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Belle Nov 2014
One glance started it all.
Everything faded in the background.
You stood out amongst all souls
I think I have finally been found.

The next day you said hello
I was speechless. I just smiled.
I walk past you with a skip on my toes
My heart just soared a thousand miles.

The next week we were going out
Two souls dancing in the crowd
It was almost, almost a fairy tale
Oh! My heart was beating so loud.

The next month I finally said yes
When you asked if I could be your girl
I was wearing this pretty red dress
Under the night sky, we kissed and twirled.

The months to follow were eternal bliss
Every single moment I wouldn't miss
You are a knight that swept me off my feet
For me, you'll launch a thousand fleets.

A year and two, time just flew.
To jump a cliff, I'll do it for you
But then I saw with my own eyes you kissing another
and finally, I knew.

Hurt and betrayed, I couldn't grasp
How my love could shatter my everything
Swollen eyes, red nose, voice so rasp
I was left empty. It hurts! It stings!

An eternity went by and still helplessly trapped
A lost soul that has met it downfall
Yearning to turn back time and stop
the one glance that started it all.
:(
Vernarth sequence

Prophecy I -  “Eighth month of sailing in systemic plenitude”

“Since they will not hunt us down in all our Itheoi cycles…
nor in other lapses from where the fine eye could have sewn the buttonholes of the shroud, where there will be life and if there will be a short time without life...
dragged by you for a long time where the sun is melted over the word, staying stored and locked in your pocket to collect it blushing,
tomorrow's jump without a yesterday declining..., without a tomorrow in the heat of a bonfire...
lamb in bait handled being the portal of those who have been slapped inside their cheeks… who will not shorten the cycle that transcends all the oblong sepulchral vaults or who abound in the nonsense of sanitizing nights of ***** despot life having to measure themselves in your flourishing duel by Aiónius of the cleanest dew of its solid stroke and announced delineation of the new one that has been retraced again being more than a brief syllable created again fertile, in the biosphere mouth so as not to see you omnipresent mist, meditating not having you and that dares to meditate on your future that will have to be reserved for yourself by professing it when you are cold in front of you and insinuating if in living followed by letters to be flooded pondering like a paralyzed sleeping part that wants not to be covered with feigned warmth and that does not fit in all the parts of me being who wants to be consul of some shelter with all those who sleep also half dreaming in the company of the lost afternoon that never ends serving Saint John in Katapausis here, perhaps Aiónius del Ibico 1 as a magnificent and net unit that sees the luminous truth when we all come out of a prophecy alive even if it's dark ".

"What a reckless job of losing value,
I am already in Katapausis in the eighth month...,
I entered as the light opened with my hand turned into the light...
being already a katapausis meaning in Sabbatarianism.
Quasi-unit method exhibiting cohesion to the rest motif
With levers in my hands and intra-sabbatism in his dissertation...
of an exegetical and theological nature that has transpired soft insomniac light, We are a people who do not have to fear or air to deposit for a future warehouse above the Sycamore or birds that guard all the Gold above my hands on the Sycamore…”

"Stay in my house, if I don't come back it will be yours
stay at home, it will belong to everyone even in the apocalypse...
that more reckless will be silent as a work of losing value,
Katapausis is the threshold where my life enters and leaves at once,
stay at my house, if I don't come back it will be yours...
Open windows by meekly closing them to that confronted obverse to you...

He comes from a den relativized on reliefs in weathered beads...
they will be soluble mineral beings convened moving away from the most distant and closest to the least distant…, from waters of underground siphons… there we will all be floating… like vertebrate invertebrate animals”

Vernarth, after not entering the grotto not having found Saint John, goes outside where he goes on a campaign for three months before he can be received by God's law. Here he meets with Reader and his pelican, as well as Eurydice.


Prophecy II -  “Seventh, Inter-synergy energy”

“Three months I have waited in the middle of this mountain,
symmetrically arranging the steps to be taken, not going backward
prana of life walking in oceans of life walking…
us and them… how much must separate us to reach us?
what I have not tried to separate…, what I have not been able to achieve…

I think I died early in the worlds that haven't risen yet,
I think I was reborn late among dense curves that overwhelm us with straight lines
soul, principle, matter, and material distinctive ontology
Ghost god of parallelisms beings and activities in affinity...
starvation body of low energy ceasing creatures in embryo
incessant firstborn to infuse other confining souls
trails demons slip where my ashes hands are sore
wounded doctrines to engender and doctrines to ulcerate...

