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Aurora 1d
I was surrounded by darkness.
I closed my eyes, hoping for a saviour—my knight in shining armour.
There you were, showering me with love and care.
There I was, blinded by my own glimpse of imagination.

When times were tough, I closed my eyes and ran into your arms.
You held me close and wiped my tears; I felt so safe in your embrace.
I didn’t want to let go, even when I knew you weren’t real.

I gave you a name, added yours to mine.
I gave you a family, added me to yours.
I gave you a job, and associated with you.
I gave you a dream, and helped you follow.
I made you a hero—and me, your heroine.

You were so perfect, so charming.
You had all the answers to my problems.
The voices around me told me to wake—but I couldn’t, wouldn’t.
Because some part of me knew I’d lose you the moment I did…..
Thea 4d
Dreamland Delights

In the land where whispers jest and play,
Guided by wisdom’s kindly crest.
Joyful frolics in the air,
Love’s glow shine, beyond compare,
Peaceful trance, our hearts at rest.

Gladness sings in merry refrain,
Escaping Worries, freeing from strain.
Strong bonds, like trees tall,
Passion sparks, inspiring all,
Imagination’s flight, a delightful train.

In this dreamy realm, colours bright,
Skies painted in day’s and night’s light.
Clouds shaped like creatures, grand and bold,
Rainbow flowers, a sight to behold,
Mythical beings, laughter taking flight.

Sensory treats, oh so sweet,
Giggling streams, under our feet.
Waft of cookies, freshly made,
Soft grass tickles, in our glade,
In this realm, where wonders greet.

Riding unicorns, up high we soar,
Caves of treasure, endless more.
Tea parties with beings, joy so bright,
Adventure, laughter, clear delight,
In an idyllic realm, let’s delve into.

Bliss of joy and wonder, always pour,
In this site where dreams come true.
No fear or worry, just smiles and cheer,
In this ground, let’s journey, my dear,
For in dreamland, skies are ever blue.

Dreamed up by, AN.
Ever wondered what it’s like to dance with whispers or ride a unicorn in a land where the skies are painted in day and night?

Here it takes you there! It’s a world where laughter echoes through rainbow clouds, cookies smell like magic, and every step feels like a tickle of soft grass. It’s all about letting go of worries, feeling the joy, and exploring a place where dreams come true.

Ready to dive in? Let’s go!
I dive in,
becoming the main character.
I see a world,
so beautiful and blinding,
tears dripped down.

But, I was smiling.

I looked around me,
taking it all in,
wishing it could last forever.

But, as I went deeper and deeper,
it was time to come out again,
back into reality.
Though my reality might not be as perfect,
it's just as beautiful,
I realize,
as the story ends.
Let the story's make your imagination go crazy,
because, in the end,
those moments keep your wonder going,
keeping the child inside,
free to roam.
Fumbletongue May 3
My left eye sees the honest things
A puddle, sky, a skipping stone
It watches birds with steady wings
And knows which socks are not my own

It can spot a single tear
It sees the cracks behind a smile
It knows what’s honest, sharp, and clear
It watches quiet all the while

My right eye is full of play
It sees a dragon in a tree
It turns a puddle into a bay
And swears that squirrels drink cups of tea

It just loves to tell tall tales
It sees a boat where there’s a shoe
It sees dancing trees and talking snails
And paints the sky a deeper blue

One eye will whisper, “That is so.”
It points to facts and steady ground
The other shouts, “A UFO!”
Whenever leaves go swirling ’round

Together, though, they share my face
And show a world both strange and true
Where clocks might melt and flowers race
But love still fits in every view

Together they both guide my heart
One by the truth, one by surprise
Between the lines of what’s been said
I see the world with twin-born eyes
I have been working on this write over 2 years and it still is not perfect to me but posting anyway to let it go and then perhaps it will spark later and be finished correctly.

I wanted to work with the concept of someone whos left eye sees only truth and their right eye sees only lies.
Ken Pepiton May 2
Tuesday, April 29, 2025
2:50 AM

Eyes burning green reflecting patterns
yawns feel tied to FTA, so these lines un
fold from feeling real enough to think may
be
why, be, ah, woken to guard the gate, say
who goes there, what is the word, say it,

-- allegorical experience parable
literal transfer of call and response, say it…

              sibbolet slogan shibboleth battle cry,
slay all whose dialect makes no sense by
shushing discomfited infants,…
ah, poet, weeping

might becomes can as we agree, touching

any thing whatsoever, in fact or fixed faith,

saying our concern for another's demise is praying
merciful transference of sovreign authority, in death.

