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The serpent represents the form of evil,
Some say, at least, during certain times.

He says it doesn’t.
Apophis,
Destroyer, World-eater,
Embodiment of the end,
Claims it never did.

Imagine, a creature of chaos,
From a time where moments were indivisible.
There are no seconds or minutes, no beginnings nor ends,
Only an eternity within itself.
Is it any wonder that it took the form of a snake,
The one creature that can devour its own tail
And pretend to last forever.

Envision the beginning, that fleeting second of novelty,
A swirling, chaotic mass of all that could be,
Being pulled apart into bright stars
That burned imprints onto the serpent’s eyes.
Now witness the first things that aren’t you
Blasting themselves apart, their remains flung far and wide.

Our sun, our Ra, isn’t the first he’s seen,
But it will be the one he devours,
Holds in his mouth so that its yellow brilliance
Never bubbles to bloated red
And swallows up that sweet blue
That hides within its rays.

Our race, and our ancestors
Who like him swirled out of the chaotic sea,
Are the first to watch the stars and see
The way nothing lasts forever.
Why wouldn’t he want to hold us in his belly?
We could exist forever, never wither, never rip apart,
Never be alone in eternity.
For those unfamiliar with Egyptian mythology, Apophis was a snake *** of primordial chaos who sought to devour and destroy humanity, the world, and the sun *** known as Ra. This poem is both an exploration of the possible reasons behind his appetite and goals and a reason to combine the scientific beginnings and history of the universe with my favorite mythology.
Can you hear me?
Ill ask that question every time
Can you hear me?
Im still here
Asking you questions
Wondering if somethings up there
Some being
But being is too human
Some incredible energy
Shaping the stars
And blowing the universe away
Each and every day
Can you hear me?
Because im still here
Begging you
For some sort of boon
Some relief
I need you
I need to know im not alone
That its gonna be okay
Are you you?
Are you me?
Just us waiting to see?
Waiting to be
Can you hear me?
Calling in the night
Calling from my dreams
Breaking at my seams
Im so frustrated right now
And im not looking for a ***
A father
A figure
Im not looking for anyone
Anyone but you
An ancient state of life
Something so deep and old
Older than the earth
Than the stars
I need you
I am just a child
Looking outwards upon your great expanse
As I forever will be
But more than I ever have
Now is when I need you
Can you hear me?
Maybe im grasping in the dark
But i wish there was something out there for me
Millenia a moment
wishes on all the starfish in the ocean
wouldn't make Wilcox happy in love

Indivisible divisions
infinite wisdom where math and science
will never meet ***

Did science create a universe or simply define it?
Where beginning meets end in pinpoints of minutia
that by definition and design will never actually meet

Cradle me in your arms for nanoseconds
each holding an eternity
If only time could be held by more than mere memory

Maybe, everything until the now that is never the now
can touch a moment
that can never be broken into its smallest parts
101218
100w
The enduring ephemerality,
Strung together moments of blissfulness,
Each fleeting in its temporality,
But feeling infinite in wistfulness.

The hands of time spin circles without end,
While memories live in moments discrete.
Some moments blur to a nondescript end,
Moments with you time will never defeat.

Events live so long as not forgotten,
Life’s meaning breaks time’s continuity.
With each breath a new time is begotten,
So time gone lives in perpetuity.

When timeless blissfulness is in the past,
The paradox of time still makes it last.
Instagram @insightshurt
Blogging at www.insightshurt.com
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There is only one way to the heart
and it is buried deep inside of all life.
Many roads are traveled to touch eternity
but the heart of all thing is hidden away.
It can be cut out, you can clasp, crush, break,
even destroy it.
However you cannot own it.
It can be freely given, yet
there is only one way to every heart
and the journey is ours
to find.
RBWhite 6d
Stay,for my leaves leaving my wind and seas,
Don't leave,my only need, leave your heart on my sleeve,
Stay,for all that is sane and tamed, don't say that I'm crazed for a haze of despair,
Let me crawl and beg,
Make me an Obscure Saint,
Let me cry and rage,
For it is my heart that you are tearing apart,
Unbound me of your velvet destiny,
Ignite the end of truth and eternity,
So I can rest finally,laid down under a cloud of hunger,
And my skin turns red and swollen,
Breathing out,breathing down,
Leaving behind my broken laws.
I put my hand in the hand of the man from galilee

Or I thought I did, I imagined he would walk with me
and talk with me

and help me fill the darkness behind my eyes,
which i think may have been blind, at one time,

I have memories like that guy, Gold-something
color maybe, Goldfarv? Bloom. Right, my augmentatious savant
looked it up and I sorted what I recalled

Google The Global Brain, where he named a kind of
category of knowability. Memes, he called them.

And I thought, memes mean something more,
not Dawkins's, nor Bloom's, but
these, heteromemes bubbling out my belly button,
look real close.

Fractally featureless by the time a clock could have been imagined,

the point of the story was made, and there is no end in sight.

Pop. Another apocalypse bubble eclipsed by mortality. Whaddyaknow?

What remains when a bubble pops at a positron level,
after the charge is touched and
the tensionpowerloss collapses the bubble?

