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Visionless is no way to be:
having sight, yet unable to see.
Soul's blindness that's dark and deep
indicates your spirit is fast asleep.

Use the Word to ignite your inner spark
and awaken your slumber by the Lord's Light.
To have Life's purpose and meaning for self
promotes character and personal delight.

Having vision is intended for all,
so get fitted with some new glasses.
Accomplishments are attainable, provided you're
willing to use God's Word, while getting off your....
From my book: Reaching Towards His Unbounded Glory
The ISBN is: 1-4196-5051-3

Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/
Eshwara Prasad Feb 2023
The world becomes apparent when the unlit eyes receive the visionless light.
zebra  Jan 2019
Eternity
zebra Jan 2019
the seduction of eternity

ice house Shekinah
sad hag with a revolver
a carnival of skinned rats and bullets
during the blood soil days

pets left on the dark side of the moon
a deluge of morality in a palace of tears
structures of consciousness under compression

the tongue of eternity
a veiled Eros licking
blood shot distant moons
flickers a selfish dream serenade
pollen of discontent
like a pregnant superhero
dressed in a candy wrapper
treading a visionless ezoic brain

bugs; war zones of memes and genes

all matter is metaphor
near death objects
meteors of grinning spiked crowns

we are memetic plucked limbs, clawed minds
sulfurous dust
short lived bloated yolks
mice in a supermarket with tape worms
and a trade mark

we are something boiling
we are memetic plucked limbs, clawed minds
sulfurous dust
short lived bloated yolks
a holocaust in a supermarket
with tapeworms
and a trademark
we are something boiling
In the bowels of eternity
graves of meat and mud
crucifixes in a screaming
abyss

creations
rabid belly of shadows
Xan Abyss Oct 2014
A light in the dark shadows burn with a spark that ignites to a bright shining flame. The dead lie in groves of lost winter souls that wander with visionless aim. A rising relief ensues in the reef of the green and colorless gold. A raven takes flight in the deep death of night to escape from the black hell of old.
These wandering, murmuring, children of god storm wrath from the heavens and **** what is good. Devour the light as they drain all the life from the world we once called our brood.
Take us away. Drain us, defame us.
A whisper in the void.
Take us away, lock us away, **** us.
A whisper in the void.
Psychonatural Antichrist, bleeding the truth from false prophets. Summoning hellfire, demonic intrigue, desecration and violence. Infernal release, a smiling god weeps and a glare of rage seeps from beneath.
In an eternal sea of stones will they forever reap.
Death will be paid to the ones he learns to hate.
Black velvet draped across the coffin of grace.
Take us away, far and away.
A whisper in the void.
Take us away to destroy and remake.
A whisper in the void.
A whisper in the void.
Enter the darkness. Into the abyss. Far away. Thermonuclear enslavior.
Stay awake. Remaining.
Give your soul to the unknown, bleed into the black night air. The savior will come soon, to take you to His room, and liberate you from despair.
Suffocate quickly, quietly. Swiftly, so no one may hear you, or catch you dying. Slip away faster and faster the tighter you squeeze the noose around your neck.
Give yourself away. Death is your escape. Death does not betray like life will.
Give yourself to they, the keepers of the fade with intent to save and desecrate. And as they say, they will be they, and they will **** and humiliate. Break you down, drag you around, deny, defy and utilize. Every last bit will wallow in **** from the hate you created and ate from.
Suffer in pain, annihilation.
A whisper in the void.
Burn alone, in isolation.
A whisper in the void.
A whisper in the void.
A whisper...
Stream of consciousness piece from two year ago. Have fun trying to figure it out, I know I do.
I

Here’s the mould of a musical bird long passed from light,
Which over the earth before man came was winging;
There’s a contralto voice I heard last night,
That lodges with me still in its sweet singing.

