Sunday mornings
come and go away.
I see the sadness
written on her face,
when she's lost in sleep
there's a language
that she speaks,
between her lips,
and the tears
staining the sheets.

Close Enough To Sunday

It’s all fckt up,
can’t even pretend that it’s not,
I get invited out to all these events,
where everyone’s all dressed up,

but I’m not,
I’m there in jeans and a t-shirt,
thanking those that are thanking me for writing these prophecies,
but really I’m not sure what all this work was or is really worth…

written about 10 books,
multiple international best sellers,
#1 Poetry Book in The World,
4 times in a row for worse or for better but whatever,

I mean really,
what am I even saying,
and really,
what are you even saying?

It’s all fckt up,
and we all know it,
still we pretend it’s all good till the end,
we had a Chance to save us just needed to not blow it,

but we did,
we neglected the earth,
even though we all knew and know,
that that Moment of Truth is coming and it’ll hurt,

can’t even have a drink at a club,
without feeling guilty for the pollution we’ve caused,
even when those drinks are free and served with a smile,
because I know that smile is usually covering some recently retreated sores,

we’ve neglected the poor,
and caused significant scars,
on the skin of Mother Earth,
meanwhile Musk just wants to colonize Mars,

and that’s not a shot at Elon,
I trust him and respect his vision,
he’s a creative visionary genius creation,
a creative genius that generally makes good decisions,

I’m just saying,
given the current position,
whether Elon Musk or a homeless vagrant,
we’re all fckt equally and that’s the fckn situation,

it’s all fckt up,
can’t even pretend that it’s not,
I get invited out to all these events,
where everyone’s all dressed up,

but I’m not,
I’m there in jeans and a t-shirt,
thanking those that are thanking me for writing these prophecies,
but really I’m not sure what all this work was or is really worth…

Still I put in work,
verse after verse,
cliche after cliche,
The Gift & The Curse,

like somehow,
I’ll be able to write all our wrongs,
answer all the questions,
and celebrate with victorious songs,

make Love and make Mysteries,
with a Stranger in a Strange Town,
and I’ve been up till way too Late:30 lately,
too tired to debate or hesitate when it’s high time to get down,

down,
here,
the sky looks so beautiful,
the mushroom clouds,
from the ground,
are everything I choose to show,

so,
whatever,
what more can we say,
let’s go,
wherever,
‘cause we've got it all but the only thing we want to get is away,

want for nothing else,
hey it’s Close Enough to Sunday anyways,
so let’s just take this day to rest,
no need to worry about the one thing that comes to everyone eventually,

let’s take some time to take some time,
no need to go right now ‘cause we all go one way or another anyways,

one day,
soon,
high as,
noon,

so,
so what,
so,
we’re fckt,

it’s all fckt up,
can’t even pretend that it’s not,
I get invited out to all these events,
where everyone’s all dressed up,

but I’m not,
I’m there in jeans and a t-shirt,
thanking those that are thanking me for writing these prophecies,
but really I’m not sure what all this work was or is really worth…

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆

from '777: Alphas & Numerics'
available worldwide here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1548700746

By Arcassin B & Wendy R


AB: Searching for a part I never thought i'd find in myself
carrying guilt in many ways from a cry of self help,
A tally every time for all the times , those simple times,
where it could've been easy,
life is a common cold and I've been sneezy.
in a world of pure uncertainty,
they ******* your energy,
brainwash your thoughts through a big flat t.v screen,
we work for things we've earned,
if you're not stupid , you'll learn,
that everybody has a purpose,
don't let evils scratch the surface,
they like to show up where your worth is,
It's just a casual Sunday,

the love we find.
is the love we hide for ourselves.
The love we find.
they want to see how it felt.


WR: If humans were a floriculture
Some might call me a ****
Poetry, my way of
Spreading forth my seed
Just like a ****, in a perfect line
I do not grow, you will find me
On a venture clustered down
The untaken trail
To spread the seeds I sow
I sprout sporadically
Throughout the year
My motivational bloom in life
Is to conquer all fear
Constant growth is my goal
Endurance of the tragedies of Life
To enrich the blooming of my soul
Purpose to bloom above all strife
IT'S JUST A CASUAL SUNDAY.

AB : the love we find.
is the love we hide for ourselves.
The love we find.
they want to see how it felt.

oh my baby,
lately I've been lost in your palms,
and the way we fill our lungs with the cold air inbetween us.
Vynls spin and sing and each song mimics the soft hum of our heartbeats intertwined and lost.
But what is love,
What is life,
If not an adventure to always be lost in?
What are your eyes,
What is your heart,
If not starlight gathered and shaped into a human being?
Like the clouds that roll across this Earth I am soft,
And just like the rain inside,
I will fall,
I will fall for you,
slow as the drizzle on Sundays,
But fast as the hail that soon follows,
And just like the earth the rain falls upon,
I will lie and wait in my free fall
until vines of green that hold a striking resemblance to your arms, catch me and keep me safe,
until the day I fall anew.

Are you happy?
Are you happy with me?
Because my thought haunts me
That probably somewhere
There is someone else who could makes you happier than I do
And it terrifies me
I can not promise you today
I can not promise you tomorrow

All I know is...
That when our hearts attached to each other
And our hands holding one another
We could survive the storms together
And anchored in the beautiful islands
Like we always do for thousand of days

Last night I saw you sleeping
Were you dreaming of our dreams?
Discovering our fine days
Looking at the blue sky
Laying on the field of daisies
Because I am dreaming too
On a starry night
Laying on the beach with you
Kissing under the shining milkyway