"alchemists" poems
The router's a strobe light;
I can't connect.
The microwave fritzed,
I can't heat.
The circuit shut;
guess no electricity.
Ayo no technology.
Let's talk ancient
philosophy,
NOT whether
Beyonce is a feminist.
Let's have a bonfire
and roast meat
cause none of us
were vegan
before this.
Let's light candles
in the streets.
Pray batteries die
on LCD screens.
Cause we were alchemists
before technology,
the versed probing
the multiverse,
thrilled,
lighting our golden
embroidery on life.
Now were just bored.
Coy toys to tied strings,
webs that touch
everything,
but the space between.
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 2:31 PM UTC
One puts all nature into mourning,
One lights her like a flaring sun —
What whispers ‘Burial’ to the one
Cries to the other, ‘Life and Morning.’
The unknown Hermes who assists
The role of Midas to reverse,
And makes me by a subtle curse
The saddest of all alchemists —
By him, my paradise to hell,
And gold to **** is changed too well.
The clouds are winding-sheets, and I,
uncover corpses loved of old;
and where the shores celestial die
I carve vast tombs against the sky.
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 6:13 AM UTC
There is nothing here
Not the façade of a façade
Can’t you see our idea fading?
We thought we were Hobbes’ Leviathan
The modern alchemists of state
We’re nothing more than rodents!
Scurrilous, maladapted membranes
Spewing from democracy forth
Ought they to encapsulate us?
They must needs encapsulate the naïve!
Whiling away at the trough as though livestock
I’m to be ground on the wheel regardless;
Nay, stretched on the rack of modernity!
By the comforts of progress and superficiality
Sought after as if vital
By the people, “We the people!”
Rallying cry for throngs, imprisoning themselves
With society, a subtle hocus pocus
The trite, aged argument
Of those who’d force you build your very tenement
Paying rent to breathe,
Countless yet believe
Tripartite consumer, greed and slavery
Surrounding you and me
Separating ignorance from squalor
In a ghetto of the mind
You're right, we're alright
Jul 28, 2010
Jul 28, 2010 at 9:11 PM UTC
Trees hold the deep earth together way below with crooked fingers of the underworld and catches foul above
Upward to the heavens on finger towers,
clapping on winds they shake their dander
And the makers of green bras on mountain tops
They are the landlords of ground,and air beasts, and
incumbent giants of the ages
They whisper being puppeteered by winds of old
They are the alchemists of oxygen
They are dangling playgrounds
They are the Autumn crunches beneath our feet
Trunk etchings by bards, trees reflecting
cultures' dissemination
We walk under penumbras that deny the scorch of summer
as cool water douses fire, so too, shade douses heat
Watching trees in my pleasant reverie I observe how they
help break the carpeted land, bringing about a certain diversity in moving tranquility and rustling of their songs
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 7:20 AM UTC
Each of you.
My individual singularities, Dad’s One Thing.
Conceived 1955.
Driven home, progeny, made man, unequivocal, indisputable.
Post-war night spirits undaunted ~ stop ******* me.
*** for you, stopped me.
Can’t make it the way you want. Please stop.
Backing off, I respect real you.
Don’t push me Me.
Don’t dream.
Will dream us.
Short sentence for guilt whisked way beyond what crime could be.
We combine beans and seeds and gourds.
That’s science! Culinary!
Botany, true, but I’m enaturated.
Human pod progressed.
If that’s a word, don’t dream it’s not.
Forget every word.
But make each and every word count.
Then add stash, socked away.
I concede.
Mi casa su casa.
Paint it.
Together.
Made mistake then fixed it.
Copasetic dovetails, my lady and me (not I).
We walk talk island jib.
I like the cut of your yar across the moonlit pool.
Go around with me to all haunts, snow globetrotting shaken not stirred
My déjà vu in futurum videre, I can’t believe.
