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Portland Grace Jul 2011
We were 6 years old, we were innocent, we we're playing. Just playing, in the most innocent sense of the word. With dolls, or blocks, or trucks, or dirt. I don't remember. We we're playing and then we weren't. We were playing and then the darkness came, and it took away our blocks. It took away our safety net of protection and threw us down the slide of demons.
Your demons. His demons.
We were 7 years old, we were innocent, we we're singing. Just singing, in the most innocent sense of the word. Songs, or lullabys, or comercials, or imporved words. I don't remember. We we're singing, and then we weren't. The darkness struck again, and this time hit us hard with liquor filth and stench.
Your stink, his drink.
We were 8 years old,  we were still innocent, we were riding. Just riding, in the most innocent sense of the word. Bikes, or scooters, or rollerblades, or skateboards. I don't remember. We we're riding, and then we weren't. The darkness grabbed our wheels and lurched us onto the pavement 'till our skin ran red and he told us we were *****.
His fault, our blood.

We were 9 years old, we still had bits of innocense, we were running. Just running, but not so innocent. On feet, we ran. I remember. We ran towards the sunset, quickly, but not quick enough. The darkness caught up to us, panting. Struck through us with quivering blades, and took away every drop of innocense left.
His addiction, our innocense.

We were 10 years old, we no longer had any innocense, we got away. A big man in blue took the crying darkness away, and stored him in a box made of cement and metal. Darkness said he'd see us when we were 18, thinking we loved him. Loved him through his addiction, because deep down there was light? And we were good girls, weren't we? We could see the light in him, right?
No light, Only darkness.
Candy Glidden Jul 2010
Tears...
I shed for you,
The man who stole my soul
Just a small and helpless child
Having no control.

Hatred...
I feel for you,
For my innocense you violated
Being just a small child
Your sickness I tolerated.

Evil....
I see in you,
For giving me a life filled with fear
Every time the lights went off
I knew you would be near.

Forgiveness....
I have none for you,
You made my heart wither away
Disgust in the mirror was all I could see
Each and every day.

Pain....
I wanted for you,
For all the pain you gave unto me
All the years of torture and fear
I had to make you see.

Death....
I wished for you,
Because you took my childhood from me
Knowing you were still alive
I could not let it be.

Smiling...
I am for you....
For you taught me something in life
No matter what you may encounter
You can become stronger in time.

Happiness....
I stole from you,
Because you always stole from me
When you died, I was reborn
My innocense was set free.
Copyright2005  Candy R. Glidden
J Christmas Jan 2010
Gallimaufries Incondite in-risible pules from anomie.
    Recondite jeremiadtions of every pessimal influence.
Yearning for the Quid-am Xanthochroi to sybaritic in the manner I long to LOVE,
   Unrestrained                  The pennicle of BATHOS
        observations of  human
                                          hopes and dubietys of mankind  
An anodyne, the demersal soul
                      attempts at pawky insights often written whilst
inebriated and Katzenjammered!
*Copyright John D. Christmas @2011
Amber Blank  Jun 2012
Innocense
Amber Blank Jun 2012
Pigtails and lollypops
Little pink bows tied perfectly in my hair.
Swing sets and monkey bars
Mary and her lamb, Bow peep and her sheep
Younger memories of simple days long before the aging haze
Clear as a rainbow after the storm
Innocent as Dorothy and her little dog
Years fly by in the twister of life and love gets to be tough
As every scab is reopened and begins to bleed
Baby dolls and lincoln logs
Big Bird on Sesame Street
Once these things meant the world to me,
Now they are only flashes of light on a picture in my mind
Little tea ***, isn't short and stout andymore
All her strength and innocence has been poured out
Jumping the rope of pain every day
Not knowing when to stop and play.
fesojaiye atanle Jun 2012
Mush have i reap in the light of noble verse
that glide the divine reason of deeds and fact,
truth as it may seems through the tongue may pass
the mind that differs,the world that need no maat.

maat:an ancient egyptian god for truth.

