"behooves" poems
Little soul, little perpetually undressed one,
Do now as I bid you, climb
The shelf-like branches of the spruce tree;
Wait at the top, attentive, like
A sentry or look-out. He will be home soon;
It behooves you to be
Generous. You have not been completely
Perfect either; with your troublesome body
You have done things you shouldn't
Discuss in poems. Therefore
Call out to him over the open water, over the bright
Water
With your dark song, with your grasping,
Unnatural song--passionate,
Like Maria Callas. Who
Wouldn't want you? Whose most demonic appetite
Could you possibly fail to answer? Soon
He will return from wherever he goes in the
Meantime,
Suntanned from his time away, wanting
His grilled chicken. Ah, you must greet him,
You must shake the boughs of the tree
To get his attention,
But carefully, carefully, lest
His beautiful face be marred
By too many falling needles.
3.7k
Strength is the ability to protect yourself
Emotionally, physically, spiritually.
You are strong when you need no one
You are self-sufficient
The desire is there sans the need.
Acceptance of lacking in one area
Will allow you and behooves you to
Increase strength in another.
Because without strength you are vulnerable
To external forces.
Like newborn turtles as they make
The dangerous pilgrimage to water,
Picked off one by one,
By carnivorous, unforgiving animals:
People out to hurt others to falsely improve
Their own self-esteem.
Strength is the courage to challenge your fears
And make an about-face to run toward them
Not away.
This abrupt "180" seems incongruent to our
Beliefs, desires and thoughts
Because our subconscious mind proclaims
That to confront our apprehensions deems us
Weak.
And as naive beings, we listen wholeheartedly,
Believing that what we ignore does not exist
And we regress to an age when object impermanence
Unsettled our feelings of safety.
Without strength we cannot breathe, eat or think
And without fulfillment of these basic human needs
The question is, Do we really exist?
So we must define and develop our own strength
In order to thoroughly define and develop
Our sense of self.
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 3:21 PM UTC
1)
I have long wondered
of the tri- in trickery
(those of you privy
to the arcane secrets of etymology
will know
tri- is three, as in trinity
and triple and trivium)
and so I have many aeons meditated
on the 3 in trickery
2)
and recently
on a trip (what’s the 3 in trip?)
to the *University
of Matters Ancient and Abstruse*
I uncovered this manuscript
that reveals all the 3 in Trickery:
*“It behooves him who will master Trickery
to attach himself to a Teacher
so he may be Trained
(which is the first of the 3)
And so he may be Trimmed in thought
to focus on the act entirely
(thus the second of the 3)
And last comes the Treat
wherein the thief Treats himself
to the victim’s property;
and thus in these 3 stages
do the cunning ever shift
into their own pockets
that which belongs to the unwary”*
3)
And thus, dear readers, was the mystery
of the 3 in trickery
resolved for me
as I hope it is for you;
but you might now want to see
if the money is still in your digital wallet
for - keeping you distracted,
and unknown to you -
I have just practiced all 3 in Trickery
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 9:38 PM UTC
in our daily haste to not miss
sales, appointments, buses, flights,
we tend to overlook the world
that gives us all these options
the awe-inspiring heights of our mountains
frightening majesty of our seas
powerful forests breathing life
the elegance of animals
a pleasant view of cultivated land
even the buzzing habitat of cities
we may be only a small part of seven human billions
yet it behooves us well to be aware
and celebrate
the fragile beauty of our world
Mar 23, 2017
Mar 23, 2017 at 5:30 PM UTC
methinks thou confuseth
thy heart's impatient beating
with the tremulous and sonorous
summation of the immeasurable
wail of clocks ticking, begging,
listen!
these wondrous matches glorious
arranged in heaven,
where weighty watches
and yellowed human calendars
long ago dismissed, irrelevant,
discarded.
marked full well,
they did
upon thy heart,
when as babe
you drew first breath.
when thou will receive
love's bounty,
nothing more and nothing
less.
heavenly their watchfulness eternal,
impatience does not grant favour
to love long lasting,
ever true,
even if struck anew
with first impatient glance,
for much thought and endeavor,
masterfully planned,
thy turn scheduled,
recorded, awaiting only
for inevitable
discovery.
