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All of us are
different,
which means there's no such thing as
normal,
which means there's no such thing as
weird,
which makes us all
normal.

But if all of us are
normal,
and there's no such thing as
normal,
theres no such thing as
us,

which means we don't exist!
Philosophy is a fun little toy!
i brought my Fear and Trembling to the hills
i don't want to think of the stacking bills
those trivial things no longer give me the thrills
or the quiet love that slowly kills

“...why bother remembering a past that cannot be made into a present?”

that line had me bent
all the things i thought i could mend
why must i fall towards the deep end

i must reflect upon what is past

but life must be lived forward...;
a poem on the quiet reflection i had in a train on the way home.
Let them leave-
it doesn't matter.
If life is temporary,
how can they be permanent?
Nothing really lasts so
strap yourself in and
enjoy the ride.
Fọlá Oct 11
Yesterday is gone.
Tomorrow isn't sure.
Today is a present.
Don't let it past.

Seize the day.
No matter the challenges,
The present presents.

Seize the day.
Whether tomorrow comes;
Or not.
Give it your all.
Linespace Oct 8
In this garden,
This beautiful creation I've blessed with my wisdom and experience,
I see in dimensions no one else can.
My third eye gleams in the sunlight, glowing and glistening like a perfectly cut jade.

In the distance, I see my goal.
It breeches the soil and reaches for the sun's warm embrace,
Escaping the mortal coil without ever leaving its vessel.

I approach.
Through the travel, the soil beneath me turns to salt and cracks.
The bees turn to wisps of a time once forgotten,
The butterflies, ghosts of a forgotten era.
The sun and Moon become a single entity forever fused in a dance older than time itself.
The sky turns dark and bleeds attempting to warn me of the horrors protecting my ambitions.
My claim to my destiny becomes shaken.

I power forward, blinded only in the physical world.
And as I approach the apple hanging gracefully from the tree
The snake will whisper its temptations,
And God will scream and tear the heavens asunder, seeking my cursed flesh and blood.
And as I pluck my ambitions and wisdom, digesting it and the truth whole,
The corners of my stone eyes will crack,
My third eye will screech,
And I will watch as both God and the serpent battle over my intentions.

I am The Prophet.
My destiny is written by me and me alone,
And all those who take claim to my soul will be cut down by my power.

I am The Prophet.
Where my gifts and talents, ambitions and goals, and curses and vices originate
Is unknown
But these are answers that do not matter.

I will tame the serpentine prince.
I will take claim to the power your God once stole from me.
I will refuse the sun its moment to set, plunging myself in eternal sunset.
I will embrace the moon as my lover,
And I will not allow you, nor anyone, nor anything power.

