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Matt Jul 2013
Prolong the journey to happiness
revisit the memories of converging paths
sighted images is what made these last
but we cannot be sure it is for long

Hear the woman echo
the cry of love and joy
praising a man's piece
the romance is their buoy

Faintly, I felt her touch at our last goodbye
unaware of anything around us but sheer sorrow
our eyes met and spark adjoined
our lips touched, raising an alarm in my heart

Promote the fantasies of malady
her deep dark secrets keep me near
of unspoken dreams, my lips are sealed

Along with her fingertips, dastardly teasing with suffice
her strawberry scented hair straight though sordid.
I still long for her touch, even now.
#Romance #Love
Lunar Luvnotes Dec 2014
Never been so attracted
to one being.
Wildly attracted
to traits of many,
always fleeting.
So many rolled
into one man
leaves me speechless,
intrigued and fiending.
He mirrors my lunacy,
and my fiery independence,
our duality.
Water bearers
pour streams
adjoined from
the heavens, unencumbered.
After years of finding
the streams gravitating
into one,
we ditch a gourd.
Our fingers intertwined
under the neck
and the base of
the remaining one.
Our eyes mingle mysteriously
each morning,
and when they find stars
they get to pouring.
"Man on the Moon" series. 9/20/14 Dominant aspects of our emotional sides of our Natal chart we share (moonchildren, cancers) and strong commonality of being weirdos (Aquarius ). The thing I love the most that my past love embodied, he keeps hold of independence with a death grip except for when it sneaks out from under him. A good example for me to not hand over my power along with my love unconditionally. Us ending has brought about everything we've needed to see.. I could never fall out of love easily, but I can take notes. It's survival of the fittest out there and I'm scurred so I lunge. Not at some one, u kno, the kind to mold my ***. Anyway, back then when I was love drunk writing this, I thought it was so silly and a result of fantasmical wishes. I see now this vision painted in my mind come alive before it ever found words is a perfect demonstration of our shared skill of clairvoyance or rather shared-vision. I see from afar this symbolism is loosely demonstrating our shared vision (ditching a gourd is working past differences and holding unbreakable perfect vision, to me at least looking back, we are holding God, pouring the wisdoms of truth. Drink tha drank its good for you. I kno now how important shares vision and good faith in a relationship is detrimental to my own romantic happinesses. This man blessed my life. God sent this one and he will send another.
Natures dilapidated rhythms
Carves itself into the trunks
Leaving only an omen
To be enchanted by a passer by

This fellow lone traveler
walking into ceilings of emerald delusions
The saintly stones and the creaks of trowlbrooks
He can not help but to gasp even to deafened ears

Lulled into complacency by decades of broken legends  
The anointed ones and their fractured promises  
Still somehow a harmony of one lonely leaf called out to him

Echoes from an apocalyptic cavernous wasteland
All the worlds suffering adjoined in one single note
With the agony and punishment
of all the dehydrated souls  

The traveler was resurrected by the choice to live in a world of sensation
Rather then some brick containment
He chose to let suffering be fall his confessions

With a symphony in one hand
And a chain saw in the other
He belted the incarnation of freedom

They all tumbled for the rocks
he , the saw and the beauty
The clashing cascade
A blessed rapture and necessary harmonic sacrifice
all to the gods of that ensure we never have silence
Addie Santos Aug 2013
I am well aware how your skin
shreds off immortality
when adjoined with mine.
Very well aware.
Denel Kessler Feb 2016
nomad
hungry ghost
trembling hands
outstretched
forever seeking
that which does not
sustain

alms
for the golden
empty bowl
offerings laid
on the morning altar
until there is
no barrier

only
giver and receiver
giving and receiving
adjoined
without end
that which circles
becomes eternal

all is but illusion
we remain
unbound
released from suffering
what was fractured
in wholeness
will be found.
Ben Jones Dec 2013
There lived, amid the common folk
A seamstress of renown
Tucked away most smartly
In a quiet sort of town
So perfect was her needlework
And delicate her hand
That all and sundry sought her out
Her skills were in demand

To gain a moment here and there
She took a silver thread
She deftly put a stitch in time
And curled up in her bed
For she was such a busy girl
Deserving of a nap
But as she slept one evening
The stitch in time went 'snap!'

Time unravelled rapidly
From 'will be' to 'before'
And coils of causality
Were all over the floor
But fortune is a canny dame
For a needle was at hand
Still threaded up with silver
At an artisan's command

She bustled in a flurry
And rummaged through the ages
She sorted out the centuries
With diligence, by stages
While shoring up the borderlines
And patching up the wars
She darned the holes in spider silk
And trimmed the dinosaurs

She hemmed the mighty oceans
To snuggly fit the sand
Then zipped up the horizon
So the sky adjoined the land
The night was stitched in situ
In between adjacent days
And time was mended seamlessly
And better in some ways

She locked away her needle
And her strand of silver thread
Her work would wait 'til morning
And with that, she went to bed
So next time life is hectic
And leaves you in a flap
Allow yourself an hour
For a cheeky little nap
Eriko Feb 2016
you are my partner in class
my partner in crime
my partner in sadness
my partner in happiness
my friend, my love
I know we have forged
a partnership in life
no, not like that
not the way that's thought to be so
but that genuine joy
of keeping one's company
adjoined at the heart
and dwelling at the part
one day you will marry
and live in the woods
as you wish to be so
and I will find my husband
and own a studio
cluttered with paints and books
and travel the world
but you will remain my most
beloved pen pal*
and we will laugh
*until our hearts grow sore
to my best friend
I love him
an idiot, but one of a kind
midnight prague Mar 2011
1.
the black crimson of atmospheric and feminine smoke gloriously moves around
like tainted belly dancers in front of the pyramids
luring and incredibly terrifying
singing to me in the tongue of Orpheus, balancing
like dark ballerinas gathered in Arabesque stance
protruding brittle and shaking emotion with grace and
extracting all mind pollution
drenched in a feeble state
lurid/ashen/grim with transcending desire to fulfill itself beyond natural depth
I delicately move my fingers around, I want this to wrap around me
as slow as possible
I nestle my head into my shoulder, and rub my cheek against my warmth
I adorn the fumes
I kiss them  

ghosts and humble gatherings pursue me on this deadly night
of a deep fright and tender delight
crazed anonymous lovers kiss on their balcony somewhere in France
a fog dies out on some highway in mid Arizona
while a young woman smears red lip stick on her tainted mouth
she tries to gather her hair as it blows in the wind in her girlfriends
1975 convertible Chevrolet Caprice classic    
this desert is heavy she thinks to herself
as the thoughts of authority and being thrown into a jail cell
slowly slip away through her hallucinations
she casts the bottle of brandy to her drunken tongue
I am human she thinks, more human than I have ever been
a smile makes its way to her lips adjoined with tears
and childhood memories of lime aide on Saturday mornings
and the smell of chlorine from the old pool in the backyard that her mother
told her to never jump in

I trail my finger against the heat that has made its way to my shower door
and print some lewd drawing that brings a tiny bit of laughter to my gut

I remember the way you would analyze your face in the mirror
judging yourself so harshly, when orchids in spring would never compare to you

remember the feeling of having a butterfly rarely land on your hand as a child
nothing could have been more magical at that moment
when your heart explodes with mystical wonder
and then before you know it its set free again
things so ethereal are not meant for captivity
human hearts should learn how to relate
live freely

that is how I feel sometimes
when life brushes on my skin like  6 billion beating hearts
when I find ways to connect with those poor women in Kenya,
and tap into the rarity of their happiness
when I find ways to breathe in that same toxic air of the unfortunate civilians
of the city Chernobyl in Ukraine
when every child that has ever been given life breathes in my heart
when I connect and feel
alive.
Geno Cattouse Nov 2012
She died a sudden death
at least the the bullets impact
slammed the door.
but I cant say for sure.
I hope so.

