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MetaVerse Aug 2024
Creation's whole, a single one who's I,
Who's you.  I'm talking to myself in thee,
O my most kosmic self who lives a lie
Called me and everyone who isn't me.
Space is my mind infested with the in
finitely finite infinitum ad
The Word is God and every body's sin
Is mine that ever was and has been had.
God is salvation.  Christ is God who's love
With you and in your shattered broken heart.
Broken, the light within you shines, the dove
Flies free, and everything is new.  Restart.

I am Creation and so are you.  Let
Go and behold the end that wasn't yet.


🌞🌏
🕊🌹🌴🐦🌳🐝🍒🦋🐿
♥️👦👧
♥️🔊👦👧🍎🌳👅❌☠
👦👧👍
🐍🔊👧♥️🔊👧🌴🌳🌲❌
👧🔊🐍🍍🍌🍐🌴🌲👅
👧🔊🐍♥️🔊👧🍎🌳👅­❌☠
🐍🔊­👧☠❌
🐍🔊👧🍎🌳📚😇👹
👧👀🍎👅😇
👧👀🍎📚
👧🍎👅
👦🍎👅
🤯😱

🥀
❌🕊🌹🌴🐦🌳🐝🍒🦋🐿❌
😭
God
Steeled by the sense of ire unmerited,
Half-eased in that a Powerfuller than I
Has willed and meted me the tears I've shed,
I clench my fist and shake it at the sky

And at the vengeful God who hammers me,
Delivering the blows that break my brain;
The God who finds his greatest ecstasy
In violencing my life with blinding pain;

Who laughs and says, "Thou suffering thing, declare
If thou hast understanding: Who hath laid
The measures of the earth's foundations?  Where
O where wast thou, O man, whenas I made
The cloud the garment of the sea?  How dare
Thou, foolish man, thy maker to upbraid?"
Compare "Hap" by Thomas Hardy
072124

Iduduyan Kita sa kalawakan
At aaliwin ng mga nagniningning na mga tala.
Hahayaang marahang mapagmasdan
Ang mga palamuting bunga ng Aking hininga.

Aawitan Kita ng kundiman na hehele sa’yong pagtulog.
At sa pagsilang ng panibagong Araw
Ay hahagkan ka ng mga sinag Nito
At lulusawin ang mga pangamba’t pag-aalinlangan.

Ang mga pira-pirasong liham ng kasaysayan
Ay nagmistulang mga tagubilin
At ilaw sa’yong paglalakbay.
Habang ang hantungan ng bawat Salita’y
Ang puso **** patuloy Kong sinusuyo —
Sinusuyo ng aking Katapatan at Kadakilaan.

At habang ang mga matutulis na palaso’y
Hindi magkamayaw sa pag-uunahan;
Maging ang mga payasong nakapalibot sayo’y
Nag-aabang lamang sa’yong kahinaan.
Narito Ako —
Narito, upang waksian ang bawat pagpapanggap
Nang hindi ka na mahulog pa
Sa mga patibong na iginagawad nila sa’yo
Na tila ba totoong mga parangal.

Bagamat naging isang pamilyar na tahanan
Ang mundong iyong ginagalawa’y
Hindi ito ang habambuhay na alay Ko sa’yo.
Sa piling Ko’y magiging buo ka —
At ang Aking pag-anyaya’y kusang loob.
Sa piling Ko’y dito ka na mamahinga’t
Ako ang maging Sandigan at Sandata.

Ako ang Simula at ang Katapusan;
At nasa Akin ang huling Salita.
Magbalik ka na, anak —
Magbalik sa yaman ng Pag-ibig Ko.
SøułSurvivør Jul 2024
An autobiography in prose and poetry
by Catherine Jarvis

This is not a peaceful, easy read
A bedtime story soft and mild
It rends the breast and makes it bleed
Brings savagery from a small child.

Who is this woman, you may ask.
This changeling growing up unseen
She drank out of a drugg'd flask
Who, from breast of poison, weaned.

The paper ochre, the ink blood red
It vanishes in the brown and yellow
A bloodbath which is blank instead
It could nev'r be mild or mellow.