Asunder goddesses should be together,
While Isis and Osiris boogie like Beatrice and Dante encircled,
Their own private imbroglio invaded
By Goth end time alchemists conjuring copyrights for gelt.
You tell me this short story.
I cringe.
My mind clouds men’s, and then conjures Morpheus.
My shadow child joins me in Paradise,
Deliria dancing in concert with Shakespearean intent.
My daughter’s got more guts in one pinky
Than all that fallen pilot on our island bargained for
In the games that decided who’s hungrier.
You could have been that gal.
Jul 20, 2013
Jul 20, 2013 at 12:21 AM UTC
we plant the seeds of our own destruction
"everything in moderation."
here I am in backlash station,
braiding my hair
with poison in my lungs,
on my breath,
in my stare.
my silver tongue has an alchemists tooth
a lung for a lung and the whole world's done
anti-smoke anti-drink anti-fry
diet coked, diet thinking, diet guy
yes, he's gonna die
bleeding through his finger tips
we touch lips, hips? say goodbye,
maybe take him home next time.
he's got me in a bind
stuck in his rhyme
he peeled me from the core
though I had a rind
but the fruit which I drink
is GMO such as he,
the fluoride in my sink.
a love poem made me think
a tag is such a drag
because a label isn't me,
a price could be
innocence
mystery
a held too close and you're history
he sent to me
late night called to see
if the aches from which I break have calmed down to be
more of a lesson than a test,
more of a sleep than a restlessness.
there's no one who should have to witness this...
"I'll be okay."
maybe I'll say it again...
"I'll be okay."
For once and forward because I want to,
a lot of people said I didn't have a choice but to
and I don't want to hurt any of you,
with the insanity of keeping things in
with the feelings that I simply suppressed
thought he made me happy and undressed
foolishly traded my tears for alcohol
sweet words for smoke, true love for a joke.
I've lost all I could lose
let him take all that I thought could be took,
and now I finally see what was to be had all along,
what was there all along...
you all were right and I was wrong.
I ran away, that's not okay,
but I'm back and here today.
I love you all, I love you most,
I wont push you away, so hold me close.
I'm breaking and aching, I'm shedding out tears,
I'm sorry for masking and mashing my fears.
I know I don't know and I wish to learn quick,
there's not that much time and there's no love in a ****
excuse my bad language for I do not speak French...
I'll stop with the jokes and go for what's true,
there's no more emptiness in the words "I love you".
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 11:40 AM UTC
I stood waiting for her I was told she would come
I stood waiting cold and numb
Numbed by the pain, tablets and lotions
Numbed by the hope of a notion
A notion that said I might find a cure
A cure that would let me lead a life I could finally endure
For my life has been one of repeated pain
Pain from the physical, emotional, where there is no gain
A life that is lived in between, of darkness and then sparkle
A life that is to my own heart no more than a debacle
I was told If I met her she could help me create
My own alchemy, a precious recipe that would make
A remedy that would soothe my soul allow it to rest
Allow my physical body to stop undergoing this continual test
I heard movement come through the blackness
Towards me to meet, a beautiful figure, dazzling and complete
Her beauty was breathtaking her adornment a delight
She illuminated my world at once and reignited my own light
She has a familiarity that my body recognizes, a bejeweled
Being who lights up my world with her smile and surprises
Even me as I watch and stare as she moves through the darkness
With such knowledge and without care
I follow her light down passageways and past keeps
And notice parts of my body awakening like from a sleep
A body that wants to talk to me and say
That authenticity is the alchemy from which you have strayed
Your body has such wisdom its waiting to be read.
This is the alchemy you search for, its that voice in your head
It is an illuminated manuscript gilded with the finest gold, gold of your own making
your life experience is the beauty you need to hold.
The magic is in your intuition, that you hold deep within yourself
You follow this beautiful lady and yet she is a mirror of your own self
She came because you finally called her and she sits in front of you now
Administering her balms that lingers on your skin, it caresses the pain you feel
and smoothes you from within.
