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ConnectHook Feb 2018
Thank your progressive stars you are so filled with virtue, good taste, and tolerance unlike those ****** hateful redneck Trump-voting plebes. Thank all the gods of Democracy you are kind, gentle, and gender-unbiased as opposed to the divisive, racist misogynists you must share the earth with. Take a deeply liberal breath and center yourself for a moment… you will need it to endure the hordes of misguided gun-toting bigots trying to steal your oxygen. Give yourself a loving Euro-globalist pat on the back for doing the correct thing and voting your conscience against the racist nationalist KKK-sympathizers who run on fear and hate. At least you  are resisting fascism with all your humane heart unlike the uneducated, clueless, knuckle-draggers so easily led by their neo-**** overlords.

YOU, after all, are for Humanity and Compassion.
Virtue-Signalers UNITE !
Yasin Jan 2018
The true virtue's chaos.
Chaos is a fascinating state,
Even better, as a state, chaos is everything.
A glimpse of hope that human solves the chaos,
but then it's gone...

You can't control and it feels exhausting.
Feeling of losing control, humanity tries to solve chaos,
Create an order.
Obviously not possible, it leaves a negative feeling.
Inner squeezing as if you got pulled by a strange hand into a
dark abyss.
It shackles ,your spirit, squashes everything out of your
pinches your bones till you hate it but then.

The only notion, admit. The only alternative, love the chaos.
Humanity tries to make and keep everything in boundaries.
These are fruits. These are vegetables.
Gas ***** up in the sky are stars.
They are students and the audult people
on the right side are teacher.
In the the end they are citizen,
human, animal, creature,
energy maybe an assemblage of molecules, atoms.
But when a new thing comes that does not fit in,
A new boundary will be created and more and more...
Humanity can't control that anymore, too many.
An apple is a fruit, honey is an artisan good, not for me...

The counteracts against chaos creates even greater chaos!
I love, but sometimes my darling makes people drive made,
Humanity is not ready to face the chaos in another way.
Chaos creates disorientation and orientation.
My inner me donned to a shackle, slowly squeezed, and
sag confusingly in nothing but everything.
A vessel made out of clay with a rough surface and a crumbling facade.
A powerful stream of happiness embraces every servant of chaos.
Lakhwinder Dec 2017
What would happen on the day
When death tinkers in your life
This thought might recoil once
It turns a 'men' into 'corpse' I soliloquy
kith will pretending of regret by flowing false tears
Several examine you by discussing your deeds.
Pale face like a winter moon ignite on funeral pyre
ossesous turn into ash
Memories get fade with the passage of time
So what we earn worth by stay alive?
The only things which eternal relies on your deeds
It alive era to era never die
Embellish your deeds with great cause and painstaking
The actions never die, remain imortal with every rays of sunshine....
Death the culmination of life
thepoeticwit May 2017
Is it wrong
to say
"I love you"?

Oh how gladly
I received you.

Grace,
   a fair maiden
   is she.

Her beauty is
     long-lasting,
Her character
     amiable.

She is a woman of
high value;
Even I
don't deserve you!

Yet,
   the grace that you show
   just loves me for
   who I am

And shown in
these lovely songs
which I write.

Let me sing
   a melody
of your
     sweet virtue;

" O When can
your beauty fade!?" ~

Of your great counsel
fair maiden,
that I may
pursue

This everlasting grace
t'was once found
in you.
For Miss Grace; a lovely school counselor.
Imagine a warehouse of apples with their individual conciousness.
They are labelled and categorised.
They are segregated.
The apples are gathered and put into boxes marked
by what they want to be known by,
their commonality/mentality.
If a bushel of apples are a stigma, they are put into boxes marked by what the other apples tag them by.

In a self-marked box, by the name of “surat zayifa” an apple lays at the juncture of the pyramid of analogous red,
maggots eating away at it’s heart.
The apple turned crimson hued to an evangelist blood maroon. Smouldering; festering like an open wound.
A stinging aura besieged it,
suffocating the air like sharpnel stuck in the throat.
The apple, consumed by a dark resurgence and a devilish resolve,
spoke in tongues of the serpent and supplanted seeds of pestilence in the hearts of the apples who joined his brooding virtue.
A collective conciousness was supplanted among the fruit,
imprinted with the face of death.

The world of apples, thrive on each other and face the forebodings of life together in spite of their marked differences in a state of throbbing dependancy.
The apples feed on the apples.
Another self-marked box, by the name of “khalas” were set to consume the apples from “surat zayifa” to continue finity,
unwary of their poisoned souls.

The apples fed on the apples and almost every other apple rotted and perished.
The apples that survived were the ones who consumed the apples unblemished in spirit.
All the others apples from all the other boxes blamed “surat zayifa” as a whole.
Even the apples purest, were tainted by the sins of the other apples,
the ones to take the blame for the misdeed of their creed.
The box was now marked in disgrace, a vehemence, a scourge.

The last remaining poisoned apple that was set to perish from “khalas” did something morally unhinging before it’s spirit departed;
the apple smeared it’s tan blood with words on the cardboard and dropped dead.

The singular light bulb flickered, the pulse strained.
Everything fell silent.
The words read “ We are ourselves. We **** ourselves.”
This one goes out to those falsely persecuted in the name of religion and to those who give their religion a bad name and to the ones who suffer for the sins of their brothers.
Raphael Grand Mar 2017
"Life is meaningless," I was once told.
So I ripped the wing off a butterfly,
And watched as it twirled.
Now this old ape waits alone in the cold,
For I ripped the wing off a butterfly,
And have destroyed the world.
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