All right reserved.
Nik Bland  Dec 2012
Innocense
Nik Bland Dec 2012
She  was one who dreamed of dragons
Of towers
Of tyrants
Of kings
The angel whose only plea was for you not to clip her wings
And days
And page
And magical mage
Would go and their stories would ring
Until a whole world was made just for a girl
In the stories of dragon, damsels, and kings
Ken Pepiton Feb 2019
Stupid question (what AI would star out s t u p i d?)

on the scale of stumbling over a marked stumblingstone

painted competition orange.

See, C. G. saw it this way,
men don't have ideas, ideas have men.

When the man with the hubris to try and lie
dies, his lie dies and rots to be re
covered for discovery when all the secrets are

dis covered under the sun where's no new thing,
not one.

in a man, this journey from concept to precept,
some steps take longer than others,

maybe a thousand rounds,
generations and generations and generations with

peacemakers squeezed into servant role
one wish genii suffering it to be so,

until the time appointed, or the
anointed app,
higher res translations figure an augmentatious
re
ference occurrent in sapience sapience with pre-

Gausian blur edges on all their own shadows of turning

---
do remember, we did imagine
veri f- were we magi?
we were, we were magi, I brought the frankincense.
I was seven, maybe six

We could do anything we put our mind to

if we got past the man in black
at the crossroad and
keep goin' west

this is the rest.
After alladat, there was this emergent story,

never told, but heard, of a wise man,
who saved a city and no one knew that same
wiseman's name. This is that game, that vocation,

Peacemaker. Ever last front
tier, at orchestra level,

too close to see the madding crowd
reach for guns,

this is crazy... we have nuclear weapons

obsolete nuclear weapons and some
****** fool would rather **** us all than
skip an upgrade cycle?

what? What if we all said,
sump'n like: I, individual me, I have no enemies,
so lovin'em ain't *****. My side won.

Bio war, fair. Like leaven shaken from re
jected dust, the fishermen's feet

stamped and let their peace be held,
suffer, carry your load, but

smarter, not harder.
Grace, for goodness sake, sake means

good will result from the doing by virtue
of giving an old tale of attitudes to be
having a listen...


I am a peace maker. I do this for the living.
I may die, now, with no fear,

once, before,
with no doubt, by virtue of a helmet I was given.

Now, double-minded, patient-balanced, light-burdened,
I run, or fly, with augmentations,

bended knee or wounded, why does that matter?
Mito-mom is not some relationship to others that you
take, by faith.
Science.
Know the story to tell the story,
no novices allowed to lie for innocense sake.

No story of warring ever ended happy, for all involved.

Salve for the scritchin' itches whicha
cain't seem t' be able
t' ignor,

raw rubbed flesh

Balm o'Gilead, by reason, for reason of reasonable
comparable qualia of ex

per i ence, one death trip, PIF. (Paid in Full)

Good new, right, right, right,

chirality is such a cool tool for all sorts of random
shithavanish as soon as you notice it, like

was that real? Hineni. Okeh. I knew.
The genius of peace.
The idea never dies, but some people never get it.
Good wins for ever, or we all die at the hand of an evil

so powerful that only indigestible bone level ideas
make it through the turbulence

at the final analy system re

proof. An imaginary pile of mystery woo woo
Plahnk splash

food for thought. Quantum mechanical possiblities
bubble from nowhere that ever was.

So free will is the best we could do. Be safe.
While titans are threating war all about me I peaced out, responsibly. Cohen snuck in a line.
Ghazal  Feb 2014
Ballet
Ghazal Feb 2014
Little Ballerina, dance for me,
A delightful scene for anyone to see.
On your tiptoes ever so light,
You dance with magic through the night.
Across the floor you flow with ease,
Little Ballerina, dance for me, please.
I watch you glide with splendor and grace,
As a smile of innocense beams on your face.
Prancing about with magic in your feet,
A wonder to see like an angel so sweet.
Little Ballerina, dance with flair,
Swirling and turning through the air.
Hands moving with the music as you go,
A fantasy to see with a magical flow.
Dance upon dreams that play in your mind,
Upon the dance floor miracles to find.
Feet moving so graceful with ease,
Little Ballerina, dance for me, please.
karen dannette Dec 2012
My Life


Always a surprise

I want to feel what others feel.
I know what is supposed to be real.
I’m addicted, or afflicted…. Need some help from you.
The past has been a big part of my problem, its true.