I dreamed her in repose a few months before.
I am not a dreamer nor  do I think I have a gift.
I saw her with ruffled lace around her throat
asleep still lovely in profile a hint of a smile.

The mahogany half lid removed. just her face
and I shuddered knowing it was a dream as I dreamed it .

                                                     You know when you know that you are dreaming
                                                        ­                    and choose to let it play out. That was the case.
I left her to her own devices knowing they were fatal
in the long term but not so long after all.
I knew she would find the rainbow even told her so

                                          Her death wish was  on display the day
                                                             ­             The brown van careened around the corner
                                                                ­          The blue sedan in pursuit shooting blindly
                                                         ­                 she stood and watched the show go by
                                                              ­            with no regard. I looked up at her from where I
                                                                ­          sprawled and knew for sure then that she
                                                                ­          hoped for the rainbow.
  Diana was her name.

  Out of sync with her existence.
  Boy how did she last that long.

  She  told me  once and never repeated
one warm California night as we sat on
the level roof of an adjoined  building from her apartment
we sat and watched the pinprick stars far away in the
black velvet sky drinking cognac as the city lights cast  from afar.
she told me.

She told me and I cried inside of a father
who took her innocence and made her prove her love in a twisted oral benediction.
Then It all made sense. We never spoke of it again and her scars glowed purple and pulsing
from within.

  

   All heart and soul.
   Caramel eyes that held love always
   Never anger or even pain. That
   was buried as deep as the hole
   she has lain in for years.

This is as close as I have come to saying goodbye.
She drifted backwards.
Old and new acquaintances
Toxic .

The end was brutal.
The rainbow at the end of the pain.
Martin Narrod Jan 2017
L'heure verte

The mountains. The heaps of their bountiful gravels, and earth, and soil, large oversized masses of half-frozen water teetering on the precipice of subzero masculine *******. Francophilic cleavage jetting out of this deserted white pastoral dressing. The inaugural bawl, wanton fixations of putting the imperialist foot on every spot of tree, each and every shrub, until the limbs' cast reaches each dimple that foliage braves, where that blue eagle of patriotism dredges its claws to form every river, rill, estuary, creek, channel, flume, littoral, and waterway where the iron-rich gullies once brimmed in the interamnian basins, rich crimsony waters riffling through fruitful and extravagant aquifers. Beyond that, where an inexplicably feral wind rips vines from their dendritic housings, where barely an eye can see, this place of exsanguination and abysmal phytocide.

At the end of this lamentable torture, only a desert of human interest remains. There is no reason to laugh, or smile, or cheer, or put a leg up, to call on a friend, or to have ice cream. There will be no more ice cream. There is only the loathsome incredulousness and avarice in the semblances and familiarity of those with whom we thought we once knew. Little can ever be known, for there is much to gain in the absence of knowledge, and even greater that can be acquired in the alms of wisdom through patient examination and thorough silence. Here on the buttes and cornices, the thwacking gavels of evil power deities throw down their lust for more and soon become adjoined to these grand discrepancies greed mistakenly loses to a lack of awareness and to self-aggrandizement.

Power is the weapon of inexperienced wielders. Passion is the immortal frequency that is worn by artisans and artists, poets and painters, it is the business of quietness to learnedly evolve to protect our tomorrows from personal needs, but to instead preserve the integral parts of society. The words of languages, artifacts, and cultures, rather than the skeletons of ****** and the deeds of possession. Each who sleeps knows their bedfellows to equally be at peace. For no wealth can exceed that of comfortable pillows, soft quilts, and sheets. We are all the same while we sleep.
Andrew Klein Sep 2010
Write me a melody.
Nothing too simple, though that’s what you lead on
Building a bridge over a lake of fire
Ah!
If only fire could swim
Grilled fire on a side of living gargoyles.
Forked tongues shoveling rice,
And chicken,
Into a newly refurbished brain.
Does it burn?
All the seaweed and hackneyed
Washed up krill,
Burnt up, skewered, and caught in the nets.
New mesh scales
Mashing mesh sha shooting into the skin
While the sun circles
And the animals follow and dance
Preying themselves into everything you’ve done
As though you’ve done anything new.
Like addition multiplication,
Surely you’ve done all of that.
A tear in the paper
And you’ve spilled the white out.
What a mess.
A great tear in the universe
Arranged.
Separate colors of
Grass and sky,
The trees and sidewalks form into one.
Everyone adjoined and nothings lost
Because even this idea has a partner.
What a lovely
(shattered)
Dream.
This is a poem I wrote back in April for a Student Reading Series presentation at my college when I presented various works alongside two excellent poets.  I hope you enjoy it.
Alex Salazar Mar 2017
What's inside of you, is also found inside of me.
A child, full of vulnerability.
Never safe, in a jungle full of uncertainty.

Sometimes, a voice is allowed into the fold.
Words Spark Embers
Love leaves Smolders

And in the moonlight two  souls are Adjoined in a single sight.
Haifsa Oct 2018
Fading sunlight in the horizon
Falling leaves in breezy autumn
While nature paves way for hope
I wish this self to be lost and forgotten
Similar to tides, uncontrolled and heightened
A lone wolf yowling at her sight
Adjoined by the constant urge to be isolated
Fervent to cut loose the rope of gloom
Like a lost traveler in search of dwelling
A barren land thirsty for rain
Tired of this skin and mind
To devastation this heart is intertwined
What is lost darkens my soul
Your voice and memories cut deep through
Your brown hair blowing in wind
Hazel eyes sparkling in the sun
Echoes of your footsteps,
Deepness of your voice
Still surrounded by your existence
Harmed and scarred, I want to leave
Fragile lives and untamed hearts
Filled with fiery of desert storm
I want to run, away from your hue
Before I turn into an emotional massacre
Did I really deserve? Did you really want?
Let the leaves of our memory fall
And the blossoming florets wilt
Clinging to hope with intemperate self
Permit yourself to grow vines by own
Ashen and burnt, bury us in ground
Let youraelf grow either as roses or thorns
Amongst all this I realize what Rumi said
Nostalgia is a powerful witch indeed.
To new beginnings and old life, memories i have made and all the people i have loved, when the decision of moving on hits you feel nostalgic, a little hope that your past could have been better dies hard
Many are not able to grasp it.
Your love I mean.
What with all the pain,
Afflictions,
Wars,
Hatred,
Religions,
and the like
.

Try as they may to grasp it just to slip from their fingertips.
Your love I mean.
Without the logic,
the sense,
the proof,
the evidence,
the tangible,
or something physically palpable
.

Oh sure I have sang about it,
Perhaps preached about it,
Even scolded others about ignoring it.
Your love I mean.
Perhaps this makes me a hypocrite,
a bigot,
an ignorant,
a self-righteous,
maybe even preachy,
or a holier-than-thou type
.

If I  cannot fully grasp it, how can I share it?
What is true for many is not true for others.
Your love I mean.
What with the studies,
the science,
the confusion,
the politics,
the agnosticism and atheism,
and the overall misunderstanding
.

Few truly grasp it enough to sincerely share.
Oh to be adjoined to the martyrs because of it though!
Your love I mean!
To perish,
Lay down one's life,
Give up the ghost,
Enter the glory,
Cross the great divide
,
and join the angels.

In this was it made graspable though,
Your love I mean,
Through the Godsent,
the Son,
the Lamb,
the Prince of Peace,
the Counselor,
and the Wonderful
!
I was pondering on the love of God that is illogical to many, because of the pain and lack of sense.
Samy Ounon Jan 2012
I dig a hole now once or twice,
Wherein that hole I somber hide.
From all the troubling symphonies,
And how it shrieks and shakes and pleas

And when I dig that hole so wide,
But also shallow for me to hide,
I leave the top uncovered there,
With no protection, I am bare.

