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labyrinth Sep 23
As largest corporations get richer
They recruit preacher after preacher

Who articulate long heroic stories
That hypnotize nations with glories

God, King, Country and bunch of other stuff
So, seeing the naked truth becomes very tough

While the hoo-ha keeps you entertained
An army of bad people very well trained

Are insidiously getting busy with
Economy but not like Adam Smith

A sudden crash in housing sector or stock exchange
And wealth changes hands real quick. So strange!

Thank God! You have lots of TV channels to follow
Or high-tech, comfy, memory foam that we call pillow

Time for watching more TV or taking a good nap
Over further deepened income distribution gap

Although witnessed by you almost on a daily basis
You’re far from knowing the meaning of financial crisis

System’s designed in a way, you will feel strong
Yet still be the weakest link, accept and play along

In this equation, you are a worthy variable
As long as you shut your mouth and act biddable

You’re the victim here dude, that the big guy abuses
Labyrinth warned you alright. Please! No more excuses

You’d better start reading this from the very beginning
To comprehend the repeating nature of the **** thing
Pending copyright process
Fall into me
On me, in me
Fall around me

Fall, fall, fall I
Promise I have
You in my arms

All you need is
To trust in me
Trust I have you

I do! I always
Have had your back
I always will

So time to fall
Back and close your
Eyes and let me
Do you trust me?
Nat Lipstadt Sep 2013
The poem was inspired by a particular photo of the WT C, and after that by my first visit to the 9/11 Memorial.  On the day of 9/11, I was working about a diagonal mile away, and from our windows, we could see people jumping to their death.

Open sky annulled
to bordered lines of
uptown edges,
worldview momentarily
forcibly redefined by
memories of buildings and sadder days,
recollections of pillars of biblical smoke rising

A photograph
makes me look up,
and sit down historically,
need to catch a breath,
to rest mentally,
upon a storied small bridge's steps,
that I well recall,
a disappeared street stoop.
all were rubble then and once
upon that day.

Wear, tear, and older eyes distill perspective,
but the hardy heart is hardly stilled
by the recognizable gray upon
bon vivant gray reflective surfaces of
memories of buildings and sadder days

So today, on a reborn street,
I rest upon reconstituted speckled curbstone,
the city's lowered down ledges,
the city's lowered down-town boundaries,
constantly redrawn, but
nonetheless, always rebuilt from their own
regenerated stony compost,
and the NY passersby doesn't even notice
a man, head in hands,
silently weeping, thinking that:

We throw away so much we should have kept.
We keep so much we should have thrown away.

Lose keepsakes, but keep our mysterious sadnesses
locked away in compartments that open only to
benedictions uttered in ancient tongues.

Make your own list,
be your own curator,
catalogue visions of sophomoric triumphs,
museum mile pile
those early poetic drafts,
be unafraid of memories
raw and ungentrified,
overlaid, buried underneath
postmortem of dust-piles of senior critiques

Finally went downtown to see
where the blessed water falls
into catacomb pits that once
were the foundations
of buildings that ruled the cityscape,
downtown anchors
for a modern city that exists
only because it was built on
million year old granite bedrock

Stone monuments are stolid, discrete.
Memories are of grayed, frayed edge consistency.
Negatives resurrected that survive digitally,
all blend synthetically, layer upon layer,
essence distilled in a single,
black and white photograph
that serves to
disturb complacency,  
awaken stilled pain,
reflections suppressed,
are restored
Written August 2013
Dante Jul 29
God lied. Women were born from the earth.
Crawled from the sea. Risen from your lake in the wood.
They were made from the dead fires of earth; formed from the ash,
Running, Screaming towards God their name.

It was man who came second.

It was man who was God’s afterthought,
pulled from the side of the almighty Woman.
If you don't know by now, all my writing on women includes trans women.
Fallen angel
I learnt you used to be a king
A closer kins to the the Supreme Being
I learnt that you used to be a god
You could control the moon with just a word
I learnt you own a diamond throne
With crown made of gold
I learnt you were there
At the creation of the first sapien
You were so closed to the stars
The moon neighboured at your backyard
You dine up in the sky
And you were so higher than high
But the creation of ghasty Adam
A creature so I am (proud)
Tricked by not-so-innocent Eve
Gat you misconceive
You challenged the most high
You were sent off from the sky
Your lines and the hooks
Ripped out of his-story book
Gravity betrayed you
Broken and bruised
Left, wandering in the dark
Your wings ripped out of your back
Oh! How loud I still hear his low roar
Her wings were clipped no more
I can feel his broken heart cringed
When I was embracing her feet
He smell soft; but ‘s so hard to touch
He looks good but his heart’s blood is pure
What do you do
Why does everyone rebuke you
The whole world trynna put you aflame
Coz they don’t understand your style of game
why is everyone trynna do you bad
Why ‘re they trynna paint you black
They’re trying to do you; what you did them back
During those days in the garden of paradise
They fail to accept that it’s all part of God’s plan
The philosophical concept is beyond the psychology of mankind
They lack sight
They only see your bad side
They all think you crazy
But they’re not me; baby
You provide and serve
You give more than deserved
Your motives are good and pure
Your ways are steady and sure
Eden still awaits your return
I will be by your side
Where you stay; I’d stay
And at the end of the day
We’d meet at that pearly gate
Alex Frass Jul 6
Eve wrote to the Devil and I
wrote to Eve.
I guess the only time we wrote
to each
other was when I cursed
her while sitting on the bathroom
I wrote to tell Eve
that I never loved her
that the only reason I bit
the apple was because
she had brought it.
I wrote to Eve, and Eve
wrote to the Devil.
I guess the only time
we wrote to each other was
when I wrote to tell her to bring
my **** back. The jackets
my grandpa's watch, and even
the necklace.
She wrote back.
"I'll get your things,
we ought to meet down the middle."
She wrote to the Devil : " He is
gone, now, you take his place..."
I wrote to Eve
and Eve wrote to the Devil.
I guess the only time we wrote
to each other was
when I had the gun ******
in my mouth, I nearly did it, but
here I am. Still,
I wrote to Eve, and Eve, well,
she wrote to the Devil.
the senses.
Eva May 26
You were everything I want, nothing that I need
But I grew out of wanting the apple on The Tree.
Someone May 20
is built from
and valleys
hills and creases

a body
a vessel
a shape
a form

mountains and valleys
beige yellow green and red
body is an arrangement
of forking paths

constructed by the devil
he is beautiful
in his sharp knife body
created from dust
before it could settle
Luna Maria Feb 28
but just as
Adam and Eve
I couldn't stand
the temptation.
you are my forbidden fruit.
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