for though the streams of spring
rush full fleshed,
swollen forward,
thy truest love is
best read in the
gentle constance of
a gentle lake's
modest waves lapping,
like a beloved's
best ring finger
stroking thy cheek
in one continuous
caressing.
need not thou lament,
nor groan
with impatient travail,
fare thee well,
for the sails,
the course inexorable,
the destination prescribed,
foretold and heralded
upon the flags of thy eyes,
the banner of thy words,
that rest prepared upon
thy fullest and hungry
lips.
chance is but a
secondary miscreant,
whose role is but as narrator.
let's him speak infrequent,
but when comes his time
to conduct his sale,
well behooves you to
listen to that littlest of voices
you so oft disregard,
victim of your willful
fears!
the time, the play, the locale
all matched and set,
now we await only
your demonstration and forbearance
to honest augur the
greatest courage
to speak the hardest phrase
e're spoke:
I love thee more than myself.
for whence
can only be,
when thou breakbeat
the chains accursedly nominated as
Me First.
shout the key out loud
In the hour, nay, the instance,
thy first believe,
then long life and long love
can then
and
only then
commence.
Nov 10, 2013
Nov 10, 2013 at 11:41 AM UTC
Right wingers lie and cheat
Whenever it behooves them
On WMD's or campaign myths
They seem to love to use them
Determined as old Lucifer
To spite the altruistic
They never yield to truth
Like Hitler's facistic
Sad for our country
When evil so controls
It's all the wicked venom
That poisons far right souls
For civil democrats
Response is in demand
Stomp back on forked tongues
That's all they understand
Copyright Louis Brown
Aug 14, 2011
Aug 14, 2011 at 12:53 PM UTC
there is never an afterthought looking
at society as a whole but, in times of
discontent; we look disdain in the eyes
as it dulls humanities open-mindedness,
aghast
yet, we find clemency to overlook abominate
behavior in our fellow humans fore... the storm
will pass in the face of sullen words that may
darken our path; it behooves ethically to consider
their trials and tribulations in life as they unmask;
revealing their torment to mind and soul, giving
thought to their utterances and actions seeking
forgiveness, falling to their knees in repentance
dare we ask of their dilemma or do they shutter
in the wake of humanities wrath; shall we re-consider,
silently ingesting; fact or fiction in a society of closed
minds, refusing to shed their armor, their protection
from the few in the masses with no afterthought,
no understanding as a mind clashes with thoughts
of self-destruction; finding no justification
thinking God has abandoned them to face irrational
minds and behavior; not realizing He's right by their
side walking in their shoes; carrying them through
their burdens, trying to open up their eyes mind and
soul to see hope at salvations door , fore, they have
not been forsaken...the minds a terrible thing to waste
on societies triviality
Jan 11, 2013
Jan 11, 2013 at 2:25 PM UTC
It's only a paper-mache
moon, they say, too cool,
too full of interstellar space
to sympathize or stress about
lovers, kings and fools.
Or is it? According to Deutsch
the so-called final ignition
into outer space
is a product of man's meditations
moving, as if via gravitation
the magician to the other end
of the expanding universe. Sure,
in yr computer. Meanwhile, nursed
in a nursing home, mewling and peeing
as accurately predicted by Shakespeare
my old Marine, an ex-sailor, bitter
at life's ending, waited
too long to dispatch with dignity.
All alone, as in Corbiere's poem,
old soldiers are fated
to fight unnecessary wars
as we all are. Except for the fact that
every helium and hydrogen atom
ever born or made (whatever you believe)
has taken positions, passionate
and predetermined as republicans and dobermans
over eons and epochs. Thus
I don't think it behooves us much to care
if we're getting too little clean air or
bacteria are better adapted than us. This
obsession with identity, survival
a name and a leg of lamb is lame
even uninspired. The entire universe
including the professional baseball season
is canceled when yr dead. No blame.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 5:24 PM UTC
I am full bodied,
fully breathing,
fully reaching, weaving, and sometimes achieving-
fully grieving,
for a father who always kept me reeling
and a memory of him that has kept me believing
in a time i will see his face again.
I am fully alive,
fully seeing,
fully felt, and fully feeling.
There are times that I may not seem fully there
by the look of my glassy stare
but it's because I am way off dreaming-
day time streaming-
imagining some elaborate fantasy
of glittery toy mountains
where the red snow is seeping-
so red faced and gleaming-
pleasant and fearing.
