Perhaps poetry is destined to be the hopeless romantic,
a duration meant to endure, not changing a persona,
it just lives, as it’s be, as it should. To live, it’s suffering
in private burdens, while we smile at brief moments of
complete contentment in our singular package of formed
figures. Poetry is a derivative serving ever so few.
(knowledge variable)

After
heartbreaking
realization.
A loss of life, a loss of another path. Destiny crumbles. As it shouldn’t.
Phosphorescent radiance in roaming ways, that twinge and flicker, distorting the sun's natural beams of rays that have sneaky ways in entering. Tilting up and gasping. Where the kids remain open and the eyes begin to scatter.
Becoming aware in not small moments of waves.
All at once.
Hitting every burrough of one’s soul, while the hands are in the pockets of a standing body. It’s horrific, yet not in disguise, spellbindingly beautiful. Filling out the tumultuous darkness in the inner-world, tempest to awakening. Be with me now. When it starts to ****** one’s secrets. I begin to sit on the nearest chair, trying to take a look of the sun through the colours that appear.
Turreted
towers that collapsed.
Heavy breathing that takes parts away, is the harsh payments of ones sin committed. Eccentric persona, developed from years of artisans works, finally taking over. Porta.
Darling state. Poetry letters open. Words of confessions.
Feet stretched out. Hands stay the pockets. Head slightly moves right. Held a moment. Looking up again. As after so many prays. The Heavens finally opening up for humanity for the first time. Rebirthed had always involved water.
Overpowering welcome. Restoring from the forgiveness of sin. And each word from every dogmatic book written, pops up at random, making sense and every flash. Atmosphere drops in heavy weight, the past is murky mist. Easy to let go and never to return as a spot to live, lessons when they appear. Like how stars are here to teach beauty.
Coherent schemes
by the
Mystics.
Patternless carpets. The inner-world is a funny things. Confusing lust for love. Believing own ideas are works of genius.
The sunlight darkens. The room cleared of any breeze. Still muteness. Standing and feeling the heart pump. Parish. Laugh now. In a post style, it enters with a meticulous way, lavish to make any prince grin with tinted jealous unable to contain. It’s good poetry. ****** outside, chanting to make my peace within and myself. Forgiving any mistake I bear hands had made, smile at any regret and remember shameful moments.
Anything till now is nothing.
Illumination happens during self-discovery or self-destruction.
There’s goats in the field. Moths circle them.
The ****** wears black in preparation. Myth and reality collide together when the rapture happens. Be conscious of it.
Life happens, whether I pay attention or listen.
Death is my final payment, after hardships that I am to endure.
Passing my soul and spirits to a another world. I continue to read ancient poetry that has been written to last eternity. Sunburnt kisses on the paper.
I leave the room, shall never return. And it still runes in me, like a  violent fever. Standing out in supercilious atmosphere. Like a son to a Muse. Meanings in fumes. Turbulent soul, mixing in with neo ways. Sweeping motions. To what happened than, in earth is now gone forever. So goodbye. Strange to think of you, as someone I knew and we no-longer talk. During summer hazes and frost biting air whilst surviving winter. Now, we have nothing to say and never to witness another’s hard times and weep while it’s happening. Goodbye. You can say I’m hiding behind poems and their words, instead of thinking I’ve gone to seek comfort elsewhere, still you haven’t goodbye. For I still wish to live in poetics, my romantic nature I cannot part, I wanted love and so-far, only poetry had supplied. So goodbye for now.
For I wanted and felt, that my own revelation would be your arms, **** fleur, thinking I’d be safe there and feeling holiness while inside your open legs, being baptised by the wetting puddles you produced.
Goodbye, writing that,
feeling it’s forever.
Prophecy in poem perhaps.
Maybe in abstract ways, in obscure and teasing ways, I tasted love, the love I felt for you and it’s snatched away in quicker ways than the duration it lasted inside.
Perhaps this end of times, change of worlds, is everything wrong, my flaws, defects, regret that’s opening up to swallow me whole. And that will be the end of me.
Goodbye for now.
Maybe love knows how to moonlight.
Lust.
The freedom from the ******* of self, is an open den, full of stronger stuff than *****, **** and seducing in it’s absolute liberating methods.
Twilight.
A salt grain on my path to total enlightenment and I’ll be a single totality of illumination, even without my true love. Plucked from and placed down this world of Musings. Oh lover, I do wonder what would of happen. The only thought I dwell in, play to it’s fantasies. Perhaps it would be something we’ll laugh about together.
Good old times,
with nothing to show for. Just something shaping experiences.
I’ll go forward, not knowing how to quit love. Without any conditions or expectations of communication. Look inside, for hold intimate essence of thyself, achieving the extraordinary, because now, I have no one to prove myself to, without a yielding validation. Full of mystery and wonder. Humble with the toiling actions hands and feet. Viewed as something else to others. Thyself is normal. Humility is even harder to grasp and hold. Thy world now, full of poetry I’ve written, full of gold and silver that makes love with stopping and fail, madness never hiding behind a veil, nothing else to burden me, slowing me down, never to distract.
Knowing too much
to which will never
satisfy
my thirst, but time provide to learn more.
meditating
over
jazz ballads, smooth
surface
wondering
moods.
I’m present not with myself in comfort. Pretty words spurting out, forming sentences in hopes to evoke emotions mixed in with thoughts. Do not say hello to me now. I’ve gone elsewhere. I’ve only taken coffee and dropping off poems.
Where I’m no longer a victim of times mocking laugh with the face of a clown. No longer to decay of what I could've been. Forever exists where I live.
Without thy soulmate, I have everything but turned into nothing.
Like a monk in a monastery.
In odyssey, sleep is never, conscious always, dreamy form, full figure, waking. Tattoo drops. A saint in a province constant evolving beauty. Angels are thy neighbour. Discussing never the issues held within humanity. Passages of passionate time. Lengthy duration. Lover, if you ask me now, I got peace in my own mind and happy now. My shakes have left me, like the morning of a day beginning.
Understanding everything.
Dropped my heart, press it closer.  I’ve dropped into myth, never to leave, exiled not, jailed not, prisoner not. Goodbye, I’ve left.
Perhaps I’ll be plucked again, picked again, any enlightenment given to me, will all be stripped away and wake from this wild strawberry dream.
(knowledge variable)