I need you more than I’ve ever needed anything before.
**** my life up through a paper straw and feel me at the core.
The sorrow  inside me burrows from deep within
Sometimes I feel like I’m never going to win.

Why do you make me want to feel this way?
Will it ever truly go away?
**** this feeling of weakness and loss…
I know that the waves of anger seem to violently break me and toss.

Everyone I know has something that they want from me.
My defenses are let down and as I’m devoured, I finally see.
Seeking refuge from the storm coming near.
But every time I get close, I begin to feel that eternal fear.

Liars and hypocrites line the streets with innocence.
While they try to **** me, I’m still thinking of how they are dense.
Take me completely or leave me blind, deaf and dumb
I don’t understand you….  What has made you so numb?

Fun escapes your vocabulary…. Keeps you down without your consent.
Senseless running in circles keeps you in the money, pays the rent.
But even though you think the answer is clear,
I see through the mirage you are creating and it causes my eyes to tear.
Thank you for taking the time to read my poem.  I write to release my emotions.  Any feedback is welcome and appreciated.
Ann M Johnson Oct 2014
Guns and violence you hear of almost ever day
People take drugs or meds or ***** to try to make the pain go away
People abusing those they claim to love
Children not safe at school
People not concerned about breaking rules
Politicians corrupt, out for self not us
People not caring about the greater good
People in our nation starving for food
People abusing their own children
There is a cost to all of this
Our innocence is lost
Candy Glidden Jul 2010
I saw you once in a dream,
Delicate, sweet face of innocense,
Drawing my heart to the palm of your hands....
Holding it there...
Mesmerized!


Sitting at your knee, staring into your eyes,
Magical webs you weave,
Taking me from my self-imposed solitude,
thrusting me into a rainbow's-journey....
Delightful!


Hours spent within your existence drift away,
Delicate, sweet face of innocense darkens in the fires glow,
Stillness cocoons us, entrapping us in thoughtfulness;
My heart in your hands, your eyes fill my soul..
Spellbound!


With the glow of the fire the night descends upon us
In this hour, this place becomes ours,
Together our souls blend deeply into one
To the precious, lasting moments, of US..
Picture perfect!


I saw you once in a dream, and I shall see you again.....
Copyright2005  Candy R. Glidden
Ken Pepiton Oct 2023
National mindsets self interested suffer
forms of dementia as the order all confessed,
demands of each a concentration of self worth,
you bet your soul, but only in the spirit,
step into the fray, say, let me lead you,
say let me take elected office,
democratic to the edges, being your voice
in a popularity contest, not an intellectual joust.
Tutelary deontology 101.
Governing is managing the labor. Ask the king.
Any flock in the system, governs itself.
Business is business.
Some arrangements are always secret. All
grown ups are in the business of war supplies.
Let your children's minds be at ease.
Trust the checks and balances history proves,
have never worked on balance, for the poor.
Get rich quick as one can imagine, on a bet.
War meets Peace, like it is the storm
that left Greenland, a legend until now.

Easily intreated innocense, who could know.
Prosaic first morning pizz to prime the pump.

How deep is the generational debt due to war?
How many bonds have been sold to pay interest?
How many times has the national debt ceiling failed?
You know.
Every time.
"Each major conflict in U.S. history
has been accompanied
by a sharp rise
in debt as the government raises funds
to pay for the fighting."

But laws do exist…
"Without a declaration of war
to put the country on a wartime economy,
Congress paid for Vietnam
by increasing the national debt.
Over the course of the conflict,
America's debt nearly doubled, growing
from approximately $317 billion in 1965
to $620 billion in 1976."

Now the debt is rising
on interest alone. No need for another war.