But this is a balm of your own making , made out of all your own pain
It sparkles with the light you have been seeking it is your own beauty,
Hopelessness and pain.
So look no longer for the alchemists hand, behold what you see in the
mirror and be glad that you stand, for you are a beauty to behold, a life
to be treasured, a life that is lived in, a life that can be measured.
Apr 5, 2012
Apr 5, 2012 at 9:26 AM UTC
Appalachian Alchemists
Weaving Gold from farmer's grist
Whiskey Stills
and Copper Pills
Magick Wyrm cools vapor mists
Shine down from a Whiskey Moon
Silver Gift and Nature's Boon
Corn Cob Wands
and Thumper Pots
Mountain Spells from Summers' June
Lightning flash in jar of White
Burning Soul, distilled delight
Mountain Streams
yield Moonshine Beams
Corn-fed Wizards, dark of night
Wisdom cast in Silver hues
Blessing born of Mountain Dews
Love's Desire
from Smoke and Fire
Ancient kin-folk's hidden brews
Inspiration Distillate
Poet's Draught, inebriate
Charcoal Casks
and Secret Flasks
Of this Spirit, Celebrate
Jan 31, 2013
Jan 31, 2013 at 5:06 PM UTC
The chemicals produced by the brain
Combine and collide
In order to confuse.
I want to defy the formula,
Ignore the reaction,
And choose.
Choose what I want,
Who I want,
Override chemical overthinking.
Overactive imagination plus a little stimulation
Equals lust, obsession, pain.
Perhaps if I try really hard to overcome my programming,
I could be an alchemist of emotional responses,
Instead of an oxytocin ******
I know, I know
It's arrogant of me to expect to be
The first human being to truly master self-control.
The alchemists of old
Had a better chance
Of turning straw to gold.
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 4:38 PM UTC
Went to the doc.
Told me I was on my way to
Dying
Way faster than I should be.
*Laughed.
Doc, you been telling me that for
Five years
And my poetry is only getting better.*
He says,
Ya think?
Look at you,
You live in a watery place,
Talking to god about sports,
Ripping off O.Henry,
Solving equations
On the direction of the
Bubbles you blow into the skies,
Recording your innermost
In public bathrooms,
Ever ask yourself,
Is that normal?
*Laughed.
Every now and then,
I take them pills
You gave me.
They come in orange cylinders,
30 at a clip,
Supplied my druggist dealer.
I figure for every pill,
Another day, another poem.
But I won't stick myself no more.
Got enough people- things
Sticking me daily.
Why should I help themselves along?*
You right, doc snorted.
You've lived this long,
What ya got to show for it?
Then why do you come
Bothering me,
Annoying me.
You think I like
Spending 90 minutes
With you?
You think I spend
90 minutes of mine
On every poet
That comes thru
My swinging doors?
*Well I like how, doc,
You write down everything
I tell you, so when the archaeologists
And the alchemists
Come a-digging,
Looking for the facts of figures,
In your files,
They will find the gritty story
Of a New Yorker,
Who saw poems in sidewalk cracks,
Street signs, young hearts and smiles,
Even you white starch coat,
Your stern disapproving face,
gets utilized, but got stop someday,
Wouldn't be fair
If I used up more than my
Fare-thee-well share
Of words.*
The doc,
He didn't laugh,
Nah, don't buy it,
Gotta be a reason
Better than that
Why you keep on
Bothering me,
Ignoring me,
Hastening your mortality?
*Doc, done my time,
Sentence served,
Now I'm just coasting,
Waiting for the day,
When I get summoned.*
*Looking for a new view,
Looking down on the young ones,
Staring down, at them struggling,
For the exact right word,
To place just so on their computer
Screens/screams,
I can be the rustling noise
In their ear,
They call inspiration.*
**That will be Part II,
That is what I will do,
When your forecasts
Come true.
