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her
her
between day & night,
splitting all metaphysical hairs,
there
she is, in awe.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nLlG6-kw86E&t=4565s
HER
HER
She enchanted me with a single kiss.
Never to untangle me, as such, leaving
me alone, in rendering soft moments,
self-producing romance. Yearnings given
when reading poetry and conscious of
hearing the world’s noises as love songs.
HER
HER
I’ve seen it, now I belong to her, to no other now,
I’ve seen her whole and true beauty, threading
everything that's forever, I cannot deny my inner-world,
lover, we’re in our own world, like we should.
Smile for me now.
When thy love speaks the truth, she’s creating
reality around. A place for freedom, where I
can develop into my original character and move
freely in that world. Shattering everything that
I had whispered to myself and trusted to her.
(For all my life, I had been poor. Not only it
provides reason to go deep into addiction,
it also suffocates you while you’re clean. I had to
work in and out of poetry to her glittering eyes
to gaze upon me.)
When the truth blows, it kills all the liars
in a explosive way, it dents history, as it
should. Left for all future eyes, as it reads
into the past. Potent and poetic, hopefully.
i
i
'me'
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9FZWRjmVeMg&t=31s
I
I
me
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_iG_QpFR7jk&t=107s
Silence exists, it exists in gatherings
of essence that form an absolute, salvation
exists elsewhere for most, higher power
inside, own gods and self produced
wisdom, definities do settles in terms of
people, today cannot always yearn of
yesterday wants, for no crystal ball for the
future, truth is a matter for death and personal
identity belongs inside, in various ways and
conflicting wars, torn apart, yet in poetry
culture is where I comfort, until by chance I
find a lover. Than everything I want just becomes
a drench of romance and their attention.
(Checkout some current publications on Amazon, search 'Darcy Prince')
Gathering twilight as colors over the horizon turned into a radiant-alluring showcase, tempting a my entire being to stand still and gaze, opening eyelids as their pupils move side to side, to understand creation in one single moment and the meaning was not meant to be shown to anyone. A jolt of illumination changing the silhouette of moods and a personal awakening sparkled inside. Time slowed. Sounds amplified. As earth veiled itself in more than aesthetic beauty rather than holding a face of horror and shame. Until a figure move faintly from the horizon and I took stepped forward. The europhia gasped and I wanted to jump to Heaven. Meaning beated in my third eye and it’s something that I had searched for my entire life, it’s a different meaning. The figure flew and stood across from me from an arms length. And started to sing in romantic tenderness, a kind of rapture a romantic had personal yearned for. But the beauty should never had been meet because of sense of aiming for had lost its value and nothing could ever compare here on earth. She sung about love, philosophy, poetry and lovers. Ending the song calling every person foolish and lived an unbearable life in dim secret darkness. Earthly satisfaction left my inner life. She stopped singing and my eyes rendered back to some or normality and instantly saw of periods of humanity, including the resonance and the romanticism, it lost of it’s points and held a burning desire to burn all history books. I felt only her existence and held it close to my privately owned heart. To describe her, including her flesh that is true poetry is outside of any language is pointless to start. All I know it’s only a starting point of the perfect revolution that humanity had been looking for in experience on a global front since the start time and meet the centerpoint of it all. For now I cannot fall in love with anyone here on earth, for now it’s only for that other side, for everyone here is dull and local, in need of rebirth.
(please find me on YouTube: ‘Knowledge Variable’)
https://www.amazon.com.au/Killing-Philosophy-Reflection-Darcy-Prince-ebook/dp/B07F9QVCW4/ref=sr11?ie=UTF8&qid=1532482922&sr=8-1&keywords=darcy+prince
(I thought I had friends,
But when I die,
I see no-one there.
I’m hell-bound
Over being held down.)

I saw mankind going through life in a childlike manner
I saw saw them toiling, saw them suffering, and
becoming gray for the sake of things which seemed
to me to be entirely unworthy of this price, for money,
for little pleasures, for being slightly honoured
it’s something brought on themselves
Do not weep, though in sweeping
dramatic features, in a concerto
fashion, veiled poetry, do not weep
for me. For I died and not to come
back to this earth, or this life. Nor
I’m I upset at this naturally great
act. I have gone into another Kingdom
alone,
after all is done,
I'm alone,
with thyself
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ADBZ4zFkjag&t=4s
At times - the mystics eat the stars
and burst like supernovas. Becoming
wisdom itself. At times - the poets find
love and forget about poetry. At times,
the philosopher falls into death, begins
to calm their running thoughts and rest.
At times, we have to let them. Life is
only worth living, when one does live.
What is intelligence? Is knowing what to do when one hasn’t been taught?