We, say the news criers on television, are praying
for the fan we all may have seen fall from the stands,
or we may, today, in case we were not paying attention,
at the crack of the bat,
to the shirtless supplicant
offering himself, beer baptized,
reacting to divine luck dispensation
hoh-ee trying
to umph the jinx
on the fly,
that went by driving
in the eventual win,
made sacred, truly special, for the show,
of life-long efforting  honed Team Spirit,
this is what worshippers expect, eh,
good national tickets cheap seats…

the battle of chosen hitter-catchers
paying
to baseball's Tychicus spirits
ecstatic over a two run double
in the bottom of the seventh…
lethargic faith, relaxed reasonable reaction…

pray according to pattern,
signal all watching, see how we do, real athletes pray.
America relies on prayer signals to the athletic supporters.


Players from both teams, including Andrew McCutchen, took a knee and prayed for the fan.
Wholey reality, grant
redemption based on dedication to mere display reaction…
to the winning RBI… last act of mystical absorption,
made sacred…

as far as all the time in the world is worth,
whole days dosed at max, world's worths,
worshipped in spirit and truth, fleeting…

rise up in the middle of the night, worthship,

yawns and torrents of sneezes, these are those
vigils required of the loyal slave mind, serving pollen,

time Tyche tachometer I
might say I got out of bed to breathe,
but I had wanted to ask LBAIQ, Leo, Brave Answering
Informal Quest… iron sharpens iron… notion notes

The Red Spot, also known as the Great Red Spot,
is a persistent anticyclonic storm
on Jupiter.
It is a giant storm that has been raging
for centuries, and it is indeed a permanent feature
on the planet.

Initially, it was thought that the Red Spot rotated
with the planet, but observations have shown that it actually rotates
in the opposite direction
to Jupiter's rotation.

This is known as a "retrograde" rotation.

The Red Spot's rotation period is
about 4 days, which is faster than Jupiter's 10-hour rotation period.
This means that the storm's winds are moving
in the opposite direction to the planet's rotation, creating a fascinating and complex weather pattern.

oops, factcheck friendly, just asking, no need to prove the lie told there,
just ius lucky us friendly sky united

dokimazó: to test, by impl. to approve

From <https://biblehub.com/greek/1381a.htm>

okeh. Many years pass, with us all granting authorized intercessory,
extra tis bits years
past so fast, years

nights and days, beautiful mysteries, that AI legally is not accountable,
for hoo-mon stop. See, let me ask another way

A rotation period of 4 days is actually much slower than a 10-hour rotation period.
To clarify, the Red Spot's rotation period is about 4 days,
which means it takes the storm approximately 4 days
to complete one rotation
on its own axis. Meanwhile, Jupiter's rotation period is about 10 hours,
which is much shorter.
So, the Red Spot's rotation is actually slower than Jupiter's rotation, not faster.

It can be perceived, that gas giant, seen as we may, these days,
using science consciously slicing sense of usefulness from cost,

Dabar, the sword in the mouth of 'Zekial,
sitting by the Chebar  freight canal,
working for a living, counting kegs,
swinging amphora tight round pegs.
fitting snug below the rowers, squares in tiers of three,

got the picture, Ben Hur,
amuse a politically minded hoo-mon to tell a story of the Christ,

many such were told, used to tame the savage, who could not read.

I've never finished anything permanent, no regrets.

I learned insomnia is me fretting about losing my religion, oh, no\

we've said too much, we've made the means of making reason, oh,
ratio, heft to use, too

heavy on the break break, brake, slow BLAPlapblapblap Jake engaged/


Middle of the night, 04:02. Worth your time, I hopeso/

Confluent opinions swirl
the opposing superstitions's stormfronts
roiling common sensed

selfishness, into team spirit, companion
same bread by which our flesh derives umph

wherewith to try, for the joy we all may win,
for merely surviving, living past all war's reasons.

Casus jus belligerence, train up a child, a boy,
at the basic foundational division of command
authority,

Momma said Poppa said

time passed and son's disagreed,
before daughter's I'd imagine, mostly,

though, now that I insert the possible variable,
we, the partially Disneyified, having lived during
the era of television for children and the whole

family of loyal customers, gratefully entertained,
using industrial scale magic, science not false, oh no.

Well, now, pilgrim,
here's a fine

how do you do…
being you, hatless in space.

_ this is an excerpt ADVERTISING LONGFORM
_ this is a wild idea befriended long ago

we… who finish this thought agree, ever
before time to right this instant, then ever

some more. Peace is easier to sell,
happy people make happiness work,
whatsoever
we agree,
we may

can you dig it. ai jumer, wordswirleration

Trust the river through the rapids, run
knowing there is always where we
step into the Jello…

and conjugalmentalbliss.

