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ConnectHook Jul 22
The Lord’s own eternal immaculate Church,
(Spotless bride whom the godless and devils besmirch)
Will descend from the heavens when Satan has vanished,
When saints have been raptured and sinners are banished.

Apart from the fact that it’s pure allegory,
The nuptial allure appears revelatory:
A metaphor fit for the honeymoon bed
Where prophetic obsessions and Eros are wed.

Mammalian ecstasies muddy the waters.
We wallow in mire with God’s warm-blooded daughters
Adoring the carnal attractions of Eve
Where no parables speak and no prophets deceive.

I cherish the cycles of amorous life:
Getting ***** enough to make use of my wife.
Her feminine treasures are what I go seeking
When love flows between us and hormones are peaking.

But then, there are days of dull marriage dysfunction
(like faith without prayer or His Word with no unction)
Which force one to ask what one saw in one’s bride:
Her interior beauty . . .  or lustrous outside?

Or was it her lack of a grasp of theology
Making us reach for more basic biology?

Brides will be brides, though the heat may diminish
and Eros, like poems, must finally finish.
Of course YOU have never asked yourself
“Why on earth did I marry this creature ?”

You blesséd bridegroom you...
Ray Dunn Jul 12
thank you cloudless sky
and moonlit night
Bhill Jun 21
are you open-minded
take theology out of creation
what caused it all
simple inquiry with enormous and somewhat confusing concepts
take theology out of the answer
the big bang might just be real....!

Brian Hill - 2020 # 169
Niamh May 13
I don’t believe in a god,
But for some reason I still pray to one.
Promising I’ll change my ways if he helps me,
just this one time.
But he never does,
So I don’t change my ways,
I don’t believe in a god.
Not meaning to offend any religious beliefs
Yue Wang Yitkbel Oct 2019

Men must slumber in the darkness
In order to be truly awaken
Men must be desperately lost
In order to look up at the endless stars

The young love to sing about death
While the old worship life like the sun
The young are hopeless on earth, dreaming of flight
The old fear to be parted from the land without a raging fight


Who wants to be from War and Peace
The Fly against the loft sky
But we are all just flies
Traceless, each life in a dream it lies
Always to be awakened, bringing nothing and taking nothing
Why must we seek truth in a dream?
If we will forget them when we finally open our eyes
With joy, with sorrow
We witness death
Just so we would strive to stay alive
But why are we alive?
To prepare us for what?


Is it just for that half asleep, half awake
Shadowy, faint, and veiled memory?
Is it possible that when we truly open our eyes one day
We would still feel all that we’ve felt in the dreams?
Yes, in my brief nightly drowsiness, I have felt
Despair and happiness
And existed so profoundly!

Slumber or Awake, Illusion or Truth
Reality or Dream
There never was any true death or an end
I was always
Alive Alive Alive


Life is the only route
Between nothingness and the endless
Our birth on earth, and our perishing to dirt
Are both equal ends for the existing

And fools will simply rejoice in the illusive brevity
While sages prepare for the everlasting dance
And fools will take comfort in the darkness obscuring his sins
While sages prepare for the brilliance of the yonder light  
By already shining and basking in this life


I want to be from War and Peace
The Bee of such trivial and insignificant life
For we are all just bees
Unnoticed, but must exist
Why were we ever born to fly,
When true height is beyond this life?
Just for the pollen and nectar, taken and given?
Till bees return to the impermanent or the forever?
We will regret their absence then, bitterly and barrenly
Witnessing loss, just to learn to cherish
The existing.
But we exist, for what?


Is it just for that half asleep, half awake
Shadowy, faint, and veiled memory?
Is it possible that when we truly open our eyes one day
We would still feel all that we’ve felt in the dreams?
Yes, in my brief nightly drowsiness, I have felt
Despair and happiness
And existed so profoundly!