As the prophecy uses the sea carrying messages resolved from shore to shore
close to a Virtual why in the twilight your Faith that must be glandular… matter of soul and body exposed to predisposing theological and chemical, in pursuit of the corruptible whole in vice versa if he does not burst with atheistic impatience.”

Eurydice takes a zither and sings tempting stormy actions to Vernarth, Raeder and Petrobus put their souls in line in the first linear principle, Together with the matter of corporeal fire proceeding to the definition where all the parts are confirmed without distinction dancing next to them creating the greatest bond of faith in body and soul, thus spending the three months in a few words of light of the sated fire.

"In the eighth-month katapausis, eight times your permanent peace must rest in
cited state; once it is translated into Sabbathisms and it will be the same state… When everyone finishes their dance in the cave and enters believing they have the courage to enter eight times in connection with rest…, plus eight times in connection without rest.
In some verses, the urgency of the entrance will be accentuated. The main issue “is that history will be repeating itself exactly where the Israelites were at Kadesh-Barnea. A related term either synonymous with Kadesh or referring to one of two sites, is Kadesh (or Qadesh) Barnea. Various etymologies for Barnea have been proposed, including 'wilderness of travel' but none have produced a broad consensus. What is the consensus? will we stop believing or lean on the shores of a preacher rain of Jehovah or lean on the shores of a preacher sinful waterfall or lean on the shores of a preacher confessing rain or lean on the shores of a preacher wet wind inquisitor...? where ever the aromas of its faithful winds served will go sacred to everything named before and many before the confessing rainy…, waterfalls in favor of the temperamental inquisitor wind”.

Astheneiais”, in Greek is and will be a weakness, in Hebrews a moral connotation and will mean not only physical weakness but a conscious weakness and trembling in temptation. Our Lord also understands us in this weakness because he was tempted in every way as we are. Since he himself was tempted he knows from experience what it means for us to be tempted. He was not tempted in all the particulars of our life, for example, He was not tempted as a husband or father, owner or employer or soldier, because he was none of these things. But he was tempted in all three areas of human susceptibility: body, soul, and spirit.

Prophecy III -  “Sixth, Resilience…”

“They were on the perimeter trying to keep me together at his command,
I go every day for its pantry, food, groceries, bookstore supplies and ink, oils, and other essences for the environment in continuous handwritten obedience, I have to leave for Skalá where some residents are waiting for me who have ordered to bring materials from Gricos and Psili Ammos to project your home,
If this has been written like this, it is because my pleasure in walking has written it, in the company of the one, he has written for the one who walks next to me the god Ibicus!

They always asked me why to mention why I have to do this for them… I will tell you that I used to serve leaders who consolidate the Hellenic geography,
without them, everything would have been invaded by unled foreign hands… in that rest, I have to attend to the verse that precedes it...
which says that we have already entered where I already intend to argue the following…

Resilience and exhortation that from the beginning I have taken since it began... now I will abide by and present your messages in a very predominant note, I was Hoplite Commander of the Falange and Hetairoi, now a Christian who does not dispute living a life of obedience to those who are not and are not without his martyrs...
like those people to whom God swore they will not enter my rest
whose amen will be preached in the passive voice verse!

Remain as the verb indicates with the real facts, the word
independent of the present, independent of who and when…
Saint Gabriel my Abrahamic angel will give me white strength and frolicking lilies like baskets of hermaphroditic lilies procreating only-begotten forests at the altar.

Stand tall over the Abrahamic fire without knuckles or shields,
rethink your beloved woman and take a sudden step to heal your wounds there is so much grass to cut and so much poetry to chew...
up the mountain towards Skalá at night after drinking wine
Epitrapezios Inos setting fire with innocuous saffron atmosphere
lips of fire and bread, for a good offensive fight.
Greek fire naphtha, cinnabar, and anthracite.

Wake up united with the deep disorder
Grant the color that deserves to have your day as a constellation
with the image that rests on your angular and calloused hands.
stopping spaces of loss more than all the centuries that waited for the minimum incense to a good warrior, sweet wine for open bleeding wound not his… the thunder that hides baptisms in all hearts empty of blood...

“While Vernarth was praying in the oracle he felt a thunderous supra sound As if the gates of hell had opened...
As if millions of seconds of angels were to be dispersed from the sky
To reduce more seconds of silence to the thinnest pleading eardrum

A few days ago I saw a ghost that was chopping wood...
I couldn't realize that he was really Him...,
I also saw him cutting thousands of volumes from a library...
Also, not realizing it, I saw several, like more than eighty manuscripts..., of breaths that still did not prosper in the hands of San Marcos...

A gigantic door slam is felt again...!
again it was the angels that came
at the wrong time in his return..., but now in his repatriation
they climbed through and into the Garden of Eden.”

