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Reverberations resound,
Airwaves surround,
The Holy Ethereal
Transcribes my Soul Sound.

I yearn for freedom,
I sing for heartsease,
I beseech the firmaments,
That musicality conceive
A New Dawn; Millenial Fawn;
Material-Realm Transcendence;
Spiritual Efflorescence,
O, my Spirit is hearkening unto
The Holy Dove's cathexis.

Write from your heart,
Sing from your soul,
Unravel the Perdition
Until The Vestibule of Lightness unfolds.

Dream in stratosphere;
Achieve upon The Terraqueous Plane;
Ascend The Earthen Spire;
Know we each bleed the same.
What is music without love?
What is Heaven without Hell?
The Elemental Legacy beckons you higher,
Legion fatidic arbiters conspire
Rendering self-sovereignty a liar.

Open your eyes,
Unfurl your heart,
Sing to the Aethers
That The Spirit never depart.

This is Musicality's Manifesto,
This is Destiny's Diminuendo;
Know the blaze, fathom the burn
Of unquenched ardor, unyielding zeal;
With passion within, ye
Shall never fail,
So pilgrimage Life's Mecca
Bearing its sacral travail.

(Se' lah)
Excelsior Forevermore,

Sanders Maurice Foulke III
Devon Nov 2019
“There are days where I believe that my morning resurrection is met with nothing but passive malice.

That the world is nothing more than a solid pinnacle of frictions, blocking our path to the next.

The great next, the forever better next.

Some see this blockage as absolute and choose to set thier grave at its base.

Once again, our race choosing to bend before the self proclaimed unfathomable.

To most, these are truths. But for me, I believe different.

We can make the ground move, just through our will. We’ve grasped matterless vacuums of space, for no reason more than our curiosity. We can draw ungodly power from every glint of gold our eyes find in whichever direction we so choose, passion.

Passion, such a small thing to some. But for those who choose to break down their own barriers and transcend the fog. Passion can obliterate any obstacle.

Never forget, even when beneath a large marble idol. That we were not made in the gods image. They were made in ours.”
Lake Oct 2019
what am i trying to say
what am i trying to do
why am i here today
pouring myself out to you

i guess i don't need a reason
needed someone to listen
even if it's out of season
that's not the way i am leaning

i've had enough of my thoughts
wish i could be a robot
something that can shutdown
and will never frown

but that's not very healthy
in any case it's not stealthy
i tried to sneak around the issue
leave it in my rear view

but the reflection's still there
and sometimes i'm still scared
afraid of something real here
never given a real cheer

another beer, drown the fears
liquid courage with no tears
ain't no purpose here
i know that is clear

whatever needs done
i hope i figure it out
i'm the only one
who can hear my shout

if i need to take walks
or someone to talk
it's a part of a plan
for now, just what i can

this isn't a letter
it's a manifesto
to someday feel better
without too much hassle

this is not a revolution
just my resolutions
things i need to sort out
now that i've got my words down

little by little
i think everything changes
little by little
i won't be the same
Alex Smith Jan 2019
Recently I have been dealing with doubts about what my life philosophy is.
I love people- I want to spread kindness and love and support and one day actually help people
(Possibly save people's lives)
But then I think about how much I have changed over these years - specifically the last year and a half. I have become someone different than who I was coming out of high school and starting college.
Yeah, it's pretty ******* "normal" for that to happen...but for me it was like an identity crisis. For me it was like the facets of how I understood my ego were falling apart and I was a caricature of who I once was.
But get this:
Since then I have found a happiness beyond what I thought was happiness. I have found some sort of reasoning to live beyond academic success and maintaining an image that is supposed to be perfect. I am learning that my flaws are making me beautiful. I am learning that sometimes I am not even that flawed. I am learning that I don't need to have all my **** together..
Because what is the point of living this life and learning new things everyday if I already did have all my **** together?
I battled with expanding my horizons and what I really wanted out of life. I dabbled with breaking straight edge and found some weird solace in psychedelics. I learned to be honest with myself. But that maybe I can be honest with other people too.
I found love at a different level that I can't convey to people - and I don't even ******* care if people understand.
I found an internal happiness that I want to radiate out but still get too afraid to do that because what if it all falls apart?
But maybe I can become a bit more confident.
Maybe I can bend my own twisted ideas and break a cycle I used to find myself into -
Because I am getting better.
So, if I were to explain my new life philosophy..
I would say:
It's ok to not be ok -
Things come,
And things pass -
Bad things don't last
And people can break through
From chains
Binding them,
Without shattering
Like glass -
But if in some way we break,
We can be repaired.
Because we aren't stalled
Or hopeless
And our past
Doesn't color
The future -
A neon light
So bright,
Colors the future in hues.
Our reality is what we make of it now,
And how we can learn from it later.
So live, and learn.
And shine on,
You crazy diamond.
Whoa is this a manifesto?
Daniel J Weller Jul 2018
(verb) Observe.