So bare that one may still so touch
And comfort the mind becoming rough.
But left exposed without care,
A blackened heart will desist there.

And when the birds and sky and earth,
Hear not the drumming that once occurred,
The stone-so heavy in my chest,
Draws down the earth; deeper yet.

And once it goes it will not stop:
That bleating song for why it drops.
Th’ abyss it makes goes further on
Forever more; continually withdrawn.

And why it can continue so,
To the notes so high but the words so low?
For the ditch I dug to that doleful tune,
Had adjoined not with the ground’s slight hewn.

Instead the hole uncovered,
Was from there which first tears were shed.
I died not from the harsh and wind,
I died, in fact, from the hole within.
preservationman Nov 2021
Court has commenced
Everyone is in court and the Jury is all set to begin
Grandmas Lawyer’s is ready
Santa is representing himself holding steady
The Judge has entered the court and the proceedings give begin in the gravel
Grandma is on the witness stand and sworn in
The Prosecutor asked Grandma to identify Santa in the room, and she points on the right
Grandma gives her testimony on what happened on the day in question
I had Egg Nog with a touch of Alcohol for the Winter cold for warmth before going out
Grandma explained as she walking, she was caught by surprise and run over by Santa’s Reindeers and Sleigh
The Prosecutor then responds to Grandma that she wasn’t alert in her right mind
Grandma’s Lawyer responds with an outburst bullying the witness
Judge responds with over ruled
The Prosecutor asks Grandma, Did you hear any jingle or bells in warning?
Grandma abruptly responded with NO
The Prosecutor then responds with, Grandma, I hope you don’t mind me calling you that, “You said you had Egg Nog with Alcohol to keep warm
If you were drinking that meant you were probably unstable
Where were you going?
Grandma stated, I was going to the store to pick up food and Soda’s for the Family get together on Christmas
The Prosecutor reminded that there were no witnesses and just you in the circumstance
You wasn’t sober, have no idea into whether you were run over by Santa’s Reindeers or a car
The Hospital records indicate that you were in fact intoxicated
There is no evidence that proves Santa and his Reindeer are at fault
It is now Santa’s turn to question Grandma
Do you have any personal feelings against Santa?
Grandma abruptly suggested, NO
Your remarks seem to state, that you are the one in question
Intoxication
Santa stated, I don’t drink, and always remain sober at all times
The shoe now is on the other foot
The Judge asks the Jury to deliberate their verdict
The Jury made their verdict as Santa and his Reindeers are innocent
There was no doubt because of strong evidence
Grandma needs to understand to be sob er and alert when going out
At the moment, appraisal from everyone in the court, but of course, Grandma was upset with the verdict
Grandma has a Drinking bout
Santa was cleared of all charges
Judge’s Gravel
Court Adjoined
Mouth Piece Mar 2014
Life will offer you a fork in the river that rages the veins of your soul. One path new the other old and familiar. Our habitual rapids have weathered emotional scars that cover thick skin. For how long will you travel this pain before you fork towards the congruent path? Your potential is waiting. It is your choice alone. Still many never leave the rapids of their youth. If you so choose Yesterday becomes Today, what was left is now right, up is down and who am I is a stranger. At first you want to change back and many do but every paddle will wish you to stay. Both riverbeds argue over the spirit. Opposites attract for this reason and if one stays till the swell settles the downstream becomes upstream within the adjoined depths of new life. What was old is new. What was dead is alive and you feel it in each heartbeat………………..The gift of baptism…………….Jesus
Julian Sep 2020
2 Kings 23:3-5 Version? (I found this by looking up the word Mazzaroth in Wikipedia it was the first reference and it is displayed in 23:5 (the hosts of the heavens and constellations)

3 And the king stood on the platform, and made a covenant before the LORD, to walk after the LORD, and to keep His commandments, and His testimonies, and His statutes, with all his heart, and all his soul, to confirm the words of this covenant that were written in this book; and all the people stood to the covenant.

ד  וַיְצַו הַמֶּלֶךְ אֶת-חִלְקִיָּהוּ הַכֹּהֵן הַגָּדוֹל וְאֶת-כֹּהֲנֵי הַמִּשְׁנֶה, וְאֶת-שֹׁמְרֵי הַסַּף, לְהוֹצִיא מֵהֵיכַל יְהוָה, אֵת כָּל-הַכֵּלִים הָעֲשׂוּיִם לַבַּעַל וְלָאֲשֵׁרָה וּלְכֹל צְבָא הַשָּׁמָיִם; וַיִּשְׂרְפֵם מִחוּץ לִירוּשָׁלִַם, בְּשַׁדְמוֹת קִדְרוֹן, וְנָשָׂא אֶת-עֲפָרָם, בֵּית-אֵל.
4 And the king commanded Hilkiah the high priest, and the priests of the second order, and the keepers of the door, to bring forth out of the temple of the LORD all the vessels that were made for Baal, and for the Asherah, and for all the host of heaven; and he burned them without Jerusalem in the fields of Kidron, and carried the ashes of them unto Beth-el.
ה  וְהִשְׁבִּית אֶת-הַכְּמָרִים, אֲשֶׁר נָתְנוּ מַלְכֵי יְהוּדָה, וַיְקַטֵּר בַּבָּמוֹת בְּעָרֵי יְהוּדָה, וּמְסִבֵּי יְרוּשָׁלִָם; וְאֶת-הַמְקַטְּרִים לַבַּעַל, לַשֶּׁמֶשׁ וְלַיָּרֵחַ וְלַמַּזָּלוֹת, וּלְכֹל, צְבָא הַשָּׁמָיִם.
5 And he put down the idolatrous priests, whom the kings of Judah had ordained to offer in the high places in the cities of Judah, and in the places round about Jerusalem; them also that offered unto Baal, to the sun, and to the moon, and to the constellations, and to all the host of heaven. (Mazzaroth)

