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Mystic Ink Plus Oct 2018
As taught
1+1=2

That's not always
How life works
Genre: Abstract
Theme: 2-1=1 & 1
The only person I seek to be accepted by,
is thy lover. Until then, I’ll do my best, to
accept myself. Conscious and waking in this
reality, we all contribute to, unconscious of
it or not. The poppy’s break from sealed
cases. Muse, what period of mankind
is this? It feels like almost a crime, to talk
about true love, where everything seems
to be based at aesthetic judgment, in
layman's terms, ‘face-value’. Will I quit?
They’re labelled me a major threat. Can
remind people what society has made
them forget.
Full of life, vibrant and radiant, grew up and grew apart,
to both of our surprises, I took control and went out,
making something of myself, there’s bitter resentment
in your voice, to everytime you speak. Now we barely
keep in touch. Acting like I’ve got be living for the block.
Devil in your grin, Satan in you lies. How come you look
with hateful envy? How come, it’s my fault of what you
did with your life?  Every time I go to embrace, you turn away.
Where were you when I needed love?
(There we both came from the same place, it’s the money
and the struggle got us changing places. People yield to
trends, sins committed, people attempt to repent, but they
recommit to sins, I guess it’s their essence and it's the way
it is, I knew my cousin was on dope, I lived in poverty.
Providing reasons to become a ****** as the poor nature,
Suffocates me while I’m clean and I broke free. Life goes
on. I’m alive again, writing in stride, it’s adrenaline based
motivation, I’m little awakened than most. I just wanted to live.)
(Knowledge Variable)
I can remember when the sun rose for
the first time in my life, it overloaded
my whole being with neolife, along
with neo-thoughts and sensations, I
burst into tears, disregarded my past
and it to the evening stars, like those
little rocks on the road I just walked on,
it has stayed in past, like it should,
dispersed with the supernovas. From
than, some people I saw, afflicted like
me, lived more fuller as the rest, are
seen as the walking dead, as they should
be perceived. The thought of the world,
where everyone’s muse lives, continues
to weigh me down, the act of pursuing
Residency there lightens as every step
Taken. Any act of art that I undertake,
is mere step towards it, like in every
moment I continue to develop my
true and original self, leads me towards
the deepening of my own awakening.
Now by experiencing the present, it
becomes more of a parent to my future.
Pounding heart, breathless scenes of
enchantment, I can only change those
who pay attentions and walk in, with
or without fear.  I can only open up,
like the sun, to whose make effort to
do the same with me. Darker the life,
the brighter it shines, deeper the bitterness,
the closer they becoming a god.
Poetry, I’ll give you my unfulfilled dreams
and yearnings, any part of my past, that
brews resentment. I’ll keep the rest and
I’ll smile.
(Knowledge Variable)
If you never experience real love, you’ve never lived,
never been heartbroken, never attempted to find love.
Poetry created from both lovers and the heartbroken.
Destroying dice, never kills chance, destiny can,
cellos and tenors, emotions in sound, thoughts lay
dormant, till spoken philosophers moan, exiled spirits
spread with velvet and scarlet, a spotless spree of
rough dawns and silver-golden glowing romance nights.
Novelists and drink coffee with cinema, speaking with
French conversations. Returning, making love with
all the farewells. Life itself, a deep sleep for some
and crazy, like wildfire mystics for the rest, who do
more than desire to live life. Rather, I’ll sleep now,
awake for too long, in attempt to outdo my lover.
Piercing blue, heavy on awakening, pressing upon
me, poetic words for poetry and memories now,
for nostalgia in the future, present experience in crazy
contentment, untamed where that's the only way
to experience someone you love.
(Knowledge Variable)
In reading past philosopher's, a concerto conversation
in historic fashion and expressed in poetry. A soul
trembling, mystic produced, words to murmur all through
a moon-lit, silver night and see the sun rise again.
Descent from the mundane, where void is birthed,
watch life expressed in mystical beauty.
(Knowledge Variable)
Lover, while intertwined, breathing mingling,
body to body, stomach touching, naked. We’re
a vaster blaze to the night sky, than any
constellation the cosmos performs for humanity.
Secrets shared in poetry and they forget about
the sun rising everyday. To every moment
we share, the Muses to this world forgets a little
more to complete it. As we awaken a littler
larger, growing towards holy enlightenment
as our love is grand and true. (No-longer afraid
to die - lover, I belong to you. I’ll wait for you,
at that other place, just smile for me now. We’re
exploding into a million stars and poems, just
by breathing as we kiss. Arch of eternity,
humanity remembers us, in mythological fame,
no offence to any lovers, but this world belong
to us. Untouchable.)
A poet becomes, when a poet finds the world
outside, unsatisfactory. Not to inspire that world,
be drawing attention to themselves, to be inspired
or proven wrong. Not admitting it’s true love that
they all want. Children to life. Slaves to reality.
Caged in desirous love. Limited in art creation.
Do not render to poets for anything. Live life.
There is only one of those. (When my face got
cut up, I got told that God don’t like ****. So
every night, I go to sleep with a pistol in my hand.
And one open, just like the Masons. Don't feed into
the world.)
To my muse, that pulled me out of
a still place, where I was a offspring
of my past, placing me here, as a
parent to my future. Where this
present, converts itself into loving
memories, content at the same time,
anticipate the future, working towards
overloading love to live the experience
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