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Poetic T Jun 24
For doors are many
      and each one has no lock.
For gods are words of the mind
           unkept delusions of mans past.

We need to unlock the humanity
  of ourselves and see we aren't
           just one,
we are in fact the many
                       that make the whole.

Knowledge is the key that opens
                                 our potential,
not to bend on knees like
                        slaves to nothingness...
Poetic T Mar 25
*** is like hide and seek ,
           but you're the only one
           trying to find someone
                       who isn't really there...
Poetic T Mar 22
For there is no free will,
         if *** knows all,
             if *** sees all,
for if he knows all
                     before birth
                         and after death.

Then it is he who led your path,
and your sin is of his making.
                  So he who stands high
                  is lower than thee
for has sinned against his very creation.
Poetic T Feb 18
I could clip the wings of angels.
           but still they would think
that heaven was a place to step upon.

When every *** is deceased,
            and fact becomes reality .
                      Some still grasp at straws.

*"We are awoken no longer slumbering  in denial,
Poetic T Sep 2017
Towers fall and the face you seek
is your own arrogance.

A stone is a single thought,
but when you build yourself
                               up in delusion,
there is only one conclusion,
                                              a fall.
Poetic T Aug 2017
Created in an image of you,
woven in the palms of creation.
But you made a broken puppet,
one that will never be real.

Sins of a father who wove wrong
stitches within, but called for us
not to sin. But why collect the coins
that you thrown within the pond?

Rippling within, you knew of its
calling yet sealed it in. Said that
we would fall from graces, but
the grace was already dimmed.

Then I realized that you weren't
what I was told, no father would
inherently seed you with this contempt,
just to know you'll fail no matter the ending

Sins of a father who isn't really there,
never would you have done this if
you wanted us beneath you chair.
I wash my thoughts of this distaste.

I know now that your just a sadness of
false words, for a fathers wish is to bring
you into a world pure. Who would want
to birth flaws if not for the purpose of failure.

Looking onward I'm my own decisions,
not flawed from birth, we all have our own
morality its human kindness, thought.
Sins of a father that never spoke any words.
Poetic T May 2017
When I was knee high to nothing
I asked inquisitive questions...

And with those answers I became me..

I would want too, if now, I asked the question??

If you are which you say? why so many books!!

If reality was based, wouldn't one book suffice,
But you made conflicting interests, like baiting
a hook. Why do we have to be slaves to ourselves
always begging on knees. To those of confused
reflections seeing you in themselves, but all the time
wording it to make them hate, difference of man
and woman others not he same as me?
but you conflict with love and preach the other thing.

If I was to ask one thing?

"Were grown now, out of the cradle of insecurities,
"Are hand needn't be held, were stronger without you,
*"I am me, not a reflection of your confused morality,
Praline Poet May 2017
You want to introduce us
to a house of gold
But gold was never really my color
For some time
It felt as though
a hundred hands held me
Led me through the weight
Pain and loss
that I must bear
My brain spins
And I see
The hands are there
not here
A hundred hands hold you
Through the loss that you must bear
But there is no loss
Only the flowers we forgot to smell
The birds we didn't listen to
The beauty we were blind to
And you
must think I'm blind
for not wanting your house of gold
But Beauty
Is in the eye of the beholder
For a hundred hands
and a house of gold
cannot take me somewhere
I'm not meant to go
Poetic T Apr 2017
Woven in tears of collected misgivings
for his voice never to be heard in the halls
of man, just echoes of nothingness.

For he was a fiction of man, fed through mouths
never one his own, for courts jested verses of
there needing not those repeated and reversed.

Words are power in anyone's hand, the tonged syllables
are hypnotic in a wrong mans purse. Listen to knowledge
and fact, falsehood is a serpent biting back.
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