****, this website
Just ate one of my works.

One which was a repost
From January of 2024.

Relating how I was delving deeper
Into quantum theory & mythology,
Into the sciences broadly & philosophy.

How I was going to mix them
And make them intermingled.

How I would mix that of my life,
Or more aptly how I write of it,
With that of new science & old antiquity.

By mythology, philosophy, & theology.

So as to create digestable content
That inter-wove those concepts
To better translate them to any given audience.

Oh, my days have gone back,
To the time I wore a sack.
Dusty, saggy—it was disgusting;
The threads holding it weren't so trusting.

The period long gone,
The chirpings I forgot—
All return, all anew,
Yet old, yet to be taught.

The sack still fits, though I've grown
In flesh and thought, yet not alone.
Its seams recall what I forget,
A stitched regret I haven’t met.

I tread the path I swore to shun,
A shadow walks where once I’d run.
It whispers truths I left behind—
Not cruel, just quietly unkind.

Do I resist? Or let it pass—
This mirror made of fractured glass?
For every step I try to flee,
The past keeps stitching into me.

The news is a c#%&
That son of a b@#$!
They don't give a f$%!
about talking s&#@
That girl is a s!@$
and that dude's a d!@&
But I blame this boll@&$s
On tabloid pr!@&s

Spare me the light,
spare me every ray
for your eyes
shall lead my way

Spare me the singers of the sky
for when the ears feel lonely
on your chest, I shall lie

Spare me the lies
I create them just fine
for now I ain't yours
you ain't mine

Spare me the poison
for your absence shall suffice
for your absence shall suffice
for your absence shall suffice

The nature pays its debt to mother earth,
furnishing the soils and skies,
with beauty on wings
and beauty on greens.
The stars and the moons,
lovers and poems,
reflecting it's metamorphosis
flashing at the earth.

And a caterpillar hatches out from pearls,
looking upon sensations of freedom,
holding between his teeth, a leaf green of life,
it nibbles on life,
brimming with juvenescence.
It once takes a leap seeing a brightly coloured wings flapping,
wishing flight.
And one pleasant night,
the night laid its eyes on it,
and it trembled,
building a soft cocoon to hide in.

Hunger gushes in and kicks its warm belly,
and it breaths in the air
tangled in emotions,
misery and anger,
disgust and fear,
strength and sweetness,
weakness and bitterness,
surprise and happiness.
It weaves a blanket out of it in leisure,
thin as air and strong as a storm
wrapping it around its wiggly self,
and breaking the cocoon.

The moon falls in love
with the oenomel creature,
and watches it take off to please eyes,
and imparting color.
Love slides and plays on its wings of hope
and it calls itself,
A Butterfly.