   II

Such a dream is Time that the coo of this ancient bird
Has perished not, but is blent, or will be blending
Mid visionless wilds of space with the voice that I heard,
In the full-fuged song of the universe unending.
i  May 2014
glowing in the dark
i May 2014
blinding light
coming from you,
sending strange
vibes,
the ones that
make me fall
for you harder,
and the ones who
will some day
lose all their light
shining on you
too much,
and will make
you blind,
not being able
to glow in the dark,
anymore,
ad i will have
to teach you
how is it to live
in the
visionless dark.
Riel Adriane Oct 2016
Thoughts of the self-spoken
Left me wandering;
Tangled into the parable visions
As we gaze through the celestial eerie.
Mirrors from side to side,
I still can't see the myself inside.
Mazy patterns were confusing my mind.
Despicably appropriate,
Whereas the heavens of alas contemplate.
In this empty vast,
We see light from present to past.
Scourging sun diminishes darkness
Over light in distant visionless.
Blinded to see the real vision of the race;
To acknowledge the imagery painted to praise.
Entire race failed to obey,
Garner the intellect of marionettes strings,
Puppets of the mischief,
Puppeteers of a sheep,
The scent of the blood,
Descends a ripple from hate.
Cast the spell upon yourself,
And let the bloodshot eyes tell
How it visions the dark world's hell.
Poetic T Oct 2014
It was written on the wall
It was plain to see,
The things that were said
Where not looked upon,
Scribed,
Chiselled,
Etched,
But not seen by all,
It was plain to see, before the eyes
But we were
Blind
Sightless
Visionless
On what we needed to observe, but couldn't
Read, decipher
The writing is there, so preserve it
Or all that will be left is what was written
But we never looked upon, what was always there.
Caroline Grace May 2010
Between the cool-quarried kitchen
and paint-faded south facing door
runs a windowless wall
sugar-papered with childhood dreams.

Memories of roughly folded gifts
squirreled in satchels,
crossed creases still intact;
curled corners fixed with shiny pins.

Luminescent paint heartens the darkness of a pitch grotto
anticipating a flicked switch
to illuminate dimmed histories
of abstract symbols, visionless figures and countless fingers.

The small pink fists that captured
Time's most precious pieces,
now live with vaguely painted hope
of sheering unsteady walls
in their uncertain world.
copyright © Caroline Grace 2010
Maddy Van Buren Oct 2015
but I'm a **** good worker
at being so unhappy
it takes a lot
to be this naive
I've had to turn my back
on so, so many
**** red flags
and paint the frown
and fill the cup
and empty my mouth
like I empty my stomach
all at once
and walk home alone
and tell my mom it's fine
when I sound bad on the phone
because it's getting bad and I'm alone
and I've had to do so much
to keep my blind optimism
as visionless as ever
I've had to smell my shirt
since it had your scent
pretend you're there
for more than my framework
for more than that
turn my head
when I know you aren't
when I know you're not
when I walk home alone
after we've touched
and I just feel
that I deserve this
to be recognized
as the most hopeless
neurotic,
unconscious
**** good worker
yellow pages, with thin lines
held stiff, within a black spine
hard to uncover, yet so divine
the pages were empty, but the
smell of them, enlightened
the dusty places, in my mind

i sunk my hollow head, into the book
visionless, there was nothing to look
i sunk my heavy head, into the book
and the smell of rain took-
me away to the land of rain
and brown drenched wood-

the place i loved could only be
visited, through this pocket book
my home will always be between
the yellow pages of your book

-Kaya
Abdi Salam Nov 2013
Long journey ahead on dirt road, Dust fills the paths can't see past it, the suns heating our heads, two hot heads on path of destruction. She's so weak and tired, I give her the last sip of my water, though she's got a bottle in her bag I don't know about, thought I knew her so well.

We hear voices telling us which paths to take we turn but there's no one there to help, as end of the dirt road nears the dust gets stronger by the step, we can't see ahead we are walking visionless, I endanger myself to keep this dying flame alive, I try and try but comes the end of the road where we departed, becoming strangers and faded Memories to existence that once was.
Jen Ayala  Nov 2010
The Dead Hour
Jen Ayala Nov 2010
Awoke last night in the deadest of hours
From a visionless sleep
And in that deadest of hours
I began to weep
Perhaps it was the emptiness of the night
That caused the rivers in my eyes to flow
Perhaps it was my sick heart that decided to explode
But when the blackness I saw was the back of my eyes
And no longer the complete lacking of light
My mind revealed this scene to me:


Standing naked in the mirror
Flickering candles
Dancing shadows
My lover behind me, drawing nearer
Holding me warm, close, tight, safe
A kiss on the back of my neck
A fire inside, I need you
Stay
A sharp knife starts to cut
The kind of sharp not felt at first
My lover worked to filet my flesh
Dripping me hot, red, open, scared
He backed away and watched, repulsed
I wrapped my wounds, a slowing pulse...


Saved from my nightmare
By morning demands
My head knows,
Please help my heart understand

— The End —