1. Notice or perceive (something) and register it as being significant.
1.1. Watch (someone or something) carefully and attentively.

Observe all. See all as significant.
Especially that which seems strikingly not so.
Watch it carefully, attentively, examine the subject, the object, the Thought. Stop and take your thoughts in, then;

Sit and let the words out;
Sit and be quick, for observations are constant;
Sit and you may forget them all, so
Sit, and write.

Observe beauty—or ugliness—in the mundane
And the daily.
The prettiness of flowers is well documented
As is personal love.

Observe feeling without vague subjectiveness
Or dreamt-up narrative.
Observe your surroundings and take in that moment
Five minutes to write it down
(Or ten, if you're lucky).

Cast away your barriers.
Meter and rhyme,
Lines ending with full sto—
—Vocabulary narcissism.

Let everyone understand your words, for
Poetry is not for the well-educated
Or the creative
Or the recluse,

Poetry is for all that observe
And register their sights and sounds significant.
The poet merely watches carefully and attentively
Then marks it down

(noun) Poetry

1. Observation
London, July 2018

If you feel your work is observationist, or choose to practice the five minute/ten minute poem of surroundings, please personally message it to me, I'm extremely interested in the development of this way of thinking.
Kyle Dal Santo May 2017
Heroes too few when there's secrets to tell,
Angels only fall, and demons always rise,
only the roaches won't see Hell.
At night, the Snub Nose Merchants, with their
Flea Infested Felines hunt for prey,
breeding children into twilight fiends,
****** Marys into Mollies,
training labradors into lab rats.
Wide-Eyed Vagabonds fight Hunger Pained Hipsters
for their scraps,
and the roaches and rats who cover their tracks,
the plague filled streets hide more than the pavement,
like the Truth, and the long gone heroes who failed to escape it,
the long dead philosophers who failed to obtain it,
the sacrificed youth, slaughtered to keep it secret.
Now too many lack the courage to seek it out,
can you blame them?
A world of rabid poodles and cowardly pit bulls,
and no one left to train them.
Now they file their teeth on glowing glass,
and drink the poison like good little livestock.
I guess we all deserve to ash away.
Kyle D.
Vexren4000 Mar 2017
The birds flit through the air.
Chirp and sing cheerfully,
With little concern,
For the follies of man.
Unless the elder,
Brings a bag of seed.
Hoping to make a friend,
In the flitting birds.
So the elder may perchance dream of being free.
Of taking flight like the avian creature.

Brent Kincaid Feb 2017
Someday I’m going to learn to speak up!
I swear I’m going to proudly reach up
And take back what is truly mine
And that day will be fine.

Someday I’m going to tell all the people
What I think that the bad people
Should not  be allowed to do
Like commit crimes on you.

I’m going to let people know exactly how I feel
And not silently pretend things aren’t real
That are hurting, denying, robbing
My fellow human beings.

Today I am going to change things
And appreciate what life brings.
Listen when the birds sing.
And what poets are writing.