Education often relays on history and a repetition of facts. Rendering people not creating new things or thoughts, even if education can be a bedrock as something one can derive from. Thinking without writing. Not all philosophers are dogmatic. Despite their sole education or speciality in a branch of philosophy. For most ideologies derive at a finality. Where actions can viewed as applied knowledge. But education itself can be a prevention from someone discovering themselves, laying a path for ignorance. Facts can prevent people from thinking for themselves. Every structure is to be thought of as a particular form of equilibrium, more or less stable within its restricted field and losing its stability on reaching the limits of the field. Language is often the key to any intelligence, from the narrative of the mind, to the spoken or written word to the receptive person. As philosophy just question or self-thinking. Reading is only partial. Documentaries only partial. Dialog is partial. Experience is everything. The present is the problem. No one ever use the present as a parent.

Everything is incomplete.

Exposing oneself to thinkers, Sarte, Plato, Chomsky are only a few. Ignorance will always plague humanity and be told throughout history, public or private.

Making the Bible public, gave the common people a reason to learn how to read. Accidentally birthing both interruption and criticism outside the professional network. Despite intentions, duality will exist. Marcus Aurelius put forth what we do now will echo eternity. The exertion of will over reality will provide a conflict in the domain of reality, affecting the person exerting, whether it’s good or bad, will be based upon the reception.

Every truth comes sooner or later. Long term and short term self always around.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_1mikttEeXY&t=13s
Oh poetry, how it is illuminated by love
and left behind all poems are, because
love is such an awakening experience.
To which, it could not be expressed
in words that’s forms poetry.  
Oh poetry, I do wonder how many of
those in suffering moments, and continue
to suffer in private torment, all because
they could not break, from their reserving
shyness and even though all poetry is
encouraging.
(knowledge variable)
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.
(I had sold my soul
& the price was cheap)

Still soaking up trouble, like rain in the dirt,
I’m blessed to anyone I get to know,
no-one can be called the Devil, I’ve peaked
behind the curtains, no-one else comes close,
when you’re someone special, you’re either
loved or hated, rarely in the middle.
Reality doesn’t wait for anyone, when you
see someone you love die in the mist,
I’ve been told there will days like this
& it’s silly to pretend, that one’s sins won’t
be accountable for, but we commit, repent
& continue, I guess it's the way things go,
& I knew my cousin was on junk, I blessed
to see twenty-four. Grew up, grew apart,
to our surprise, I got my than five years,
started with poetry & spreaded out with it.
Still people think I’ve got to act only for the block,
where they only see me in the poems I write,
with needles & bourbon, fooling around, like magic
I got up & got out, like I snap my fingers.
Since early days of life, we’ve been friends, now
I see the Devil in your grin, hatred in your eyes,
Satan in your lies, it’s like snakes in disguise.
So how come, you talk with bitter & spite?
It’s my fault for what you’ve done with your life?
We barely embrace, can’t even look at in my face.
Thoughts expressed with emotion, do not criticize
if one cannot understand, thought look at it, as
if it’s something you cannot accept. As for the artist,
generally they become their own heros. If not, life
will be a bore, unable to fit into something normal.
I’m in too deep to change, I’m already dead, because
everyone looks unfamiliar and I swear I’m going to
die at the hands of someone I know. And that’s real.
No-one can **** the soul of someone’s creation.
(Knowledge Variable)
My ability & skill to commit evil
on purpose with a deliberate
consciousness is only matched
by the same forms of doing
good. Whether it’s myself or
to the world. What is worse,
accidental evil or the evil on
purpose? Is it the same for
the good? When it comes to it,
I’ll remain a individual. Regardless
of the community, society, group,
state, political party, sub-groups,
intent, revolutionary groups. It’s
always a battle of culture when it
comes to it.
(Everybody wants to change
the world & than stop when
it comes to changing themselves.
My heart is beating fast, is it
time to die?)
https://www.amazon.com.au/Inherent-Sin-Darcy-Prince-ebook/dp/B07FR5FW42/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1540847509&sr=8-2&keywords=darcy+prince
I don’t think it actually steamed of anything, just born with it. Though the more consciousness I gained, the stronger it became. Some types of people highlighted more of it. Some stream of threads sparked stronger insecurities. It’s really no one’s fault. It would prevent genuine feelings to come out or the ability to articulate it. It allows tremendously jealous, angst, wasting time. It gave permission not to permit actual life experience. Suffered thoughts, I emelish and I think I am completely severed from everyone. Leaving me unfilled and always lost in thought.