Vanishing yearnings, losing sense of time, provoke a myth,
impending a little apocryphal. The sun rises and it goes. A
breathe that creates shadows, covering mountains, something
that isn’t learnt. Flawed genius. Goats cry. Mystics chant
songs that praise. A faint taunt of rage, before turning to sobs
and whimpers. Gloom in darkness. Sin to be paid. Nothing
to do, but change in shift structures.

Believe in eyesight, believe now, if not, not to worry. Garments
drop from the air, blood replacing rain, this is not to express a
furious despair. When evening is not, muddy and dark waters,
where children swim, a distraction. Adapt not. It will not reward.
Murmur of voices carry in the wind, as the earth prepares to
stop spinning, it’s prays and nothing else. Horror turns to most
resistant to a religious observer.

A collection of suffering and nothing else.  

On the other side, debates, battles, things we cannot invent
in our minds eye, argue over us. Their decision is based on
our actions. This is democracy. A flavour of goodness. Brewed
from unholiness. Tragedies remind us, constantly on death.
Yet. We all die one day. Despite our thoughts, intents and
actions leading towards it. We can’t we die together?

People died.
Right there in the video.
They lost their lives after cyanide
laced drinks were forced
down their throats
and they choked.
And they died.
After listening to the tape, I researched.
918 people filled that room
many were confused, conflicted
but all addicted
to a drug
a plague
a bug, parasite named
Jim Jones.
He talked about Russia, and murdered congressmen
and how the world would not listen.
but, Jones, I listened.
I heard the voices cheering, I did
but I also heard the voices saying "I'm not ready to die"
I heard children start to cry
I heard them asking if they would to die,
all the while high on this drug you fed them.
Grab their jaws
open their mouths
pour it in.
Drug is defined as
"A medicine or other substance which has a physiological effect when ingested or otherwise introduced into the body, "
while Drank the Kool Aid is defined as
"Someone who has been so bought into their leader's vision or cause they will blindly follow to their own doom."
I WON'T!
So when you say to drank the Kool Aid
I stopped listening.
I watched
I watched as I poured out Kool Aid on the floor.
I imagined 918 people doing the same.
when a voice said, "take some"
I listened.
And I said no.

How you love yourself, won’t be the
same when it comes to others, to
cry, internally or even sobbing out an
ocean, you’ll be alone, despite any
helping hand. As for poetry, still, I’ll
take my comfort there.

