room and, yes,
Child **** is not permitted beyond this door.

But to a nine year old these letters on the page are meaningless.
She doesn’t know what adult content is or even how to
Pronounce the word ******* precisely.
All she knows is that in a matter of clicks
She will mean something.
She will mean something, and she will have worth.
She will be loved and cared for and praised and called a
Good girl, a
Babygirl, a
Kitten, a
Beautiful
Stunning
Delicious looking darling.

She learns new vocabulary terms but instead of words like
C-C-Contrast or
T-T-Typical or
D-D-Difficult
She begins to ingrain in her brain new and exciting words like
C-C-**** or
T-T-**** or
D-D-****.
She even learns how to use these fancy adult-y adultery words in a sentence like
“How big is your C-C-****?” and
“I don’t have T-T-**** yet” and
“I want to touch your D-D-****”.
And with every letter her tiny hands typed out, more and more men
Flocked to her DMs, ready to give her all the love she could ever need if only
In exchange for a couple of things…
Will you do a dance for me?
Will you say this sentence for me?
Why don’t you take your shirt off for me?
Show me what such a big girl can do with that P-P-*****.

And she continues to learn new things such as that
ASL means age, ***, location and that anything above 7 inches is
A good and impressive and “wow” thing and that
If she does what these men on the screen ask her to then
She will make them happy, which makes her happy, which means that she has done good.
And she learns that certain ways she moves makes them happier
And certain poses she can do allows them to show her their magic trick.
She doesn’t know how the magic trick works but it doesn’t matter because
When they perform their magic trick they thank her
And praise her and say nice things to her and
That’s all she really wanted.

She found a home in that cream colored background of
Www . chatavenue . com and she knew that even when the world
Was against her sweet, innocent nine year old self that she could
Turn to that blinking cursor and type a few letters and be able to
Feel loved.
And that was all she really wanted.

It's people like me who can rule the world,
just by knowing simple little things like Fear.
Fear is one of the main driving forces behind all of mankind's actions.
Fear eternal torment? **** up to "God."
Fear the unknown? Deny it or mock it.
Fear superiors? Make yourself the superior one.
Without fear we won't do anything,
with fear we can only get worse as a species;
We're really slowly moving towards constantly fearing everything;
Especially each other.
Along with things known like;
No humans are equal.
With differing talents, differing thoughts, differing opinions,
how can we claim to be the same?
The strong will enslave the weak,
humanity will revert to olden times,
with fear we deny yet again, though it matters not.
The only question is, who will be strong and who will bow down?
the basics of human nature will come back,
Dominant verses submissive mindsets,
manipulators verses manipulated,
corruption verses purity.
People like me don't have much to worry about;
People always naturally follow and listen to me, and if they don't;
I can be forceful.
I'm a master organizer and networker,
throwing together alliances, plans of revolution, takeover,
by the time the sun rises.
Differences are seen in how you train your people,
much like dogs at that point, with either fear or affection.
Affection and care yields listening and following,
kind cooperation and content with and for a likeable face and likeable words.
Ingrain fear, order,  into them and reap the profits,
they'll listen because they have to, and won't revolt because they fear what would happen.
I wouldn't hurt 'em (usually),
I'm highly capable of doing damage;
It's important they know that.
Throw a demonstration of power, knowledge, in once and a while,
so they don't get used to me, and boom;
With all of this you have an overlord.
I don't think I'm a bad person though,
people like me are just human-smart.

questioning the soul, questioning
the mind. why did that girl have
to have so many strokes? how
skew'd is the memory? spirits,
spirits on high for nigh recurrence -
nihil remembrances. mention'd by
name once. something wrong with
the body. disconnecting from on
high, disconnecting in a somewhat
general sense. no straight lines in
nature, no chaos in nature. get away
from the species' mentality. chaos.
c-h-a-o-s. chaos. chaos. species created
word to organize the unorganized.
straight line, polygon, order, chaos. time.
species ingrain'd, call'd instinct. to file,
to follow, to seek originality through
unoriginality. thru the banal. memory
warp'd, once could live. self-destruction
and a thought of living life without
affecting the choices of others. weakness.
chaos. rambling. tryptamine influenced
creation of language. showing teeth,
trying to intimidate. trying to rise, a
Jane of the Jungle form of archetype.
the passionate, caring, forbearing,
ape hunter. and lids sinking, closing off
the soul of influence. struggling thru
connections severed. those released from
******* by soul's recollections. by
metaphysical muscle memory. weeping
chaos, wailing order. finding null purpose
in. in. of all things. all people, all purpose.
knowing the worthlessness of well-chosen
words. and gaining access, and
trying to rise, and thirteen lines to stretch.
thirteen to fill across.

This poem is written by Majd Al Deen and I ...
I wish you consider it as well as enjoy it

               ☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Every time I look around
And ponder the things we obtain
listening to the winds sound
coming from beyond the terrain

Filling my soul from inside
Brushing all the stress and pain
Opening my eyes on a side
That we are all a brain

Not only does an ***** feed on blood supplies
But It's how you stay sane
It's where your personality lies
It's where the great thoughts ingrain

We search for miracles
And we have one; our heads maintain
Nerve cells with the shape of verticals
Are that only what brains contain ?

Our souls lie within
We try not to let them drain
Our dreams, our memories are all in
They are like an unlimited chain

We love, we live, we write our story with a pen
On a marvelous paper called a brain
Our blood is our ink
And it keeps circultaing all over again

You receive,  it responds
That is why we feel pain
But emotions are like ponds
Happiness, passion and the excitement we gain

In the most difficult predicaments
You tend to use your brain
With it you overcome impediments
Which makes your way plain !

10% is all what we use
But don't you ever complain
It's a gift that we shouldn't abuse
However, a gem you must retain

I am not a innocent little boy
Yet not a devil’s advocate
I am man at the very nature
With fallible qualities ingrain
Walking along with other artist
Wearing many masks to entertain
Some times is in role of husband
Often wandering like obedient son
At times walking along like a friend
A loving brother, hardworking worker
Or else in a coat of orthodoxy frame
I play all roles when they call me up
Trying to remember each dialogue,
Each act, each emotion, each spotlight
And when the next act is to being, I run
Behind the stage to change the costume
Change my make up, my thoughts on play
Run up again enact again, do the performance
Go down and change, come back for next
Living life like drama, each person u meet
You have new mask in place, new act
To perform , new emotion to emote and
Leave impression for better or worst..
And face away after the curtain call

I’ve walked on fire and thorns
Forgotten what the ground feels like
Every step I took were upon my wounded soles
How does a caged bird know to fly?

I rattled my gates every day
They were strong, metallic and I wasn’t strong
Every lift off was in vain,
How foolish was I to think, to the sky I belonged?

I, like a mother for her child, wanted more
To see within my veins, my being flourish at the mere tune
Every note was becoming a part of a song
How quick was I to dream of this music as a boon?

I feel that rumble inside me
My hunger, anger and desire upon my own pyre
Every day I wish for that first day again
How can I ingrain my liberty from this quagmire?