Someday I am going  to raise my voice and sing out
Whenever there’s something to sing about
Even when there just seems to be
Something important to me.
India Rose Apr 2016
who told you you could? who said you were allowed? when did you first do it, slipped out from under the watchful eye of anyone who would forbid you? or could? what does it sound like when you talk out loud to yourself. in the mirror or looking up or looking out. how does your voice sound different when it reverberates off the walls or pops in the air in the day-time? or bounces off of your reflection and back down your own throat? what does your own name sound like to you? you got something to say. it’s going to come out whether we like it or not. whether you want it to or not. you want it to. 

is it like dinner? warm, and in your mouth? satisfying? is it coming through your body, like the sun coming in and then shining out at the same time? the sun is right there in your mouth. the light is shining through your teeth. like through the cracks in a window, we can all see it. i swear.

is it cold, and wet, on your hands? how fervently are you drying them, back and forth, scraping, palm and back of the hand on your starchy jeans. palm and back of the hand. up and down. first it slides off like droplets and then its coming out in sheets. who knew you could be like God. like thunderstorms from the tips of your fingers. it might just feel wet. "they're wet because i just washed," getting caught at a strange time, like, "they’re clean." "i’m clean, i swear.” You swear.

is it like sleeping with the window open? on top of bed and in and even under? one foot hanging off? both? got the window open, fresh air coming in? for me, it’s trapped between two buildings, not fresh at all. it slips in over the course of the night when it wants to. it is like my lover standing at the top of the staircase. i picture her like this: low white heels. khaki coat. platinum blonde, updo, coiffed. standing on the top stair, dangling one foot back, holding herself like she might turn away and run down and out the door in front of me. like she might turn on her heel and not stay with me tonight, or any night, and then won't call. i’m saying, you can come to bed, you can just go to sleep, we can just lay here and be cool. you don’t have to tease. air in the night-time taunts me now. i hope she got home safe. i wonder. that’s just how it is for me. i just live on the second floor. it’s hot up here.

is it like $20? got it pressed into your hand when you don’t need it? only good for a bit? or maybe you do need it, more than ever, you can’t believe its yours now, and, it’ll be gone soon. you ******. not surprising. unless it’s from your parents and it’s i-dont-need-it-i-dont-i-dont and they know you do so let’s all just not pretend and flatter each other. you can just call it cash. that doesn’t sound too pretty.

tell me what it’s like. that’s what you’re good for. and instilled within you is a certain ever-evident self consciousness. you are intended to constantly to doubt and ponder. why am I here? and, who is listening? and, who cares? why? why? we haven’t even got the time to answer that, there's no time, God, you're stupid, and, this has gotta be quick. why? why, because of urgency! urgency like a hungry wolf. get the words on the page, i’m starving. like a hungry wolf here. he is biting at at the corners and on the spine, he is scary and making fun and loves when you panic. he is biting with teeth and you remember his lips, too. funny. no one ever talks about a dog’s lips. but he’s got them, just like we all do. promise, say i am going to rip any wolf from the page. i am going to de-claw and go at all my metaphors with pliers. forget the wolf, actually. spit all that hair out. pull it off your tongue. take your time. it is not his story to tell. i’d say, to anyone listening, i’m doing this for you. twist and twist and tighten and, now, look at that. look at what my hands could do. crazy. i taught myself, i would tell them, if they asked. just to impress them. because i care. make them listen. is it about someone else, now? am i going to make it about and for someone that isn't me? can i trust them?  are they just sitting on my chin with one ear pressed up to my mouth, just for now, keeping me around in case i got something useful to say? i'd probably trust them even if that were the case. i'd trust them even if they were doing it just to make me feel good.

when someone is listening, what do you tell them? what do they need to hear? did they need it? and, did they know they needed it? yes, yes, yes, yes. when you got someone sitting down and quiet and you swear you’re so important, they need it. they’re about to find out.
ummmm. i have a manifesto assignment for class that may have been due today in class but my dog died so i skipped. its 1:38 am and i just wrote this, hopefully it'll do.
I get Maam-ed in blue jeans and sir-ed in a dress,
so I usually go with my Utilikilt and let them guess.
I despise the social construct that puts me in this position,
and I will fight it until I win  or I cannot take the derision.
I could fill multiple volumes with more detail if you want them,
but unless you ask I won't just vaunt them.
An excerpt from my brief autobiography that I penned to go with the anonymous trans survey, as usual, I didn't even realize I was rhyming until I proof read it.
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