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The suicide bomber, seeing a little girl
Who was leaving the ill-fated church,
Patted her head with compassion

Then he placed himself
Among the Easter prayers
And pressed the button
Thomas Mar 2018
Personality like two sides of a coin,
Duplicitous in nature...
Both the cause and the cure,
This is the infinite loop in my mind,
Minute to minute for all of my time..

Serendipitous in it's naive essence,
Living for that fortunate happenstance ..
While the residue past transgressions,
Poisons future endeavors' chance...
This is the infinite loop in my mind,
Minute to minute for all of my time..

Both sinner and saint in the same line,
Posing as the executioner and the accused all in one mind..
This is the infinite loop in my mind,
Minute to minute for all of my time...

So I tread on through life,
Happiness within reach with my own hand dragging me down...
Things will be different because of the people that surround,
They give me the strength and desire  to deny my demons...
This is the infinite loop has been broken,
Which existed in my mind...
Minute to minute for all of my time

Raised on my extremes with these extremes woefully denied,
An oath silently affirmed yet mournfully defied.
Words not weighed or windowed by their sheer multitude,
Inwardly swallowed in rhyme, be they rusty and sometimes crude.
To some - truth has to be dashed with the salt within their own eyes,
Their own tears to confuse the foolishness and twist them into lies.
Do any loving words have an equaling folly to befall?
Or do you believe in nothing – yes - nothing at all?
The poets’ rites are here - to - for rarely embraced,
When what is needed is a muse, who could add flavor to the taste.
Such savoring delights I offer, to a soul in need of ritual food,
Served up hot all at once – then sinfully shared in the ****.
But by force one cannot offer these to even the gods,
For only one in a million is worthy, all the rest are just at odds.
No fraud I offer you in this, my musing trade,
But writers are harder to conquer than they are to persuade.
They are busy scribes mingling within life’s refuse,
Raking around in the garbage looking for new verbiage to defuse.
Do you hear me – do my words sit on your lips?
Touch them now – gently - and let me take you away on a thousand trips.
My words on your lips – can they truly take you away?
Shhhh – my darling, close your eyes and taste them, and their gentile foreplay.
Oh this author swears it not but only you can know
How far these words can reach or where for art they may go.
If I fail you and for want I lose my common sense,
What love will come from this or be the consequence?
My words are like raging fevers boiling my own blood,
Be careful my muse, these words often float into a flood.
For love is like water always seeking the path of least resistance,
Quiet yet powerful and oft bubbling over in persistence.
Breathe my muse; take it all in as we flow into the decent
Working up the foam as we threaten to shoot the vent.
Who among are as witty as we are wise?
I watch as my words leave those lips and shine from within your eyes.
Those eyes like reflecting pools, one by two, my holly preference,
I think God must have given us two eyes so as to cross the reference.
Kiss me my muse; please kiss me until this fatal fury has gone,
Hold on tight as I write and drag you from your rightful throne.
These words raised in power amongst our fellowship.
Words, precious words, now on our hungry lips.
May we let them ooze – oh - please let them go,
Listen do you taste them now? Only you my muse -
Only you can ever know.

I cannot speak for everyone but as for myself I do believe that with my writing I do look for a muse. This piece is written to such a muse even though no such person exists. It is an attempt to say what I would want to say and feel in that pure delight of understanding and being understood.
Sunshine Girl Jan 2016
I am who you long to see
Yet who you will never cease to be

I am what you envy most
But I am more dead than a ghost

I am little, small and weak
Yet I do more, much more than speak

In my eyes I hold the key
But to get it, you must first unsee

For days of cold when lights grow dim
I am yours- I am him.
Brent Kincaid Dec 2015
The conservative element in DC
Has something else as priority.
It sure is not you, nor is it me.
It’s a much more powerful constituency:
Those who pull strings do not care
Unless you are a multi-millionaire
And contribute to their greedy cause
Like some kind of Santa Claus.

They keep on doing what they’re doing
******* who they were *******
I would explain it all if I could
But sometimes words do no good.
Behind all the gobbledy ****
Someone is not playing by the book.
Winning with lies is what they are trying
To make the true facts look like lying.

They keep you so confused that you
You believe what they want you to,
So you won’t see behind their wiles
To bring their larcenous ***** to trial.
Dignifying public rumors of buggery
You look away from skullduggery.
A few insignificant happenstances
Eclipse treasonous circumstances.

You ***** about gays and abortion
While conservatives commit extortion
And persecution in Jesus’ name.
To them it’s all a ratings game.
If you don’t care what people feel
You lose all track of what is real.
You turn into a tool for deception;
A dupe of sleight-of-hand misdirection.

As long as things are as they are
We’ll get run over by the clown car
Which is the Congress currently seated.
And as long as they remain undefeated
The rules will leave the deck stacked.
Nobody in DC will have our backs.
Why should they care about our whim
When the way it is benefits them?

We need one item, one bill rules
Or we end up the same beaten fools.
We need campaign funding to be equal
Or each election becomes a sequel
To what happened with Gore and Bush
When backdoor politics bit us in the ****.
The only way change will ever come around
Is to take the loopholes from these clowns.
Shivendra Om Jul 2015
Love your duplicity

(your unfolded closeness
makes me react
with uncertainty)

—you are my pain and my delight
(a delayed action)

—you are my cold passion
(a kind subtlety)

—you are my nice thorn
(a future unborn)

—you are the venture I fear
(a welcomed intensity)

You are Life, oh beloved,
in its purest form
by Luca Shivendra Om
(C) Luca Shivendra Om
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