Vernarth, evicted from the habit of the unknown, was apprehended by his craftsmanship of him, he was still attentive to be received by San Juan. The longer he waited to be arranged for an audience, he did not postpone what his memory pointed out to be more than an experience plotting capacities in the face of his own limitations. From that moment on, a gigantic gate slam is felt again! the angels who went back one after another with their polished golden-white cloaks relapsed..., but now making the Garden of Eden their own,... being theirs in what was theirs, that they would be in the house of a wise gardener of Eden perhaps being the same Katapausis manger at once!

Raeder says: hugging him profusely! time has to fly like little angels, having them by your side as companions of the time that is leftover on their wings, giving it all to your enjoyment of living and feeling it lost in you without finding it. ! khaire mi Vernarth!, I have some karidopitas with nuts and yogurt accompanied by baklava with nuts in delicious syrup from Kalymnos. Petrobus jumped for joy and fluttered like a hummingbird to steal a few pieces! Eurydice and Vernarth did the same. That night they told militia stories while they ate the morsels, so they fell asleep as if it had been the first time they had fought such a great menu. Euridice assists in the same with his fresh clean face, creating an atmosphere of conciliation to renew the dream of a day that will dawn close to his waking up far from the criminals. Vernarth takes the staff from him from then on and divides books and manuscripts into two portions so that he has time to take steps to really feel that he can walk close to Saint John.

Prophecy IV -  "Fifth, Nature, Manuscripts and Jophiel"

“Zeus wakes up trembling, full of headaches saturated with Herbs for headaches Jophiel speaking this time with the Kabbalistic language of the Torah...with golden commoner super zone of the Organikon Sorousliston Papadikon….age-old music that supplies Zeus with protein albumin, to make him more human…Zeus accepts Jophiel by placing his head about the house of Jophiel; a divine island to throw cards…brings the second ray to the Sahasrara at the crown of your head, pacifying love that is the suspicious and risky loser of everything risk in the head especially when a feeling is born!

Zeus turns his head and Jophiel twists it to the opposite side
about the ruined zeros that he did not count from the plasma of his dependency, Zeus feared having albumin at risk of human transmutation... happy to be able to cry he imagines slipping into the middle of a lake and he sees that he falls on Hera's poultry harming none, Zeus pours brimstone from his mouth and milks inelegant prose from the scythe…

Trina flame whose son bears glorious her bearer,
thousands of lives being clumsy for the wisest destitute
being what in the present you were more than past trine
when you harbor from Hanael's Blue Sodalite quarry
the imperfect perfects when you listen to your
body how it beats, how it breathes... you realize that it is perfect
as is Jophiel and discerns repairing the wisdom in the decisive punt
where gum rosin myrrh and multi urban frankincense go
towards the soul plane architecture of the human plane.
Hardened Zeus overflows glazed sallow emulsion of war
coagulated exhausting guarantor of everything is well,
books of the silent world of nails that do not sound sheets,
Hanael in massive books divides sounding with her iris gel-colored nails encrypted library manuscript of a thousand years, the voluptuous organism of a thousand years…
flapping unpredictable millennia and wiry hands,
colossal capstans…, annihilated with a thousand years…
a silly propeller that spins like a sickle rolling over a certain holistic tabernacle of the small portion of the next day when Zeus awoke to the diaphanous threatening light with sunless cloud waistband…
His face is seen with frowns and he looks at his face as well
without seeing folds…but in front of the Aiónius.

The geranium appears in the representation of the natural whole kicking the Sickle, much more here lost of our spiritual being
Zeus Jophiel's hardened shoulder heats up only to lean on Him...
light on his shoulders fires on both of them…
how long it takes to save us perhaps twenty times what supports us even tired and much more unwrapped than the treachery of him alone and without being followed without knowing
nothing more than a thousand-year-old shell through which he would drain…perhaps a tortoise-like millennial angel walked up to the omega! joy preparing to give you live hopeful,
that if it would be timely to give you more life...
Here is Aiónius reordering the world together with Zefian…
He shares everything eternal of all your life that floats in the sea,
miserable mix space where capo dastro separates the end
where all the wheres cannonade the hoarse fire...
cement that joins brick wall and plenary adobes
love without nature that castrates your beautiful woman
that hides her face without mascara looking for it...
let's go outside says Vernarth..., we still have a few seconds in his solvent... sensible, full, and arc well-being...
as if you were floating in the air floating more
also needed me to teach you before your limits limit you,
and make you angry from the miserable sense,... Don't listen to me anymore...!!”