Hushed and blanketed
in the throws of my far off mind
as I create a reality
that soon behooves my own.
I am fully wanting,
fully needing,
sometimes wrong,
and sometimes deceiving.
And if I've hurt you
with my veering
I hope you will someday know
that my actions were abstractions-
fleeting distractions from the passion
I felt for you-
and for us.
And before the breath has left
the darkest caves of my chest
I hope you will forgive
and embrace me
like you do night after night in dreams,
where you slip beneath the sheets
and say you love me once again
and life for us will have just began.
I am fully hated
fully loved and loving,
yet there's nothing in this world
that has been more becoming
then being fully the person that i am-
the good, the bad,
sometimes ridiculous,
sometimes sad,
but mostly prolific way of being,
that keeps on keeping.
Maybe i will never fully understand you
as you will never fully understand me,
but lets come to terms with the possibility
that we will find some sort of peace and gratifying ease,
in you being fully you-
in whatever term that will come to mean,
and me being fully me-
with all the joy, light, darkness, and pain
that this life may see.
Jan 20, 2011
Jan 20, 2011 at 7:23 PM UTC
In hot pursuit a father
Pursues the heart of his daughter
Wanting nothing more
Than that she knows he loves her
To feel it, to trust it
To grasp it so deeply
That it's never even questioned
Just part of her psyche
Pursuing her selflessly
Though admittedly not perfectly
At times, unreturned
Yet still hoping, waiting
Sometimes the race seems won
Then the finish line moves
Through the city streets of life
And that's when it behooves
Us fathers to keep chasing
With love and persistence
To keep speaking life
Into her very existence
Because the love we pour in
We just have to trust
Will be poured out someday
Though not always toward us
And that has to be okay
We just want them to see it
So they know that our hearts
Are all theirs, and can feel it
~~~
As I reflect on pursuing
The hearts of my daughters
My heart breaks for those
Who have not had good fathers
Not every girl has a dad
Who has pursued from the start
But we all have a Father
Who's still chasing our heart
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 6:43 AM UTC
Fragile Minded,
Gullibility that leaves me in embarrassment,
Causing an obvious departure from my notability.
I weaken as my former friends migrate to someone new,
Forgetting that it is time to move on.
I have struggles to let go from my past,
Nostalgia makes it impossible to achieve,
Those days have been long gone,
But my memory will always cherish them,
Even if they carelessly forget my name.
I'm wondering if my sadness is because I'm moving on from this place,
Or that I'm having trouble giving up the idea of it,
Whichever one my path leads to,
The lost art of smiling behooves me to feel blue.
It's meaningless and useless in regard to my successful future as a man,
But the emotional scarring will always be with me,
Part of me mourns my mistakes and lost notoriety,
But another part of me loathes the other part of me,
As it is someone I never truly wanted to be,
But had to be, in order to survive.
There were as many good times as there were bad,
But the bad times sinfully destroy my chances of retaining bitterness,
I've lost many girls before,
And friends who then became rivals.
Life in these years are like being guided by a safety net,
But the following year the world gets dropped in my hands,
Like a melted piece of clay,
And yet I have to be the one to mold it.
I'm not afraid of being a grown up,
I'm afraid to let go of my youth,
Not matter how petty and senseless these experiences may have turned out to be,
I'll always be me,
The teenager who refused to grow up.
Sep 27, 2016
Sep 27, 2016 at 12:33 AM UTC
How we treat ourselves
Is how we feel about ourselves
But the hell that raised us
Doesn't have to be the source that sustains us
We're blessed to have our own minds
To choose the state of mind we want for our own lives
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 7:52 PM UTC
The circumstances,
The clouds that once dimmed my mind
Are now gone...
I now see the light...bright...
Maybe, it is just wise,
Better, easier,
To change directions...
It behooves me
To fight the wind.
What else is new with pain?
We've been friends since time immemorial,
Pain and I...
Again, I shall survive...
Letting go would be my crucible,
Each passing day would be nothing less...
I would never be aware, when
Time, they say would be of help...
When sun and moon and stars,
Would bring lively colors to life anew...,
When there would be new reasons
To live for...to die for...
I shall face the challenge once again...
Just maybe, I could love someone new...