Never learnt or taught myself to sit back, oserve, that its okay in a humble way internalize reactions, hostile to life, everyone I love I seem to do wrong by, leave me alone, leave me lonely, two extremes, everyone I dislike, I give love, I want everything or nothing at all, rub my tummy than tell someone, waiting patiently to be catching me slipping.

Why I’m quitting. Recently, over the last few months, I’ve been peddling interest in others, a product that never improves, causes depression and gives false allusion, but there's money in it. I know it wasn’t good for me, but I couldn’t stop myself. Now, in saden times, I’m relieved. Advertising is based on thing, happiness. Happiness to the external, to which cannot be touched or owned, it can be seen though. Everyone is born without permission, it’s the same with dying. The subconscious is more likely just yearning for freedom without fear, worry, insecurity. Since creation, humanity has searched for deities. Or at least immortality here on earth.

If the environment, the peers, the family, job, whatever is fulfilling, dropping a bunch of rules on you, you’re there for them, stop asking for change, to meet halfway, trust me, reality is indifferent, one can only change themselves, it’s not on anything I just mentioned. In modern times where, hard work, originality, developing oneself isn’t valued. All my life, I hustled all night. Here is a small list flaws that I am unable to shake alone. Insecurity, clingy, desperation for genuine people, praise for artistic works, a penchant to dramatics, impulse, reacting. And when I find someone who is generally who I am looking for, it’s heavily sparked, like my issues with addiction, I can’t stop until it’s burnt.

As for the those are, well, they’ll do anything to be by your side, cause they said anything to do so and often, it’s justifications for the wrong they do. People often tell one narrative, so you can avoid noticing who they are actually.

