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On the front steps of my mighty mouth.
And with the opening of my Ancient Smile.
Armored in Forever LOVE.
I give to all creation.
To humanity's cause.
The comforting smile of the ages.
Now adorning this moment's keep.
The Cosmic Smile mirrored in the return
of this Cosmic Version of Me.

Copyrighted (c) 2015
The power of the smile, and its roots in divinity.
Mitch Prax Sep 24
She is a star
crushing under the weight
of yourself and everything around you.
She devours my light-
it breaks and bends to her will.
Nothing can escape your grasp,
your gaze or your touch.
The force of you is what
always repulsed me.

Genre: Inspirational || 6 words craft
Theme: cosmic synchrony
Xant Sep 17
The man's Mr. Rogers
by God he had been sent to fly
And now, he is on his seventh's sky

Sometimes he misses life,
his two kids and his wife,
also the earth where he once thrived

But alone he must go
on this sea of galaxies he must row
and although he feels no sorrow
he fears being lonely

So he sings a tune familiar to all
This time no red sweater nor piano
not even children singing along
for he is alone in the cosmos
heading to the bliss where he belongs
"I have always wanted to have a neighbor just like you,
I've always wanted to live in a neighborhood with you."
This Poem is a tribute to Fred Rogers, a wonderful soul.

Read this poem in another perspective :
Mitch Prax Aug 10
she kissed the moon and
made the sun jealous, for her
light outshined the stars

2:04 AM
m h John Aug 4
if you look up at the sky
you can see
the reflection of yourself
floating through the clouds
and out of the cosmic’s
desperately searching
for a burning star
you could call home
but little do you know
that home is not within
this world nor is it in the next
your home lies within your body,
all you have to do
is come back to yourself
I will stop
Looking at the Moon
And the Stars

Believe me
Are enough

To get inspired from
Good enough
To stop time

He/She said
Genre: Romantic Raw
Theme: When everything inclines towards the one.
m h John Aug 2
what would the moon say to the earth
if she knew that your beauty
stayed flying high
while hers fell to the ground?
would she hide
in the suns shadows
for the rest of her life?
or would she distance herself
so far that
she turns into one of the stars
she used to wish upon
Hail the laborers at the mill, hail the jokers with witless tastes
I ain't going to work on any ordinary farm, of the ordinance and well-ordained
They sabotaged lifts and all walked but nothing was gained
They huffed and puffed and blew themselves to absurdity
They planned and plotted only to see boredom engulf the crowd
Ne'er to do the foot-slog, ours is to laugh at the Wigan pier
What is idle rest, I laid my hay long ago and made my peace
With the catatonic curses, and scatological invective

If the mill laborers know what I know
They will see wasters working hard to make more waste
For theirs is to work and fret, berate each other and work
From birth till death to ghosts already remembered
Above the antique mantel
An educated mind would entertain the thought of numinous reminiscing
An excellent habit, to focus at the elephant that cumbered the room
The dearth feeling that was filled with scarcity, memoirs lay strewn

Like the law and edicts, that flustered the mind
Clinton and his economics liberalized my mind, but, piqued the market
I read these in papers of the age of dying punk, and gregarious bylines
Witty writers pen their names in bold, on pen and paper meant for the literate
A kind spirit lies in the artist within
Reminders and unneutered plants are willfully disregarded, with the milk untouched
Spiritualism is stolen from my doorstep, sold to ragamuffins and rapscallions

Exchanged for the dream of more reading, with an understanding of the antiquated climate
Dostoyevsky, a small-time Russian who stole the hearts of many, living by his word
Told us of crime and punishment, with a large intelligence and deep heart
The darker the night brighter the stars
In the empty sky, I offered my confusion
Failure is not our punishment for laziness, its other people’s success
It’s our hunger that floats on the surface of other’s hatred, more like oil and water
Russia was a bed of gelid ice, unable to tell the approximated difference
I make approximated decisions with calculated assumptions, and all my dreams turn to ashes
Years past, and this knowledge brought me peace in my last try at catching the sky
Catching falling stars, and preserving nature
Some poets of the fall, prefer the winds of change instead of sprig icicles of spring lust
If the mill laborers know what I know
About celestial being as known in a jestful pun
These clowns of the roving ferals
Casting lore of dubious yarns
And lugubrious lacing of yawns intertwined by laziness
Thinking imbecility resides in all as they reside in it
The implicit assumptions of wishful vacuous to fester mind
If the opaque laborers know what I know
Their aims redundant as always eggs would wear translucent faces
and pointless endeavors will carry owned banners, second as farce
The over thirty years jokers still blinded to the reverse
Rama Krsna Jul 25
inside this black hole
where no light trespasses
his linga alone does,
smoothly into the event horizon
marking a point of no return

even sand clocks
at this gateway to heaven
tick slower
as gravitational time dilation
takes over

upon entry
no escape routes
or parachutes
exist for exit

only a free fall
into singularity
where space-time curvature
becomes infinite

odds of mere mortals
surviving this plummet
are nine billion to one

any volunteers?

© 2019
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