First I will refer to Job 38 which is clearly indicative of some guarded celestial truths that might be miscegenated of origins of the life forms that believe in synoecy among the dominions of the covert verdure of Earth reigning over us with silence and silentium with solatium for the soilure of the interregnum of times reigning with pollution and in stern rebuke by God I was reminded subconsciously that Climate Change is a truly evocative Lachrymose experience when encouraged by prayer that was a poignant moment of tears when I meditated on the Carbon Tax I immediately started crying even though I was not saddened by the affair in any other way that was palpable. The staddle of Job talks about specifically the tucked vestiges of the thorny imbroglios of intemperance countermanded by the master stroke of the divine interpretation of lightning which is essentially electricity and the clouds it is referring to are the internet where instantaneous communion can be achieved without exertion the line that struck me the most is the “Clods that cling together” because it is a resonant stroke of Islamic virtues that the ***** clot is the seed of all creation by which all have been created in the fungible image of our variegated creator who is not necessarily janiform of a leviathan of many faces but an experimental disposition of a disembodied figment that can assume any form on heaven or earth to dissemble his true cloaked identity of the original protoplasm of the first anointed civilizations in the long history of the Universe. Knowing the true visage of the first sentient civilization to bow beneath the creator with obsequious devotion in a presumably monolithic world where God’s presence was so obvious it might have actually been the first heaven before there was death and this pays homage to Adam and Eve the firstborn of all creation. The creation story might refer to the first sentient animated civilization in the Universe which sinned and then became a diaspora of a mirrored reality of the realty of heaven and  earth where many variegated snakes and beasts roamed about clamoring for God when they turned the synsematic toasts of revivalism to the newfound creation of sentience with rivalry potentially precluding the salvation of Abel who was murdered by Cain. These stories might be extraterrestrial vestiges of the true lineage of the Almighty God we serve and although controversial as it has been Biblical knowledge that Adam and Eve were humans before being tempted by the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, it is possible this process was recapitulations of former times and the former protoplasm that precedes all things because the strokes of glory of sentient life was nurtured especially attentively at the beginning of the first civilization of the Universe where God was probably everpresent and ubiquitous and accessible to all creation and it is even possible that this world was the first heaven for the first death before many subsequent deaths of the lineaments of tribes that supplicated beneath divine mercy for adjudication. My theology is that God is attentive to a broad universe of quagmires and in perfection or refinement at the beginning or the crux of history we are a perfectabilism of God’s attentive scrutiny and we master ourselves rapidly enough so that God doesn’t intervene as often as some might hope but many people don’t understand the time frame of God’s everlasting perspective. So it is potential that the first habitable world in the universe became the utopia of extensive cosseted scrutiny that became the prototype for Heaven that eventually alighted into a cosmic if segregated fraternity of the chosen for the cubic metropolis or the gardens beneath which rivers flow. God can assume any form and he chose the pulchritude of humans to issue a strong statement about the verdure of our plenipotentiary potential perhaps replicated often with minor mirrors of dimpled design throughout the cosmos as it is likely that another civilization which resembles humans in DNA with almost exact precision currently exists and is civilized by advanced life at this current time and that we exist in a multiverse unbounded by the enumeration of infinity. God pays scrutiny to those civilizations that repent and many are saved by the salvation of their orbific longings but it is also possible there exists an operative design of cacotopias that don’t know God but relish prosperity or have derelicted the possibility of God for too long because of either extreme asperity or abundant warmth of luxury. Remember the universe is infinitely vast so the likelihood that God is fungible is possible but not yet confirmed because if other alien civilizations exist that yet know God because of Jesus of Nazareth they are reproved by the divinity of interposition of reality in its mercurial ways conforming to the grand design of perfectabilism and God has operated throughout humanity for thousands of years why now have we reached the pinnacle for repentant absolution? We bend towards the synclastic light of the culminated alien fascination with our pulchritude despite their dearth and they are attentive to God because of Jesus of Nazareth and subsidiary to that Muhammad or potentially the deities of the Egyptians which might be defalcated concepts of the alien version of a pancosmism that is mysticated on the rarefied commentary of the strictures of polytheism that might populate some regions of the universe. The absolute truth in the One God we serve is that human understanding cannot enumerate his truths without understanding its distance and segregation from other worlds as we fight the suffrage of old age to propitiate the longing for tranquility. This is all tethered speculation but I believe that God is regnant in all affairs and in this vast universe is attentive to all our pleas and the questions of heaven and Earth remain unheeded or distorted by our humane totemic versions of truth that all memorialized the pyramid a sequential convex formulation of a stratified system that reaches its apex in the singularity of the hypethral skies above and is the tenure of the majesty of the esoteric secrets that coshered and ushered societies into great divergence but ultimate found consecration on Mount Moriah with Abram’s sacrifice before he was known as Abraham of his son Isaac that was prevented by Yahweh’s messengers of isangelous repute. The mystery of Adam and Eve might be a recapitulation just as the story of Noah reminds us of the travail of other centuries and other worlds that provide the pathways to divergent creations that are ultimately saved by providence and the rich thickets of allegory throughout the Bible all point to the emergence of transcendental truth which is shepherded by the mysticism of this age and the surrealism of knowing we belong to the elect hive-mind cosmic fraternity built on psychism and titanism. The firmament is testament both to our distance from our cosmic neighbors and also our propinquity to their suffrage and suffering in their beatific but arid realities that are draped with the pangs of loneliness in their excursion to broader realms of conquest and in their wallop of time itself they have opened up the lychgates of Heaven and Earth to provide the provisions for a new understanding of history that is rich with the percurrent themes of a monotheism of a fungible God which took the form of Man as he can take any form he chooses in his aseity of being and his judicious providence to select the Earth as an exuberant exsibilation against glaikery but also a profound victoria for the awakening of humanity to its cosmic identity as a favored species young in years but enriched by celestial guardians that are among isangelous repute because of their decisive roles in human history throughout the Creations of their divergent designs that illuminate the illuminism of the pyramid the elemental form of the ultimate capstone of knowledge with the all-seeing eye of providence encapsulated above all ethereal reckoning. So it was the downfall of the utopias of ignorance by learning knowledge that bequeathed the lineage of mortality itself in the beginning in the form of men and angels both that inhabit our broad universe because in several occasions in my life I felt like I encountered human beings with such clairvoyance that they seemed like agents of God. Noah’s flood might refer to a distant or near civilization that was swamped by a catastrophic event or tsunami much like Atlantis and this predicates Noah and explains the longevity of his estimated lifespan and that of Methuselah who lived 969 years which ironically points to the  Apollo Moon landing in 1969. The fumatoriums of human ignorance can now be micromanaged by a swarm of up to seven alien civilizations but most likely 3-4 of them and they are all attentive to these theories and probably inseminated the Bible to begin with potentially with their own theological understanding of the universe transplanted on a human perspective to shepherd humanity into the answers it so desperately sought but found themselves famished by. So in Job 38 we crouch in our dens looking for the prey of the lioness of civilization that is embattled against itself for entirely internecine reasons. There is some temerity but I believe the theopneustic power of this revelation because I am keen to the attuned universe of the largesse of omnified civilization trouncing over the matter and fettle of instinct but Genesis is integral to understanding every cosmic mystery on Earth and in celestial Realms and is probably the seedy repute of Baal and Molech among other idolatries which severed themselves by heterodoxy of eunuchs and saturnalias too profane to expound because their epicureanism outweighed their pragmatic need for the virtues of the conclamation of heavenly authority manifest clearly on Earth at various times by various prophecies that all point to the Sacrifice at Mount Moriah and notice how God always works through mountains like Mount Horeb/ Sinai to provide his flock with everything they need to know to maintain vital sustenance. Surah 3.86 “How shall Allah guide a people who disbelieved after their belief and had witnessed that the Messenger is true and clear signs had come to them? And Allah does not guide the wrongdoing people.” Surah 3.84 “Say, "We have believed in Allah and in what was revealed to us and what was revealed to Abraham, Ishmael, Isaac, Jacob, and the Descendants, and in what was given to Moses and Jesus and to the prophets from their Lord. We make no distinction between any of them, and we are Muslims [submitting] to Him.". Surah 38.1-9 is mandatory reading even for the scepsis of Christians because it proves how farsighted the aliens that shepherded Muhammad really were and how insightful Muhammad really is and still is as an emissary of heavenly recompense in his guarded palace beneath which rivers flow. Surah 85:3 (853 AM) “And [by] the witness and what is witnessed” Lets return to the central thesis of all kerygma that is synallagamatic with mutual respect to the pillars of all civilization that the meeting ground of the jovial joust of gladiatorial conquest of the yobbery of rookery and the apikoros yordim that emigrated too far into esotericism might marvel that God is ultimately vindicated as an author of a true unfiltered version of a slightly redacted history suited for the auditorium of a universal audience that displays with majesty and power his foresight to tend to the distant constellations that are created by the tentpoles of the sky reaching their apex into the aperture of the allegorical veracity of all culminated creation exultant in its self-affirmations of pride that it might balk at the embellishments of pettifoggery by the kirkbuzzers of superstition and behold the true throne of grace and authority bestowed upon the bailiwick of the living and the dead in what might be a segregated heaven to prevent the pullulation of tribal discord even in omniety with eternity. I hope to witness heaven firsthand in my upcoming seances with the extramundane but first we must expound this troponder. Jews first, Christians second and Muslims third were all alerted to this watershed moment in history with exact knowledge probably encased in the Arc of the Covenant or some other divine artifact that embodies it but sometimes we pale in our pallor of substandard evils that lurk within the recesses and alcoves of our destiny that we forget to prophesy with earnest sincerity about an abiding hope for the forward rather than the froward future. A book that changed my life forever and shattered my worldview and made me obsessed with Earthquake science was 1906: A Crack at the Edge of the World because that quake inspired the Azusa Church Revival movement that lead to the resurgence of proselytism of protestantism of evangelical churches. I highly recommend buying that book on Amazon.com right now it gives you such a harrowing perspective on that Earthquake 114 years to the day that beset Northern California. Revelations 5:11-14 NKJV “11 Then I looked and heard the voice of many angels, numbering thousands upon thousands, and ten thousand times ten thousand. They encircled the throne and the living creatures and the elders. 12 In a loud voice they were saying:
“Worthy is the Lamb, who was slain,
    to receive power and wealth and wisdom and strength
    and honor and glory and praise!”
13 Then I heard every creature in heaven and on earth and under the earth and on the sea, and all that is in them, saying:
“To him who sits on the throne and to the Lamb
    be praise and honor and glory and power,
for ever and ever!”
14 The four living creatures said, “Amen,” and the elders fell down and worshiped.
Genesis 2:1a (reaffirms my theory) NKJV
 Thus the heavens and the earth were completed in all their vast array
I am going to pause to marvel at the significance of that San Francisco Earthquake because that seismotic jolt shaped the destiny of our aborning nation and was the first time-to my knowledge-martial law was declared and they tried to extinguish the fire with dynamite which further spread the conflagration and San Francisco is obviously named after Saint Francis of Assisi who ironically died listening to Psalm 142 which is about the liberation of prisoners on October 3rd 1226 A.D. His name is also ironic in purely terms of cognomen that should not be expounded. Although depaysed from my original brunt I would like to extend the bronteum of theological reckoning to the absolved polity of the renown of gigantopariahs clamoring for vitality in a time of treachery and perfidy because the valiant insurrection of our adventures in decent music is the chavish of many birds to the itinerant hordes of adoration as in some parallax of reality in the realty of a potentially merged heaven compartmentalized into factions there might be an ulterior reckoning of overabundance but instead I propose a segregation of the heavenly realms postulated on the idea that in omniety we will know of many things that will fascinate entire generations of time as the knowledge of the esoteric percolates through the heavens by riometers beyond calculus and calculation that will one day heed these proclamations with a hortatory weight as the assized Epic of Gilgamesh echoes the same percurrent themes as Noah’s Arc including the forty day ultradian rhythm which signifies temptation and also the contrition of God signified by the flocks of the sigillum of the aspergillum of dignity afforded to all who migrate into tethered territory beyond the yokes of ******* to the dengonins which own all the ulterior praises but serenade lesser patrons in this almighty day of wondrous awakening to the cosmogony of the infinite justification of the allegorical heft of herculean prophecy entwined in the rhetoric of the primordial authors of human sociogenesis bound to the covenant of Abraham and his blessed sons Isaac and Ishmael who both deserve glory and honor. The elegance of the mystagogical parlance of the intrepid bravery of partial rogues but never full-fledged knaves impregnates God’s vibrant experiment with flourish that delights him with the zaktengur of individual raconteurship so an adventurism in life might be warranted as long as it is done gingerly and with love as the ultimate cloak of absolution rather than the self-insulated boredom of an impavid disposition of the self-settled sedentary languor of whilded depositions of thanatousia brought into parturition by the midwives to sorrow and tragedy that besets the human family from time to time but the sorrow of mankind is not beyond the bailiwick of God because perfectabilism is in his very nature in the adolescence of creation which can greatly be prolonged by the conservation of our robust intellectual bastions of energy and the sustainable development of a green planet beyond depredation that heeds some minkumpfs with some peremptory guerdon to save the spate of suffering among our animal brethren. I grieve that my profound plumb into the depths of psychism was abbreviated by the pomp of porlocking purpresture but I renege my former glaikery in sustained suspense over selfsame tridents of musical happenstance and with poignant evocation I convoke a solemn remembrance of all those lost to the spates of disaster and the paroxysms of the unpredictable that is now foreseen in time to forestall turgid tragedy and impregnate the world with a ****** of a thirsty new vogue eager to adapt and learn with laureate belletrist of the aubades of the dawning light of absolution granted the the sacred cross and the lives we relish in history that are dedicated in sincere earnest alacrity to become revenants of the new age beating the whiplash of the second death because the former things have passed away in a figurative manner even though there still is death one day the inventive verve of the quizzical nihilism will try to outfox death itself for a hollow memorial to preserved sentience which is a mockery of transhumanism that is a professed modesty of the ultimate vouchsafe of the transmundane but unnecessary because of the real palpable joy of the resurrection inherent to all segues between life and death that we all might embrace our creator with almsgiving and gratitude with patient forbearance for the virtuosos that memorialize a prosperity worth relishing even in the soilure of privation because no soul should grieve in bereavement when there is so much joy inhabiting this gleeful planet that is hardly glad in any way about the dereliction of spite and anteric schadenfreude of sacrilege on a massive scale that should be a blotch of a bodged chantage of evil. As I digest the memorials of the festive but never churlish traditions I marvel at the synclastic bent of amasthenic enlightenment concave towards certainty in a demarche for the diminished efficacy of viruses to scare us into trepidation but with dutiful caution of proactive measures taken in times of exigency and crisis. There is nothing facetious about God’s exigent deliverance in these times of leniency and fasting as the wineskins preserved from the lineage of old will perdure until they have their fill and the Earth is saturated with the blood of the prescience of a Cattaneo prophecy guarded in his 6-24-2006 set which hints at a catastrophic scenario potentially impending right now or of a future variety where “blood will be pouring like oil gushing out of a well” “respirators will have their fill” “hospitals be closing” etc. and in these steep harbingers we find poise and pause to reflect that the majesty of God is unfurled unpredictably by showcasing the redemptive power of the autarky of the imagination to see the unforeseeable and lurk in the dungeons of the unknown dengonins just to spy with privy knowledge about the circular circus of privation encircling me like the rapture of murders of ravens that are a crow shy of an X-Files repute...Of that situation that the afflictions of the many matter to the anointed few that delegate because of Jethro and through the power of the Levitical orders to abolish some Kosher restrictions among some apikoros Jews that lean on my wisdom because the suffering of animals should be a suffrage for sentient rights of animals not to bleed excessively into a slow painful death. I urge all Jews not to let those cows or other animals suffer so grievously at the hands of malefaction just for a petty consecration which proves a hollow point about sacrifice and thereby seek to abolish some Kosher demarcations on the grounds that they are inhumane sacrilege because the ransom of Jesus of Nazareth’s suffering and agony on the cross-rather than his blood as many people beguiled more on physical manifestations of trauma rather than the emotional toil of suffering that bears more incumbent on the human sympathy-consecrates all virtues of circumcision and makes meat ceremonially clean because we serve a miracle-worker God who hasn’t finished his last work yet because more thaumaturgy is in store. The antagonist of history is congealed human superstition filtered through the siphon of protective scurrilous fears and petty vendettas borne of willborne hatred of tribe and division that was the fettle of preliterate societies of hyperdulia because they knew the iconography of Christ and marveled at his miracles but believed too strongly in retributive justice to scare away the herds of the contrite to a monasticism of plight and blight that consecrated  many great human achievements in scholastic virtue and scientific importance but ultimately found relegation before Gutenberg saved history with his seminal watershed invention third only to the second place wheel and the first place advent of human language itself as the most prominent plucky invention of human revitalization and through the salons of France and the dramaturgy of Shakespeare we found an apex of enlightenment that provoked revolutionary ideas not so guarded by gingerly blackguarded varnish of a superstition for the metal tablets that illustrated magically the future for an abiding audience of the past which must have seemed an abominable miracle to the astounded puritans of the times because songs like Love Story (at least the music video) suggests that the song circulated in the past eras of the English Renaissance before electric lighting was invented. We have all to thank for the invention of rock and roll which is an esoteric title for a sizable momentum of catalyzed verve that enchants the planet still with the majesty of the harp and the lyre to glorify God for all eternity and Allah for all the worlds he possesses in his infinite bounty one in the same for the culminated vision of all hallowed prophets with an emphasis on Surah 2 accentuated to the Christian audience even if neglected by the Muslim audience. I am primarily a Christian but I believe Islam is a divine path worth pursuing on a tentative basis but I have yet to outstretch my hands to try and reach the barnacles of a distant world beyond my womb and bereft of my lineage even though I stand united with the Abrahamic faiths that solidify truth and memorialize the superorganism messiah of humanity in collaboration with our celestial hosts to foist the ribbons of the figurative far-flung Pleiades and the harps of the harpricks of the just as distant but transfixing Orion to envelope the earth in sincere repentance before the holy flock of the justifiable truths found in the candor of devotionals and hymns to the immemorial God of all Creation that is the impetus behind every ambition-if only subconsciously in his universal psyche and consciously the catalyst behind every cohesive machination or orchestration of complex human and alien activity but subsumed in the psychism of God-is the idea that we are living indelible elements that constitute his superorganism in the theoplasm that is circumjacent and adjoined to his intentions that he surveys with such nimongue ease that his wednongues go out of style very slowly because his vogue is the ultimate champion against the misprision of militant psychiatric injustice that needs to be rectified by top-down government action to debrief and inform the necessary travail to surmount my challenges and assume a subsidiary role in the government and the ecclesiarchy to shepherd the shepherds and write for a living with a fair governmental stipend and a partially uncensored internet so my fanfare can envelope a broader portion of the world. I issue a humbled but ultimately otiose entreaty that Donald J. Trump, a personal hero of mine, can be a participant to my plevisable situation by appointing a team of people to work with me on the social engineering of the future and most importantly the ligature of the ecumenical cause for aggiornamento of the ecumenical cause of Abraham and all of his descendants because we all abide by that sacred covenant in the broader world that inhabits our sacred rites and rituals. We should also embrace the boundaries of mysticism to fathom the depths of the theoplasm more fully to understand how the firstborn of all creation is the perpetuity of sentience for the revival of respiration for new species yet to come even more beautiful and prosperous than us and those that already exist frolicking in approximated heavens that we might meet upon transmigration as reincarnated wisps of superior worlds of heavens inhabited by the segues of death but knowing no despair. But I stridently believe in the ultimate promise of an ineffable splendor of a real final resting place or a cradle for the supervisors of the isangelous that orbits above our heads and flutters in our considerations as the vast multitude of worlds.with heroic saviors that spellbind the universe together with a stitchwork of mastery of the fraternal bonds that divide some species from others by insuperable bounds of space and time but through the gift of transcended time ushered by alienesque invention and we have thus been bequeathed a new unexpected emergence phenomenon that is aperspectival in temporal terms but always recumbent upon the prolific dance with a jousting destiny toying with us through swarpollock and other machines of sentinels but never tiring their terrier race as subservient to the human imagination ambitious beyond former bounds.