So what me worry,
I got jobs done and to do,
And I can do 'em well
Just about anywhere,
But I visit you, cause you,
Are a righteous one,
Cause you care.**
And I will be watching you too.
5:38am
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 5:45 AM UTC
Let me invoke the Devine Muses
Who sits on Mount Helicon
Cherishing the arts of poets and artisans
Whom they immortalized
By guiding their pen;
I implore your aid
In completing this poem
And several yet to conceive,
Fill in me the empty;
The lack of words, metaphors, smilies
And tropes to cover emotions.
O holy! Devine
Inspire my mind who craves fame
Aspire this pen to write truths name,
Fill it with the ink of courage;
No compassion nor fear can divert
It from unraveling the hidden.
O! Symbol of purity and keeper of sacred thoughts
You shape a bud into a plant
And by your one breath comes the spring;
Leaves, flowers, and fruits all,
Same way breathe unto me
Give me life and aim
To make this time count
And unconsciously— like great poets,
Metaphysicians and alchemists,
Mark my name and work in this world.
Feb 20, 2022
Feb 20, 2022 at 3:16 PM UTC
There are more things
That are not things
Than there are things
That are things.
Potential is a powerful,
Abundant resource.
To tap into the
Unknown, uncharted,
Unachieved, departed -
And introduce it to
What it means to Be -
Makes every artist
A midwife.
Without the great alchemists -
The artists, the dreamers,
Visionaries, poets, musicians -
Those who enter into
Akashic Records
Like a library -
We would only ever have
What has already came to be.
Like a technical computer reality.
Art brings us closer
To the cusp of Life.
Mother Earth is the greatest artist
I've ever known.
Being Human means
Being an artist.
Our Mother may soon
Scold us
For coloring all over the walls.
Making an artist takes time.
In the Universe,
There's plenty of that.
Dec 20, 2016
Dec 20, 2016 at 12:37 AM UTC
The lot of us strangers trying too hard to stay aloof in a narrow corridor plagued by awful trendy folk music blaring out of unseen speakers and I shrouded in silence wore it a pseudo-epidermal layer taut force field writing this poem so to be a little more pretentious than most by opting not to check social media and the selfie I posted this morning not sure how many likes it's gotten since an hour ago but I'm not going to check yet Everyone here looks so miserable and it's barely 8 AM the Kate Gosselins and Ben Afflecks grab their coffee like a servant grabs the King's goblet to test for poison there's this mumble of a thank you seeping out of frozen lips and half opened eyelids harnessing dull hazy eyes and they drudge back to their hybrid cars with their five dollar savior and amble down the gaping highway that consumes their soul and all the while shoulders never touch and eyes never meet and we stand idly in the waiting room watching the alchemists conjure up our poison thinking about our selfies and how much we hate ourselves and our lives but honestly I just wanted my first pumpkin spice latte of the season celebrating the first cool day of the year in my denim jacket I resurrected with glee out of the elated closet in the middle of September so I say Beware you miserable cretins you obligatory acolytes of the virulent elixir one day you'll wake up and no amount of coffee will purify this cesspool you've lain yourself into like a regretful baptism you didn't believe in.
Sep 18, 2016
Sep 18, 2016 at 2:09 AM UTC
it was said of me . . .
across the eternal city
god made me to be :
the one who
trysts eternity
perhaps if this was,
the end of the age,
and we were
the
last
ones
. left . here .
on
our
own
if i was abandoned
for what i believed,
so dearly
would you
still love me?
would you adore
my writhing gibe ?
just as alchemists alloy azyme
compounding salvation to baptize
remplissage of cold Versailles
if they debunked
everything i pride ?
could you honestly
pull the hatchet loose
and sacrifice, for me,
i
am
a - m - b - r - o - s - i - a
on the god's platter
why don't you come to?
free me
loosening
free me
for free ? (yes, it's hard, but am i
worth your fear ? )
understand
for me
please
so
simply
nothing can help me
it's your choice now
how will you choose?