And America's trade balance is hinged,
on the point of war.
The ideal centermost irritant, war's hate pump,
pain expanded by generational trespass acts
likened unto the pea
under the stack of feathered beds,
or the bit of grit forcing oyster stress
that has made the misshapen pearl sold
to sovreign entities, those colors on the map,
these mental aggregations called nations,
by nationalist mind frame riveters,
foundational eye beams, remove before demoting,
ah, slow, riveted beams spanning ferro-concrete tech- think.
Building a reasoning trap, children,
ask your fathers to whom we owe our national debt.
Ask also who sells the weapons to the world at war.
Semper fi,
no offence, but… holy hate is as crazy as hungry hate.

A voice from a song, from nowhere,
you just could rethink, or did, that first time think
a bridge over troubled waters being a truly old good idea,
come to rescue you,

in the early days of Boomer parenthood… being grown ups,
we never missed a Disney Movie, though by then,
they were losing the gnostalgia, old knowns to be like so,
were no longer even imaginably so.
Old Yeller,
Childhood's end, the separation
from hearth felt comfort,
to the class rooms and hallways
of massive cold concrete schools… where on day one,
the child pledges with its cohort of coeducatables,
the ancient bond of aliegiance...
I pledged mine first in 1954, the year "under God" was added.

In the just now settling down towns along the great freeways,
there has been no peace on earth in my generation,
at the level of military minds in conflict caused by stories,
boys bred with old hates just waiting for a sigh-psignal
sci-revealed to those willing to become Jason Bourne,
to the best of your abilities, ring the bell, any time.  

Welcome to the front. Sanity is on the line.
There is no conspiracy, we sell our souls for what money
can be demonstratively proven to allow and even augment.

War is all we sell. There is another game, it's a liar's game.
Many famous authorities have filled the space at the table.

Take your hat off, Bartholowmew, she does not understand you.

------------
Daily communication with myself,
one person, with no power to use
save the early cultural confidence;
sworn to tell the whole truth,
so help me, God. Yes, your honor.

Except we reactivate the curious why,
functionally suppressed during the standard
test taking by the proximate others
diligently filling in the blanks,
with graphite rounded just right, one swipe.

Except we see that hanging senselessly realized.
Each problem, one answer, not one option.
Only select correct answer.
Tell the child learning the pledge,
God is on our side, emphasize
how exceptional those who know so are,
extremely discriminatingly,
arranging the economy around
the great decussation at the air gap,
at the back of our national neck.

In this time,
thoughts and prayers, we hear
spoken of as easily done,
almost without thoughts, who
responds?, who, has ever responded
to the said to be going out constantly
thoughts and prayers, asking truth
to intervene and call the liars liars?

God is not angry, nor without resources,
according to the cultures now at war--
¿
Whose mortgage was not paid with earnings
from war readiness industrial complexes?

Whose talent was left with the userers,
because the Bible says y'sposed to earn interest?

Whose 401K deflated to oops?

Business begins with informed agreements.
Let's make a deal.
No killing, stealing nor needless destruction.

Minds join eye to eye, one mindwise agreed,
we become an entity, a being essential
to the parts, a mind in harmony, rank and file.

Greedy men with no agreement. Hmm, who loses?

Line up, not by rank, single file, fall in,
first and following, get in on the end,
and wait for the circle to close,
re done dances, life going wild as
we celebrate our circle, we sing of it
being unbroken in the sweet by and by…

The land of those who talk back to El,
yes, yes, we do, to honor Iyobe,
who first called for the Daysman,
who first
told reality, with all it's evil potential,
you cannot not be true, you know, in form
as spirit and truth containable in words, logos,
logos of all o-logies,
so powerful as to allow, in fact, cause, new mindforms,
species of thoughts that function as a system to make
sense, discernible, bits of valuation determinable in agreement.
--------------
Contractual obligations religiously adhered to
just between us, we take advantage for the nation's sake.
Madrassahs and aliegiance pledges set habits hard to break.

Set the cost of goods, lower than replacement cost of the price.
What does it cost a state to rear a warrior class individual
that self replenishes?

