D Vanlandingham

"The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so
absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion."
~Albert Camus


Manifestations, through metabolization--
there is a shift provided  within
their very act of being,  causing a cost
that none of those who choose to  punish

would choose to pay,

    Yet.. pay, these earth gods will:
    as that is the only world that they know

And to survive, with such a vengeance
as to provide the necessary offset   powerful enough
to bring about the very death   of death, itself

A death, not wanting to die,  but instead
made alive  within the very death
it brings about in the hearts of those  

    who punish the very ones  capable
    of causing its own demise--

A catch-all, catch-22...
a never ending, vicious cycle
the offset  made nearly null and void

    through deception's presentation of the image..
    gunfire in the air, there is a celebration--
    its Wehrmacht-like rallys and assemblies;

                                  social media at its finest.
                                       (selfies, selfies, selfies..)

But the Earth Gods;
they are an insertion in to every bit of this..
     undeceived  
     unwavering

     uncontrollable.

Your finest of  dreams
became known..
And in those precious hours
you soared,  as I soared
until your own,  
horrendously skewed,
self-view
slaughtered the ever-living
****  out of it all..
And, oh my sweet
little desert-wanderer-
you have been mad at me
ever since.

I did not create your view,
someone else did-- so horribly..
so very unfairly
     long before we ever met
I came to help  restore  in you
that which was stolen from you
so very long ago.
   But you hauled off  and kicked
   me in the ****
   as soon as your ever-wearing
   internal-messaging system  kicked in
And down I went, my beautiful--
a total ******* in your eyes
with no way left to bring you  the gold
your better-everything, still hungers for.
**** me, my beauty..
baby stick the knife in
    deep.
And in a moment of remorse
your tear-stained rusted fortress-gate
will swing wide open..
and with my last dying breath,
I will hand it over to you anyways--

         The gold your war-torn heart
         had always hoped for
         but never thought it deserved.

   You are Ishmael, my beautiful--


   a blood-borne carrier
   of the Living Word

paulSN

Open up the floodgates of hope,
and need
and along with the
access
to life it brings  
comes years  of being

left hanging
let down
ignored
abandoned..
hope upon hope
upon hope,  left

dashed
smashed
crushed
quenched
drenched

in the dry emptiness  
of emptiness itself..

until the resilient
childlike
hopefulness of a little-one
wears down

into despondency

And so it is
the hope of hope
that brings back access
into memories

of when we first  
gave up hope

and then (God help us)..
the reasons why.

Beautiful keeper of the gate
push through it all my love..
push through it all,
     and as you face your hell

you will begin to see your heaven again.

Selmhem Naise


"...A fire broke out backstage in a theatre. The clown came out to warn the public; they thought it was a joke and applauded. He repeated it; the acclaim was even greater. I think that's just how the world will come to an end:
to general applause from wits who believe it's a joke."
~S.K.


Uncanny wit
A bit of a ****.
And his Glory he hides
As the red orb he slides
Over the nose that knows.
It is to only "they that can see"
His 'pose that shows.
The clown is a genius...
And so very few knows.

Tell him...
Tell the clown what it is that you see,
In and through his funny-colored eyes.
Maybe the glory that is his
Will pierce through disguise
In order to be
What each of us that 'see'
Do already see.
That we
Are in the company

Of a truthteller kinda feller.


(Applause)
from a whole new kind of crowd

Your soul's movement
is everything..
my sin;  when made manifest,
a particulate--

(when breathed in,
there is a certain freedom within it)

Within view of the altar stone
all  hidden knives, become fully known
(and, alas, my love--
there's no ram  in the thicket)
Beautiful, within the endeavor
though still vastly distant--

(what a fool I make of myself
trying to make this thing, rhyme
by having the audacity
to use the word, Covenant.)

Maybe, I--
your long-lost,  supplicant  
has been  nothing more
than a deeply-embedded, replicant.
(or something)..

paulSN

I cannot betray
who it is that I am,
little beauty-
and so, in doing so
I will continue to hold on
to that which I know
truly gives me strength;

but..
I cannot help but hope
that as I do, the rain
that waters my tree
and helps me to stand--
also waters
and brings nourishment to
the very roots

of the beautiful sapling that is you.

I do it for me, because I know
that is what I must do-  stand.
Know that you are deeply embedded
within my very growth rings, so
as I stand
and sing
of the very rain  that
provides the very thing we need,
I stand for you also:

and everyone else who is a struggling
sapling such as I once was.

      You are me
      and I am you.

   We both thrive on the same water.