>>>>>>>>>>>>
take the road which fits your palm
and in it lies the cusp of dawn
to where we stagnate after all
liberation is our realm
Aug 15, 2013
Aug 15, 2013 at 10:35 AM UTC
As she lays bare
''Tis not just her eyes
That sparkle amongst stars.
Her skin reflects candle lights
As amber skin mixes
With olive tones.
hourglass sand falls with my jaw
Drying my bottom lip with nerves
Yet excitement and lust.
Feather like touches tingle
Every sense of being alive
As our hearts murmur in time.
Palpitations even match rhythm
In this alchemists dream bond
That doesn't exist on the periodic table.
Our heats radiate screaming,
As your goosebumps on my fingertips
Tickle me back, teasing my nerves.
''Twas the night I finally realised
My heart could once fly again
And you were the one to make it.
Even a singular night felt like forever,
Grasping our chance, and gasping
With pure, destined passion.
Aug 9, 2017
Aug 9, 2017 at 5:08 PM UTC
His palm is a sepulchre,
It holds captives and sun-rays.
Macabre consolation fractured his skin.
He who embalms the petals of my words,
to paint forlorn attempts.
With keen acumen he carves the coffins
And adorns the figures of decay.
As alchemists, he works,
to convert base spirits into colours;
Immortal for all the decades of disdain.
His palm is the afterlife,
It keeps hummingbirds and streams.
Unholy droplets cured his cells.
He who puts me on hold,
like soulless novels on his shelves.
As soothsayers, he says,
"You count your pulses; no longer."
Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 5:45 AM UTC
We've been evolving with music,
ever since our mothers heart beats,
special and different,
terminally unique,
flabbergasted freaks,
trapped,
poverty stricken and weak,
little *****
unharnessed potential sleeps,
forced into a corner of naughty
left handed niche,
never gonna be right,
no matter how hard we tried to please,
surrounded by subterfuge ,to fool we,
And force us to be,
other than that which is 3,
oppressed with an Iron fist ,
that was planned ,pummeling,
our creative needs,
like bricks in a washing machines,
Never get cleaned,
Discombobulated,
Artiste,
wearing our souls on our sleeves,
it's not like we never told you,
What WE wanted to be,
Traitors sounding dis-eased,
somethings never gonna change,
best believe,
they just wait and become more vague,
and strange and displeased.
The only escape and coping mechanism sufficient
4 1 2 survive,
and preserve the real we,
Alchemists? , Magicians? thieves?
thrive
and get a life
ub3
and feel alive,
Our duty to share and express
our majesty
and universal given creative talents!
aka
" Balancing heavy burdens on bended knees"
the most precious ancient currency
Deep in the concrete jungle,
amongst all kinds of ******
Only dead fish go with the flow!
And never stumble
Just their for the ride
with ease,
swimming upstream,
brings light
providing us with,the fortitude and spiritual stamina,
to stay alive &survive;
for the streets,
that is required,
in order
4 We 2 b 3
and able to
keep on keeping on,
no matter what's gone on,
Got 2 B strong
by any means necessary,
suffering
through these astonishing catastrophes,
written in stone,
war and peace,
4 what doesn't ****
hones and
must make strengths increase,
as out of the darkness comes the light,
like a beast to a priest,
That we are still here to share,
no matter what!
express ,believe and receive,
creating, creative, creations...
exposing the woods from the trees
WE big people ,
have to bend,
and ponder,
and weep.
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 5:29 PM UTC
The severity of the seriously
scientific professoring of poetic licenses
severing limbs
and one's sanity to turn
into a lackluster one dimensional
word
for word
matter of fact, i.e. Flat.
Now there is research and refined references
like mad-haired alchemists
having mixed two tinctures
wrongly
such liquids
exploding
whilst hypothesized
unremarkable through their myopia
faces intimate with the thickest book
make out session
with the obtuse...