Change doesn’t come from the outside. No matter how much good one can contribute. No matter the glittering allure, the sentimental engagement, at times, it’s best to let go and forget, move or charge forward. The dead get tonnes of flowers cause of regret. But for those who know to some degree, might even encourage to take my own advice here. I have. There’s twinge in my heart and those who’ll end up saying something, more likely are unable to put in effort to change themselves. Afterall, it’s harder, harsher, more challenging, hellish than the daily pain they experience in their daily life. It’s shocking to how much one can change.
https://www.facebook.com/knowledgevariable/
shouldn't be afraid to die,
i am
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9FZWRjmVeMg&t=113s
Life is everything of a broken pieces
of connected beauty. Not only for poets,
awes, moan and lovers. There is no such
thing of a precise speech, not even in poetry,
plus, the power lays with the others.
Sigh.
Dreams, the friendly version of the ghosts in unfinished business. Constructing ****** minds and arguing morals, while privately respecting the Devil. Shaping poems, turning ethics to ashes. Sweeping fashions over this world.
Well done. Life given freely to living souls. Death is owed. We’re all in debt. The forbidden fruit always tastes better and generally more successful.
It’s too bad.
Dissent friction. Sparking life. Duality of individuals. I’ll keep going back. I’ve looked behind the curtain and saw everything evangelical. Faith not required. Dogma becomes an addiction. Conformity in actions of order-impressions. Laughs and hugs.
And if a philosopher is asked, reality is depending on perceptions.
Power and freedom are this world's best lovers. Enticed drawn in by people.
For some, the difference between God and the Devil. One can be meet before the act of dying as the other is waiting for you to cross over to be judged. Following one will provide freedom here on earth as the rest compensate to be completely corrupted. Don’t sin in my steps. I’m going to be punished by hard-living. Best kept secrets are told in tender moments after ******* sessions. I’ve got nothing but love for the mystics in penitentiaries, soldiers of the century. I’m directly organized and their husbands will never, because I got away. When I die, teardrops will soak into earth, I’ve got meaning in exile. I’m long gone.
Live now, live hard in passion, live now, as if
all eyes are on you to lead them, live as if forever exists
inside, let no mind be fraile and know fully-well,
death is around the corner, in all it’s conquering
glory, for death is definite. Live now, like if one
has destroyed both desire and anxiety. Live now,
as if you had discovered love. Live now, as if
your soulmate had just broke freely from the
mold of poetry and had demanded it from you.
Live now, as if your own fate is turn into a
burning Muse and in the transition into death,
your reward is be a martyr. For those are who
had lived when they had the chance.
Pegasus I’ve found him. Tropical odds. Beating death. Immortalized in picture.
In love, nobody ever gets the person they had spent dreaming.
It’s horrifying. And the insecurity that comes with love.
A hellish experience.
Love had always been portrayed as innocent. Fine, your past is something to mourn over. Parting from it. Love demands that one’s past is forgotten. Present now, parent to the future. It’s an experience now to be explained.
Poetry for comfort.
Glances, eye glare, a flare. Flushing eyelashes. Not to be caught.
Is it actually dangerous to romanticize somebody? To be burden and pressed under love, is something I would rather have. Anything I would, if it’s the beat the feeling of feeling normal.
It’s a emotional waterfall. A change of shade. Alluring and seducing colours. Love is addiction. With the urge to carry on, despite not holding the courage to do so.
Oh poetry, lyrics to leave anyone spellbounded. To be in love, is to be hellbound. Rather all that brewing feelings now, to love passionately, as if forever exist. Desirous of thee, at all times. Kissing lips, swapping souls. An extension of one’s character. The critic. The caregiver. A lover. Oh poetry, how match distance have you missed the mark of accurately describing the experience of love. Still you raised to place effort to motivate. To provide belief that it actually exists and that love doesn’t belong to you.
For I’m ready to give up any earthly thing, desire, success, friend or family for any moment of love in hot and wild times, leaving traces of tender spots.
The results of love, will always be something no-one determines.
From somebody unexpected and never asked for.
At random.
Outside of one’s daily life.
The harshness of avoiding the acceptance of it,
Harder than reality.
Love is everything of prosecutor. Condemning sin.
It’s a sweeping in historical fashion of providing something more than any human purpose.
I get the poetry everywhere I go, I bust the poet open and take all his poems, I’m still claiming romance, till the day I die.
As for anyone standing outside, in the coldness of rain,
was the lack of love from no lover worth it, for the life you’re living?
Why I love thee, is something I’ll never know.
Cry now? What for?
A memorable lover gives nostalgia, a melodic shape,
and only if you could forward the images to exterior,
everywhere you walk would turn into songs of love.
And existence itself could benefit from, knowing that
real is still reachable. That craving, the emotional
awakening, even in the mind’s intellect knows, the
memories of this pastime, gesture beyond the heart
of poetry and it’s transcends everything human. A
peculiar largeness to one’s whole essence. This engagement
of one’s own past, like it’s said, that real and pure love
is there, using this present thread of moments, parents
one’s own future. And if that real love that poetry
speaks about in such sinless grace does not exist,
I don’t want to know. Some things are better left unsaid.
Her, provides such a strong faith, to which poetry had