Vernarth puts his first three fingers on the capo dastro roosters crow with his skin vibrating beyond the sleep of Raeder and Petrobus. Reader wakes up and says…; My Vernarth I will make fire and heat water. Petrobus runs with his wings to look for sacred wood. Eurydice comments…, I will prepare the praiseworthy sacred breakfast.

When they were preparing to do all this, Jophiel and Hanael appeared to him, joining in the breakfast that would feed all the days and millennia of the world. Unleavened fruit, honey, and milk multiply above all, satiating hunger with satiated satisfaction.

Prophecy V – Fourth, Limbus Necropolis

“From so far away…, so far away that I listen to your sacrosanct cries…!
from the Koumeterium of Messolonghi…, rocking my elbows and hurting myself
moving in rare pleasant crypt upon crypts disconsolate stones
not so far away..., keys held in the eighth cemetery...
Who is to open the heavy door now...?
I come from Messolonghi 555 km in linear figures to Patmos...,
narrowing concave… doubtful in extension, passion princess cloud
He must welcome me benevolently in the night nymph consort...
Limbus N cloud, Cloud Cemetery lofty lofty hypogeum
soul of Limbo, before seeing the nut that girds the face in the graceful Grim Reaper resurrecting restless…, sinning… grail sacrament without Being or being…?
Necropolis Cloud, expectant mortuary technology...
amaze me if there is a byte for me...
narrow conscience, unseemly to amaze me?

Here the lost mist of the Nothofagus God phoneme-photon vanishes with divine mass light to build the Áullos Kósmos. The Sacrament of Limbus will provide spaces and assemblages of meters for thousands of areas of infamous wandering the Ouranos, approaching the Áullos Kósmos to host him and rescue the children of the meter that was missing in the numeral rule of the Megaron acroteria before going up to the Necropolis Cloud. Vernarth, mere body formalizing principle...
extinct delicate evocation of the shadow of Elpenor;
Achaean warrior of Ulysses grandiloquent who even has otitis
and verse where flu spreads influenza
heartbreak from far away reverberating in the elite of lexicons…
arriving equidistant ... the last one arrives threatening with his Kantabroi staying neither divided nor captured, taking refuge in outright failure twilight of megahertz, farce propaganda surrendered fear will not fall even after …

Vernarth falls from the Koumeterium Mesolonghi in the Necropolis cloud privileging his status, he falls from this gloomy digital platform with a high alcoholic degree! from the high heaven after drinking hours he came in the carriage that was from Zilos, with the passion of heaven depriving his understanding stunned on some branches of will of Ziziphus…, stunned on branches of mercy….

Vernarth in a contrite accident with Elpenor, his psyche flies to the realm of the dead, Hades was remaining prisoner in that world taking the form of a Homeric icon or shadow. Vernarth was asleep after his binge, and Elpenor asks him if he wanted to join him with some concoctions. He was with blurred vision, a headache, and still lying down. But in the passionate horror of his drunkenness, he gets up quickly, saying to Elpenor: For me, it was one less pain to drink after having fallen from such a distance without being able to request and have had the grace of my mother's lullaby. For this reason, I hug you! They went together to the Cloud Necropolis to continue in the Limbus trying to alternate their physical body to gaseous liquid. At that moment Eurídice hits her with a piece of wood on her legs so that she wakes up from the bite of that nightmare that overwhelmed her to finally be able to wake up. Raeder had gone with Petrobus to Skalá to seek inputs of gnosis and his own inspiration for accents before the welcome in Katapausis to come in the blink of an eye of San Juan, necessary redaction for licenses and to be admitted to his library.

Prophecy VI - “Third, Rethymnon City and State”

“Vernarth heard the sound of a bouzouki, spoke of a 40-day fast that Greece celebrates before Easter, at the Rethymnon carnival they come from all over Greece to attend as a family during the week with animations, evenings and concerts, dances…theatre, floats with Venetian art in the picturesque old town and modern city, in this ancient city …

Rethymnon Political Ellipsis

“Like territorial extension, past-future organized infamous scene…Vernarth imagines being with Etréstles in immediate predictions
with years and thousands…, clan hobbies, Rethymnon manuscript…
while he thus deliberated…, thus rejoicing in the immaculate extramural grotto thus being as if it were comparable to a Neolithic village; being together lost with eagerness to appear from political power... palaces, kings, pro-organized religions..., rancorous superlative temple, priestly-eucharistic, nationalized sovereign citizen... commanding Parliament of the Hellenic politai people
the competent anti-value entity of the substratum political state…
sedentary-agricultural or nomadic-livestock culture…, vertical Hoplite culture!”