Growing wild, Wednesday's child
Her veins flow arsenic and lace
Web of tattoos artwork styled
Growing weirdly on her face

Now she has small wings of gold
Rusted silver, which is odd
Jesus' blood now courses bold
Purified by our Great God

Catherine Jarvis
I'm starting a book. I plan to finish this one!y
TomDoubty Jul 2023
See this
The cupped hands
The fat in the lamb
The fable, the stones,
The hook that stands
The shepherd's door
Cross the red dirt floor
The Black Usk
Snaking under

Table mountain
Green with
Lambs that lick
At grass drenched
In peeling bells
That climb and call
Your dust to prayer
Now kneel

Cold cushions
Under high glass
Stained for sinners

Eli Eli Lama Sabachthani

Your fat in the lamb
Your crimson hands
Better you bury
Your rind in red earth
To cure your warts
With a whisper
And send your sins
To the dirt
Echo, tell me: Which men have fallen the Fall?        All.

And what is God, who's all in all, all of?        Love.

What should I place within the beggar's palms?        Alms.  

God made the feathers that makes the sparrow's flight        Light.

To sinners, how appear the ways of God?        Odd.

What has the Lord given to him who hears?        Ears.

What do they have who see through Satan's lies?        Eyes.

The saints who run to face the throne of grace        Race.

Who is the great-grandmother of the Truth?        Ruth.

From whom descended all the thin men of Haddam?        Adam.

Whom did the snake first practice to deceive?        Eve.

On her I place the burden of all the blame.        Lame.

What do I give the giver who gave the Law?        Awe.

I invented the electron multiplier.        Liar.
Compare "Heaven" by George Herbert and "An Eccho" by Sir William Alexander
We Are Stories Jun 2024
everyone will die
no one wants to until they realize that life is prison
and in death they are free-
they are like orphans, taken in with kindness
unaware of their caretaker
[who they are,
what they want from them-]
when death is your foster parent,
his abuse isn’t forthright-
it’s like I learned in kindergarten
“how do you boil a frog?”
“slowly increasing the heat over a long  period of time.”
relax too long in his hot spring
and death may make a meal out of your naivety-

it’s only human;

when you are tortured days upon days
you ask for the bitter gall to hasten your death;
and life can be torturous to many
as everyday we are crushed by a millstone:
the weight of the rotting bodies
of children who took their parents gun
put it into their mouths
thinking they could swallow bullets,
leaving pieces of their skull
as little gifts to those that are left behind-

we are crushed by the purposeless, repetitive work load-
we form addictions just to cope with the lack of sleep
lack of energy
lack of love
lack of connection
and lack of intuition that we are forced to experience-

i was always told
“get used to doing the same thing and never changing
because it doesn’t end in school
it continues every day
until you finally get to pass away
with those who love you surrounding your side.”
oh death can’t be the only reward in this life!
no wonder why we can’t ever lose infatuation with killing ourselves,
“it all has to be better-
something has to be better-
anything could be better
than what we live in”-

I’ve found that the grass is never greener on the other side of the wall
it’s just sometimes taller
or shorter
or has some different plants growing inside
but the color only changes with the seasons
and we will all experience rainfall and drought
even God says that “it shall rain on the just and the unjust.”
so I move forward
remembering that “i have learned the secret
of being content
in any and every situation
whether well fed or hungry, whether living
in plenty or in want.”
and I cling to this verse as a  stronghold in my faith-

we will all see hell rain down in this earth
and many will weep as the blood and bones are crushed
and the skin is melted away
and also when the spirit is divided from the soul,
but there are still many who will not be concerned with
this or that
or the troubles of the day
and like nurses
they will stomach the stench of decay
and the sight of blood
and they will rush to aid those weeping
and comfort the broken,
picking up the pieces,
helping to fix their shattered complexion,
and will not take the bitter gall
but endure suffering-
and in suffering
we will find true freedom-
becoming like Christ
like lambs to the slaughter
and we will see our reward.
Meet me beneath the olive-tre
I'th'garden of Gethsemane
Quhair Jesus pray'd.  Pray thou with me.

Twa corbies mak an hairie nest
Within the gardens wooden brest.
The Sunne is running tow'rd the west.

From off the tre the fruicte doth fall
Upon the firm fixt flatten'd ball
Of wormwood Earth whose seas are gall.
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