There would never be an equal,
Because I loved you first.
In all these confused moments
I find myself drowning in,
Nothing will ever change...
The fact still remains...
Friends, we shall always be...
Friends is all we'll ever be...
Be assured, I shall forever stay,
Your O n e T r u e F a n ...
Ask me "Why?"
Same old answer...
" J u s t B e c a u s e..."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sally
Copyright 2013
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 11:10 AM UTC
A lifelong loner, with the dawn of each day, keeps one promise, more sadness & agony
Father abandoned me, mother too high to visit me, leaves me with an abuser, to show me their ways
To this day, I think of you & all you have taught me
How to live in fear, not being myself, become a character to please those that may fear me
People skills non-existent, however, I stayed resilient, through the insults & feeling unworthy
Surely, someone will see a light in me, or is it too dim? Oh, that's right, you view me as glib
Back in my place, with a lid put on it
Did I do something to offend? Merely being born in this world of sin, forgive me where is the gun?
That's what I should have done, many moons ago, end it all before I knew better
Since I know better, when will I become better? Never is the answer
I am a cancer, that has stricken two families
Cut me out, lump removed, it behooves you, but you knew this
Then there are the "friendships" I attempted to wedge myself in
Unknowing of how to be a friend, I'd watch, learn, mimic & pretend
Now I'll surely fit in?
Nah loser, another sad talespin, leaves me Baloo
I continue to watch & learn, this time from afar
With the bar set to a new low, by my own hand, I stand in a shadow, from the lights sight
Darkness is my home, the ground is my throne
I sit in a mess of my own making, quaking, with a handout
I am a man down & many days out
Yet, no one knows the depths of my pain
All the snickers, pushed me towards the snickers, elevating the bar
Inward scars become visible on the outside, stretched across my skin
Another attempt at a "normal" life in an abnormal society
Taking all the lessons learned to craft a new me
Authentically, unapologetically, me
Wishing you well, wayward son of no one
By Axton Rupp
Dec 11, 2018
Dec 11, 2018 at 2:54 AM UTC
Come take comfort in relieving your trouble
His ears ripple like puddles taking in the stories
Betray your vulnerability as a confidant
And know your armor remains a safe accoutrement
While revealing your fears in several categories
Oh the glorious lessons of love that you've known
The epiphanies and Persephone violets that you've blown
The heartache and strife behooves flowers once sewn
With only the reassurance of knowing you've grown
And how they expired to make room for Rome
And sitting contemplating in quiet reflection
The listener's gift is to sigh and admonish while offering perception
He'll ask you of switching roles and give advice
He'll conjure up any answer until the finale does suffice
Listening to your footsteps fade as you walk out the door
Until the next time you need a vice similar to before
Is one more reassurance to bring His pain to the floor
One last confirmation to cease searching for a moor
Negate the endless need for vulnerability et amour
Until there are no longer holes in his own armor
*Nothing inside to hide or frighten you
Et pour ne rien révéler sous*
Mar 19, 2016
Mar 19, 2016 at 6:11 PM UTC
Believe me when I say
I will not, would not go
Though you should follow
If I leave this mire in the gloom
As sight becomes blurry
To the drone of this sorrowful dirge
We turn to follow the troop
Our form behooves this movement
The words spew from our mouth
Hollow though true, as if the buyer knew
Lacking fury in our mood
We wallow in the trove
To the tune of our own drum
Jun 29, 2010
Jun 29, 2010 at 12:47 AM UTC
Roses they did wonder
contradictory to their character
but love had they squandered
at the hands of a gifted actor
What a feat it was
to become an unexpected pawn
they came in red camouflage
from his hidden pocket like a weapon drawn
Now bathed in mistruths
and dyed black by misdeeds
dismissed of thier behooves
as tainted blood stains their leaves
The roses they wondered
in search of a new elucidation
for their job had they blundered
condemned by pains preservation
She rejects them like a plague
as thou they were poisoned by his lies
though their part in it vague
she blames them most of all for the tears she cries
Roses they wonder
in search of their redemption
as her screams do thunder
while they fight against her apprehension.
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 1:28 AM UTC
Snow started falling sometime late last night.
By the time we awoke, everything was covered
in a layer thin and pristine white,
and snow was still drifting, it was dancing on down,
glittering in the early morning light.