In Thessaloniki street, he would meet his brother head-on...Imagining how he would be...? Well-dressed-shiny, he would be in a passing tavern usually naming himself tradition and terms of questionable validity rather than those of a retro-linguistic family, in the remarkable urban-city dialogue called seditious inns with networks of political territorial extension, reaching the colossal size of multinational ideals of a complex stratification, social meeting place, future ministries to whom to delegate?. They would arrive at the tavern in Rethymnon in Crete, they order coffee, biscuits, and Mosaikó chocolates. In an unexpected moment, he suddenly wakes up from this deep, hallucinating, and futuristic imagination! His brother appears immediately, not in Rethymnon but in Katapausis with the goddess Lepidoptera!

End Ellipsis Rethymnon

“At the moment his imagination breaks just when they were preparing to toast… Etréstles in this same interval appear in Katapausis Reader and Petrobus coming in a singular pilgrimage from Skalá…this is how the syllabic song of the arcane ***** is heard emitting from the grotto…, yellow lights and saffron…. Saint John and the Gospel celebrating the Eucharist…Vernarth would believe for the first time that the hermit would come, but No…!
his brother was to be in the intervening yellow-white light
in front of him nothing more than Etréstles visiting him”

Likewise, they would no longer be in Rethymnon,
but the carnival would already begin in the region of Patmos...
eating delicacies, and the Sousta towards the circle of the Sun in the hands…They have been two months with the sweetened Moon and the Sun posing its mass of light in her… soft palm next to her waiting for him in the proximity of a Hebrew silence

Estretles says Khaire Vernarth! from Piacenza who did not see your joyous lux! I can see now to the sound of yourself the stoic zither...
countenance light, the orbit of your eyes, pale asthenia without photon without light, expectorant suppuration of your sacred Lynothorax, Absent in front of the long and fatal transverse lapse!
Raeder makes a speech to Zeus Photon Child Lux
Fulminant spends time where it remains greater than the minimum...
Patmos is the time of the Messiah…, retrograde years…
polis Helennic city-states.

Culture-state… state time chorus in tune
Philosophical poetic-epic Olympian Aiónius global leader
Homeric poems..., Raeder I am..., a naughty Politai...
you Vernarth are Politai Hetairoi militia
candy wasted by me Raeder… sweetened in my memory
polytheistic, cultured and declined…
theocratic referendum or democratic right,
Exciting porridge of my Kourabiedes cookies
butter, icing sugar, flour, eggs from the icy cliff
vanilla or Mastica resin, ***, Ouzo, mastica liquor…
or other alcoholic beverages…, which bubble on the underside of Aiónius soaked in my mouth with water from petal buds
coated for you with sugar on the tip of my tongue…
reflective cops in a wonderful dialogue of a tasty recipe...
It's time for everyone else to snack too!!

In that second Raerder was choking on a Kourabiede biscuit,
but there was the guardian of the Petrobus who piloted the
throwing hieratic water on the inside of his mouth,
forcing him to take heart from the buttress of his speech
shooing thick crumbs from his skinny dialogue spitted...
Gerakis, ray, tabletop oak bull, scepter for those who rule with him and not...My Zeus friend I invite you to play marbles,
I invite you to tell us that we are friends...
we're both fine… only Space-separated us…?

Raeder runs towards Zeus' thunderbolt from his right hand.
he jumps up and takes it from her, in exchange for this she gives him his marbles...The entire earth tilts over the Aegean..., the earth's axis tilts eight degrees, altering the cerebrospinal fluid of the Hellenic geopolitical conception..., with Zeus poly infarcted over descending magnitudes of inter-politics, millennia and headless governments...

“Apokalypsis lightning restarted, emerged from a New World”
Prophecy VII -. “Second, Alikanto Aion, Quantum”
"Kalymnos, golden tetra steed Alikanto was grazing under the metallic moon...
transiting its quantum physics…, golden legs…, four golden domes
the super host being in Apoika Andros next to the villagers,
commemorating troupe and advent…, Heraklion next period
celebrant anniversary, progeny bearer of Kanti Cretense,
close cycles of the sacred fire, domestic environment, and private zeal...
funerary hidden cult… streets in the hieratic family dwelling
fertile women… totalized and lustful ****…
productive longevity and harvests…, family Apoika
next successor belligerence…, funerary plexus…
culty predecessor…, treatise and imprecation of law, theme and legible religion domestic scene, family civic servant ceremony