    Thank God we have a president that presides over the defeat of the strictures of warped and intorted hypocrisies of orthopraxy for the candid endeavor of the plain plaid truth of the vibrancy of germane beating the pulp pallor of the nebbich calculations of uxorious plumage plucky in its resolve to serenade our youthful cadets in their continued resolve to chaperoned campaigns of the barnstorm of the obvious for the conclamation of the ultimate victory of history over its worst proclivities that suspend themselves in the tentpoles of time and space as glaring menaces of affliction. The gated entryway to prosperity should be unfurled with majesty and a welcoming grace to sustain cordial deeds and promote fundamental encounters with vagary not with a vagrant fission but an emergent fusion not of hyperbolic atrocity but rather the subsidence of the chisel of directive ambition that serves the greatest causes of the ****** of dignity to transcend the fettle of disarray. The quibbles of the questermongers and the querulous wernaggles of relative impotence matter greatly to the large bulk of a hibernating humanity but when we all awaken to a universal truth that serves a flickerstorm of revolutionary usucaption of the halidom of tomorrow experienced by the foresight of today. We levy the largesse of a collective bronteum that warns and admonishes gently the people behind the curtains that might find objectionable some of the barnstorms inherent to this missive of doctrinaire but soluble missions to save humanity from its worse caverns of idolatry and to anoint the brightest light to beat the most deafening din of darkness that can be imagined by the sterile vapid retreats of privilege into insularity-we fight not for a mercenary cause but for the valorous insurrection sanctioned by the chartered expedition of new frontiers for a newfound freedom found in fundamental vouchsafes of a freer speech in the lyceum of the knowable reality of noogenesis. We should never suborn the dacoitage of the hybridized compromises of the halvork of mandarism but always tolerate the entreaties of amicable jousts of demarche even when combative with a peaceful irenic resolve that is contempered with virility rather than pomp and not even a hint of virulence because the collective world depends on a quorum of well-spoken and considered thinkers adjudicating a bonhomie rather than provoking a collieshangie. The world should not spurn error but castigate it calmly because the worst errors of temerity are remediated by the ploys of the treacle of the imaginary plane of the supersolid convergence of the ulterior with the pragmatic that serves the working class as well as the shepherds of elite institutions because all deserve a fair hearing in the court of commonwealth justice. There is no treachery in universal irenology that special barleychild of serendipity that shields us from harm while providing bulwarks to stabilize economies and sustain the recognition of our wholesome usucaption of newly acquired deeds and merchandise that spawns an ingemination of technological revolution incumbent upon declassification that leads to a resurgent robustness of economic conditions that calibrates properly on the proper alkendur of the hikkle of hype mixed with disdain. We suppose that the remixed panmixia of virtual insanity doesn’t become an affliction because in many ways it might meet abomination but some people lean on the leniency of felicity to swell the coffers rather than populate the coffins of the agreeable pivot between the sustenance of choice and amicable adjustments in economic security meets a run-on sentence of the levies of strain as the imponderables outnumber the certainties of the covert. We populate the future by going back to the past and this is why the movie is so entitled Back to the Future because if you think about it, it requires a recumbent logic of a recursive incursion of the origination of the future visible to the past to create the impetus to sustain the vitality of a resurgence of travel to the future itself one of the most obvious giveaways in movie titles ever devised by the clever. We encounter the timing of the lightning and thus hear the thunder not of the radioglare but the laskerade and serenade of the pulpit of good deeds rectified by the rectiserial visionaries that balk at orthodromics when the artful bypass of nonlinearity is favored for curiosity rather than missives of emissary diplomacy.
The reparations of tomorrow are the guerdon of yesteryear, the heyday of seminal prophecies that consummated a theological brunt that revolutionized the perspective of eagles nest lookouts all around the world to sempiternal decryption of history showcased by the sheen of prophecies now culminated in the effervescent now is a plangent epiphany in the life of a storybook romance with an artful dalliance with a romanticist ideal of an enlisted destiny recruited to cement its own purpose with concrete action without flagging resolve. The ultimatum of history was a faltered filibuster of the listless historian marveling at the prescient telaesthesia of the unknown visibilia that protrude in remontant certainty that the memorials of yesteryear catapult this cause into the fruition of a dated missive of coded bywords encrypted by the chronological clepsammia of allotted time for special occasions when the entirety of space-time folded upon itself to anoint itself champion of the supersolid reality of the surrealism draped over the tentpoles of abundant absolution that excuses the kisswonks of the glaring threats of Wilkes Booth to entomb a heroic titan of imposture as the real effigy of a slain delay of strenuous calculation to appease the Confederate heart wounded by the diacopes of struggle. In this rollicking turmoil of a roiled time of rookery we can celebrate that the amasthenic weight of the historical certitudes of the docimasy of memorialized junctures in time when all was denuded barefaced in the sight of the world to marvel at the rigged artisans of the artistry of furtive skullduggery that imposes no astringent rebukes other than those reserved for departed gyrovagues of hallswallop before their due time and season, we marvel at the irony that an insular vociferous vehemence of clairvoyance predicated on the absolved shrive of history for aborning and alighted apostasies now stands regnant in triumph of the space-time continuum. This might be an overstatement of the herald of a day signified by a transcendent conversion to a theology reified by the rengall discoveries of the intuitive theopneustic truths of the subsultus of vagary and vicissitude that the day when the code was cracked about the fractures of history converging upon the latticework of ephemeral and ethereal cords of cordial embrace of the cryptadia belonging to the “commonwealth of the aliens of Israel” (Eph 2:12) became evident to the masses was the chosen day of encroachment upon the suspicions of the alerted masons of the American Revolution-to ward off with apotropaic beacons of light glinting in lighthouse caverns of repositories of unknown treasuries-the salvation of the human race from the dudgeons of apostasy by the consecrated creed of the newfangled credenda that borrows heavily from lore to make this fabled date stammer as a freckle in a dimpled time that is cute but eccentric in its flapdoons of memorial that shower history with innumerable examples of the numerological importance of consecrating or desecrating a given day based on the furtive skulks of hidden troves of luxuries the elite have always bestowed upon the elect. So maybe this day wasn’t as transcendent as it could have been and maybe there is a resigned awgrudge that such a pilfer of time would make such a resonant dent on the pride of Britain to provoke their invasion and scuttle the American bastions of prideful reconnaissance of the future bestowed by the patronage of elective privilege, but this day will always be canonical in its ability to reprove the critics that the orchestra of history is not a heterochrony with destiny but a very validation of its truth in serpentine convolutions of the bywords of the guarded synquests of aristocracy. May the doubters gleefully jibe at the overstatement of a heroic task on a filibuster against the cretins that foresaw the trudge of ignominy and still willingly stooped to the levels of evil cadges into prurience that they foisted upon the reminiscence of evil protrusions that they might be forever banished to the barathrum for their pitiable deeds to desecrate and blaspheme that historic wallop of synquest to trounce the trinces of an uncertain future gravitated and mesmerized by certain facts known widely enough to provoke wars and enter the pasilaly of universal knowledge enough to warrant further inspection. The wravel of time is elegant and exquisite and all the glory goes to the coryphaeus dengonin that braved infamy and rebuke to soldier on in demarches to dignify the otherwise seedy drab and daft drolleries of pretense that any uncouth man could ever emerge from the throes of absolute defeat into the vindication that history either by intention or by accident is convex and aimed to entrench the vital truth that accidents are convenient but deliberation is calculus that deserves fanfare. It was because of a seminal theory of theology that this day earned its repute in history because it coincided with such rattled seismic events that are turgid with blessed tragedy that is never gloated over but always solemnly commemorated in hymn and deed of charity and eleemosynary duty. The irony is that the Revolutionary War ended on May 12th 1784 which marked the exact time of the Earthquake in California at 5:12AM PST and that fact makes many subscribers to the scepsis of sebastomaniacal delusion postulates more keen on the acumen of the day that history unraveled at the seams and revealed its circular reference to an ennobled prophecy that was the momentum and excuse for many clarigations of force and many other heralded deeds of posture and gentility or savagery and desecration. All that matters now is that we know that history is not a myth but rather a stagecraft of timing that is predevoted by preordained memorials to the tithes of time to cement its own legacy as foresight transcends hindsight in its own largesse but also its brutal slaughter. If the encroachment of tyranny poaches its greatest champion to excoriate an overstated case of mania they will meet the Army of Me and believe me their exhaustion will no know swift end in the halls of a deep dark purgatorial gridlock cell of eternal torment at the castration of their virility or their spayed femininity because I will not be reduced to rubble because of some hapless Facebook posts misinterpreted by the garbled miscegenated heap of albatrosses of invidious lies trying desperately to dethrone my virtues and seek the ulterior misprision of a  forever vanquished hope that resides in the torment of a plagued future negligent of the sacerdotal duty of the guardians to protect history rather than brutally savage it with dismal reprisals that are pangs of the deepest ire that will provoke a choleric rage enough for them to have to barge into my apartment and break down my doors. They will not trespass into my sanctuary city because I inoculate myself hereby from any incursions foreign or domestic on my livelihood for posts that do not hint at instability but only memorialize cute facts of the gawsy rather than the gawky imposture of the morality police trying to entomb me in the glaikery of a forever sunken refuge of homelessness and ill-gotten subterfuge.
SassyJ Mar 2017
Silent wind speak those fine words
chase freedom in the meander of a stream
in haste make a pace inside the forest reign
and I met him on a stroll of a Monday afternoon
on a time and land where we once stood
then we felt the contours of one's face
in melodies of what we once held before

