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Roger Penrose
You demonstrated
Black Holes
Direct consequence
Einstein's General Relativity Theory
And lo and behold
You get
Nobel Prize 2020
Einstein didn't
Believe in Black Holes
How ignorant
He was
He didn't know
What was hidden
In his theory
But you Penrose
Standing on
The shoulders
Of Einstein
Became a
Giant of Science
And made Einstein
A Super Giant
Being extraordinarily
Ordinary person
I have never
Dared to learn
General Theory
Of Relativity
I learn that
A Black Hole
Absorbs everything
And may lead to
Some other Universe
I am not
So lucky to
Observe a Black Hole
With scientific instruments
But I have observed
******* in this world
Whose job is to
**** and only ****
How great the
Black Holes are
They absorb everything
Roger Penrose currently associated with Oxford University awarded Nobel Prize 2020 for his research on Black Holes.
Brandy Sep 30
undeviating
            
I love that direct ****,
Tell me what you want, tell me how u want it
Articulate your words to me in a way that correlates with the way i  say my prayers
Pray you were mine, cause that smile so fine,
Saw how you were gazing at me when we first met,
You know I can treat you right if you let me.
Got me staring at you like constellation, trying to handle you with caution
You seem so gentle,but not weak, just like a butterfly
**** how you so divine.
Yes, your eyes shine with clarity, giving me some security.
I´m telling you, you got me hooked onto something special,
something millions have been searching for.

You got me fening for your love, got me feeling some type of way
Kinda feelings that are honest, like the only boy i desire kinda feelings,
Like the only person I think of throughout the day feelings…
Now the only place i can put these feelings to is lay back in this cold bed, reminiscing the first time your lips touched mine, kissing it into a happy place,
See your touch is essential to our love art baby.

And I know that look you know, that ‘frightened by love’ kinda look, lemme fix that love, cause i’m the type of love you've been craving for, i could love you through the dark blue midnight hours, one that could put you straight to sleep.
I could love you so hard, because i love me enough to see right through you

I can see the fear in your eyes, cause you see a real woman staring right back at you
A woman who is unafraid and irradiate
A woman who is capable of any and everything
A woman who doesn't seek perfection, but is willing to work with potential
And finally a woman who loves and respects herself
So tell me my scrumptious honey boo, is the feeling mutual for you too?

-Brandy
Dante Rocío Aug 26
Can you deduce
basing on one’s
trepidations
and heartbeat
what notes and melody
complete
or
fulfil them,
precariously and intimately
decomposing and
striking?

And what sophistication,
what greatly mindless
analysis is it
when you acquaint a process/
surrounding/
issue/
object/
a person
throughoutly,
approaching in full
immersion like
the day
you go through
and not like going out
into your garden
from your house
for a few mere moments
that just make this escapade
a trespassing event,
without even looking at it!

What patient devotion
must that be to pay
for the prize of entering
its mechanism
and presence emanating,
even more
when that
“it”
is what your mirror
shows both to You
and your body,
or the sonorous car engine
driving you insane,
or...

or finally reading
the architecture of letters
of a Book
for the first time
in your life
with
comprehending actually
the story of the text
or the painting
that architecture gifts you!

And
still
what a horrifying
acknowledgement
would it be
if that
“it”
would be Life,
Time
or the World,
anything like
that in itself,
and thus there
would be no wonder left,
no excitation,
like living an immortal
existence,
a God that has gone
to every corner of perception
and galaxies,
has witnessed every
mechanism
that then starts only
to repeat itself
nevertheless
and constantly!

And
diverging from that,
maybe the reason
many minds believe
that Magic and Literature
as an apparent coming true
in our passing
are nonexistent
is that we restrict it
solely to blank pages
we fill with imagination,
to Child’s
“fads”
that
are actually
“freedoms”,
whereas
they are more
than possible
if we bear it in
ourselves,
as it was put in
the Kybalion:
As it is on the inside,
it is thus on the outside.

