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Sacrelicious Jun 21
You can just keep your
christ to yourself.
I have enough,
faith in myself.

For the both of us.
god's not saving any of us.
We are all ******.
Look what happened to Jesus.
And that was his son.
The pantheon of misplaced fears,
Whose walls were built on oppressed tears,
Has been well-guarded through the years,
Hiding from curious man’s ears.

There is no faith that threatens fears,
Afflicting the weakest with tears,
No faith like that withstands the years,
Silent in curious man’s ears.

Unchallenged faith the true faith fears,
To give compassion through the tears,
Where questions repeat through the years,
Faith needs curious eyes and ears.

The curious confront faith’s fears,
The curious fight through faith’s tears,
The curious give faithful years,
The curious give faith their ears.
Instagram @insightshurt
Blogging at www.insightshurt.com
Buy “Insights Hurt: Bringing Healing Thoughts To Life” at store.bookbaby.com/book/insights-hurt
There stands the Idol on the Square,
Glistening in its glazed, gold splendor and so-called glory.
Its sun does not shine on it because it is important,
The sun shines on it because the Idol is simply there, simply there to bask in it all.
But then come the first tribe of people who walk into the empty square,
Who walk into the Idol’s city looking for company.
All they see is the Idol, a figure firm and masculine
Yet it is also lean and feminine.
All who see the Idol’s seductive stare,
With its crafted eyes gazing like a graceful serpent’s eyes
Believe the Idol to be holy
As it glistens in its glazed, gold splendor and so-called glory.

The first tribe looks above, hungry and hopeful.
They sit down in front of the idol, as they are taken by its chiseled, serpentine form.
Then the second tribe comes in and notices the first tribe eyeing the Idol.
The Idol eyes the newfound fans flocking by the handful.
The second tribe sits down to gather around the Idol and forget their long journey
To wherever they were supposed to be or whatever they were supposed to do.
Then tribe after tribe leers in line and take their time from the wilderness
To bask in the Idol’s wisdom of wasting without worrying,
As it glistens in its glazed, golden splendor and so-called glory.

The tribe members sit around the Idol, looking up and demanding peace
From treading arid deserts,
Walking through moist, flesh melting jungles,
And venturing through bone biting arctic winds
And forgetting the larger presence around them
That lead these folk to the danger of this place
And what would lead them away from the Idol.

The tribe members dance around the Idol.
They blend their blistering, bruised bodies close to the Idol’s golden platform,
Against each other in a violent **** of screams, moans, and demands for where they are
In their mortal life and for the realm beyond the weary bone and flesh they inhabited.
They ask constantly of what they can do for the Idol,
All while forgetting about a larger purpose of their own god
And why they were walking around in the wilds in the first place.
Instead, they are entranced by the Idol’s mute music
That rings in their heads, which screams from the closed mouth of the Idol
In its glazed, golden splendor and so-called glory

The shriveling tribes bow down to the Idol’s grace without individual care
with their rib cages poking out and their mouths dry with drought.
In their weakness, the tribes goad the Idol
To perform a miracle of strength like or more than their own god,
Or even more than each tribe member can do.
Yet their minds are sinking into a haze of ash
From the fire they burn around the Idol to hopefully bring it to full life
And their skin is black and charred from pouring all the goods and money
Into the ring of fire surrounding the Idol
They give their nourishment to a being built on the basis of needing no sustenance
Except its own and the lives it is stealing from the people around it.

The tribes holler and howl for the Idol to answer their wishes for a safer haven
Than the barren one they are frivolously wasting in now.
They desecrate their individuality with conformist chants used to glorify their god
But instead are used to glorify the Idol with ragged throats.
The Idol still stands, blind, deaf ,and mute
To the tribes’ kisses,
To the tribe’s prayers,
And to the tribes’ outstretched arms grasping for salvation.
The Idol basks in the tribes’ ignorance yet ignores their ignorance
In its glazed, glistening, so-called glory.

The Idol on the Square
Stands in a pool of starved and dying bodies
Still pleading in weathered whispers,
And still gripping the Idol’s platform with bony fingers.
All these tribes, all these offerings to the vultures
Perching on the tops of buildings, on the lamp posts, and on the city gutters.
They were once followers of their own god,
And of their own destinies,
But they are now the followers of the Idol,
The Idol of Death,
The Idol of Damnation,
The Idol of Starvation,
And the Idol of Lamentation.

