"benevolently" poems
I threw out his socks today.
Those ******* socks.
Long Black Nike Socks that went up to his calves.
Long Black Nike Socks that he wore with his Two Hundred Dollar
French Raw Denim Jeans because he needed the Short Black Nike Socks
To wear to work with his Khaki Dickies Shorts.
Black Nike Socks that he reminded me for months he "needed"
For his birthday in order to function properly.
Black Nike Socks that didn't cost enough to be considered
A sufficient birthday gift,
Along with some other cute things (I thought),
Including a homemade coupon for dinner at
Any restaurant of his choice.
Short Black Nike Socks whose thirty-dollar price tag
Wasn't quite up to par with the forty-dollar
Concert ticket his obviously-better-than-me friend had
So benevolently bought him.
Those ******* socks.
Aug 19, 2011
Aug 19, 2011 at 6:54 PM UTC
This cosmos, indisputably, a sheer wonder
We cannot but bow before its grandeur
To what strange terrains opens its doors
And what secrets, hidden beneath the stars
From the merciless emptiness sans light,
From the deep silence of the horrendous night,
Was heard the bang of hammers
On the anvils of eons like thundering fire crackers
Abruptly through a gas cloud burst of inexorable force
Life emerged from stardust, our energy source
This is what the exponents of Big Bang assert
Life, from cosmic egg was hatched, some others purport
No doubt, this universe is an infinite stretch of lattice
Woven in the loom through billions of years by gratis
Where myriad wonders exist in the intergalactic space
And man has been on relentless effort to trace their course
As the wheels turned and as the fires burned
Through cosmic vapor the first atom was churned
How, over the eons, life here has flourished
With man’s wisdom and efforts nourished!
Galaxies are scattered in infinite space
And our planet Earth is well balanced in place
After the day’s vigil, when the mighty sun sets
The stars invariably take over on their night shifts
Multitudinous stars glitter and twinkle, a wondrous sight
As branching chandeliers, shedding luminous light
They are gems donning the night sky with their splendor
Where meteors dash and star light dances in nebulous glare
Some extra terrestrial hand has set the Earth in tune
And everything needed to hold life is benevolently strewn
Through countless dawns and sunset
Endless generations did come and beget
Just as this universe was born, it would one day die
With all the planets, stars and starlets of the sky
Who can predict how it is going to end
With a bang or whimper, or is the end impend?
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 3:44 AM UTC
Secretly believing someone is watching
And will benevolently arrive, relieve the pain
When planets collide, lots of stuff goes awry
Every breath you take implicates you deeper
The constant cry of babies being born
Expect monsters worse than you can conceive
There is a dark alley deep in hell
Where strangers go
She was swallowing a horse who
Stomped its hooves
Kicked her in stomach pregnant with you
As soon as you enter
Someone points a finger
Hollers, “Horse child, ****** child!”
Hen-pecked men and angry haughty women
Shame is the only love i know
A murdering mob descends upon
Somebody lynching Christmas tree ornaments
Why isn’t there God?
It’s disturbing to think
We’re all acting out of chump sensibilities
Explain to me again about sociology and greater good
How long can a smell last?
A week? A month? Thousands of years?
What if higher powers exist
Unbeknownst to themselves?
Death fashionably attired without face
The importance in showing teeth
“Caw, caw!” old crow calls, anticipating winter’s squalls
I fire up cigarette, blow smoke in the faces
Of those who said no to my dreams
I’m glad i didn’t know then what i know now
The cost of joy
Tomorrow is magnificent new beginning
If only everything hadn’t happened
Aug 18, 2013
Aug 18, 2013 at 11:22 AM UTC
Blasphemous black cloud, though robust in look, just vapor proud,
You borrow belligerence from swirling west wind's boldness,
Remorselessly you prevent the Sun's extent of rule by limitless light,
You are malevolent to the world to whom sun is the only visible God,
Benevolently ruling the earth, synchronizing the cycles with his moves,
You only have a life too short, not fully aware of your own limits
Or taking in to account, the effulgence of the sun sustaining all,
Why rebel, ever thought about the result of such an impulsive act?
Apr 17, 2016
Apr 17, 2016 at 10:23 AM UTC
Tears of creation
fall from the overcast blanketing
of the billowy, white fields overhead,
blended with a requiem
that only the absence of dawn could manifest,
and kissed upon
by the ever-fluorescent canvases
of smoke, and flame
that carelessly intrude
upon the horizon.