A bureau, hmph
an organization dismissing the muses
and the breath
that we devour
a study on the facets
and romance
with life
written art works
spoken odysseys
magnanimous numbness of verb
magic of lustrous ***********
of star crossed
tempests
evermore a ravenous
soul
Poetry needs no bureau
The heart is only
a lonely hunter
if love were not its prey
to feel free
and truly alive
is the honest purpose
of the written and spoken
word
of poetry
of art of happiness
dancing the night away
in sonnet streets
who do we endeavor to example
when it is our own pen that must bleed
the awful truths
that needs combustion
the foreplay of time / life whispering in italics
beautifully
breaking down
laughter's tintinnabulations
all the world
all the life
our Oyster...
But seriously tho'
what the dealio...?
when I want to hear
a fearless something
soaked
and sensual
and real
so good
the words bleed rain
beaus
utter not
the words not words but
electricity
inner watercolors murals
from the emotions
this art dreams
intermingling
touching prose of roses
its scent a ghost
thick in the recollection
of farewells
the experiences we parallel
all in literary gusto
somehow
communication
erected from **** tube boxes
and artifice waves of wide webs
the slang jive
secret languages whined
signs and pics
depicts inflicts these times
slays the joy
and lovely words
of tiding of wise sayings
you say
with Monet expressions
your a lovely day
ignite me
the Beloved / the songs
the sun
a face of love
a glow
Do you feel me?
lub dub lub dub
the haiku sonnet odyssey
poetry
that is Life...
Today's lesson -
(seriously)
go learn to fly
a kite.
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 12:59 AM UTC
Alchemists, behold.
I have found your precious gold.
I have found the fleeting fame of immortality.
It isn't found in baser metals,
But rather in the ink;
The blood of the souls of ideas.
My pages stem from me,
A lifeblood to my thoughts,
As it ever was and evermore shall be.
I adopt these begotten thoughts which I had forlorn before I kept.
Some inevitably left me behind,
To never quite be forgot.
They'll follow me eventually,
And catch me in some quiet unexpected café.
Do you remember me?
Will you remember this?
Or will I fade again this time
Into your mind's abyss?
I must stop.
Before all the oceans of ink
That are in my heart
Dry up before they bleed.
A tragedy.
Or perhaps a romance, a comedy.
We would never know.
Apr 22, 2016
Apr 22, 2016 at 4:35 PM UTC
Alchemy is the art of the far and near as is poetry.
Prima Materia. ****** alchemists groping, questing.
The Face of God. Omphalos. The Chapel Perilous.
Lost path through invisible forest. Hazard.
Base metal to gold. Ignorance to wisdom.
Crucible of transformation. The Rosy Cross.
Inner distillation. Metamorphoses. Essence.
To be bathed in the breath of infinity. Crystalline.
Quantum foam. Particles. Waves. Plenum of possibilities.
Moving through the world of illusion,
seeking the sacred glory of fusion.
Mar 12, 2016
Mar 12, 2016 at 2:03 PM UTC
I must read!
For the words that drift across my consciousness
--lights that pierce dull eyes--
are not of my own creation;
they are spoken by the celestial voices of time,
and time immemorial.
I receive these graces bountifully,
the more and more I ravenously consume
pages upon pages of genius:
The jongleurs who entertained in the king's courts
and danced and sang in His Majesty's presence,
The alchemists who toyed with heretic incantations
and cauldrons full of curses in their gloomy dens,
The madmen and women who succumbed to madness
and therefore in turn were blessed by madness,
The monks who sat hunched over fading scrolls
and interpreted scripture in the ancient libraries,
The scribes who sharpened their tools
and carried their stone tablets like a cross.
I must write, yes,
but first I must read.
