56/M/London, U.K. Hi I'm Steve, a bloke born and bred in London, UK. My passions include reading Marvel comic books, writing poetry and living life in step with Jesus.
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This is what I have observed. This I have seen to be true - You are not responsible for their unhappiness, nor for their disappointment. These are their's. These are from older seeds. This is the greatest lesson.
The next is like it. You cannot control whether they are happy whether they are content with the resolution.
So what can you do, but what you know to be right, what is said to be fair? Do not test this by their response.
This too is wisdom. This too is a sadness.
Some folk will not be pacified. Some are intent on rage.
Lichtenstein crashed into Monet's garden under the mistaken impression that a pulse of pop would compliment the oil on water, but instead his WHAAM missed its target and his POW wept hot, bleaching the aqua white with noise and ripping the lilies to shreds. 'Oh, Claude,' he cried, 'it's a masterpiece!'
Prompted by a friend's painting which looked just like this.
He loved her and she loved him. His kisses ****** out her whole past and future or tried to He had no other appetite She bit him she gnawed him she ****** She wanted him complete inside her Safe and sure forever and ever Their little cries fluttered into the curtains
Her eyes wanted nothing to get away Her looks nailed down his hands his wrists his elbows He gripped her hard so that life Should not drag her from that moment He wanted all future to cease He wanted to topple with his arms round her Off that moment's brink and into nothing Or everlasting or whatever there was
Her embrace was an immense press To print him into her bones His smiles were the garrets of a fairy palace Where the real world would never come Her smiles were spider bites So he would lie still till she felt hungry His words were occupying armies Her laughs were an assassin's attempts His looks were bullets daggers of revenge His glances were ghosts in the corner with horrible secrets His whispers were whips and jackboots Her kisses were lawyers steadily writing His caresses were the last hooks of a castaway Her love-tricks were the grinding of locks And their deep cries crawled over the floors Like an animal dragging a great trap His promises were the surgeon's gag Her promises took the top off his skull She would get a brooch made of it His vows pulled out all her sinews He showed her how to make a love-knot Her vows put his eyes in formalin At the back of her secret drawer Their screams stuck in the wall
Their heads fell apart into sleep like the two halves Of a lopped melon, but love is hard to stop
In their entwined sleep they exchanged arms and legs In their dreams their brains took each other hostage
Don't be quick to stop and search. Do slow and speak. Do stop at the curb. Do sit. Do commit to shape a future city nation where more space is given to a wider conversation with a newer translation that's truer in comparison than any black and blue blunt force confrontation. Stop.
Listening to ill-conceived political solutions to social problems.
The apple sits helpless and waits and once its mates have given it up as past it's best once the rot sets in and it starts to lose its ripeness that's when the aroma rises the fruit flies arrive in droves and they feast on what's left as the apple dreams of pressed cider sisters as the flies persist in their feast and it sits at its core oblivious of the fermenting opportunity missed