Such an earthly being, noticing the frozen outside those
graves, no one to help cure, no poet for comfort, as for
myself, a mere echo, the afternoon, golden vast, peering
up, for I’m too used for angst and grief, oh reality, it is
tiring engaging with those emotions. Sigh. Flowers with
frozen dew on top, effort none, lost beauty, source mixing
well, intertwined with mystery, grips and holding onto,
loss of time is a loss of life, potential and so forth, I’m
holding a faithful longing, that things will brighten, matching
that sun that rises daily. Enlarged silence. For my inner
world does not match the outside, neither in the vice versa.
Wonder if I shall quit?  
(knowledge variable)

Thoughts of love, no other feeling I’ve ever wanted,
to love ceaselessly and in ease, to be loved back
without fear of finding my flaws, no-insecurity to
fill out the void between us, because if it’s true love,
everything else will be parted from and we’ll have
nothing else to do and to feel. In melodramatic uplifting,
passing the Shakespearean drama, sonnets kiss us,
they’re in ode to the love we produce, on fire our
hearts, passion reaching for storms, flushed and
heavy. Wishing that our past when we never had one
another would be forgotten now, rather than later.
My hopes, my dreams, my yearnings had already
gone into exile, lover lay, lover fly, high pelican, high
like heaven, cry now? What for? Smiles swirl with
the smoke from our heat, muted silences, speak loud,
whisper now, scream louder, is it fate? Or is our love
by accident? With the Angels singing, it doesn’t seem
to matter. No longer does our shadows shape, the
soulmate we had always craved. And every poets knows
about us. Cello symphonies, harmony in the colours
they choose to paint, I say it’s for you lover, but never
are you to accept that, Muses that we replace say it’s
the ******* sessions we do. Something we have,
humanity can’t. Beauty wild in simple, complex to others,
as it was once to me, it’s something I didn’t determine,
now it’s the cause of my distractions, fly more, high now,
my blood is stronger,  until your beauty formed in the
speech of your tongue, now I can’t stop the words I love
you so. Because it’s life for me. Now you spoil me. With
nothing to offer you in return, besides my loyalty. Firefly
rustles. The only pray I got to say, other than wanting to
be holy, after easter comes, is that I just can’t die now,
I’ve always wanted to live fully and free, in her arms,
for I’ve found my own safety, maybe this is too much of
a good thing, at least now I got something to die for.
Lovers got to watch the throne, we got pistols under those
pillows, nobody likes the ones in love, conformity hurts
when they witness those to live out as they see fit.
Dusts of history slowing dying, noticed in those sunlight
beams, violet and smelling of gold in those moonlight
silver, birthing our own romance, we’re the honey and
silk when it comes to freedom in reality. Our souls are the
church in the wild, permitting rebirths and forgiving the
bite marks in apples, the love to tempt the devil himself.

“It’s far better, to do your own duties imperfectly,
than to master the duties of another.”
Lord Krishna

Even just to live, takes extreme summouring
threads of courage. To have that same courage
to be self-produced, is even rarer. Without
anxious dependence, as this present, unfolds
into the future, parting from the past. To stop,
for a single second, to have romance, under
candlelight. Blessed. There is no easy way
from earth to Heaven and to dance with the
stars, that humanity call ‘constellations’. Do
not debate it, those who dare to live originally
is the brave, without fear of persecution. Material
wealth slaves the fool and has the potential to
master the wise, the poorest person is the one
who still wants more. The sun still rises and
even on sin, it still shines. To whoever has ever
experienced love, knows how to turn themselves
into a muse to poets. And there I go, to cross these
plains in utter exile, in hope to avoid death
(knowledge variable)

Let me soak in something than higher art, expression of reality that I experience. Effortless and distinction. Eternal on dawning-awakening. Evening kisses under moonlight. Pulling contrast. Attributing lines to poetry, but must experience the romance first. Deriving from dreams. In remote areas of my inner-world.

No mutual admiration, I adore the thought of being loved, for I have so much to give and I’m slowly tiring with engaging with poetry.

Their eyes glittered heaven and waved into my soul, lingering inside now. In mystery, touching my flesh, soothing poetry. Exchanging secrets. We conversed for days, afterwards, we sat in silence and I felt content for the first time. I had always read about love, poetry, novels, in songs I heard. As for finding one’s soulmate, I had always thought they exiled to the cosmo’s and never to exist here in the present with me now. Evoking meaning into me. Galactic beauty. Though it’s wildly-overwhelming, taming my entire essence. We kiss. Touch. Stare. Smile. For I have travelled far enough to meet the one shaped only for me.

Harmony.

Blending in paradise, paradox and reality. Be in the sweep of movement with me. It’s a strange land. Normal to my Muse. pounding scarlet. Brewing violet. Velvet blending. Long time melodramatic epic. As for my peers, they’re blowing in the wind on death row.

For me, I rose.