Feb 7, 2016
Feb 7, 2016 at 8:40 PM UTC
Take an ancient iPod
(click wheel!),
splash a few words
on Craigslist,
wait a short while
and it transforms
into fifty dollars
which morph into
a bottle of fine
Tennessee whiskey,
a haircut, cigarettes
and change.
Economists call these
transactions.
Alchemists called them
transmutations.
I call them proof
that miracles
still exist
in the ordinary.
I will now
have a drink,
light a smoke
and luxuriate
in just what is...
~mce
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 7:10 PM UTC
We are at the mercy of blood alchemists. They turn lead into gold and war into paper. Their sacrifice based sorcery transmutes our possessions into theirs. They just need death in the equation as well as our placation.
The blood alchemists defeated the defensive zealots to establish a new leader. Their new leader had devised a formula for turning bigotry into power at the expense of sanity. He crafted a potion to control the minds of the malleable that poisoned his brain with paranoid fantasies.
In the fascist alchemist's perception, all protesters become demons in need of exorcism. Transformers and electromagnetic waves carry his insane demands to Ukraine. He demands the death of a statesman expressing contention. This is the formula for turning dissent into fear. This is the concoction that turns power into silence, he seeks to suffocate his enemies in dirt.
Followers of the fascist alchemist believe he's a god who can do no wrong. Townspeople see through this facade trying to explain he's flawed to mind controlled dogs. His spell is stubborn so citizens start sticking to strife after he obfuscates what's wrong and right while a politician's life hangs in the balance.
Conflict is conformed into cover as he uses fear of the other so subjects won't see his gunners killing our Yemeni brothers. He buries our problems in dust, that once unsettled, erupts into a noise so loud we can't call him corrupt. Ignoring the will of man he'll even **** his clan if they still his plans. His henchmen drenched in blood are as expendable as the foes he shoves. Summoning a power vacuum, a portal to autonomy, all the cronies crammed in his chaos cabinet are ****** out one by one.
So this attempted assassination is the final straw once the magistrate catches wind of his shockwave sins. The blood alchemist must attend a hearing where enemies and allies alike adjudicate his egregious actions. The hearing will be dictated by what seers see for our future. The verdict will be determined by the brain washed judging the brain washer. Before dissent could materialize into resistance, the blood alchemists slowly eroded justice until a force field formed to protect the trickster's horns.
May 21, 2021
May 21, 2021 at 2:58 PM UTC
How can one person be the solidification of all my dreams,
Like when you open that box there is fragrance of peace,
Of the meaning of life, of the significance of each breath,
Like a little fluffy cloud that picked you up from despair and took you to wonderland,
Like a little boat with flippers that waded through troubling waters for you,
A giant mountain that gave you vertigo but stunted your ignorance,
A dangerously deep ocean that sunk you in the serenity of truth.
A magnificent, shiny stone, precious among the alchemists,
A knowing touch, a trust so profound,
Condensing all of my life in his palms,
Like delivering me to the other side,
Like I have seen the face of God,
and that was it, I said, take away my name, take away my existence,
Be it that this man has made me known what life is.
A sacred haven for my scandalous secrets,
Incessant rants and causeless regrets,
A fierce champion, an astute philosopher,
A pocket of sunshine, a partner in crime,
Reason for my light, reason for my tears,
Reason for my smiles, reason for my fears.
I saw myself in his eyes, neatly wrapped in a tear never fallen.
While they called me a hopeless romantic,
I thanked my heart because it wasn't - it was a seat of hope and desire.
True to my name.
And his heart was a seat of love and wisdom.
That was protected from the world's desires.
But how utterly beautiful now to give away to anonymity,
Because my existence cannot be defined or held together in a few letters anymore.
Amid that truthful presence.
But the most important,
The source of my purity,
The depth of my kindness,
Beacon of my wisdom,
How can one man be...
But he is.
But he is..
Nov 1, 2018
Nov 1, 2018 at 9:53 PM UTC