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 Aug 2014 Alissa Rogers
Sam WG
You were my Electric Enigma
                                                 Before I even had a clue
                                       I tried to rig the riddle
                                                 But it led me right to you
Oh, what am I to do?

                                       The ivy vine of your intelligence
                                                 So intertwined in relevance
                                       Latched to the walls I'm leaping
                                                 Spreading further each time I'm sleeping

                                       Fictitious thoughts fermenting for a fortnight
                                                Avoidin­g a gaze on in foresight
                                       Steady steps approaching the haze
                                                Around a camp-fire light and a wild night daze
                                       Righteous rituals will lead the way
Hope ya like!
 Aug 2014 Alissa Rogers
Sam WG
Searching for tranquillity to take her to town
Board a train of thought in solitude with the absence of sound
Quietude is my preference and presented proud
A glance to the blue cloud clustered sky and any sense of self is swiftly lifted as high as I feel
The door of my favourite place is secure and sealed

A rough trail of thought winds it's way through my mind
Like a green forest's walking track
A feeling of worth on Earth
No longer considered to lack
I have no purpose but to live
Earn my bread and yearn to give
Create and indulge in art
Satisfy my soul
Reach for the status quo and tear it apart
A century or so to call my own
People of the future and people of the past
In the end we all go just as far
He is a link between this and the coming world.
He is
A pure spring from which all thirsty souls may drink.


He is a tree watered by the River of Beauty, bearing
Fruit which the hungry heart craves;
He is a nightingale, soothing the depressed
Spirit with his beautiful melodies;
He is a white cloud appearing over the horizon,
Ascending and growing until it fills the face of the sky.
Then it falls on the flows in the field of Life,
Opening their petals to admit the light.
He is an angel, send by the goddess to
Preach the Deity's gospel;
He is a brilliant lamp, unconquered by darkness
And inextinguishable by the wind. It is filled with
Oil by Istar of Love, and lighted by Apollon of Music.


He is a solitary figure, robed in simplicity and
Kindness; He sits upon the lap of Nature to draw his
Inspiration, and stays up in the silence of the night,
Awaiting the descending of the spirit.


He is a sower who sows the seeds of his heart in the
Prairies of affection, and humanity reaps the
Harvest for her nourishment.


This is the poet -- whom the people ignore in this life,
And who is recognized only when he bids the earthly
World farewell and returns to his arbor in heaven.


This is the poet -- who asks naught of
Humanity but a smile.
This is the poet -- whose spirit ascends and
Fills the firmament with beautiful sayings;
Yet the people deny themselves his radiance.


Until when shall the people remain asleep?
Until when shall they continue to glorify those
Who attain greatness by moments of advantage?
How long shall they ignore those who enable
Them to see the beauty of their spirit,
Symbol of peace and love?
Until when shall human beings honor the dead
And forget the living, who spend their lives
Encircled in misery, and who consume themselves
Like burning candles to illuminate the way
For the ignorant and lead them into the path of light?


Poet, you are the life of this life, and you have
Triumphed over the ages of despite their severity.


Poet, you will one day rule the hearts, and
Therefore, your kingdom has no ending.


Poet, examine your crown of thorns; you will
Find concealed in it a budding wreath of laurel.
And a woman who held a babe against her ***** said, "Speak to us of
Children."

And he said:

Your children are not your children.

They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.

They come through you but not from you,

And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts.

For they have their own thoughts.

You may house their bodies but not their souls,

For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit,
not even in your dreams.

You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.

For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.

The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you
with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.

Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;

For even as he loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that
is stable.
I wont be your cigarette
you wont have me and be done
but I will be your sack of ****
get you higher than the sun

I wont be that **** you flick away and run
but I will be that line that gets you by
and you will do me twice just for fun

I will have you sweating
I will have you begging
you can call me molly
then we will have our wedding

garage, sundress , open bottles I can confess
broken smiles, sad sleeps, I will be your worst dream
you wont puff puff and be done
you wont pass because you will want me till there is none
I will be your sweet addiction
I will be your lovely conviction

I will be the reason your prescription gets written
The last taste on your lips
the sun will forget
but I wont be your cigarette.
 Jul 2014 Alissa Rogers
Mad Dog
She thought about him for a moment still she turned off those emotions as easily as a contract killer puts a bullet between some dumbs ******* eyes.

She said I love like a snake slithers across the floor.
How moths are so very drawn to deaths final flame.
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