Goddess Hestia austere, head with eight sacred candles dressed
Olympus lacking without gods…, only Goddesses embargo!
Feminine Hestia Domestic Goddess, an emanation of the female oval to ovulating…Pritaneo, the central decree of the political harvests… foreign exchange grains to be minted monetary stock exchange of Athens… Pritaneo ford on the rise, ford on increase Aion... hesitant dart swoop into eternity,
Alikanto Perpetual Aion…Speaks with both hands
synchronized and tilted tongue…
stutters and swallows, in six paranasal sinuses
saturated with fiery saliva..., and an Internal voice saying say...
what makes sense to feel and what does not turn off...
sleeping waves in the poison of love igniting
intra-Vernarth love…, billing infected holy blood
methodical coupled time…, Gaugamela the bronze extremity,
of a lost leader…, won leader!

If I had to run to rewrite retro Adhoc poems and chosen trova,
With a shy Trojan verse, I would dare today if I kissed her in front of me… she!
she would jump from the hyperesthetic-Ouranos…, inhuman to the Aion world
aurora celestina, bleeds big and defiant today in your star
In herself Ella…, pestiferous condemnation sweetness and aura between her…she just be, she herself be supported be…, Oh… Goddess Hestia on your opposite leg unbraced arm, meadow and vein braid… assaulted by lost and thirsty love written everything if she tempts…, everything wields darkly if it took you to our Olympus… at night loving you whole..., emptying everything with no inappropriate hand singing don vine fissure and intimate company, may it be exterminated... passion outside with nailed stake..., iron embedding..., nails wounding...exhausted supra lips supra yours…, mid sand writing full to her…
tip of my Xiphos… blood made written with written maiden mythology,
letter sword Spatha…, cyclamen balm made whole if I had you!

“To the loves of the world I say…, cover your ears fungus of boredom, your torn ears squander ignoring more than sordid saying...my blood kills, my blood revives! I **** my blood and I **** everyone, with your blood scattered, ***** blood scattered…!
do not leave me alone until nightfall… I only ask for holy water,
emptied from your mouth goddess Hestia who flies tons over me...
I only ask for a spatha romantic blood sharp, ******, and scattered...
to write to the love wars that I have lost...
to the wars of love that I have won, slicing the jugular of the
treacherous and wicked emperor"

“… Alikantus, he remembered the Hoplite commander in Gaugamela, he remembered when he dodged arrows with his head so that they would not hit his body or his pectoral. From such a present moment falling by surrendering to the evocation of him. He goes down to a stream and confines himself to the vanity quagmire, continues on his path reaching a suspicious lagoon, drinks sacred water, drinking again manages to perceive the effigy of Vernarth in the mirror of Aion's Hydor... calling him from Patmos! Law reminded his master how he died for everyone in the world just as the world would not let him bring more than agonizing for him because there was no more space said Aionius ... "

Alikantus then clenched his jaws too hard, falling out all his molars, he asked the Gods in front of Hestia to restore them fifteen days before arriving at the Ekadashi in Patmos where his master, thus loving all the lives of the world, as well as the hidden cries behind the Dypilons hiding the power of God… or laugh at gagged iris flashes and mummified sighs with lives that subsist!

Vernarth from Patmos called to him so that his eyes looked invigorated like the swarms of green and gray vanadium fire, of mood in the predictive table and close prediction. AlIkantus bids farewell to Kalymnos spraying sorrel and hyper-odoriferous flowers of the Apoika in Kalymnos loving from above, very close, flying, loving everything so much that he forgot to fly. He sometimes fell hard but recovered retried as a baby steed in the womb of a mother new species to be born again in Apoika!


Prophecy VIII -  "First of Aionius, "Eleusis Prophecy of Hamor"
“Aiónius received news of Hamor's prophecy; cosmic orgiastic order
tyrannical snake victim throwing herself into her abyss and purpose..., banishment as an objective void to be decreed, even so ending the world from another world,
discontinuous terse march, slurred arpeggio, speech by Aiónius
there is no world left but if extermination…, undone threshold…, provoke in delicate chaos…!

