the eagle flies free,
and men imprisoned,
behind lines drawn in the sand,
for which they are flattered,
to ****, to bleed, and to die ...

the free mourns,
for theirs is all the earth,
from which they are banished and exiled ...

the idolatrous flag,
another nail to hang the hypocrite ...

formalities were always a must,
you'd have to be crazy to forget your manners.
Shoes off, Gi on, Belt ready;
forget that and the push ups would **** you.
As soon as anyone crossed that threshold,
their mind, body, and spirit tuned into an ancient frequency.
We were raw potential energy encased in flesh,
the trespasses we'd endured throughout the week
our sole source of fuel.

Sifu would shout, We would listen.
Our partners would punch us
And we'd block; no thought required.
With every belt, we moved up in the art;
Educated furthermore in climbing ladders.
That was the first time I had ever been disciplined
And not solely abused,
My first real encounter with tough love.

After those classes, I guess I felt safer around my parents,
But that didn't make them good people.
I almost had to fight them once,
Yet I couldn't bring myself to defend the dignity
Already taken from me.

Maybe I should have let my instincts and not my sense
Guide my hand that night,
Maybe then I'd be a hero to myself as well as everyone's villain.

My chariot rode the wind.
I saw the land, a familiar land,
Just as I knew it, seeking and
filling in the details, as I looked.

Only when I returned ,
did I know I was away.
For home is unfamiliar and strange.
I had been away, a long time.

Space is that between here from there.
I am here and you are there.
Time is that between now from then.
I am here and you're dead or yet to be.

My soul cries within
and says this cannot be.
We are one, not apart,
but always one.

Why do we see, here and there, now and then?
Why do my eyes betray me with distance and change?
Why am I an exile in a strange land,
of blind people speaking a strange tongue?
And all I hear is, "Take my hand, Follow me."

The captain will have been informed
because he says nothing about the situation
and that can mean anything

There are reports of peace
and cleared blockades
I must make choices

while I have a good life here
with my family that arose by itself
in the house that was assigned to me

So I just go to bed now
and before I sleep I travel
beyond the known

Left alone, I move on
...accompanied by echoes of familiar laughing voices
...that conceal the truth from me

...the voice of the guide who prefers to stay at home
...of the soldier in his worn-out uniform
...one of the three of the garrison

...who could be on duty
...who fills the cups and drinks on me
...on the health of all people

...around the tower of Belém and everyone
...at the long table with the empty seats
...from the time they were here with many

Along on foot, over a mountain
path, through a dense forest
I'm running out of food

I'm going to meet with the yesteryear woman,
to give her a sweet, scented lily kind of smile.
I'm going to give her a hug and tell her it'll be okay,
in the yesterday's threshold, in her merciless exile.

There have been many tears and sighs in vain,
in the deserted wilderness, no one to comfort her.
With a ruthless heart, now full of bitterness,
the mistrust in love made her see everything in blur.

She always questioned her own beauty and worth,
but she does not bend in front of the kicks of the fate.
She keeps silence thinking that it does not hurt anymore,
her cheeks swallowed the tears running in torrents of hate.

Her gentle heart was pounding from fear in her chest,
the burden was too hard to bear, so she's leaving.
She braids now enigmas with determined words,
but the river fountains were lamenting and grieving.

I will tell her that tomorrow will be a brand new day,
the stars and the moon will always be there to guide her.
That in this life nothing is what it seems to be,
the sun one day will rise in her way. Yes, my dear Mother!

Muses converse with Mystics, deciding not only art and poetry, but the value of morals and ethics. Therefore, completely dependable. The Muse lives on the other side, while Mystics as gatekeepers here on earth. If an artist cannot publish in secret-anonymous, do not value their art. There is price to pay to think for yourself. Anyone separate themselves from society and if you’re going to be an original, society will lose their value. Listen to the voices from the other side, it’s not as evil as the religious and the conspirators  yell about. Those who smile most in your eyesight, generally frown the most behind your back.
https://www.amazon.com.au/Inherent-Sin-Darcy-Prince-ebook/dp/B07FR5FW42/ref=sr13?ie=UTF8&qid=1532992472&sr=8-3&keywords=darcy+prince

Emotions made tender, but fair, fearing not the outside,
to what is felt inside, to play in eternity, to think in infinity,
be only that a paradox is, nothing else, nothing more, nothing
less, attempt to avoid despair and crying mood. As for you,
Bill, if the world is a stage, than the death penalty only applies
to the casting director. There is greatness outside poems,
romance too, sunburnt smiles and laughing memories.
Though for now, I shall write only about my death, fear, insecurity,
fault and flaws in written poetry. Not for comfort in. Just glittering
drops of silver stars, as for others to benefit from. It is worrying
only to be a paradox, living within immortality.