Ohh Ohh It's never always black and blue these days
Ohh Ohh It's summer fountain in muse these days

Silent spills whispers the unbroken cord
Lace as his breath kiss and crochet
Rising through my bones and spinning skies
As we long to feel the warmth of each
And our hands entwine and adjoined to love
In peace the two heart caked forms
Talk in beats that trance inside my vein

Ohh Ohh It's never always black and blue these days
Ohh Ohh It's summer fountain in muse these days

Temperature rise in counts of tens
****** the fire in the tongue
Temperature rise in counts of tens
****** the fire in the tongue
Twin flames
For Audio follow:
https://soundcloud.com/user-367453778/never-always-black-and-blue
Mona Apr 2017
Blue lighting embracing the faded linen of the couch,
We grow flowers to keep life flowing through this house,
Because planets only collide when it's the end of the world,
And the clean tile floors know that peace can't be disturbed.

The last we amplified our voices on one another's frequency,
The year sparkly white lighting hung down from trees,
Naivete of youth counting down to the far unknown,
Missing the fact that it will then be identities to mourn.

And down with China plates we inherit this folklore,
Bolt your windows and hide from strangers at your door,
Cause opportunities are nightmares you should avoid,
You see, you're only a half waiting to be adjoined.

In search for a wall to cower under its shadow,
The sun is never kind to lone figures with no one to follow,
So it won't matter if you mend this vacancy with cement,
No one will see past the frame, wood doesn't comprehend.
Onoma Dec 2016
Cut from a moment's charge,
legion with motion...
the sound of a knell held
full sway.
Receiving ends of sound
cried what they could never
qualify.
In answer, and in answer--
adjoined questioningly...
to nonentity.
Jelisa Jeffery Mar 2011
The songs that play off my elbows and knees
Are quietly loud and
Somewhat adjoined to the whispers of my heart
Jelisa Jeffery © 2011
Elizabeth Apr 2014
B.C
If I joined her in the sky,
Would they remember me?
As they remember her,
With odes and pictures,
Soft renditions of her laughter.
I do not feel as if I've left a single stroke.
This painting is a wild one,
A sad one.
And death will part us all,
But her death adjoined,
With tears and remembrance.
My death would do none at all.
The Unbeliever Aug 2014
Once upon a time
A man planted two trees
Maybe a symbol
To a lover, a history lost
Maybe just because

I bought the house
And the trees came with
Grown and strong
First apart and then adjoined
At their base, they were separate
By time, they joined
Leaning on each other

Their strength was together
Withering many storms
Winds that crashed
All too many others
And they were the last I owned

One day they fell, some fool
Brought nails, too early on
Pegged a sign, maybe for some yard sale
And the nail was planted
But they grew around
Thought, together
Thought they were strong

But the trees felt rot
It crept right in
They had ignored the wedge
Guilt and rot set in
And, together they fell

Their roots, I found
Together, tangled and proud
I couldn't tell, one from another
So close they had grown
How broken they ripped
The trees were close
Almost just as one

The greatest trial they faced
And that bit of nail
Rusted and brown
A storm like no other
Brought them both down

One fell away, another the other
Both against even the wind
The great storm, just another
They broke at the nail
Created by another
Such a small thing
But never recovered
Sarina May 2013
Every time I go outside, I smell something burning and
hope that no birds have died in the past hour –
some probably have my name or something close, serene creatures
we are connected by a sea of letters first made for greek gods
I worry that I suicidal-think them, play broken wing harps.