Oh,
how fastidious is the misting
that blesses this premature day,
invoking a spontaneity
within the mundane clockworkings
that symbolically define
the average,
the everyday
and the norm.
Glorious is this sight to behold.
Not only by our soulpanes,
but through the remainder;
our entire spectrum of sensory awareness
that we are so gifted to have received,
yet,
rarely do their values go little more
than depreciated.
The refreshment
that quenches our starving skin,
and slowly enfilms us
with the caressings of unrequited purity.
The dampening of the air
that perpetually enthralls
even the most tolerant
resisters to aroma.
The crispness;
unadulterated,
and without perversions of the modern day;
enrapturous are the resonant entrails of the strata
that ever so gently envelop,
and awaken our slumbering buds.
And finally,
but without conviction,
the resound of symphonic harmony,
abound with the alluring enchantment
that,
in seamless refrain,
could only be achieved
by such a reverent miracle of nature.
These are the moments in which I revel.
And blessed be Her,
who benevolently grants us
with such an immaculance
of cornerless beauty.
Graceful, and sacred is the oasis in the sky.
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 6:52 PM UTC
Cloaked by the veil of night I ready myself for what is to come. Fear is not recognized on this side
of the shroud, for it is this fear that is my most useful and treasured tool.
Footsteps approach the alleyway, I see my target pace forward towards his end, illuminated most
benevolently by the blush of his own burning cigarette end.
In his own world he lays claim to control and intimidation, a brave and dangerous man by his own
words. Words I shall later configure to be truth or allegory.
It is a simple matter to terrify someone prone to be terrified, is a different course to set the same
action upon he who does usually initiate the afor-mentioned phrase.
As the victim looks up into the eyes of this purveyor of violence I suspect it true that fear is well
presented to his visual inspection and it goes without saying it adds to his delight.
I imagine in other venues the same is said of myself but I would very much disagree with this
evaluation. Fear, Intimidation is not what I represent, they are just tools in an arsenal, I am just
simply here to reek good old honest revenge..
You do the deed, you pay the price, Simple as that. No forgiveness passes through this alley-way
this night, just utter, complete and total retribution. A gift from me to all those whom have been
bitten.
As you walk through the valley of the shadow of death you will indeed fear evil, for I art with thee
and this rod of correction is indeed not one of comfort
The scatter of burnt ash bouncing off the alley wall signifies the conclusion of any remaining
illumination as he throws the **** of his cigarette away, darkness prevails once again.
As I strike, screams of pain shatter the silence and echo through the narrow passageway. The
****** body of this victim slumps unceremoniously alongside garbage bags, a fitting end for such
*******
True and honest folk can breathe a sigh of relief, to them I am vigilant. If you swing the other way
however, BEWARE.
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 1:31 PM UTC
Friendship requested and accepted
Avoidance seems more accurate
Constantly, I see her green dot
Excitedly, I begin to type
Benevolently, she sends a message
Openness has given way to casualness
Obsessively, I cling to words
Knowing the outcome, I profess my feelings
Nervously, I await the check mark
Ever so eager for a response
Ritualistically, I keep reading my message
Voyeuristically, I scroll through her page
Obsession has me trembling
Uncertainty controls my mind
Stop is the one word response
Namesakes who cannot talk
Excessively, I look at old pictures
Silent cries are what remain
Seeing her online breaks my heart
© Christopher Chronister. All rights reserved
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 2:44 PM UTC
Take mastery over thoughts
though benevolently sway
hold dominion over words
but have care for what you say
take hold of all the dreams
and chances you must take
calmly sense all paths
then bend but never break
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 7:11 PM UTC
Colors are gift by almighty
The precious gift given prudently
seems so pretty to me
Black presents color of night
Darkend and unique you can hide from sight.
Seems so pretty to me
Purple is the finest color from kit
As flowers wear this as its perfect fits.
Seems so pretty to me
Pink is color for baby girls
As they match there cute and lovely curls.
Seems so pretty to me
Green is color of grasslands bright
A color which strengthens the eye sight.
Seems so pretty to me
Autumn brings brown and red along.
Covering the ground with leaves long.
Seems so pretty to me
Birds are also the instance of colors lively
Carrying twice or thrice shade collectively
Seems so pretty to me
Inside the sea ,fish and creatures muatully
Swimming with hundred colors benevolently
Seems so pretty to me
Gratitude to allah for the eye
To see a domed rainbow extending in the sky
Seems so pretty to me
Thank you creator for this gift
Beauty that inspires heart to uplift
Seems so pretty to me....