"It's pretty outside," she said,
and I looked
at this picturesque scene pulled straight from a book,
although probably not a book many have bothered to read.
I saw fractal snowflakes, bursting and bold,
spinning their self-similar sides in the cold.
Though, it behooves me to say...
Not fractal in the formal sense,
not like Cantor's middle thirds,
nor that box of Peano's,
and despite being apropos,
nothing at all like curve of Van Koch's,
nicknamed "snowflake" by some.
I saw a vector field of at least four dimensions,
temperature could make five,
or if you prefer, seven.
Another three -- maybe two -- if directional facings of snowflakes
are somehow important.
But that's harder to see
this early in the morning.
I thought about assigning each snowflake a color
and tracing the paths that each one would take,
to watch them unfurl like ten thousand dancers' ribbons,
outlining a dedicated jogger's wake
before tumbling to the ground to rest
along some stable manifold.
Better yet, I wondered if this field could be reversed,
if I could follow each flake back up to the clouds,
to find conditions under which
two that start so close could drift so far apart,
or how a pair that began so differently could find themselves so close,
sipping their coffee before it gets cold.
What was it she had said..?
"It's pretty outside."
I looked.
"I think so, too."
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 1:08 PM UTC
it behooves you (me)
as you write this (I)
to maintain an air of transparency
to build a connection and yet stay opaque
to watch them move and speak and act
so many times that it becomes all you know (I)
until it's all the words you have left (I)
until you're not sure if it's even you anymore (I'm, I)
but it makes your words, less serious (my),
and your fear, less powerful (my),
when you say, (I)
"i am terrified of your attention because,
if it should continue,
which, by God, i hope it does,
there will be an expectation for more than i am right now,
more than i can handle, i think,
but i am not sure who i am anymore.
i am terrified of intimacy because it is a language i thought i knew,
until perhaps the tenth time i tested it out -
of course, i say tested as though i wasn't sure,
which i'm certain i was.
i am terrified because the words i say are part of the script,
my thoughts are not,
and your responses are not,
and the control i have when speaking is not the same control i have
when you reply.
do i have control when you reply? i hope not.
and yet i do.
but yet i don't all the same."
you shouldn't say that. (I)
it isn't appropriate.
they'll figure it out.
there's no time.
it's getting late.
you should rest.
(I)
Mar 12, 2021
Mar 12, 2021 at 5:12 PM UTC
It behooves
us to shape
the organization so we need not wait
until we hear from above the command,
but have the reins
in our own hand,
if we are to prove
ourselves worthy of intense
coming events.
Those who do not move,
do not notice their chains.
They say 'Order reigns
in Berlin!
Our enemy is bigger today,
“a colossus with feet of clay,
crumbling from within.”
Capital is an historical necessity,
[Like the wooden plow and the chariot,]
but, so too, its grave digger, the socialist proletariat.
Atop smoking ruins, between the pools of blood and corpses of the murdered,
the heroes of ‘order’ hasten to entrench their rule anew.
We’ve been drowned, and left behind a fertile residue.
The Rose that grows from “the muck of ages” still smells as sweet,
future victory will bloom from this 'defeat'.
Rulers of Russia and America across the sea,
Germans, Belgians,
Poles and Frenchmen,
“you stupid henchmen!”
Don’t you understand,
“Your order is built on sand.”
The revolution says “I was, I am,
I will be.”
Dec 6, 2015
Dec 6, 2015 at 4:46 PM UTC
Day after day
The gears of time grind
Eventually my friends
To leave us all behind
It stops for no one
Never even slows
No matter what eles
It just goes and goes
At some point we all
Get ground up in the gears
As we have a finite life
Measured in days and years
So it behooves us all
Some of that time to spend
Examining our lives
Before it does end
Did you bring to others
More frowns or smiles?
Did you think only of yourself
Or help others through their trials?
Did you give to others
Or did you only take?
Were you truly yourself
Or did you live your life as a fake?