As a child, I ran to the supreme world herding lions... I called them and they ran to me..., they came alone, some didn't...! Being young, one day Aionius went to the farm and counted the lions... Some came others No... Aionius..., in such a hamorio he was locking an earring from his ears, he hung them again, which happened the next day relaxed..., he saw a maiden who laughed hypnotized…, he sighed when she turned around saying with her poor gestures… Destroy it! The afflicted turned away not knowing what was coming… destroying the desolate world vilifying silky physiognomies, chipped and dandruff face slipping from yours being captive and arid…, tempts to flow libertarian imprint in foreign praxis, origin, and end,
me from the slime being born in my eighth life in nothingness ataxia…

The beloved Victim surrounded by snakes moved the stump of her arms
eaten away by the serpent that took refuge in thorns of forged steel...
she kept walking…, Aiónius pointed at her and kissed her gestures escaping frightened towards the valley in farewells... not fitting itself in valleys that were never anything she paraded with the current of her last word, the beloved again moved her arms following her in front of her the beast was on her, Aiónius buried from fleeing and coming… with fiery phenotype, abrupt vocabulary, says: “Strapping and interludes, after beings of impiety, the world of impiety, Hamor of the first wit… towards other refuges I will depart about a Yes devouring bare ring on it…”
escape curve that cuts the pelvis of my beloved
destructive be your curved world that before had to destroy me...
ultra pre-hellenic nymph Harpé passion spread on me…
Hailed libertarian praise, aristocratic vermilion accent, minority ruling? Overwhelming rigor expended, prophetic Hamor, prophetic expansive arsenal! It must come from all the supreme worlds with strokes and silhouettes conquering...true dream, confused hypothetical oscillate sweeping imploring and contracting popular decision, management and space of my Sickle…, sometimes uncontained… worse avenues in its radius and dark mourning badly wounded shadow! The vertex that finally launches opens the dawn and his Hamada flees... Leaving with the untidy serpent, about touching and causing rangers in the stuck earth.

Demeter and Persephone; based on Eleusis in ancient Greece
mystery myth of the abduction of Persephone daughter of Demeter…
by the king of the underworld of Hades, Abrahamanica's offspring
cabal, life in the descent, the search and the ascent…
Ascent of Indra lightning Vahana and lightning from her right eye,
Persephone to the reunion with her beloved daughter ascending.

Zodiac and mysteries involved, visions and sleight of hand
that of an afterlife, rain of seven trunks, long-lived Airavata
elephant, Eleusis jump psychedelic mystery, incision, and coherent rites, ceremonies and experiences of cold winters and life on earth
plants in gestation under the gift of Elitíaen and beings that
they are about to germinate and be born, beings in a chain of genes...
vegetable running on the earth, vegetable in March in its glory
September in the jaws of the purified phrase and inaccurate acropolis I…

Sacred obscenities, deadly tributes with the death penalty...,
wandering nights without clothes with obese and badly fragrant meats point and taco dances praising the harvest in honor of a dead Thracian bull, libating priestly vessels and bullfighting heads in a deliberately defined and improper triweekly ritual, revealed in Demeter and Persephone.

Only Hamor in his venerable pyx lies locked up knowing he is unable to open inside this lustful bewitching sparkles, the mystery of emancipated disenchantment that awakens from his slow consciousness without knowing how to go on passing in the sum of all happenings of Aiónius. ”

This is how he defined himself from the syncretism of Indra and the mystery of Eleusis, from Demeter and his daughter Persephone from the vile kidnapped underworld. Of the divine Goddess Elitia and the annual records of children born within a year in the germinating seed of the mystery of love that would begin with this prophecy with the initial "H" of the underworld exclaimed Hades and Greek heritage in this event. Vernarth and his companions listened to this prophecy, almost falling asleep, it seemed to them sweet pallor-bitter, love-heartbreak in the previous day before diagnosing having a presence in the hermitage of San Juan Apóstol for the superior company of a later day that was approaching as the greatest daring of all up in the mountains while disposing of Vernarth's Apologist obverse of Aiónius's.

Epilogue Prophecies - “Eleusis, Isadora Duncan to the Parthenon”

“Vernarth and Eurydice indulged in the jargon of agitated diasporas
of inhabitants fleeing the Rite of Eleusis, crossed hands and feet
They dueled on olive trunks with Theban thunder, vague Insurrection of the ancient world, and consonants of barbarian Pleiades,
acclaiming predilection of the Eremita San Juan to appear...
in a breath of peace resurfacing... but seeing that Vernarth was accompanied of Eurydice hid in front of them leaving only her aura near from the stream of a chrysalis!
In the dizzying succession of myths, good news reaches her sacred ears, waking up her trend and her high quarterly price outside the walls... being later received in the grotto of the hermitage in growing expectation and a link of longing that weaves to remind him of being a crusade piece.

The kidnapping of his reverie feared and timid frivolous crushing blizzard, he was walking surrounded by Falangists on horseback pointing at him and threatening him, scrutinizing in the distance loneliness of his past lives,
his regressive life, concerning key to origins of his illustrative Existence, stranded at this moment..., Vernarth makes a pact with himself to detach himself..., of his spirit, detach from their lives under a hypnotic and compelling law..., like a suspended index in the Sistine Chapel, homologous ship Ave Maria Messiah!