Installing myself into history. Drifting away from this world. Combing body, soul, heart and formed my essence. Belonging to a kingdom, unable to be articulated in any form of art or poetry. It’s sinful to avoid it. A culture of Muses, coming together, from something I just wanted pure love, in poetic romance, epic symphonies. Opera written than sung for me. As I approach my own destiny that I crafted for myself, there is destiny, but vain, despair, angst and pain, is from not from acting on life and falling into the mundane. With climate of the adoring music. As lyrics leaving me spellbound. And without a sound, I slide down, the tree of life as Goat heads pray. The trinity men singing in chanting words. Spanned across period of humanity.

Burning into consciousness.

In rewards, mythological fame, I’m in a world of my own. A single drop, into limitless paths, expressed wit my own hands touching immortality, as the population watches as a defenceless witness. Tender and full of emotion. I can birth any future for anyone

There’s nothing more eloquent than that glance at your lover, that somehow forces magic inside to boil and burst inside and you’ve got nothing else to do, than to violently act in ******* session, disregarding the world outside. All in unpredictable fashions, forming historic times, in it’s sliding wild and roaring romantic themes, that’s even new to our Muses and as humanity looks back on the lovers, it sparks the second renaissance. Kissing and touching in singular places, urging to move on, because it’s all too painful not to kiss and touch everywhere at the same time, moans turn into love songs, through the physical, the souls transcend through becoming one and finally, the meaning of life becomes all too visible, as for the fact of being all too human, drips and drops away in melting fashion and finally, like the bluebirds being let free from its cages for the first time. Lovers become free to live as they should. Angels in Gods eyes and illuminating everything they touch with ease. There is no boundaries between the two, no secrets, nothing to hold them back, all personal fears and insecurities become forgotten, like their personal history as their private-public flaws are mastered and moved on from. And in a gasp of romance aroma breathing in air, and perhaps with a little sting of envy, for anyone blessed enough to witness two that had found each other, despite life’s and this society's flaws, sin, expectations, they’ve got nothing to do, but to continue to gasp in awe, bringing any heart to tears. Though how ******, how much of cruel trick, with joking laughter, life would be, that there would be utterly no hope of actually finding one’s soulmate and experience the true and pure love of a soulmate and that dream only belonged in poetry or to some parallel world. And as much as I expect to be held responsible for thy sins committed in this life, for I fully expect to uphold my creator to my soulmate, whether that I get to experience them or not. Now I fully understand, that whether I’m living in paradise or not, it presents self-awareness and knowledge, bliss truly mixes in with the ignorant. As for now, all I know, that each love poem is only a trail left behind those who had experience it.

As for my own redemption, to all that I took apart by ignoring, I could only use this present to parent my future, not to repeat the mistake I’ve suffered in the past, do not pity me because I have. For I had apart in it. Strip back beliefs, perhaps there is no inherent good or evil and it’s all left to our hands to contribute either. It’s tiring engaging with this world, noticing my own duality. By each sin committed, by our acts of kindness, there’s a twinkling ripple in our actions and it’s the same in our silence that lacks any actions. The sun rises in the east and settles in the west. The sun raises itself daily.

For let us pray, we’ve all sinned and as for my kindness, let me learn to be self-satisfied in being the only person of knowing such action has taken place.

It can be a small world, constant crossing over moments, little for elevation, words on the wanting it all to end. As to the amount of gods in spectrum-history to humanity, to the same count can be called for the apocalypse, for it’s nothing new in the human psyche, the yearning for it is as strong to know the meaning of one and the entire humanities meaning. It won’t stop. Until it happens and when you speak of the Devil, he shall appear.

To develop, to know, to learn, to act on, to practise one’s own character that fate I had mention, to unfold throughout life is nothing short of an addictive-venture that brings such a lonely sickness. As to most laymen, for it’s too hard to grasp and ponder with thinking thoughts, that’s why martyrs had been deemed crazy-mad prior to dying. After that fateful action in death. Their life had personal permission to full live without fear of the outside.

Eat the apple.

Life can be taken in as thawing out.

I wander in darkness seeking light, failing to realize that the light is in the heart of the darkness. Surpassing all culture’s creed and dogma. Rising from the water to jump off the edge, flying through the clouds and drips of dazzling rain. Not accepting the natural status that others had placed upon. The mystics that sing the mysteries sing louder, binding themselves onto me. The glitter to the normal world is everything that vels are. Wisdom has o fears and as a pool of it, self-produced, never to run dry, for it eventually covers the ocean floor and everyone wants to know the code of poet’s immortality, never want to lead a new generation.

The world can end today. But not before I have my coffee.

For I’ll walk a flock of flames.

Conversing philosopher with the one, who holds the heart of a soldier and the brains to teach a whole globe.