We all face eternity
And I believe the judgment seat
I want to live in such a way
My true judge, I can happily meet
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 4:05 AM UTC
please allow arability of friendship
and hoop fully this acquiescence
can render an accord shared
via exchanging calumet peace pipe
initially invoked qua
piercing, gouging, digging...from hooked aquilinity
upon awareness miss applying the squaw aridity
mine swallowing capacity as pins pricking
a voodoo likeness doll (of me),
though this claim could steeped
in utter contrived artificiality
fusing flagrant faulty aromaticity
asininity admitting absent attentiveness
as ska walking a fine line
betwixt asexuality behooves
rectification allowing solution Wiccan agree
upon linking assimilability, assignability, assiduity
implicating with asperity ***** err roan
nee huss rubble word choice prompting asperity
inducing me to cast the first stone
of apology, and self awareness
totally tubularly offer thyself as human sacrifice
redeeming conceding unalterable venal tone
role of squawking chief fowl ling at the end zone
regarding, where associatively properly went
assumability, anonymity of the internet vent
ting modality adopting immunity,
viz virtual community tent
revival meeting adumbrating atypicality, attainability
avoidance of audiological atrocity, sans atonality sent
to ear rate, the autoimmunity authority,
authenticity, austerity, audacity, co rent
ting availability, automaticity, accessibility
asper automobility to scale tenement, pent
house, or pre faux ying bing avascularity,
avidity, avuncularity avers automatically tall lent
aim to amble along xy feigning tubby
with minimal audibility clark kent
information superhighway
axiality grid via galavanting gent
can be activated swimmingly
with less overt axe said dent.
Apr 20, 2018
Apr 20, 2018 at 7:34 PM UTC
Balding crowns on white oaks bend
With hues of copper, autumn red
Cascading tears of summer’s end
Around the head of winding trail
Swiveled sights, to west I think
To higher road, the longer route
Of upward path and downward leaf
And acorn kicked by toe of boot
Off quarry’s precipice I stared
And stalked my way down switchback’s sway
A clearing under open sky
Suspended time in humid air
Dreary miles above the trees
Snatched up my thoughts from where I kneeled
A marble laid by thorough hand
Miasma swirls in charcoal field
Though it behooves me to confide
In scenes of dreamscapes carved in wood
The pendulum of modern life
Beckons me onward as it should
Aug 24, 2016
Aug 24, 2016 at 2:43 AM UTC
Nothing is owed to you
by basic fact of life
everything has a price
love, time, respect, things
If you want these then you must work,
as they cannot be freely given
at least not forever
You must earn them
Be honest and true to the ones you love
It may require sacrifices on your part
To get respect, you must first show respect
You must sometimes place others above you
You would like to spend precious time
Then act so it behooves one to do so
Material things are.not wild fruit, free to pick,
must give your work, time, love and respect
The piper must always be paid
So be ready for the price
Nothing is free to you
So let it be done
Oct 13, 2016
Oct 13, 2016 at 4:29 PM UTC
lastly, Poet with a camera is my name
I think different,
From a space between the mind and the brain
Sa-me twins but thus, Gemini’s are not the same
A him and I are the her in you,
all one on different planes
Rhythmic
as time shifted the shift consistent with the gifted, I was lifted,
raised from the dead level, craftmenship a wordsmith and, .....
I sailed on,
To the east, i found the light,
a gong,
of the knowledge in which I was bound, though hit in the head I was sound,
gone,
I,swore,
silence,
I found myself surrounded,
by the fire,
hail storms from the war torn,
salute,
as I’ve withstanded the canon in which man falls, the truth
It’s the Sight of the Victims of the relentless, the stench of the trenches,
ahhhhhh......
see to you, the peace in ignorance causes blissfulness
but my veil was far removed,
perceptions of the perceiving proceeding theirs, though my skies are no longer blue.
It behooves,
therefore language was not the construct it’s the con. In you
The power of the double edged sword we swing,
the tongue, twisted,
minds flipped and
realities painted, by those who tainted, thus doused the soul,
just rewind time.
Confused, split in two
no longer fused con’d out of the whole,
man walks in spite, In spite of,
the bright, light, might I,
with migeht of,
many men,
sit in the trenches of the sea,
she shall protect me,
through the ripple, of primordial amorphous waters, the daughters of man.
It’s the evolution of the revolution (3x’s), the cycle in which we span,
which exist in the groove
Though I appear still, I move. I said, though I appear, still I move...........
Art is the only event witnessed that pushes a culture forward through time within progress.
Jul 11, 2018
Jul 11, 2018 at 10:40 PM UTC