Like when I was standing
just a while ago
saying goodbye to the sea
in shouting silent beauty
of transparent words:
the beach to my far left
deserted
by tourists
and chosen by shadows
with Sun
and looming trees
all of a sudden
was more than verily
a shore
from “Robinson Crusoe”
or “The Treasure Island”,

just called to run and
peruse no matter
if something was waiting
or not

Or how now
whenever I write
instead of speaking
to a person
I do not differ them
by their ID
or biological data
and make revelation
of myself in the same
Godly, well perturbating
way like Pythia
and don’t care
if its a wise child,
a seemingly important
member of some affiliation,
or stiff standard model
in human skin.

It is simply all
multiple
constant Metamorphoses.
Notes sudden, granted,
In reflections
Of how all turns its entrails
Inside out to you
When you just consent
To staying till the end
And going all the way
Through what they are
On all planes
Kennedy Sep 2019
In the throes
In those transposed
In my mind
through the murky
Stolen waters of thoughts

Blurted out,
Probably obscene
Cut. The director yells
Who is the director of my life?
It doesn't feel like me anymore.

©
Ian Mar 2019
There's no reason to try and sugarcoat my feelings,
You hurt me.

The weirdest part about it is you convinced yourself,
By just not saying anything, and keeping up a facade,
That somehow, just maybe,
It would hurt less then just ending things finite.

Instead, you kept up the dream, the idea in my mind,
With hints, here and there that maybe things were different,
Taking up space in my bed, my mind, and against my body,
Tell me truly, how could I know that your feelings were a mirage,
A mercy to my own, by your admission?

Looking back it, with how much it stings to think,
That when I awoke with your limbs,
Draped around my neck and waist,
I smiled, and nestled into your embrace,
Only to know just a while after,
That it was meaningless in intent.

In fact, what cut me so deeply,
Is your anger that I kept you there, after the fact,
Cornered you in my presence,
When the reality of it is I laid in my bed,
Believing you wanted to be there,
And the fear you'd leave at any moment.

Reflecting on it all, it's peculiar how you speak about me,
I never knew that things never clicked,
Because you held me in your arms and kissed me so deeply,
After we broke up, and we're sitting in your car,
Or when you tell me how you want to run away together,
Start anew, in a place so foreign to us.

With each moment of intimacy my hope soared,
Surely that kiss, surely that desire to leave it all behind with me,
I dreamed so desperately that the fall in responses to my calls,
Must surely be an issue of conflicting time,
But it was an issue of conflicting interest, in the end.

Maybe most of all, the most simplest of all,
When I say I love you, and you say it back,
And I tell you how much I'd love to keep you in my life,
Only for you to tell me, months after our split,
That there was nothing really there,
And that you could never love me.

That's what really hurt me.
Maybe I'm too sensitive of a soul, maybe I put too much of myself into someone too quickly. I don't know how to feel about all of it, but I'm trying to get through these feelings.
Stark Nov 2018
Wish upon a star that falls
Dying, as rays of light leave it
But is it really death
To go out in an explosion?

To the witnesses below:
A beacon of hope is lost
A source of light
A guide for those long gone

To the sky above:
A sibling has left them
One less star left behind
As they wait for their time to come

To the dreamer:
Death is beauty
Even as the darkness washes over
The remaining light

To the planets:
Once bathed in its light
They cherished its warmth
But alas-it is gone


To the star:
As the last of its embers
Flickers out
It wonders
What will become of it
In the afterlife?
Anya Sep 2018
I’d rather honestly
Spill my feelings
With my words
Than,
Rely on
Ambiguous actions
my raspy
voice is
euphoria but
revere sole
of she
that rejoice
with spontaneity
and invariably
my unrehearsed
vocal is
flutelike always
depict its
comp as
discretion with
a valet
in Wodehouse
novels indirect
A song with soul
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