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 8:28 AM UTC
Earth: our ominous all-mother,
she, the greater good:
the interminable fountain out of which stems life and vivacity itself
always reaching
and grasping for the abstruse azure heavens above.
her hair never stops growing. the mites and parasites never cease to fester her scalp. She is growing and changing and rotting and dying. but where death comes, there is no long interval until more
life.
the liveliness is everywhere; it promotes to all faces and regions and niches. Multiplying, begetting, propagating. all for the greater good of our orb and its inhabitants. Most dwellers are humble and solicitous toward her, and learn to keep a vigilant eye
as she can be so
forceful and violent.
She does have, however, one rascal who believes that the globe belongs all to Himself.
He is the man.
He has a masterful gift, yes. He is profound and competent. He forges the impractical query into a conclusive answer. He, however, is also egocentric and pompous, and He sees her as a specimen to which
He has the rights to dismember and pervert.
He makes a mess of her unique vistas. He tramples and stamps on her face, running about as if she were the coliseum in which the gods gather to view the Species fight itself to extinction. He works her to the
core, always asking for more, more, more, more,
until she has little left to give.
But she never loses courage in His asinine and moronic views and His sprawling village,
for she created Him
out of herself
she is the framework out of which the mind is able to mundanely manifest itself.
Without her, He would be nothing.
And she is so immeasurably loving and benevolently caring and forevermore giving; for
She is life, she is love.
We are love.
Feb 13, 2013
Feb 13, 2013 at 9:19 PM UTC
The Cat and the Hobo went off on a jaunt,
At midnight for a spot of small mirth
Both as dead as the above, of ribcage most gaunt
The Hobo wishing hard for more girth.
"So say, Mr. Pussycat", said the Hobo unyielding
"How bout a small race, for naught but a prize
Which I should haste to add is of insignificant size
All just for fun, old kitty unfailing."
The Cat's sharp ears pricked. A darkening rampage
Would thanks to his ears be of humongous advantage
To the felinous fellow of movements most scurrilous
For the Hobo, he thought, t'would be ruinous.
He came closer to shake
His hand on the deal
But no sooner was his paw benevolently outstretched
That the hobo had him in his arms most wretched
"Oh you Cat, for once in my life my lack is too real
Of you a stew my old friend I shall make."
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 12:12 PM UTC
In the rare event
that you should need
something from me
No matter who you are
No matter how you've treated me
No matter my opinion of you
I will humbly,
kindly,
benevolently answer:
"No."
Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 8:50 PM UTC
mine own psalm musings
*living between two broad, sea-emptying rivers,
a Majesty’s sentries to mark the differentiation~
division tween divine and a moderate human’s
moderating steps, as his stride shortens as the y/tears
lengthen, and it is accepted as an inevitable musky must,
no matter how the sweet spring day refreshes, the newly
planted trumpeting shards of bright yellows daffodils
pinch his yellowing eyes, few notice the tiny tears of
discrepancies of an annualized emboldening, a grand
heavenly rebirth and a slow man’s body self~editing,
shedding of a life’s~ending~of~story psalm musings*
*the man looks for the terrible swift sword, but its
failure to grace us with an appearance, is but a
modest disappointment, for a deferred delay is but
a causation to eke out a few mordant, pungent, caustic
reminders of all that is yet to be, to be accomplished,
though the smirking lips of the necessity of yet, one
more unloved poem extant, tilting the Earth’s axis
benevolently toward the open palms of his beneficiaries who*,
you,
*are among them numbered, is but, a green shoot in a city’s
hopeful earth planted, by summer, will shed seeds to come
thy way, as an evocation, a good consternation, a joyous
provocation, an asking kingly~gentle, a royal polite inquiry,
would you care to add a a verse to this eternal verse?
before time shreds it too into a yellowed crumpling,
and to the earth it is returned, for the mine of this
psalms is only generic, genetic, and what is mine is well,*
and truly yours too.
nml
<>
March 31, 2024
NYC
9:16am
Sunday Mourning Service
Mar 31, 2024
Mar 31, 2024 at 9:25 AM UTC
Thank you,
For being someone who cared.
Thank you,
For feeding me.
Thank you,
For the guidance you share.
Thank you,
For the clothes I wear.
Thank you,
For the style of modern age.
Thank you,
For having a heart so pure.
Thank you,
For crying with me.
When sadness was there.
Thank you,
For making me understand.
Thank you,
For your guiding hand.
Thank you,
For your generosity.
