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Alexis karpouzos Oct 2020
When one door opens, another closes.
this is the eternity's circle,
mistakes belongs to us, but not all,  
the fate mapped out for us to follow,
but does not define our choices,  
beings of necessity and randomness,
we're rattling over the abyss
in the vicinity of dying stars
Jordan Gee Oct 2020
Breathe Steady 10.29.20
go forth then, unto God and his Glory, abounding and rejoicing in the power and peace of that holy dwelling place.
abide, therefore, forever in the Love and in the Light.
-sayeth  the channelings, sayeth the distorted mask,
sayeth that through which sound passes.-

sons and daughters of the Earth who bathe in the waters
drawn of love/light/wisdom in the bathhouse of
the higher densities and inner planes.
Bath waters of golden white light, brilliant in a
radial pouring forth of tangible understanding and freewill.
scarcely can such energy be described in so
cumbersome a language, charming as it endeavors to be.
underwhelming must the emotions evoked be
in comparison with the All Glory of experience of
that which is spoken of.
the death ****** of the fire-bird serves as its own
inoculum and womb; two ends of a terminus
in polarity.

I activate in order to combine,
dwindling dread.
I seal the upswing of trans-dimensional laughter,
with the everyday tone of exodus.
I am guided by the advent of thermals.
-I am a solar riptide, surf me-

and then time slowed way down.
the semi trucks were like great sea mammals with
their whale calls and slow passage by the flanks.
“Who are you?”
“I am the Kalachakra.”
“Did you hear that?” (hushed tones, hands cover the phone.)
I was quite close to the illusion of Death.
The opaque specter, shaking and rumbling the very
fabric of the matrix about me.
wavering not within the sinkhole of indifference lest my terror turn manifest.
I’ve risen from a pillar of salt,
I’ll rise from the embers next.
post bufo alvaris
Unpolished Ink Oct 2020
Rocks are memories
The ancient shattered fragments
Of earths burning heart
Emmanuel Davies Oct 2020
When nations beckon
And the world refuse to reckon
Desires begins to burn
Upturning
To the very last one

Heart throbbing against self *******
Fighting false battles
Along the way
Liars exonerated in white robes
Perambulating, freely reassuring false hope
Beggars bellowing bad breath
Living luxurious lives like lords
Tailored tight thieves take turn
Chopping cheap chops
On platinum platters
Thinkers in their infinite wisdom
Making hilarious decisions

What's there to it?
In this vain world
If not that by your greed
We should be crushed
Into nothingness
Then maybe our eyes
Will open to see the world
For its cunningness.
A better nation would be achieved if only we would take off our blindfold both people and elected.
Austin Reed Oct 2020
Jr.
Don’t look so shocked kid,
victory awaits you too,
patience is virtue.
Bhill Oct 2020
man, without wisdom, is uncivilized
understanding how to decide and teach
are we headed backward or forwards
the future, currently exists, only in our minds
do, or will we, have the vision to move
to move past the present, into the future?
((ouch)), (my brain exploded)....))

Brian Hill - 2020 # 295
Roxx3000 Oct 2020
Me
If a fish can’t fly in the sky
And a bird can’t swim in the sea
Then how can I expect to be something
That is simply just not me
Aditya Pandey Oct 2020
Tonight, I saw you at the corner of the road,
standing, with falling shoulders and lowered head,
not lonely, rather alone with yourself,
the best company I would say,
even if it appears contrary to you at the moment

Though, your shoulders are falling,
they are gracefully carrying the excruciating pain of your heart,
those stiff muscles are holding you straight,
yes, your head is lowered down,
yet, what a marvelous posture of your body
I adore you,
your presence, existence is a source of emulation for many,
they are admiring their standing woman-man, their stoikiy muzhik,
as standing their itself is an act of courage,
that you are holding on

I don’t know what ransacked you,
must have been terrible,
but not strong enough to break your resilience,
the terseness of your being,

I adore you
Tonight, when you go back home,
don’t just reach and lay on the couch,
go in front of that mirror,
the one that you have not seen for long
let your intimate self undress you,
praise your beautiful body,
doesn’t matter whether it has gained weight or lost,
if gained, admire those layers of new flesh,
they are eager to burn themselves up for you, just for you,
if lost, praise those beautiful bones,
which are highlighting the flow of universe inside the canvas of your body,
see yourself, raise your head,
give respect to your resilient shoulders,
to your eyes which drained themselves dry to make you feel better,
see the grace and light they have when they daringly carry your vulnerability with style,
they deserve a smile,
while smiling, respect your mind, you awareness,
which is not acting as your master anymore,

when was the last time you caressed your
beautiful eyes, hair, face,
when was the last time you caressed your
breast, chest, all below,

Don’t sleep tonight,
your cupboard is waiting for your touch,
you have kept on contacting them,
but for tonight, for one last moment,
one last act of courage,
that gods themselves are not expecting from you,
shut their mouth,
defeat death, for tonight,

Touch
touch your books, shoes, clothes, diary, pen,
that beautiful lamp in the corner,
your bed that has not been made up,
touch your work, they long for your love,
and they, all of them have waited for this very moment,
just one last deed,
affirmatively whisper…

Aditya
A Oct 2020
I wish plants could speak
They’d tell me of  horrid things they’d seen
Above them and next to them
Left and right
They’d speak of the rain that came after drought
And the joy they would have at that
They’d tell me about the loss when a flower got picked
and the fuss of it if anyone cared enough to get it fixed
for a new plant in its place
a new life replacing the old
a decade of silver instead of gold
With new existential questions (some are very bold)
would the sky get angry then and start raining coal?
for how dare a simple plant question the mighty clouds?
and have a voice to speak and make sounds?
while it is inferior, sickle, stuck in the same old grounds,
as it’s quiet predecessors

I wish plants could speak
they’d be full of wisdom I’d reckon
They’d be melancholy
they’d seldom speak
and sometimes,
Of hope a beacon

you’d think they might know the most of this earth
as their roots are intertwined with it
I’d say It unravels it’s secrets to them
For it knows for sure
That plants never speak.
wrote this without re reading it. Sorry if it’s *******
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