Confluent course through
out and in, conscience consensus as we

slow no just if I agreed with your missed
conceptual precept made Isaiah essential
gnosis, discipline come, let us reason, why

of course you comprehend original sin, eh,
ask any trusted source, at base, this idea,

is culturally, in our species, according
to science in context of us, me thinking,

your patience, or your acquired taste,
ends when either has become convinced,

won over to believing slow thinking allows,

reasoning, adjustments, to just mentalize
realization words augment, intend to stretch,

pretend we sold our three bags of wool, long
novel rides in past and present allegorical dust
I used to say, iusagree, in spirit if not truth
agree, at minimum, we agree, the state
of actual participation
in peace making,
is a far better state
mind expanding knowledge…

accounting

for each idle word, measured
by how long one thinks any word lives
after
meaning anything
in particular for your peace.

It's a book, your life is.
A book, not a poem,
not a short stack of lines rising
from the top,
stalactite-like sclerosis forming course
drip trailing evidence, pillars
top to tip, dripping sweet
persuasion, water call
falling drip of what we thought,

as we build a chaotic pillar of crystal reflection,
convincing any ever yet
looking back, learning then, when first believed,

the darkness, lightlessness, when the why is told,
the deathly hallowedness, truth enforces as told.

-------------------------
Grand Canyon Caverns, mile mark 115.

Stores of stuff few ever learn, few
at global scale we circa 2025, few

mental utilizers know the experience,
more than a million most expectedly less
than a billion, of which we now are nearer ten,
than eight billions of us, our kind capable affects,

efforts expressing sense of us, our kind thinking

we may or may not plan any given day, yet we
think we may lay plans for the course
of human events,
wherein we find
ourselves paying mind, and heed, drips

indeed, of course, we must, we were mustered,
as punishers, the right thinkers, core-orthogonal,
as mustard faith leads eventually to cauliflower

upright mind hat tipt, in passing fancy, wonder if…

what if we agree to enjoy an after life, no worries.

---- the wish words be having
reader behaviour… be thinking

In science you must not talk before you know.
In art you must not talk before you do.
In literature you must not talk before you think.
--
In order that people may be happy
in their work, these three things are needed:
they must be fit for it;
they must not do too much of it;
and they must have a sense of success in it.

[ both maxims of Ruskin's, "The Eagle's Nest," 1872]

Done, that's not all, but the esoteric efforting, back when,
the mind, Psyche, was about to be plumbed, leading thinkers,

lacked the precepts upon which precepts approaching perpetual

emotion, haps all working together for good, finally, finished,

as when the work assigned is done, and looked upon, we think.

That's good. Functionable ratio of push and pull, life

breathing with us, in chorus.

You may need to find a solitary place and listen daily,
for fifty years, I know a guy who did, he says,
to this day, after fifty years on this way,

this pilgrim journey children cannot walk, this last mile,
when we walk contented to think, in truth, I can do this  forever.
I meant to begin in the middle but allowed the day it's due, I did get out of bed for this...
silvervi Apr 30
Actually
Aching
Endlessly
Making
Stories up
Maybe
I'm a sick..baby
Minds go crazy again and again.
One and One Equals One

I know of a being that's potentially me.
Only fractions shy of my energetic frame.
Like quantum puppets, attached at the beams.
Like watchers, observed. Opposites yet the same.

As gravity pulled his essence to earth,
New light begins forming a gleam in the mind.
I wait; I watch from behind my own eye.
I'm trapped, he's free, but neither are defined.

The real animates, a well painted vision.
The paint is too thick. His voice is too thin.
But still, this figure creates our collision,
Yet somehow never stains the glass within.

If I'd never looked, would this being exist?
If I look away, can I remain undefined?
Perhaps we're just flickering waves made of mist,
In the glare of forever, fates born to entwine.

The mind that can hear the voice that can't speak.
Echoes that invaded the boundaries of my dreams.
A quantum equation, an impossible sum.
One and one equal one, when lost in-between.
Zywa Apr 28
Would the apple seeds

inside my belly sprout and --


start to take root there?
Concert "Het Oog in de Naald" ("The Eye in the Needle", 2023, Albert van Veenendaal), #5, "Apple Tree", performed on April 25th, 2025 in the Organpark, by Francisca Snip (speaking voice), Albert van Veenendaal (prepared piano), Rogier Hornman (cello) and Roosmarijn Tuenter (viola)

Collection "org anp ARK" #113
Rory Apr 27
No wonder you are just an illusion,
Forming a shape
Making it hard to believe,
That once you were just a shade.

Mocking and mimicking
My fantasies
That were merely and truly,
Tales of yours
In the orchid of mine.
Zywa Apr 26
The bedbugs are dead.

So we are not in danger --


Still I am itchy.
Because of armadillidiidae (pill-bugs) on the second floor of the holiday apartment building

Collection "Local traffic"
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