They are followers of the Idol on the Square
In its glazed, glistening, so-called glory.
One cannot blame the Devil for the action of sin,
(The future wants me buried, I know who’s a lier)
though it’s sad I can meet him before, in the physical form,
(now I keep two rottweilers next to me bed when I sleep)
smoke in the villas, crammed with exoctic plants,
(my comrades die & come back resurrected)
it’s not even at the crossroads, can’t touch my philosophers stone,
(exploit my secrets, is to exploit everyone else's)
only to relieve my embellishing heart dwellings, one life to lead,
(the only way for me to come back, is by machiavelli.
I’m taking back, what those ******* have stolen from me)
https://www.amazon.com.au/Inherent-Sin-Darcy-Prince-ebook/dp/B07FR5FW42/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1540847509&sr=8-2&keywords=darcy+prince
To each rebirth I command myself to undertake,
the closer I become to being a Higher Power, further from being a Muse,
those unable to do the same, it’s alright
to
name
&
shame.
The weak is here to justify the strong,
for most will read & dismiss it as arrogant ego, rather than a self-validating poet,
living in freedom.
Let us party hard, let us party all night, the love of sacrifice is
at the base
of the shrine, profit thrives on stupidity, shown most highlighted in trends
& forefront of subcultures, delusionary revolutions,
the world changes according to the change of the individual,
too bad ignorance isn’t painful,
for
I crave original thinking,
it is too bad I have wasted so much time,
on those who cannot even pull themselves to average,
you’re none to service.
Blessed are those who can destroy false hopes, illusions, trends, validation from others, dependance, angst & insecurity.
Freedom lays in thy hands.
(Heartache, don’t let it bring my heart down,
Jezebel bow your head in shame,
I am the light of illumination,
Mystical enhance my essence is, you phony,
you fake, I’m free, while your wrapped in children’s
attention. The sun rises in the east, at the Beast’s
discretion, than sets in the west, Babylon won’t
test. I’m free again, ruff & ready, you don’t know
what you're living for. Reaching replaceable average
is your best hope. Everything at your feet, still you’re
bitter, bored & sober, so you got nothing to do.
Forgetting suicide is painless)
https://www.amazon.com.au/Killing-Philosophy-Reflection-Darcy-Prince-ebook/dp/B07F9QVCW4/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1539149191&sr=8-3&keywords=darcy+prince
Romance is distraction -
Romance is elaborating saga,
Romance is invention,
and not at all Love's dogma.

Love is discovery -
Love is devotion,
Love is creativity,
It evolved as we evolved,

Love is center, in all kinds
in the pure and the complex,
Love expressed in all the fines
the beauty in finding is yet -

Losing oneself in the find
or finding oneself in a loss,
unset from stone your searching mind
come morning, midnight, sun rise or set -

Love will find you as much as
Love willingly let's you beget.
I heard of a shamaness
who cures dogma
lays off documents
on the coast
of her ******,
swings her liberty torch!
and puts on a red cloth.
Her *******, like
speechless
fragile animals
Eyes like poison wells
across the
grand brows
and her smell wrapped
in a burnt sleep
for
ten thousand years.
She cures dogma!

I smoke too much
I dream of an explosion of the silver forests and
I want to fall as beautifully as the ballads tell,
I have held my breath and now I'm entering the coast of her ******...



- Samar Charulingah Godfrey
Why must I be hard-headed?