What does it cost me to scatter confusion in profuse create-ifity?
So, add a proper tip,
and pay the cost to ride this line to the next re-entering angle.
Middle east,
cauldron of all the holy empires thus far into the age
of entertainment so vast,
wise men can imagine, some day
there will be a war, and no parents will have
offered children to the infantry or made
righteous indignation acceptable national pride to k-ill for.

There Hamas, holy brainwashed haters of hatefulness.
Repents and perishes the very thought of peace.
Repay in kind, here, swear undying obediance,
fear not death, this is Allah's Promise, die killing Jews,
turns on the monstrous virgins awaiting you…
in post mortal walled places,
where the oldest civilizations occurred,
as God's great idea, I'll
empty the center of me, and seep
back in through fractured rationality
along trade routes between Africa and
the forested north above the desert.

Me, there, in mental efforting, thinking
thoughts, not prayers, but wishes, hopes,
thoughts that prayers attach to, as evidence.

"Ask and ye shall receive."
Love those who call you enemy, can you?

Face me, Mr. Nobody, the essence of other,
I declare peace, where none is, and you laugh.

No ritual, no enchantments with promise,
no sacred making of secular deaths, just
just just adjust the justice aspect, blame
the holy haters whose God dispenses vengeance,
at the behest of warriors fitted with military minds.

As when holy Americans gather to offer military aid,
blessed by the congregations alerted to intercede,
on the side that denies Jesus was God,--- ah, both sides,
in this case…
whither turn we, do we face Mecca, or Jerusalem,
or Petra or … Sol or Luna, all our enculturated faith,

blinks, a lense clarifying effort, rub the crust
of sleep fallen into while mourning, unsealing eyes
to see again, a war between two national identities,
both with warrior glory emulation traditions,
one with money as first de-fence, the other with hate,
nothing less than pure hatred, Cain to Able, sorry bro.

Old mean spirits.
If the hate can live in any man, wombed or un, it will.

Willingness to hate enough to k-ill a stranger, will
manifest as holy terror… enough to make Jesus weep.

--- and those were a few of the local thoughts made prayer,
seemingly automatically, as mysterious as most final secrets.

Part three, deeper, faster, harder… or not

Doings in the dark, are done by feel.
One, you or I, or some other sapien
augmented with the messiah's mind, feels the need for the deed.
Take the message from Garcia.

Mystic experience in story realms,
holding all the visions taken raw,
as revealed… as when a curtained
entry way is opened for inspection,

are we ideas in bodies?
are all ideas spirit in form?

Inhale an intuited absence of evil,
breathe the air of answered prayer.

Imagine that, let fly the idea of you,
beloved individuated potential saint.

Here is your sentimental inner edge,
your gnosis pressed flat as you see in.

The edge of this bubble, is distant
only to the holy cloaked in asceticism,
twisting wicks
for someday light in someday night,
circulate one way then the other,
rethinking perfected emptiness,
there are no others, up or down,
to and fro, vectors tie targeted states,
spider kites form single ray classic webbing,
slim banner, a flag unraveled long since.

Follow me, I say to me, follow me,
I say to you, saying back, I am not you.

My option.
Turn on, sit back and watch,
evolving cave wall interesting hooks,

look around, nothing interesting, eh?
Television as imagined by petrified apes,
during peak-info preservation history,
when men like Franklin and Voltaire,
met to share secret meanings of things.

Previous to any whole story
that remains, as when any mind mistakes
tzimtzum inside as first occurrence,

total emptiness, pre space, one time
this instant accepted as audience

in true gaseous we form, auto informing
the vegetable phaze passed eons ago, life
tells tales too esoteric for novices
to notice, in the ideal state, active
imagining, as with a child's mind, yours
since ever was, so far as you may wish
to remember,
a time when the state was deemed
comforting and beauty filled, chaotic
process of floating lipids, in form of air,
light has not dawned on us, we are
night scene setters of settings, nodes
of potential anything you can imagine,

level with me, even, straight, right… yes it
is the optional meandering mind engine,
an idol, or a daimon, madness of sorted
degrees, a little bit off the charts, sorted
out.
Not in, the bubble being becomes,
when one emerges in a self…

subtle is good, right, we agree?
Jesus, before Christianity, as a kid,
instructed with his cousin John,
likely by his temple servant uncle.