Thank you,
We live benevolently.
Thank you,
For the house we own.
Thank you,
For the money we earn.
Thank you,
For your love and care.
Thank you..
For always being there.
Thank you.
For being my family.
Bless you,
Forever and Always.
I love you,
Now and always..
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 8:37 AM UTC
Ravi gratefully settled down on the cottage bed. It seemed
like centuries since he had slept in an actual bed. Up to now
he’d slept outside and on the thinly carpeted floor of a
Buddhist temple.
In fact, Ravi was very thankful to be alive after suffering
a serious stroke and subsequent amnesia for almost 3 years.
He was discovered sleeping on the steps of a Hindu temple
by a kind priest, named Swami Krishna.
After several inquiries, Ravi was finally given refuge by
a compassionate monk at a local Buddhist temple in Melbourne.
When my hubby David and I first met Ravi there was
an instant connection.
His humble, soft spoken nature touched our
souls as he shared his heart wrenching story. During the
period of his stroke, he lost almost everything,
most of his possessions, his wife and his memory.
Wandering the streets of Melbourne desolate and
forsaken by man, he was never forsaken by God.
It was a beautiful night, stars shimmered above the
colossal golden Buddha statue. As Ravi related his story,
David offered to help him recover his life. We all prayed
fervently to Lord Ganesh to remove all obstacles on his path.
In the coming months, Ravi and David were able to piece
together the fragments of his shattered life.
Marvelously, Ravi was also able to connect with his
parents in India who had not heard from their only son
in three years! Imagine the relief, joy and
ecstasy when they heard his familiar voice.
The other day we invited Ravi to our house for lunch.
Entering the puja room, we made sure to offer
thankful prayers to Lord Ganesh. The huge photograph
of Sai Avatar illumining the puja room smiled benevolently
at our precious guest.
Ravi chuckled almost tearfully when he told me he had
finally gotten his own bed. He recalled in the past how
he had purchased a $4000 bed for his ex-wife and
now he was so blissfully grateful for this simple cot.
As I reflected on Ravi’s story I thought to myself how
unpredictable life is. Wealth, property, spouses,
everything in this world is subject to change and loss.
It is so important to wake up from this
long, arduous dream and embrace the beautiful,
golden, eternal kiss of God and realize who we are now.
Feb 21, 2018
Feb 21, 2018 at 9:57 PM UTC
The sun scours her
Snow scrapes her
Frosts feasts her
Mist munches her
Fog freezes on her
Dew develops and dries on her
But she is resilient
Like gigantic ancient hills
She is caring Mama still
Rearing her kids will
Like cedars that straight stands
In Lebanon’s forested lands
She is a shady giant old oak
She does not wither
But stronger she withstands
The hurricanes, the sad storms
With cools and calms
She has no qualms
But a strong will-determinations
Mama, my strong woman!
All alone she shoulders
She does not complain or blame
In silence she just sings
Her strong woman’s songs
Blessings to her sons and man:
To her daughters and children
That time may pass by well
With a hand of sacred spell
And their future good foretell
Curses and causes erase complete
Diseases and damnations delete
Mama, a strong woman!
Nine months she carries with passionate cares
With no scares, sorrows or grumbling sorry
She cares for her bulge with a compassionate worry
Daily she gently it rears
Minute by minute
She fondly feels it
Her foetus forming
Stroking, it calming
Her other duties still perfectly performing
Mama, my passionate woman!
In pains she benevolently bears
Me she benignly beholds
Young as old-still her child
Till either, sadly and sorrowfully is no more
Mama, my strongest woman!
© Kìùra Kabiri. All rights reserved.
Mar 31, 2017
Mar 31, 2017 at 4:05 AM UTC
Sparks gleam from an emerald crown
Sitting on the dead woman's head; a frown
Forever fixed on her face,
Resting upon the decaying throne with a calm grace
Appearing ready to be swallowed when the ground
Breaks; "look what I've found!"
Says the girl benevolently.
"Such a nice hat". Gently,
She removes, with innocent hands, power
And places it on the grass around the flower
Chain she has construed with nimble
Fingers, not fully understanding the symbol
of her actions:
She can change the world.
May 20, 2018
May 20, 2018 at 10:03 AM UTC
THE GREAT COUNTRY
Adebayo Samuel Ogunleye~ The GreatQuill🖋️
Silent I wished to remain,
But alas, my speakfire cried aloud:
“I shall speak and speak—
Speak of that great country,
That great country,
With oceans of wisdom,
Yet wandering the streets of futility.
