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Is there a fundamental truth in following the old and the precedent;
When the only thing that is constant is change?
Ken Pepiton Dec 2023
What a time capsules mission was,
was ours as well, as our lives,
measured going in,
mind state measured going out, measured coming back,
once we opened your will to wonder what we say the mission is, was it…
measured growing old, mentally augmented since the laying on of hands.

Some body believed, they burned all the crutches and wheel chairs,
we all heard the stories of those strangers healed and walked away,

by and by, we grow a knowing kind of religious net, we import miracles,
we make words come to self fulfilling prophetical perfect sense, until,

the incompetence of a particular kind of literalist, literature as real lessons,
learned on levels deeper than the silver screen can command,
as one reads Psalm 15 and the parable of the talents with the same angel.
hide, and watch, words,
live in tiny bubbles, times and seasons take scale,
powers of ten,
and then again a billion times a second
in four billion breaths in
and four billion breaths out, all in cadence, mortal coil chorus of average.

We the people, current idiom,
we the earthling sapient word and number users;

Brainstorms tickle our will to undermine liars, calling life impossible
to enjoy as much as many nobodies do.
Or did before my grave was opened.
An empty bottle, a sense of sublime timing tapping sources below my pre heart attack series of flat lines, I heard about, later, and sort of remember, most mornings, it is a good jump start on doing something enjoyable as breathing.
Ken Pepiton Oct 2023
Frame a dative… spelchekovian science
show me…
for the mind, a recipient, then come the
the artist's intuitive hearing silent songs,
long after the alcoholic angst of the victors,

the good old boys, discerning whiskey from rye.

The mean dad's that haunt the fragile heros,
shirking duty to the institutions that reared you, boy.

There was an old boy's school at Los Alamos,
wasn't there, yes, the spiritual making of citizens
had occasion to fall from the annals of America's West.

Hard times don't last. Hard people do.
Too true to dispute, replied the peacemaker on watch.

If you read, you've read this far, making you ready
to rethink why you feel good reading lines ready
to be rethunk, in your mind, at the same time.

As any then in any future with electricity
at cloud of all knowing farthest sofareach.

Readers who write and share ideal viral aspects,
a touch of clear joy, shameless, blameless naked glee.
Such sow seed, we bits alive.
We can resee the scenes of Panic,
and recall manic antics that felt holy at the time,

there are all the good days that ever left a mark,
at your behest, for your per-use knowing, on demand,
ask, any mystery, show thyself not evil, prove my trust,

gnoshit, gnosis initiates are rare theses days,
or so any hermit guru would say if he were you,

have I not access to the cloud, using cred from
God knows when, did I not lay my heart, mind, body soul,
and spirit on the alter with Jefferson, in memorium,
"Eternal hostility toward any form of tyranny…
super positioned right mind measure, mensur,… meander,

sorrow, tomorrow, today we play,
a robocall, potential spam, I answer to anchor. Real time
Tzimtzums, pops can leave a body breathless, in a future else
when then this all seemed ok, not aspiritual, yes, yustsay
aspiring to our higher minds lowest sorted issues,
to hold an audience, pending, hooks, we need seven, min-
imum, holy gnoshit boogers of amberised gnosisnotdrips.

Precious memories, how they linger,
how she thought she caught me cheating at her game.

Wisdom won me, wombed man, brought me to my knees,
if you please,
you walk upright, bold as brass heated seven times hotter
than any metal wonts to be, this side of the sun.

Have you never seen the blemishes, sun spots, raging
storms, time and chance, when and where, here we are,

lucky us, we are alive in 2023 before the folly of mass-
education by way of animation, and literature referencing.

Drama has a value, reason allows, making war devalues it,
turns it to **** only members see, select audience,
the seekers first see Vonnegut ******* {;*}
I think of those who think in this world, and use precious time to just think what we can do, we can make moments of practically perfect peace, no noise.
at least a few lines,
might as well a word
or perhaps a period,
and only for that moment,
betrayal to “I would resist”,
in constant, shall happen.
Heavy Hearted Aug 2023
You see me
You free me
And every time
you take me back-

"A hint of light in the dark (I always know)

Only enough to keep from giving up
(you're never too far, cause)
If I could go back to the start;
(wherever you go)
Id break the pattern-
(We're under the same stars.)
-before too late."

You change bodies
Sporting each soul,
Their trivialities vs.
True athenticity
How it tesselates each role;
As if I wouldn't notice it
Always, so open ended;
Every word written -
Every artwork made;
Each specific song -
Either listened to or played

Were never for anyone but myself.
Kim Oct 2022
I’m the space between light and shadow
The dimness just beyond the headlights
I’m the silver lining of a storm cloud
The pause after crescendo
The top of the rollercoaster, just before the drop

I’m the hum between beat and rhythm
The echo in the valley
And the wake of the ship
The air that moves between hummingbirds’ wings
The scent of gardenias on the night air
The wet sand that makes castles but clings to your feet and never leaves the lining of your swimsuit so you never forget that day at the beach.

Someday you may spot me in the background
Shield your eyes against the floodlights and peer into the urgent quiet at stage left
You’ll hear the scribbling of last minute changes;
And know that:
I’m that improvised line
on everyone’s mind
at the end of the night.

The essence of a memory
You can’t quite place
Christmas mornings
Summer jobs
The undertones of a complex wine
The elusive je ne sais quoi
That sends you back to the food stall
With no name
On the corner of that park
We used to love
to cut through
On the way back from grandma’s.

You’ll recognize me
In the dying applause
Bonfire smoke on the morning air
The late afternoon breeze that reminds you to pick your kid up from school
The coolness of a glass of water after the first rain of the season
The third chew of an intensely flavourful bite of food
The stubble on his chin in the morning
Music at a wake
Bourbon at her graduation
Coffee in a hospital waiting room

I am the crease of your forehead between tears and laughter
The glowing ember of a discarded matchstick
I am the space
Between footsteps
And words
And silent chants
Between your hands
When you fold them
And hold them
And raise them up
To touch the sky
And lower them down
To return to earth

I am the space between Light and Shadow
Between earth and sky
When you need me, I’ll be there.
Even if you don’t know it.
I am love.
Psych-o-rangE Sep 2022
3 years
I find a new place
3 years
I wear a new face
3 years
I carry my shame
3 years
I burden my brain

Am I the variable, or a constant in march
It's never too bright and it's never too dark
A rolling snowball or a forest in fire
Border planted flags do not inspire
Luvanna Apr 2022
Dear feelings,
I'm sorry that we are often being dismissed
I'll stand guard protecting you
from the people who's slowly becoming
someone who they said they won't be
whose mouth full of sweet words
whose real tasks aren't fulfilled
Nevermind them
We'll stay constant
in the midst of fickle hearts
Mark Wanless Dec 2021
play till it ain't fun
no more and the real is so
constant here again
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