That can be imagined, projected
on the outerwall
of this bubble we be in.
At the moment,
on an Earth wired

for sound, elephants agreeing to meet,
to follow the pilgrimage, pilgrim beings
activated by stark necessity successful
to this degree…

by the reader's time's
at tension, pull
release
snap back, at what ifery, at once, push

most bottom centered point once sitting
in raw time thought processing, in
and out, efforting
- slightly off, not fully on
uncomfortable impression of holy
you better get better or else. Holy

blank slate, bubble pop, soft wow

Now, we're in the swirl, in the spin
toward, froward lips sealed, golden
silence,
subtler than any beast, creature,
living thing in the ruliad, am I? No.

BUT, you know, those penance prayers,
given you as a child, enchantments,
as with all your renouncements of evil
and pledges under God, in your child mind.

Look. To your own self, be true.
You still have private interpretation access
to your child mind.

If you put your worried mind to work
on some thought too deep to ponder then,

The idea of punishment by the Creator
of all that is not God, but was deemed good,
by God, because I said so, said the father,
in the child mind.

To know good and evil knowledge,
that talent, initial mark on our blank slate,
to know, not what you know, but ask
your child mind, how does it feel,

flat on your back gasping as others laugh,
and your child mind blooms an entire eon
- just to catch a breath takes for ever
and there were others, the whole family
of mankind of your kind, to your child mind,
stood laughing at your attempt to perform

a first flight, from an edged bet with an
I think I can virus perpetuated in ever after,

since mind made time make sense in chaos.
Instantly, things start to take shapes, in mind.
Non sense. Since. Processing time. Go.
Instants out of mind, in atari.
Fog of unknowns. I used to play the game.
Not really, only, one off thought forms,
cloudlike in symmetry, no clear tongue
and groove, fitting our pro-posed… pose

supposed, to listen and while listening,
learn the use of any knowing, can be
taken as granted possibility by your self.
- distant sound of light sabers actuation
Your blame and shame catcher, out front,
as we steam ahead across the gap,
thoughts made prayers must leap.

Keep your eyes on the prize, three
walnuts and a split pea with a hair, fine
infant hair, see it there, your old minds eye.

The unveiling of an artifice, an angle
greater than straight, from this point…
a re-entrant angle, like a point, banked shot.

in
Thanks, I needed you to ready become... said the little blue man... whatsoever we agree... indeed. Let us see...
Jenna Kaminski Feb 2010
Walking down the street
your hearts are skipping the exact same beats.
A unison that anyone would wish for.
He came out of the darkness
as the most unpleasant surprise.
Reeking of demise
he stole her from your grasp.
One hand over her mouth and one hand over her heart
he sprinted
but you boy, you ran after her.
You ran and ran until your stomach screamed;
until your feet began to bleed.
Oh how you cried.
That man, he took her to a isolated place
so that she would have to face
him. And only him.
Her screams, were insignificant because at that moment
she was no one.
The look in his eyes as he undressed her was
mortifying.
She tried to run, she tried to scream but he was in control.
Then he plunged; breaking the skin that kept her innocense so beautiful.
& he plunged; scraping the walls of her ****** making her bleed.
& HE PLUNGED into her heart, soul, and mind
making her cry.
Oh how she cried.
And you boy, you heard her screams.
But they were hushed by your own dreadful sobbing;
Bawling yourself into an unconcious state of failure and loss.
And that girl, she was paralyzed with pain;
Drenched with the strange white substance that filled her with
s h a m e.
Her ****** had been bruised and scarred by the monster.
She said, "God.. God I know you can hear me. Help me. You are not going to let me die."
That man he turned around and laughed.
Smiling as he said, "Girl. Sweet, sweet girl.
I am Anastatious and this is your sacrifice."

— The End —