Speak of that great country,
That great country
Flowing with honey;
Yet honey for only a few palates,
While bitterness lingers
Upon the lips of many.
Speak of that great country,
That great country
That gives so generously,
Yet lacks in abundance
The very things it gives away.
I sought to calm my speakfire,
But alas, it cried again,
Yearning to weep even more.
‘Speak on, speak on,’ I replied.
Speak of that great country,
That great country
That suffered under its conquerors,
And after their departure,
Became captive to self-conquerors.
Speak of that great country,
That great country,
Bearing “Giant” as its title,
Yet, unfortunately fortunate,
A title that scarcely fits
Its present condition.
Speak of that great country,
That great country
That gives you oromodiye,
Yet in return
Takes away odidi omo.
Speak of that great country,
That great country,
Which outwardly appears
Goodly bad,
And inwardly seems
Best at being worse.
Speak of that great country,
That great country,
Rich in countless treasures,
Yet wallowing in penury.
And so my speakfire speaks
Of that great country—
My great country.
*Oromodiye -- A chick
*Odidi omo -- (A child) Human.
E-mail= [email protected].
Jun 1, 2018
Jun 1, 2018 at 7:48 AM UTC
They carried me to your room.
They placed me on your bed.
Pushed the hair out of my face.
Gently placed it behind my ear,
and softly played with it
as you read.
Benevolently caressing
my face and arms.
As caressing as they were,
as sweet as they are,
as guiding and protecting,
they drive me mad!
The way they make
my soul go through my skin.
How they pull out
the most dormant emotions
of the moment.
How they handle me.
Fingertips tracing my outline,
pushing away the unnecessaries,
pulling my lips closer to yours.
Warm and gentle,
yet pursuing,
traverse under a tent
that hides what is yours.
And as you take the seconds,
and make them hours,
my body yearns.
It's screaming for a warmth,
a very specific one.
Yours.
Your kisses slowly
down my neck to shoulders,
send me into shudders.
And these shudders continue...
And the perfect cliff hanger.
We must postpone this for another moment.
And if all is as intended, that moment would be perfection on earth.
Mar 13, 2011
Mar 13, 2011 at 7:55 PM UTC
There is something about churches—
the sanctuary filling slowly,
brass ***** pipes arrayed like halberds
in a medieval arsenal,
stooped ushers handing out programs
as the congregation
accumulates softly
like snow.
And the pulpit—like a queen
in a hive of wooden pews
all of polished walnut,
stands hushed and expectant.
(I know within that pulpit
there is a place to put cough drops,
a legal pad, second pair of glasses.)
Sanctuaries have a peculiar smell,
redolent of potted lilies,
Youth Dew perfume,
aging hymnals,
the suspired breath
of five hundred faithful
lifting their voices to that soaring
Byzantine dome.
I was glad for your presence that day,
the sound of your marvelous
voice, the warm sense
of your shoulder next to mine.
You cradled a hymnal
benevolently in your hand
as though you were baptizing a child.
"Jesus Christ is risen today, Alleluia!"
I sang more loudly, I suppose,
for gratitude that you were with me.
I held my hymnal with more care,
sang and looked up more hopefully
to that pulpit than I might otherwise
have done on any given Easter.
I prayed more ardently for good things to happen,
thought more kindly of the man
beside me who wouldn’t make room
when we three entered the pew
but stared blandly ahead as if
waiting for an opera to begin.
When the minister spread his arms
in benediction and bade us all go in peace,
we stayed to hear the postlude
and watch the Easter crowd
wind its way to the narthex
and spill out into the boisterous
parade on Fifth Avenue.
I sat there and listened with you
as the organist played his sonorous farewell.
When I was a boy sitting next to you in church,
you might gently pat my thigh
when the organist’s final note
passed through the sanctuary
like a great bird in flight.
You would smile as if to say,
“You made it through the whole service!”
On this Easter, when the hymn began,
and the mighty ***** notes swelled around us
like God’s own voice in song,
it was the thought of your shoulder near mine,
your hands upon the pew,
that halted my singing for a moment,
to let a silent bolt of longing
pass through me
like a solitary dog crossing a road.
Then it was gone, the thought,
but so, too, was your palpable nearness,
the idea of your voice
ringing through the church
like a celebration.
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 4:45 PM UTC
Being alone is strangely freeing.
Now that you're gone, I have no one to answer to.
No one texting me constantly to see what I'm doing
And where I am and who I'm with.