always failed in, that the love of soulmates can provide
is there and in this world, to be honest, I wouldn’t
be able to express it anyway, I’ll be pulled forward to
experience it and has left me with reason and meaning
to be alive. (Doesn’t being burnt, leave such a bitterness
to one’s life, that drips and veils everyone a certain
distrust?)  
- knowledge variable
Intelligence brings a strange mixture of
laughter & worry, lonely for
sure.
With no one to consult with, confessions
made to abandoning priests, art
as refuge, nothing to return to, utter
a lonely person. Gutted & lonely,
hanging from the tree of life.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-NN8X2FEanw
to whats left unsaid,
follows me like yesterday,
it never changes.
I'm lonely
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LbPm_HQfwSc&t=49s
When in love without a lover,
all one can do is write poetry,
talking over one’s heart.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GkyNISWE3Cc&t=2368s
Fall in love with a real women, whose making
something of herself with her private intelligence,
helping hand from her depth of character and
ready-made beauty, trust me, they hold up
the sun and sky. When they smile, the stars
rise and ballet for them. The rest of this life’s
beauty will be shown, depending on their mood.
Everything else is pure mysticism, man unable
to understand. So, when you’re paying for the
love she gives, with your soul. One will be
Illuminati and the rest will be understood.
And trust me, real women have no-need of boys.
Fall in love with a real women, whose making
something of herself with her private intelligence,
Helping hand with her depth of character and
Ready-made beauty, trust me, they hold up
the sun and sky. When they smile, the stars
rise and ballet for them. The rest of this life’s
beauty will be shown, depending on their mood.
Everything else is pure mysticism, man unable
to understand. So, when you’re paying for the
love she gives, with your soul. One will be
Illuminati and the rest will be understood.
And trust me, real women have no-need of boys.
Oh poet, my dream is to witness you
to fall in love, that you’re consumed so
much love, that’s at the point of madness,
and you forget to write another poem.
- knowledge variable
Perhaps poetry itself invented love, if it didn’t
poetry took advantage of love, only to get noticed.
Now at least I’ve got something to do, just writing
poems about the love I yearn and have not yet
experienced. Troublesome.
(Knowledge Variable)
Two worlds collide in one single moment
when two give into their love, binded and
powerless to avoid such holy power. Give
a slight laugh, to learning that it could
happen outside Heaven. Unlocking hearts
and speaking it’s language. Outside of
poetry, forgetting the melancholy life in
a loud roar towards to neolife, retreating
that breathe by leaning in for a kiss as
opening gates to the souls to meet and
make love. To live alone, outcast to this
world where the rest are sharing, blind to
real love that poetry had attempt to teach
them, without asking for anything in return.
Where the lovers gestures, emotions,
thoughts and private world, spark such
great works of poetry, that will get made by
active Muses, surely humanity will not ignore,
though I’m sure they will. Real love to find
and to know, is rarer than finding myth in
reality. Behind closed doors of minds in marriage,
sing songs unwillingly, of what’s different
to the veils they dress in.    
(knowledge variable)
As for me, everyday I remind myself that
I will die. Balancing it out. Each poem I
Write, I am reminded that love exists.
(knowledge variable)
Lover, it’s tiring in the endangerment of dreams, like the
silhouette, flashing alluring across. Experience in love,
is a life worth sacrificing for. And you’re too late, you’re
burnt in my memory, I shall front what binds us, bless it
in poetry and shall rampage over what separates us.
As if both acts is holiness itself and nothing else exists.
For those with another, without any real love,
for how you have fallen for life’s cruel tricks,
another giggle from mocking time. Things fall
apart, is what death tells me as the poet cries,
forming articulated words of love. For how things
sway me. But not in faith that real love exists.
Knowing not what to decide, those idles who
provide a veil of love, or those who suffer by
following that veil, with red robes and a mind of
hope.
(knowledge variable)
lovers lie,
lovers be here now,
love is in the moment only
as nothing else
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=THUnX8NBDzQ&t=631s
(under watch,
someone has been
telling)
when i love someone,
i go beyond cherishing them,
my friends had been
dead wrong,
picture me in love,
my heart has been stolen
and the dope has gone.
I'll love till the ****** end
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UcYgP0YkWRM&t=276s
A love is a love,
absurd & real,
phony, & fake.
For it’s worth,
it’s yearning,
regret, illumination
& painful.
Lover, why I’m I afraid to die?
I belong to you. Knowing you,
a life worth living, because
I made something of myself.
In the process of it all. I had
become the man you’ve always
wanted and in you, a character
so exceedingly overwhelming
of true beauty, touching holiness,
you ended up saving me.
Smile for me now.
When it comes time to die,
I’ll render thoughts of you.
And take comfort and ease,
I’ll wait for you there, in other
kingdoms, where those brave
enough to go with their soulmate
in durations of horrifying true
and perfect love.
Than can people bloom.
Smile for me, again and again.
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)
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.)
(When in love, every poem will be
the same. Sit back, light a spliff of
romance. I smile only for a woman
who surpasses my entire being. As
for the others, picture me hanging
out the window, light to the middle
finger. I’ve got no love for you.The
mystics dont die, we just multiply.
I'll see you at the crossroads. What
happens at judgement day?)

