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Anais Vionet May 2023
Prehistoric fingerprints
amazing requiems
the song still in them
med evil number magic
all the time in the world

Healing heartbeats bottled up
prepare ye saving drafts
question the faint of heart
the first and last beat
when poets die

Keeper of morning prayers
a needful message
goodby again
words of love forgive
pure and pretty bouquets

The sifting eye of the poet
the thief of untold heartache
muse-ing Denah’s equation
a more beautiful question

Butterflies and deaths dark divide
seeking the bright light
pointless immolations
the autopsy paid in full
crisp or extinguished.
Will you burn with me now?

For Joel M Frye
For Joel Frye - a poem made from titles of his poems
Alex McQuate Jan 2023
Flickering little flame,
guttering in your final moments,
what was once some great blaze,
now gasping your final breaths.

Lower and lower now,
blinking some kind of morse code into the Aether,
telling those out beyond the dark of your tale,
of your victories and defeats.

Of where you were and what you did,
the sights you saw and the things you heard,
whisper some more now,
little flame.

Tell them of how you started out as this little spark,
brought forth from material energy,
whose trip was a tale all its own,
summoned from the heavens to bear down,
and claim your terrestrial throne.

And oh, what a throne you held,
little flame,
rising up to conquer this world,
beautiful yet terrifying,
horrifying and baroque,
a destructive force that would sweep the board,
and set up the pieces anew.

You smolder out,
little flame,
accompanied by a little whisp of smoke,
a sad but appropriate epitaph,
to mark the end of your reign,
a glowing ember all that remains,
which disappears soon after you.
Unpolished Ink Nov 2020
Oil on the water

Gentle spilling colours

Tumbled greens and inky blues

Fade to yellow and pinky hues

Filling the puddle

A requiem for rainbows
Even rainbows have to die sometime
Psyrïenne Sep 2020
On the issue
Of mental stability,
I do not
Have mental
beneath the ground many
thousands of souls lay

they had their lives
taken prematurely

songs of the requiem
play in remembrance

never shall the world forget
the disease's marring scar

that which dimmed a human's
light of existence
tried to clean your grave
again today. i miss you.
i was only three.

he blames you, you know,
for something you said to him
when he was sixteen:

"make her come back home;
don't come back until you do.
go get your mother."

he didn't talk back.
"you didn't do that back then."

instead, he broke down
thinking you abandoned him
just like that woman.

i know you loved him.
i know you were a good man.
something ****** you up.

whatever it was,
it was speaking through you then,
that unholy ghost.

he never heard me,
only thoughts to argue with
when i was that age.

i absolve you both
though i struggle to do so.
christe eleison.
August 2020
Alex Jul 2020
Fascism sings with sweet lies as
The chorus wails. We sit weeping,
Our history bastardised and
The body of our nation growing cold

Console us not you priests!
We need more than your words
Arindam Barooah Jun 2020
In the thick of happenings,
an air of melancholy surrounds me.
Footsteps echoes of a dear soul,
piercing my deep dark heart,
doleful, withered, haunting.
For now, this is my requiem,
reverence, recollections, thankful
with a wistful smile.
Spirit descends
Taking shape
Nirvanic infinitude
And is carnally crystallized
In an incarnadine
Shrine of flesh,
Bone and marrow.

Let the anima of wisdom
Hear the unuttered reverberations
That ripple as a shockwave
Through this
Vast, multidimensional
And utter
The esoteric secrets of existence.

A verisimilitude of life
Loometh in the irides
Of the
Gasconading celestial
And we
Must wax lowly
Wax lofty.

Trust that something
Interstellar, intergalactic, macrocosmic, multiversal;
Fatidic, fathoms all
Ye, this
Visage of Creation keeps vigil
In the corporeal pulse of plight.

Fulgurant perdition is for
But an
Ephemeral exhalation, Elysium is for eternity;
Gaze heavensward
Knowing the Holy Dove
Shall always
Rise and fall.

Promises await:
A deific covenant
Etched in the
Slabs of our hearts,
(I Hear)
The Requiem of Lovelit Life resolved
In the
Key of the Archean.

Spirit rises,
Dismantling form
And intertwines infinitely
All that is, was, and will be;
Circular & cycling
The Cosmo-Plexus of Empyreal Love
Sees all.

(Se' lah)
“Just as the Empyrean Aethers art infinite and beyond, so our Fulgent Dreamscape. The Vestibule, The Tabernacle of the Soul, is without height, breadth, width, or depth. 'Tis an immeasurable, incorporeal expanse; 'tis the Fulgurant Vista of  ―the Mind’s Sky.
       Our reveries thither beget the Astral Apotheosis hither. Embrace Eos, the Daughter of the Dawn; sing to the Sovereign of Songbirds whence all that reverberates is the Swansong. Surely Jehovah, who forms his name of the Tetragrammaton, shall efface thine ephemeral woe for eternity. ―Elysium awaits.”

Excelsior Forevermore,

Sanders Maurice Foulke III
Monday, November 11th, 2019

The pain in loss can be a deleterious scourge, undoing all the threads of light embedded in the heart. Who am I to contend with the ethereal tides of the cosmos? A juvenescent soul enrapt mine entity for but a moment, yet, soon thereafter, he was gone. Vanquished by the Winds of Undoing, he may never re-alight upon my soulscape; however, I must go on. Let dreams illumine the fulgent irides you are starry-eyed to see.

I must trust that all things are working out for their highest good. In me are all the answers that I seek; we are our own nexus to transcendence. Will I ever see him again? I am without certainty, but I shall arise triumphantly. Tears may yearn to cascade my countenance, but I will waxeth impregnable apropos of the deluge of sadness.

Who am I? I am the emblematization, the insignia of love. Christ truly abides within each one of us. If I am to truly attain my Apex Monumental, I must undergo tremendous sufferings; therefore, ne’er fathom that suffering is thine undoing, ―tis your making.

Press onward valiant warrior, love shall open every doorway. One day, thine Ultima Thule shall manifest itself before your eyes; moreover, the patriarch you never had shall be found in the Arbiter of Fates above. Never give up young one, for you are aeonically loved. Wisdom, Love, Justice, Power and all the virtues vested in this cosmos shall teem within thine vessel.

Sanctity is perhaps a notion, a theistic & ratiocinatively deific dogma. I fathom it an inordinately exclusive fallacy that maketh one feel holier than his brethren. Was any man or woman foreordained above any other? And if so, were they given not a privilege, but a duty? An anointing means one is set apart for a higher purpose, not a lionizing gasconade.

“He who dares to teach must never cease to learn.” It is true that the erudite has immense gift, but they likewise carry profundity of mandated travail. In each one of us, lie the answers we seek; therefore, we must introspect & retrospect in order to circumspect. We must search and seek, in order to find. Let the one who knocketh, have it revealed unto them, have it opened.

∞(Se’ Lah)∞

Excelsior Forevermore,

Sanders Maurice Foulke III
"He who dares to teach must never cease to learn."

-A Sapient Soul

“When the student is ready, the master appears.”

-Buddhist Axiom

“The only true wisdom is in knowing you know nothing.”

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