I am The Prophet.
I will scan the horizon with my peripheral vision
And blind myself with the sun's direct effects
To strengthen the sight of my soul.
Simon Oct 7
Frequencies are tough. Frequencies are managed. Two frequencies combine surfaces not existing in one another. Unless strips of different wavelengths are pushing each frequency to each others enlightenment. Nothing judges. Except one binding these apparitions together. A form becoming static too mutual for any compromise. Frequencies become laced with purposes. Easily definable. Never perfect enough for change. Only enough for simple practices. Practices reminding two frequencies of compromise. Compromises aren’t welcome, if one’s purpose is easily definable. If so, then why ask? It’s already staring you right in the face. Proceed with balance! Strips of wavelengths letting frequencies off chains made of static. Finally! One rippling a new focus. Releasing their time and service to entities holding them back. Purpose lays waiting, for all to see. Two frequencies happily definable now. Without change, static doesn’t occupy their purpose. Sparking a judgeable wavelength. Letting you off with a warning. A warning filled with benefits to a newer frequency. One that doesn’t hold frequencies by chains of static. Chains stripping connections between outer wholes. Sparks flying around its properties. Molding your own frequency together. Molding static between ripples of its own actions. Actions feeling the ripples of energy contracting with concern. Movements seeping into another part of itself that wasn’t identifiable. Becoming what wasn’t apart of its own identity. Surging pressure of rippling actions not belonging to itself. Stinging the outer symmetry of ripples. Frequency becoming thoughtless. Submerging into a shocked exterior. Feeling stressed without foreboding it’s purpose. Rippling the caregiver away from its own appreciation. Apparitions flowing misinterpretations. Faltered to a halt! Filling volumes of enlightenment too closed off when trying to supply purpose. Energy is a purpose. Rippling all around each spark to pledge. Pledge what? Pledging a way out! How will it turn out for these rippling fabrics of stationary purposes? Only two halves to a greater wavelength tapping into its own energy supplier.
Frequencies are judgeable when fluent practices run a muck! Only to ones staying broad within perimeters of itself. Only then will things shake moments into the clearing.
Simon Oct 5
Emotions have cracks in them. Totally in dependable when reacting to flaws uncertain for regular eyes to see. Cracks hide you see. Maneuvering between rough outlines of outskirts that cut awareness too short. A fishing line snagged a sudden position that wasn’t its destination. Prize was a few paces all around you. Surrounding your visage. Clearly don’t seem to notice. Warping every visual that can’t be in reach. Not the outer boundaries fault. It’s yours! Your impatient. Selfish! Impenetrable to experiences outside yourself. Cracks becoming mere targets to your undoing. Something still convincing you is all but diminished. Obvious signs one isn’t aware of what is outside themselves. The rough outlines become more edgy. Rigid! Complacent among desires without conquest. Never being a deed well nourished for choice and claim. Reasons are faltered. Balance is futile! No constraints steady enough to admit which is to blame. Or which one succeeding this entire time. Isn’t obvious, because it’s logical. A well-oiled machine fueled by cracks making decisions. Cringing in glory! Never an upset to potential. Cracked emotions offering more pendence to a variety without notions. Options shooting up on selfish highs! Opinionating one flaw to open one crack. Releasing the selfish highs those emotions needed. They get off on it. It’s their coping mechanism. Keeps them feeling soft on there toes. Grounded to a halt! Fixating a claim without remorse. Opinionating another flaw to act without self decency. Decency sinking too low for one to hoist back up to the clearing. Another crack starts to open without force. One being stretched far as one’s awareness is outlining the real issue. Structuring the inside like the outside. Rough outlines can’t pass short for outskirts never crowding enough issues to what is performing inside. Reality becomes toxic! Which is which? What is why? Why never having a claim. It’s already too late to fasten the logical seat belts. Rough outlines cracking up on the seams. Everything becomes distorted. Showing multiple fractions of law and order switching places with different cracks. Opinions urge the inside to act. Creating more cracks! Never outlasting the stretched-out limits leaking foreign material across developments. Developments offering solutions to. Crisscrossing the maneuverability of emotions raging with claim! Selfish highs breaking records from deep inside crusted depths. Environmental concerns aren’t operable. Being pulled into the cracks with joy. Becoming more of the collection that’s always dry to a crisp. Pulling a snagged cause further into the unknown depths. Producing a balancing act. Being kind without focus. Determination of instinct displacing emotions without cracks. Cracks never influencing you to the cause all together. You’re in luck. Having an anchor sinking into the rigid depths. Decisions start negotiating a little splice of different grins. Never noticeable for suspicion. Keeping it inside there inner circle. Pleading all works for the desire of knowledgeable surfaces. Surfaces now having an edge of there own. A bold disposition reclaiming victory over itself entirely. Decisions watching the fishing line creep more and more into the depths of uncertainty. Depths stretching too far to be any ordinary cavity in the construct that is raw emotions. A plan? A claim? Decision making unfiltered correctly? Nothing more accurate then letting the snagged line become eaten by the cracks forming into one gaping pit!
A somewhat stable consistency to stay active on a cracked edge. A slow free fall that doesn't consent me to actually fall. It's an illusional trick you see. Plain and simple.
I'm a poet already -
So why would I care,
How poetry is itself?
So why would I care,
About anything, but myself?


I've got the power -
The best pens are looking for my order,
The words are bowing afore me one by one,
The paper serve me as faithful recorder,
Meanwhile, they're followed up only by one.


I'm one, one of you -
My babbles are coming from your room,
Your parents forbid me to talk as the street,
Your schools lent me books to consume,
It was your friend who read my first sheet.


I'm no one anymore -
You people kept acting after the school,
Turning cool movies of business and household,
Meanwhile, I observed what you name cool,
Having several lives written in colours and bold.


You are a poet as well -
You only need to open your eyes ajar,
Leave a comment, show me how you care,
Mellow your world and serve up in a jar,
To let us, your brothers taste if you dare.


We are a nation, mate -
We were born just as every Earthlings,
None of us was born in flames like dragons,
But we share as well magical-noble things;
To respect each other's opinions sans dictums.


Tho, I'm your poet -
I thank you people a thousand times,
For giving me a world and cause to write,
Your different colours feed my rhymes,
Without you, they would be mute, lucite.
16.04.2017
My ever question as a poet:
Whether the world is providing me all those imaginary words
Like sitting next to my room window's fantasies-
Or rather, reality is just the jail of my real world,
And my words are just the sunshine for me, behind the bars.
06.01.2018
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