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Shlomo Jan 21's here. A future. Agile? I was not enough to be.

Black in it's entirety. A new beginning and a new me.

Clockwork. As though a plan hatched by some supreme being.

Dear dog, which came first? Was it the white or the black?

Either way, it effortlessly taints your profoundly glorious genes.

**** this! Atrocious. Drugs?!

Goodness me. How did we get to this?

Horrible, dehumanising, and it's here to stay.

"It suppresses". But really only in the mildest of ways.

Just to remind you of the control you once had.

Killed! And now ceded in it's entirety to a tad bit of a fad.

Let me just turn back the hands of time! 

My fate I leave with you alone. 

Nothing seems to relieve this pressure and irreparable pain. 

Oh God! Could I be spared such a destiny?


Queuing from my heart to yours. 

Respectfully admonishing your power and grace. 

Simply, do I ask for that childlike sense of serenity.

To take me to a place of restoration and hope. 

Unlock my mind. Repair my soul. For vaults of this kind are too strong.
Audio Narration @
Zywa Jan 19
The big boat, its belly full of colour
bodies, sailed out into the clouds
is not moving anymore
around the high mountain
which starts growing down

Like a seed capsule, it snaps open
fertilizes the slopes with blood
from the old world, with codes
of the secret of life
freshly written
going to travel over the earth
as little arks, swimming arks
crawling, walking and flying arks
little blood trunks
full of prehistory
of the world
the real world
not the true one
that mankind
would create
Noah's Ark
Colour bodies: chromosomes
Collection “BloodTrunk”
Paul Butters Nov 2018
Armies of words gather in my head
To march so boldly onto the page.
They work their wonders
Who knows how?
Why they pick me as their channel
For their landing craft
I’ll never know.

Some accident of birth:
Genetic fluke –
For which I take no credit –
Makes me nectar to these ants
That line themselves into verse.

Compulsion drives me to write
As salmon must jump those water falls
To return to their spawning grounds.

I have to speak, or rather type:
Express myself
No matter what,
Whether good or bad.

Is there a cure for this affliction of mine?
Can I ever stop myself from writing?
I very much doubt it.

Paul Butters

© PB 16\11\2018.
A congenital affliction.
Sindi Kay Oct 2018
To come from the line of a man who tamed the snakes
Gazed into the fire
And breathed life into wombs of women
Dying to be the shell
Broke down plants till they became medicine
Healed the hands he touched,

And what am I but a vessel of his life,
A broken one?
His blood must have ran right through me
Like the monotony of a lecture
In one ear and out the other
Gabriel burnS Jul 2018
love is evolution window shopping for eyes
shopping for genes
Soul Scribe May 2018
If you were born after the storm did you endure all of that pain? The day after Irma could you complain about the rain?
Because, I never saw the drunkard but his wake has left a dreaded path
Of pain in my family now it's filled with all this bloodied wrath.
It still feels kind of flooded as I sunbathe on my sunken raft
But in due time, I'm sure, that all of it will subside,  
Until one of us or two of us or all of us do die.
Because maybe in my genes something brought us all this pain.
Because I look around and see other families prosper when it rains.
Idk, maybe I'm just overthinking every single thing,
Because every single tree see is growing rapidly,
Every plant is getting sun and both the sons are having fun and my sister I kinda missed her but now she has a family.

It's going quite as planned written down in books of time.
The same waves that tore down houses is what I use to surf and grind.
Doing flips and tricks and grabs and other things of childish kind.
I only wish that I could see my bright future up ahead,
And I hope that the rainbow comes before we all are dead.
This poem is personal to my family. One reading of the poem will not get you to the understanding of its meaning. The waves represent not just pain, but more specifically, drunkenness. The alcoholic gene is mentioned metaphorically. I see families not have a problem with alcohol, yet no one in my family seems to be able to handle it. My father was an alcoholic, but he has been sober for many many years. The problem is, this act of will does not stop the gene from passing to my brother or I. I have seen my brother struggle with this. And that brings us to the last line of the poem.
Demonatachick Nov 2017
What have we evolved to be?
Genes and phenes are all I see.
I view traits where genetic flood gates make one look like another,
Where mothers have their mother's eyes
And smiles alike their brothers.
double helix - Ive always been fascinated by genetic inheritance and what makes us who we are
Andreas Simic Oct 2017
Who Am I…©

Am I a biological cocktail
Of atoms and genes

A being of enlightenment
From another cosmos

A melding of time and experiences
Twisted into a known identity

A confluence of memories
That will one day fade into thin air

A figment of my imagination
Or yours

A spiritual being going through a human existence
“We are human beings, not human doings.

Every once in a while we need to stop and smell the roses,
Hear what is really being said, taste the essence of life,
Touch someone’s heart and see life for what it truly is,
A journey with rest areas.”

Andreas Simic©
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