Slumber or Awake, Illusion or Truth
Reality or Dream
There never was any true death or an end
I was always
Alive Alive Alive


Being alive
Is not just so we can die
That is completely meaningless
Being alive,
Is the only route
From nothingness to endlessness

Only having been once alive
Can you be resurrected
Only when you walk this road to the end
Will you find and continue the pave to the
Neverending Land
Alive (Resurrection)
By: Yue Xing Yitkbel ****
Original in Chinese written on:
Sunday, October 20, 2019, 6:20 PM
Translated on: Wednesday, October 23, 2019
11:43 AM
Notes written: 2019/10/25
This was originally another stream of consciousness written in Chinese in a much more organized lyric form spontaneously. Parts of it were a sort of commentary and reaction to poems, songs, and other works I read from both young and old, where the young tend to write about death with a fearless and almost welcoming embrace, and the old refuses to "go gentle into that goodnight."

The rest of it, I wanted to use two very striking metaphors from Tolstoy's War and Peace, the fly and a bee. I set up them as foils of one another, though both to signify insignificance; one represents the isolation of an individual, while the other is of the obscurity of the mass.

Both questions why are we alive? Why are we here just to leave so immediately? Then, both a revelation and answer came to me suddenly.

The revelation being life is the inevitable road between the nothingness of being, and the endlessness of being.
So the answer is, as this road seems to be the only and continuous road, we must cross it to the end of the section we call life, in order to reach the rest we call the neverending.
Justin Aptaker Aug 2019
Money protect Me, for i am of money
Power protect all your children who love You
may it be always, that we remain one
till’ all accounts settle, and we transform into none

passion for poem, wanton weakness in words
I am nothing
like anything
you think you have heard
chaos of rough draft
order adds on each edit
I give bread, and give breath, and you give me no credit

my father, my father, tell me why did you leave me?
the lust of a dust castle
seduced, she bereaved me
she robbed me of every singed hair, I remember
she left through the cold chimney late in December

I struggled to speak, in a world without ears
I sought long for weeping, but never found tears
I the day, I the night
I am time before years
I the moon
I the sun
I your most hopeful fear

Me is not I, unless words could deceive us
my bitterness feeds on the truth that you leave us
you leave and have left, and are leaving again
Me equals Us, and you leave us my friend

not leaving or coming, see
I’ve all come and left
I have no where to go, I have no where to nest
no bed and no pillow
no blanket or tree
you refuse to accept that my rest is with me

don’t tease me
or mock, with your promise of wages
you, the dumb-deaf demise of our weak-minded sages
you, insisting we work seven days of the week
you leave my hand empty and return me to the streets

it is for want of a road
you must sleep in the streets
I offer you rest, but you are always asleep
I ask you to walk
Your sun crumbled your feet
I ask you to walk
so you severed your wings
Ellis Holden Apr 2019
Has Anyone Every Noticed That god Fills In The Blanks?
-If We Only Use him For The Holes Does he Exist?
Kaylee Ann Mar 2019
hate is as strong as a blade
yet, you throw it around like it's a debate
your religion is the false foundation for your hatred
you hold onto your false morals like a trophy
that trophy is not holy
you constructed that as a shield for loathing
killing true religion
creating the theology of hate
Adrianne Toles Jan 2019
I looked at myself through an oracle’s mirror;
At the person I was, have become and one day could be…

I saw a little seraph girl with a crooked halo
Resting on her devil horns.
Her tired heart and brave mind
Were curious yet guarded.

That day I saw myself  
With every scar
Every fallen tear
Every smile
And every milestone.
I peaked through my wings
And saw the devil They never wanted
But the angel for whom I still fought for
On the darkest nights
And loved on the brightest mornings.

I have become a paragon of imperfections and flaws.
Transformed into a tesselation
Of loosely sutured calamity weaving
Through the complexities of my benevolence.

And yet…

Beyond myself,
I saw the world in its blackened beauty
Reflected so wondrously
In shades of good and evil
And wrong and right
And wrapped ever so tightly in adventure.

My golden apple waiting just outside of Eden’s gates.

Shall I take it?
And be locked out of my garden forever?

The cherubs will be forlorn,
And the demons may even shed a tear,
And the hell whose flames I’ve kept so tamed
May reach out and dance across the garth.
It has been far too long since I have written or shared any kind of poetry. I worked very ******* this but I want to learn how to improve so criticisms and feedback are always welcome!
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