I’ll come through with guns, **** around and riot in your life. I spit up for-real, get up and feel, because it’s real. No emergency calls allowed. A lot of men are heated, but most stay bluffing. Society wants to duck tape and **** me, Demons telling me they hate me. Keeping you running, hollering on the roof, like the werewolf, my Muse gave me permission to let my will be done with no consequences. **** mystics, ****. Death has been always on my mind, ever since sobriety had been master. For I’ve been through phases in order to find myself, finally stumbled upon the crossroads. Saw nameless faceless, who experienced mindless violence, take my breathe, give me death, give me rest, I’m going to live on when I die, when I do, I want to be a living legend outside folklore. Feeling no more pain. Masonic learning, Masonic magic, my third eye can peer into yourself, bleed from the mouth and see visions of hell inside. A heart of soldier, with the brains to teach a whole nation. My hands on your hips, no time to *******, **** your boyfriend I want love tonight. I dare those boys to shoot in open fire, even at point blank range, real Mystics don’t die, they just multiply. Woman, come creep with me, you know I can keep a secret, but we got to be blood in, blood out. Bury me, it’s what they all said once, my personal past, I was once like them, cause they wanted me to be just like them, but I changed into myself and parted from their lifestyle and no retaliation is a must. Even it sparks a holy war.
Shot at me five time, so I joined a gang, they never preach loyalty, just act on it. Put their knife through your six-pack. Admit it, life isn’t want you wanted. My pursuit of Masonic knowledge is greater than my shortcomings. Anxiety is my phantom ache. My flaws are my horrors, I’m in forever to sort them out and have my mind learn how to master them all. Because my soul is boundless of its own landscape. Poets, painters, writers and cinema glory, in exile and unnoticed. Against all odds, shall expose people's personal secret. Hush now. You’re living in fantasy. I take Demonic mythology serious, cause it’s proven fact. Tell yourself whatever you want. There is no justification of you breathing in the wind freely and walk on this earth surface with no purpose. Known for flashing and little substance, the weak’s meaning to life, is to justify the strong. Awkward and heavy. Touch one of mine, I will destroy everything you love. If the cops come and get me in the morning silence, my Masons will rush the station by the evening with guns drawn. War is cheaper than the court systems. I’ll be the real, breathing or dead. People who don't rhyme right, seen too many movies. Before, I feared death and saw only demons. Angels battle them within me. The treachery of a Demon and it’s tyrant intentions is nothing compared to the betrayal’s of Angels. I learnt how to treat a woman, but from what the tricks told me about cheating husbands and their behavior. Militant soldier, the sun may rise in east where the Beast is, but set in the west where the angels are, we are the light of the world, mystical enhanced, the world’s Bablylon can’t test, we’re free again. Blessed are the ones who develop themselves into God’s. Cause it serves reality. Brethren, Anastasia my muse, we’re free again. Speak of The Devil, he shall appear. I’ve met a higher power here in life, before death and provided everything for my desires to be at ease, yet personal freedom still expands, along with my mind and felt no more pain. To my soul to take, immortality now, I’ve surpassed earthly glory.
Rare people are exquisite, it’s too bad they’re ignored and
pushed to the side. Perhaps it’s a reality they present or they’re
natural ability to alter one’s life for holiness of mysticism,
leaving meaning and dreams to be lived in reality. From strong
winds, the flowers pulled up and turned into butterflies. It all
sounds sweeter than honey. For that, they can all provide the
opposite. The capacity to live. They hold the capacity to do evil.
Perhaps they’re made to be alone, in either isolation or in crowds,
though it’s sinful to ignore them.
https://www.amazon.com.au/Her-Darcy-Prince-ebook/dp/B07GBCMWHS/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1534764910&sr=8-1&keywords=darcy+prince
Gathering twilight as colors over the horizon turned into a radiant-alluring showcase, tempting a my entire being to stand still and gaze, opening eyelids as their pupils move side to side, to understand creation in one single moment and the meaning was not meant to be shown to anyone. A jolt of illumination changing the silhouette of moods and a personal awakening sparkled inside. Time slowed. Sounds amplified. As earth veiled itself in more than aesthetic beauty rather than holding a face of horror and shame. Until a figure move faintly from the horizon and I took stepped forward. The europhia gasped and I wanted to jump to Heaven. Meaning beated in my third eye and it’s something that I had searched for my entire life, it’s a different meaning. The figure flew and stood across from me from an arms length. And started to sing in romantic tenderness, a kind of rapture a romantic had personal yearned for. But the beauty should never had been meet because of sense of aiming for had lost its value and nothing could ever compare here on earth. She sung about love, philosophy, poetry and lovers. Ending the song calling every person foolish and lived an unbearable life in dim secret darkness. Earthly satisfaction left my inner life. She stopped singing and my eyes rendered back to some or normality and instantly saw of periods of humanity, including the resonance and the romanticism, it lost of it’s points and held a burning desire to burn all history books. I felt only her existence and held it close to my privately owned heart. To describe her, including her flesh that is true poetry is outside of any language is pointless to start. All I know it’s only a starting point of the perfect revolution that humanity had been looking for in experience on a global front since the start time and meet the centerpoint of it all. For now I cannot fall in love with anyone here on earth, for now it’s only for that other side, for everyone here is dull and local, in need of rebirth.
(please find me on YouTube: ‘Knowledge Variable’)
https://www.amazon.com.au/Killing-Philosophy-Reflection-Darcy-Prince-ebook/dp/B07F9QVCW4/ref=sr11?ie=UTF8&qid=1532482922&sr=8-1&keywords=darcy+prince
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