It will take your heart and consume it,
stealing your breath away, leaning in
to kiss one another, the wait leading
to this moment will be long, the memory
looking back, short and nostalgic. It
will beat you down, revelling all truths.
As we before we die, somehow, the love
will hold our hands and let us fully live.
It won’t be expressed in poetry or in
any other literature. It must be experience.
The love will invent one another, between
two soulmates, furthering more, surpassing
our very essence, our entire being.
Living now, better than our pasts, as it
parents our future. You’ll never live one
moment without the other, the love won’t
allow it. Neither no muse, or no God,
Will permit it.  It simply doesn’t happen, if
it’s true. Few will ever see this love, rare are the
ones that will ever experience this real
love, that all poets are behind in. speaking truth
to conscious reality, revealing always, what
lays bare naked in the subconscious.
If it doesn’t burst your soul into stars,
don’t follow through on them,
in spite of everything at veil-normal,
don’t do it. Unless, they tear that mask of
yours, undress your veiled-persona,
opens your mind - don’t do it. If you never
think about them, hunched over, alone,
not a single thought. It’s not them.
Love is tender, touching holiness, bringing
out something, nearly perfect in you. Do it.
The world has plenty of normal in it.
Love is something, in private worlds, inside
your inner-world, your thoughts, your heart,
your something, an act of revolution. Revolting
against everything in your life. Most of all,
love belongs to everyone, but when two are
in love, love belongs only to them and no-one
else. Despite of everyone else. Love isn’t
something people work towards, work together,
luck of the draw or anything like that. Love
can’t be learnt in poetry, novels, any sentimental
art. It’s more than a act or experience. When
it happens, you burst stronger and brighter
than any known supernova, you’ll know it.
And land in a place that all our muses live in.
You’ll be center of envy from poets, romantics,
as friends and family turn to you and your lover,
‘Why can’t we be like that?’  
(Knowledge Variable)
Don't inherent the world by losing yourself,
like Wilde said on how everyone else is taken. To what enlightens the soul depends on who you ask, the philosopher will tell you it’s wisdom, the romantic replies it’s love.
                To I’ve found what awakens me, it had brought my very soul to tears,
I was impatient, suffered anxiety and self-doubt, conflicted
with my interest in everything.
I fell in love easily that includes thunder, to the point I experienced
it beyond poetry.
In a restless fashion feared that I’ll dwell in that state in forever as the same. The moral compass and the part of what determines value always starts from the same place. The individual.
Humanity's greatest strength lays there with their generosity of
sentences about themselves, their fear and ignorance, it is
always on a endless cycle, it’s cools and beautiful, but it’s false
and represents everything we shouldn't be, rather just something
of unfortunate part we must endure.
To sell your soul is the easiest thing to do in this lifetime. And now, I smoke ancient heavenly, converse with my Muse and meet Mystics over tea, saw myth come to reality by potent Monks with tattoos from jailed exile. For I’ve found what’s right for me, not in art or philosophy, my actions to experience life is my outburst of my own soul and became satisfied that everyday I live I’m better than yesterday. Through life’s mystery and it’s madness, my effort beyond my desire, I place my wants in my hands and dealt with any fear, I strive for illumination and only found myself in final form and surprised that limitation isn’t the result but only freedom here in reality before death.
If I knew at the start that my soul only belongs to my soulmate, I would of never wrote any poetry for this dying world.
(Please checkout my publications on Amazon. Just search Darcy Prince)
low
low
standing in values,
standing in meaning,
implications of others,
a sense of loss.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gTjoiRd1dk4&t=1s
No-one is truly ready for love.
Unexpected events, in meaning.
Whirling and overwhelming feelings,
to which I can feel, as for her, she
created and tame, by touching
my deepest parts of thy soul.
And surprised when she came to
my presence as she brought,
contentment into my life. Taking
the courage, into the abyss
and bliss. As for every star in
the sky. There’s someone
in love. As for every beauty
noticed. A woman had smiled.
Deeper the love, closer to illumination,
the depth of poetry, the harder
the heartbreaks. To put fear into
a man, let him love. To have meaning
in life, let her be loved.
Lust, the illusion to fill my missing parts,
marvellous and frivolous things, smiles
in between, though it lasts only in moments.
Reminiscents of broken dreams.
(knowledge variable)
lust
& love,
I'm apart of
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UXDBG2bPvpk&t=534s
me
me
Moral point of view,
no books with any answers,
my lover, it’s weird without you around
& I have not yet mastered
the words of poetry, to convey to you.
While surprised that you ever loved,
while I was screaming about
everything being Holy.
For this had changed the course of my
affairs, it’s like I no longer have
any rest, I’m sure my emotions are
sending me to hell.
Wept, to how I suffer, my stanzas are lost,
though it seems selfish to vent
for me only, I was your keeper, because
you promised to be mine & war
broke out.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6jjBNlhz6nA&t=2082s
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