You should think you know atoms work, like
not a cloud of super positioning, elect-
tric-magi-tech, touch screen at the quantum accounting point,
not that, but
a bubble, powered, one way or another, with a single charge,
Go, that's it.
What an electron does. It goes,
as soon as any sense can be made of it,
oughtaouta hear
ping. No charge, no bubble, but next sure as...

****,
somethi' from nuthin must ahapt one time,
but ya'll take no heed, m'fallin angel droppin' in olfren, tricky hybridbast...

Noah was a tellin' Ham the truth found in wines that moved themselves
aright, slurry tongued, but pisstoff

The idea of somethin' goin' south in a family,
that started up again when
ever Noah started drinkin' old wine, sayin' sbetter'n...

Who told you I was *****?

-- aye, ye know, Noah was *****,
No excuse, but you know.

Things were said, that maybe were forgotten, after a while,

But those father wounds a man imagines worst
are the one's his son's forgot.

The story being told is complicated. See,
the Bible is a lens,
not a map.

It got me much farther than this, should you ever
visit me.
No,
that's not in the stack,
that card's about as relevant as McLuhan's hair of the dog.

Somethin', ain't it?  All them three meter dishes shrunk down
to the size of a spoon, a teeny weeny spoon, a coke spoon,
like on Miami Vice, back when.

Satellite TV changed the desert, fer sher, but 4g, brohan,

that was the trick.
Future, on demand, where outhouses are still de rigueur.

Before you know it, country kids,
too poor for any but outlaw dreams,
can audit courses at MIT,
if somebody
shows him, it can be done, prove t' him
it works, faith can make things happen,
but
happening is sorta hard to nail down to one thing,
until the very last
Planc-sec.  Astrophysics is part of the metagame, fer sher.
But
there's some stuff that takes some patience,

everything that's old is only old, not rotten.

Olde time religion, at the oldfo'k dayroom,
where the clock runs the whole show.
It's another game show. Saint Bob Barker takes a bow,
and declares the worth of all your eyes behold,

If, if, if you are alucky winner and you arise when I call your name
to come on down
fall on your knees and declare the worth...

pure gamesmanships required here, golf whispers only,
worship, smuch more difficult to aim for than praise.
I agree.
Praise, appraisal, worthyness, worthship, prize,
how do you declare such a thing worthy,

A feeling? What's it worth? Depends. Safe? Priceless. Don't shout.

So we sell walls. We'll be rich and powerful wallbuilding,
citi-zen warriors fed and fattened by those we make
feel safe.

That's the idea. It's worked for years, at least
since
we
capitalized Campbell's bliss and Sagan's billions and billions of stars.

Workers will work for food and a feeling. And Facebook.
They choose, believe what's easiest, they are told,
you are absolutely co-rectallatime, tekayepeel.

There are such wishes being made, on all manner of stars
for happy ever afters. If wishes were asked for, whatif
connecting to the source of haps that are
all happiness can possibly
consist of...
Oh, consist is a sticky, gluten idea stuck in my daily bread.
It's related to resist, desist and the command to stand. Sistere.

This is that bomb, this is a dam buster Jesus H Christ Bomb!

Something's bound on earth to go wrong,
ever since Eve bit that apple, if she'da left that apple on the apple tree
Nah, that ain't how it went down and
songs about it don't change it none.

But, maybe this is me interrupted..
Whatif, nothing is immaterial, as an idea, it can't go wrong,
and Murphy's law, obeyed, is good, all the time.
Ask the pilot. What if,
asking for help helps? Was that a message? A touch by an angel?
Spirit, the idea?
Are you familiar with its role in reality?
Something makes these bubbles spin, y'know.

Ignoring is bliss, nay,
No more,
precisely, nevermore, quotheraven, shall the man who can read
be locked away from all the stories of all the things that
men, wombed and un,
have told and tested for ever, it seems,
when ya stop
striving for perfection and let patience have her way witcha,

whatcha learn can change the world.

Look back. Good news from a far country come our way.
In my younger days, I visited folks in county homes, the rest homes that once were called the po house, and sometimes I'd just sit and watch Jeopardy, and hold her hand, while listening to conversations with angels, all around me.
Talia Oct 10
I'll just wait 'till I die,
and I'll meet you by a bench somewhere in the afterlife;
We can just sit there and watch the world burn for all eternity.
20:45 - Oct 09
Erik Whalen Oct 9
Butterflies take flight in my empty stomach as my knees buckle and my heart begins to tear at its patchwork seams.

My eyes snap shut, as if some ethereal force gave way and no longer kept them to my beloved, now betraying my thoughts.

Newborn tears, borne of an extrinsic sadness, suddenly made keep in my soul and petrified the felicity that made the mind once homely.

I had experienced such grief in a time, but to none before had it struck such finality in its judgment. All at once, future revealed its cards, and their dealer had been deceitful.

Was I cursed with such a doleful position, or was this origin I had been inquiring a personal endeavor?

Melancholy to describe the day-to-day had never been an answer, not until this eternal second had plagued my mind.
I grieve you
the way I grieve my last cigarette
knowing I'll have another
and another
and another
but I grieve him
the way I grieve the very last
knowing I'll spend eternity
searching for
just
one
drag
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