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Dawn of Lighten Nov 2016
The Artisan tongue and Linguistic,
Likes of the melted cheese upon the mouth,
And the gift of tamoto soup in winter tundra.

Those are the gift that I seek upon,
As an indentured servant looking upon the wonders of aurora boreal,
Or a spiritless soul seeking to quench the inner fiber meld with ether.

Dream seeker with nothing to stand,
A adventurer without a quest,
Or the rebel without a cause.

Those days are but a distant past,
Forgotten murmur of mythic dreams,
As radiance dawn from each breath.

Come upon the golden kingdom,
And seek prize upon the window of glory,
While never stand in comfort of being normalized.

The suburban curse of procrastination,
The comfort of daydream,
The arrogant silence of enact.

The desire to seek greatness entwined with destiny,
Perpetual confidence grasp the very breath of existence,
And one would crawl out from nothing.

I breathe to be something,
And seek everything,
To avoid being nothing.

For seekers desire,
And desire seek every essence of breath another day to be all things.
I can never stay full, nor can be happy stagnant, but dare to seek everything.
Steven Forrester May 2016
When things are stacking up
My mind is packing up
And I've had enough
Of a world that seems to hate me
Of a world where theres no one left to save me
The new one
The lost one
The young one
All of them in my head
I wish I were dead
For causing this turmoil
Which I dread
Bury me in the soil
Before my anger is fed
By a lost tease
A new crush
And a young love
Who knows where it'll lead
Now hush
And fly away my dove
It bulds up to pull me down
Until I'm underground
Until I cant hear the sound
Of three sweet voices in which I've drowned
In love with the lost
Lost with the young
And a young friendship with the new
A voice of reason is trapped behind a door
Because where you have one voice
I have six more
Reason
Is not what they speak
Treason
Is all that they reap
I've come to a new assumption
Drowning in an emotional eruption
(c) Steven Forrester- From Diary of an Ominous Mind
Ambika Jois May 2016
I wonder if you could tell me
What you saw in my eyes on day one
The day we met had a warm summer breeze
But what did you see under our setting sun?

I ponder until my sky has darkened
What you heard that you didn’t want to let go of
The night we sat in Aya with our eyes widened
But what did you hear through the music of love?

I squander my imagination out of reach
What you could’ve felt on our last embrace
Over the clouds, mourning mountains and seas
But what did you feel about the memories we couldn’t erase?

I surrender my thoughts and dream from yesteryear
What stopped us from erupting every single day?
Through our implosions, we’ve turned igneous and seared
But what good are we if we can’t make it through today?
I wonder, if the quiet and serene Aogashima were to break her silence from 1785 and throw her heat out, how would it appear?
This poem is based on one of my repressed emotions that I felt was connecting with the peaceful yet secretly building Aogashima.

For full intro, visit - https://ambikajois.wordpress.com/2016/04/27/aogashima/
It did not look like rain.
And then, slowly,
Clouds gathered, fat drops fell.
A perfect storm can take you by surprise.
Words fall into my hands and your lap,  streams of language,
A downpour, from that stern and sombre sky,
A deluge, spilling sudden, wrenching, overwhelming need.
I fear that we will drown.
I hope that we will not.
You cannot stop the sky when it cries,
And so, we let the storm pass.
Now, I take your hand, and run towards the sun.
Laughter sparkles, there are diamonds on the wet, worn road,
Washed clean, the landscape itself surprised, renewed,
It did not look like rain.
My dilemma's plays are on as always again

Eruption of flames at my heart now begin

my dilemma's fire in an sunset suddenly attacks

sunshine glistens and cloudy sky crazy shows as blacks
AMEN Apr 2014
There is just too much

Too much to feel:

       Eruptions of emotion channel from my core to the surface
        Only to be siphoned off and returned to the callous cauldron
        The magma dashes at my inner walls and
        The wretched pain it causes is tightly sealed away;
        Kept such that no one would suspect…

        No one suspects Mother Nature is alive within
        And she is restless


There is just too much

Too much to think:

      Contemplations accelerate through my mind's eye
        Ideas and reminiscences claw the pupils,
        Each one consumed with self-importance hence
        driven with desperation to tumble through that narrow opening,
        Falling instead into the cauldron
        Wherefore they agitate its contorted contents


There is just too much*

But,
Like a calm ocean,
The surface waves are *gentle

Healthy blue-green water dances to the shore and back
Crisp, salty spray permeates the air
Which invariably caresses the lungs of the living

Like a calm ocean, the surface waves are gentle
Masking the horrors lurking in its murky depths.


                                                       ­                                          -A.M.E.N.

— The End —