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Jenny Gordon Mar 10
Alas.  Absolutely NOTHING is inspiring.


Firs hang their boughs in silence as in pale
Excuse it looks like some big snowman thence
Erm, toppled by whom, eh? lies headless hence
Upon the "island's" rim cuz oh, t'avail
Last weekend some tried to move snow sans bail,
As la, his forklift needed to fr'intents
Be wrestled from captiv'ty, as for sense
The icy pile swore it would NOT move, hale.
Now as a fragile touch of pink'd bestir
Itself to trick out blank racks 'cross the view,
Likeas a chalkboard blushing faintly fer
Effect, what drives me to complain?  Naught woo.
Nor have I watched aught movies.  What, as twere,
Culls this dull sense that nary joys now cue?

You're allowed to take out the trash, but I want to keep this particular garbage, hahaha.
Welcome home.

this show
is like compassion .

the high king
of hiking ...........

flows indigo
like companion

this is everlasting
even so I seem to be crashin'

I’m out the hell hole but listen
I still hear the bell toll
**** sings wisdom

̥̫̩̩͓̘ͫ̒̒̊͡Aͦ̄̕P̸̰̅ͣ̎͛P̰̪̆ͨ͝L̠̖̭̣͋ͩͦ̌ͦ̐̓͟Y͖̻̼̜̻̌̾ͣ͛ ̨̭̔̐ͤ̊Ǎ͇̻̹͓̪͇̠͛̐̑ͫ͜L̥̹̯͇̇ͤͨ̑Ẇ͊̊A̘̟̔̀Ỹ̩ͧ̏͐ͧȘ̞̣:̻̳̞̲̇:̥͇͙͉͉̆

r­itual tool
ritual crew
rippin' through fools nihilism
like that Rick and Mort to

Ȃͣͪͥ̇̀̐ľ̒ͮͬ͑ͦ̌l̏̎͋̄̃̓ ̈̔͒ͧ̾t͗̊͌́͒h̓̅̔ͮ͌i͂̾͌s͊͆̾͒̅ ̆́̏͗s̔̋͐ͬ̄ͣhỉ̍̈́tͬͧ̓̀ͥ ̾͆̿̈m̀́̊͐ͩ̒e͛aͧ͋ͦͮͪͨń̂ͤͥͪ͂́s̉̄̐̏̃ͤ̚ ͧ̋͐̈̔̏͋sͧͫomͦ̄͌̃ͯeͯ̾̈́͂th̑ͧing͑.̔͐͑̚

Society structures rigid rules
based in ethical clues

.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚But.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚the.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚waters.­̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚still.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚crash.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚upon it..̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̚­̔͐͑.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̚­̔͐͑.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̚­̔͐͑.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̚


through these two teeth, 2 hands, 1 pen;

reality peaks through as the morning does through the dew.

With the pouring of this cup the sacred drain true

you can question everything
but still the g̵̖̞͇͓͕̔͗̈́̽̌̈́o͓̬͉͕̟͐ͯͩ̃͢d̳͈̰̣͔̉̍ͦͦͥ͒ḥ͙͈̤̙̔̀̓͂ͮͧ̾ë͚̜̯͚́ͬͭ̇͒͗́åͦͤ­̖̜͇̊ḏ̌ͮͣͥ̓͒ͨ́ speaks you.

Scriabin, born in Russia in 1872, was a gifted pianist whom at a young age was drawn to philosophical and spiritual avenues. Early on he was considered a “mystic”— a man with the desire to find harmonic correspondence with the ethereal worlds. In the years that led up to the social, cultural, and political explosion that was the Russian Revolution of 1917, the brilliance of Scriabin pushed the rich Russian musical tradition forward. Held by the pillars of Tchaikovsky and Stravinsky, he began his exploration in his ambitious first symphony by writing every single note based on the sensation of color, light and ‘time’ that was found in the blood and bones of our common human anatomy. He believed in the completion of Mystic Conquest of the 20th century the human enzyme; that the body itself was a complete harmonic system that responded to specific tones and specific colors in a very organized and intelligent way.
Seanathon Feb 8
When words sprout limbs
And grow as trees in the summertime
Steadily until they bare their fruit
Then my thoughts will be hanging within reach
Would you pluck them as you'd pluck some fruit?
And take a tiny bite of me
Or at least of my thoughts?
Would you, wouldn't you?
Would you, wouldn't you?

This might be a duplicate... I'll look into it later.
Chicken Scratch,
chicken scratch,

   Scribbles, smashed against the page.

You are my Poem.

~Robert van Lingen
Seanathon Apr 2018
When they curse you
And they blame you
When they passively
Or in all other ways
Attempt to shame you
Into fleeing as if
You have nothing to be
And no reason to exist
Or to write such things
As these and this
When they try
And try
And YOU find yourself
Your world
Suddenly spinning
On brand a new axis
It is then
In that moment
Of parry and precaution
That you must decide
How it is best to be
How you currently see
And can share such things
Beneficial to those
Who WILL always stray
When you hoped they'd stay
But as for me and my house
We will ardently seek
And oftenly pray
To show kindness to those
Who cannot
For the truth of them
Or the life of them
Or for the anger they store inside of them
BEGIN to see
The ways in which
That the sacrificial lamb
Has blessed us all
With this
This my friends
Is why I say
Be strong in this
And we'll walk that way
Because of him. I'm always encourage to pray in place of hate. To love in place of disgust and distrust. To protect myself and my family, yes. But to also be an ambassador for goodness and truth in this world. As I will ever be as long as I'm here. *nod*

NvturalMystic Mar 2018
A cigarette sat between the crevices of her coffee flavored lips while she expertly puffed a few smokes.
Her mind tasted like dying roses, sweet thorns and honey.
She was a 3 am disguised in moon dust and I never knew how to differentiate her from day and night.
An old scribble I had made years ago.
Kush Feb 2018
My hands reached for yours
Holding them in between
Just like it happened
In all dreams, I had seen

You smiled; I smiled
"You are beautiful," I said
"No. You are." You said
As if in protest.
Justin Lai Feb 2018
I wish I could
make a bouquet
out of words
left unused

Mama always said
not to waste food
why not words:

the unit circle
The Boy with
// W47 “The Boy //
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