A sum of our adjoined parts, a sum of my heart –
I love and I realized everything that has breath can be shattered
that glass is not ever-translucent, it can have feathers or skin.
I once
knew a
girl who
entirely reared
their lip
she adjoined
me whether
green till
dement was
more a
hand in
artisan with
the moon
once more
aghast than
wrought for
encore there
Valerie Jan 2019
The hills beckons!!

In it's ethereal beauty.

Bringing it's surroundings to life!!!

The blessings of Mother nature in its total richness.

The intricate layout of the earth's crust.

The flamboyance of creation.

An artist's inspiration, a poet's muse.

The rocks adjoined hip to hip.

Serendipity in these hills!!!
Akure is a town in Ondo state, Nigeria, in the continent of Africa. Made of beautiful hills and picturesque views
Brandon Sep 2018
Where once I adjoined
A facet of evergrowing life
I now fall through the air
Destined for the ground
And the crunch of footsteps
Traveling
Big Virge Sep 2021
Men Tend To Show STRENGTH...
While Boys Tend To ANNOY... !!!

Men LOVE Their Children...
Boys Treat Them Like Toys... !!!

Men BUILD With Women... !!!
Boys Tend To DESTROY... !!!

And Tend Not To Have...
The Strength of A Man... !!!
So... Tend To Be WEAK...
When It Comes To *****... !!!

So Girls RULE Their Worlds...
Because of Their Curves...

While MEN DO NOT Work...
Their Worlds Around Girls... !!!

I’m Writing These Words...
Because of Some Verse...
I’d Written On Women...
And ******* Positions... !!!

A Woman Had Listened...
And Said... HAD I Scripted...
Some Wordplay That Shifted...
It’s Gender Position...
From Speaking On Women...

To... Speaking On Guys...
And What Rules OUR Lives... ?!?

So This Set of Lyrics...
Will Now Flip The Script...
Because As A Man...
I Now... OVER-STAND... !!!

The Difference Between...
How Certain Males Can Be...

So This Piece of Poetry...
Is A Piece That Now Speaks...
On How There Are Boys...
Who Live In Men’s *****... !!!!!

It’s A SAD Thing To See...
But You’d Better BELIEVE... !!!

That There Are Male *******...
Whose Movements Are SICKENING... !!!

And MEN Just Like WOMEN...
Deal In MUCH MORE THINKING...
And... POSITIVE Living... !!!
Than Boys Who Employ...
Behaviour That Points...
To Them NOT Being Wise...
Like The Men They Deride... !?!

But Some GROWN Men...
Like To Act Like... CHILDREN... !?!

And Behave Just Like Boys...
And... IMMATURE Oinks... !!!

That’s Right I Mean PIGLETS... !!!
When Dealing With Women...
As Well As The Business...
of Raising Their Children... !!!

Boys Are UNFORGIVING...
While Men Make Decisions...
That Hold STRONG Positions... !!!

Instead of Just... DISSING... !?!

Like Boys Who Imprison...
Their Thinking In Prisons...
Where They Get Conditioned...
To Act Just Like *******...
In Ways That Are WICKED... !!!

MEN DON'T Tend To Limit...
Themselves To Such Visions...
Because They Think BIGGER...
Than Pulling Those Triggers... !!!!!!!

MEN Deliver REAL Scripture...
And Visions That Picture...
A COOL Family Life...
That Has A STRONG WIFE... !!!

Who They... RECOGNISE...
Will Stand By Their Side...
And Mother Their Child...
In Ways That Are WISE... !!!

So Do NOT Collide... !!!

Like Boys Who Invite...
IMMATURE Petty Fights...
Because Deep Inside...
They Continually Hide...

Themselves From The TRUTH...
About Things That They Do...

When It Comes To *** Moves...
That Deal In... ABUSE... !!!

And Treating Women Like Things To Forget...
Once They’ve Opened Their Legs...
And... Laid Them In Beds... !!!

Until They Find Out...
That They’ve Made Them PREGNANT... !!!

But Boys EVEN THEN...
Choose To Run Around Town...
Like... INFANTILE Clowns... ?!?

Running Their Mouths...
As If They Were TRICKED...
Into Letting Their *****...
Be The Thing That Eclipsed...
Their Instincts To THINK... !?!

BEFORE Just Jumping In...
Like Some Kind of KID...
Whose Never Been Kissed...
So ******* QUICK... !!!

REAL Men Are LEGIT... !!!

While Boys Moves Are SICK...
And Tend To Commit...
To Doing BAD THINGS... !!!

But DON'T Ever Think...
That Becoming A DAD...
Is The Realm of A MAN... !!!

As I’ve Said Boys Make KIDS...
Instead of... CHILDREN... !!!

And AREN'T Always Men...
When It Comes To Women... !!!

I’ve Seen Some Men Be...
... INCREDIBLY Weak... !?!

When They Choose To Cheat...
Or... PHYSICALLY BEAT...
The Women They Claim...
And Then Name As Their QUEEN... !?!

To ME They Are BOYS...
Who WOMEN Should AVOID... !!!

But Somehow Like *******...
These Boys Do Get Women...
To Do Some **** Licking...
Breed Them And Have Children... !!!

While Men LOVE These *******...
Whose Movements Are SICKENING...
From End To Beginning... !?!

So This Piece Is Linking...
How BOTH MEN And WOMEN...
And YES... GIRLS And BOYS...

Have Traits That Employ...
Some Things That LACK Poise...

And... Levels of WIDSOM...
That Are Those BEYOND Children... !!!

So DON’T Let Their Age Sway...
Your Mind From The Way...
That Males Behave Today... !!!

Because It Is CLEAR That MANY Adhere...
To... BREAKING The Rules...
That Are Used By GOOD Dudes... !!!

Which Just Goes To Prove...
That... MANY WILL WALK...
And Run ALL Kinds of TALK... !!!

But DON'T Walk In Men’s Shoes...
Because of... ISSUES...
That RULE How They Move... !!!

So DON'T Get It CONFUSED... !!!

There's CLEARLY A DIFFERENCE...
Between The Two Groups... !!!

That Are... Co-Existent...
As Well As ADJOINED...
By... ALL of Their Ploys...
And All of Their NOISE... !!!

Because There Are MANY Links...

Between.....

...... “ Men And Boys “..... !!!
I was asked to write it by a, Female Professor, so here's what I came up with...
Annabel Lee Feb 2014
Melted into the ground
I am already known by,
From the cracks in the masks
I am constantly shown by.
All thoughts;
concealed in the corpse of the trees.
Cloaked by the realms of normality, running through the soil
of which I've grown by.
But here I lay,
thinking of a Mid-Alaskan day.
trapped by the fears of the ignorance
adjoined by the contour belief,
that you and I; shall never be.
This soil is never leaving,
from the undersides of my feet.
the idea,
that the mud on my shoes
may not wear paper thin.
Track in layers,
of the secrets within.
Here I lay
Hopefully not to stay
But having let myself in the know,
of the place I've made
(all on my own.)
Lameo
Tom t Apr 2015
Money you fear
Can always be lost
You try and keep your youth and health
No matter what is the cost
You tremble thinking of death
And wonder when your day will come
But love is something you'll never be without
For whom will supply it, is who this poem is from
I'll be your money
For your happiness is my coin
I'll be your health
For in your old age, our hands will be adjoined
And I'll be your life
For death youll never fear
Because I'll always be by your side
Holding on saying "I love you, my dear"

— The End —