Being alone is a cage with no bars.
I have all the time in the world and no one to share it with.
I'll watch a beautiful sunset, and try to pass my cigarette
To the outline of a woman that isn't there anymore.
Though your shadow still casts next to mine on my roof.
Being alone is enlightening.
With no idle chit chat to fill the air
My thoughts can now smoke out a room.
Every situation is either dreadfully awful or benevolently warm.
There is certainly a struggle for balance.
Being alone is stupefying.
I become so engrossed in myself I forget the world around me exists.
My cell phone sits in my pocket, a fossil of wires and plastic.
I find it now just to be an over sized paperweight.
Most time now spent in isolated contemplation.
There's always sunshine behind my tag-a-long rain cloud.
There is strength to be gained from solitude.
I now fully bare the weight of my unobstructed conscience.
My once feeble legs carry on like the hooves of the ox.
Once cold, I am now warm and inviting.
I greet each day with open arms and humble spirit.
Life is okay.
Even if I have to experience it alone,
Sometimes, it's not a bad thing.
I feel the warmth.
Oct 24, 2015
Oct 24, 2015 at 11:42 AM UTC
*the LORD said unto him, Therefore whosoever slayeth Cain, vengeance shall be taken on him sevenfold. And the LORD set a mark upon Cain, lest any finding him should **** him*
I - one can only hope to be the genisis of fear and god onto oneself
II - I fear that my poetry is the mark that which can **** you, words that leave scars on the author itself
III - I USE THAT MARK, THIS POETRY AS A CANE, TO STABALIZE THE EFFECTS MY ILL FORGOTTEN WAYS HAVE CREATED AND WILL BENEVOLENTLY STRIKE AGAIN
IV - I'm tired of keeping myself awake, away and alive, hiding in the shadows because I have slain the innocence
V- prayeth someone will have mercy on my soul because I know that the monster above will not
VI - forgive me for I have sinned
VII - leaving you broke me as well. My heart, my lungs and body and soul, my spirit, my mind and my gut wrenching faith
Sevenfold in the name of Jesus Christ I am lost, my rebellion is this parchment, these last words I pray, Amen.
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 2:03 AM UTC
I smell the faint smell of the sampaguita sold to my father
It makes me think about the poor
Whenever we buy this chain of white flowers it is a bookmark in the senses
Poverty
Remember poverty
Smell the pleasantness in your automobile and don't forget poverty.
Who sold it to you? A homeless child.
"It comes from a place I know not where it came from, I forgot"
A life made of lies
We buy this truth but live a lie
We are not happy about the situation
We are not happy that we are happy and they are in shambles
When it rains we praise the clean billboards of the aftermath
But poverty, is not washed or clean
I am not sure what to do with this poverty of kindness
I m lacking in kindliness and gentleness
So what can there be to give to a poor child?
I desire to live benevolently
Desire does not mean I am so
But to desire makes me righteous toward the bad
And hopeful too
Aug 13, 2017
Aug 13, 2017 at 10:26 AM UTC
My Universe is shaken by falling stars! In a pitch-dark night, I would still hold the tearing sky with a will to urinate; pathetic son of Atlas among the more steadfast! The sickly-yellow Moon, like the mgposhadt apple, terrifies among skeletal trees and descends into the pool of blood of the fainted Sun at every whim! The sonnet wreath of single-serviced sun-scented smiles is further multiplied by the selfishness of Memory and pleasures that shines on the faces of mothers when they feel the jingling beats of the other precious, angelic existence!
The stars shining on the light carousel orbit in an X-ray; the sun is always on fire! "He who doesn't wait for an answer on the donkey ladder of Being even shrinks!" Every memory is a deceptive dream! The constantly renewing responsibility drives us into a drifting dizziness: the intention of improving people! Its freedom of abysses cannot be enough to soar to infinity in our Pegasus-cherishing human spirit!
As on the seabed, we seek our place among the true Beads in the expanding Universe until our swirling hearts can find peace! Another self of ourselves cries out to another depths! In the infinity inside, everyone can already imagine themselves; we should delve into ourselves to find the presence! We are curiously searching for beggar-beauties while learning the point in the bright smile of human-eye stars!
There are innumerable circles around your Heart Center in which the Heart of Being throbs; the fog of damped dazing stunts benevolently soothes and seems comforting! As a sore clump of meat, like in a forest, I suddenly fall into the murmuring memories of the wild om
Jan 21, 2021
Jan 21, 2021 at 3:12 AM UTC