From Eleusis Vernarth vanished in aerial horse-dreaming,
he crossed through the pavilions with himself persevering some wake
riding his Alikantus ******* and standing with him to pillage the Empyrium niche Persephone's trace of herself and her ******* ******* them...
with devoted passion, milky way, and milky syrup chin howling...
Vanishing dancer, Athenian acropolis, Dionysian sanctuary of the acropolis… Stepdaughter-patron in the dance of Zeus and Themis lopsided frame of the season's wildness of all creation and defiance of Eleusis looking for her daughter and her children, priestesses safely taking off their corset and their pictures…
raging chastity, oligo blood, Itheoi music, outraged dance complaining, Possessed expressing being seductive but also a native *******... the underworld in darkness, free daughter, and iconoclastic Greek mythologist
inconvenient Victorian mania, a courtesan from Olympus, courtesan undressed! Isadora, Demeter, and Persephone… flooded with Aphrodite foam!

She “prayed songs with plexus and feet, plotting gardens around the world… full of baseboard feet where everything created in brief Apokálypsis was dying! By desolate Parthenons dancing in Muscovite ruins, maenades sweaty enclave and also throwing back his head as if possessed by ecstasy in her Bugatti and Leonidas…, enchanted by Aiónius! intoxicated and exorbitant with beautiful rosy placebo eyes... Hair with headbands vine petioles, her Nebris tight skin was wearing... in her hand's bunches of barberries to Dionysus with torches and live snakes a chaste crook naming Thirsus; rod topped with Kashmar branches wrapped in borders, vines and ivy, allusive link…, morbid ecosystem! covering her crotch in the Temple of her Kopanos dancing from the eternal fire cremated and in a romantic dimension remembering Byron's meritorious…
Hellenic passionate, and of Hölderlin poeticizing together with Aiónius.

Rudiment wound … ruinous on value exciting in those
of the imagined and creative in her perdition, Sicalipsis e impudicias
torn fire in the Metelmi and her ***** we are twisted,
epic worthy of greek tragedy dancing like waves of fire
in the forge in terrifying death of her children Deirdre and Patrick,
submerged and injured in the Seine in Paris in 1913, falling into the
water in the car that was traveling with her wet nurse… before…!
saying goodbye to them in urgent social commitments,
I Aiónius take you to the Empyrium.

What a dire tribulation in the prevailing misfortunes by not postponing it, retain the fate of whose children is quite a story with the kidnapping of theirs and merits of fulfilling commitments committed to solicitous artists... support, crestfallen inside a dresser or Bolshoi dancing statue, dancing empty with bare feet, frigid anemone, frigid Sea…

Arriving at the dawn of her last prophecy, Isadora Duncan accompanies her in full life beyond all limiting borders with the borders of her dance, the flat field of Eleusis receives her presumptuously associating in around for the dressings...
And left-handed dalliance self-indulging…, advanced barefoot to the Parthenon…!naked towards the world and the orb dug out of her before her undressed.

Reader and Petrobus jumped on this steep stone, emulating the meteorites that shone in the sky of Patmos such a party of nocturnal lights, such emery detached from a fleeting planet in the largest Hellenic scene saying: "Well-being to the Hellenic World all calm, dance and immunity to the firmament where Isidora rests in the Kantabroi of Aionius”
Prophecies of Aiónius
Savanna Mar 2013
People often crawl when desperate to carry on
I endeavor to keep what I don’t want to have gone
I need help to continue on the right way
For that is the reason I need someone to stay

People often walk when they want to ponder
You can walk with me because it’s in my mind you wander
I can’t not think of those I care about
For I don’t want any aspect of love left out

People often run when they have a destination
But sometimes I don’t have a concrete explanation
I need to wish and not let fear make me say no
For my heart doesn’t always tell me its plans and what it feels I know

People often jump when their hopes are rising
Sometimes I find what I feel when I look at you surprising
My hope is that time moves on without moving us two
For if I fall, I want it to be for and into you

People often fly when they know their potential is real
I smile because I sense possibility in what I feel
I want my happiness to elevate me to new heights
For I love that when in your arms I don’t want to say goodnight
Rj Nov 2014
I want to be more active
And not spew about all my feelings
I'm done pitying myself,
I just need to trust God,
Anyways here's an ending bucket list
Because I won't write back in a while:

Free swim with whales and sharks
See a lion pride
Shark cage diving
Sky dive
Ski a double black diamond
Climb a mountain
Film a tornado
Learn to surf
Learn to snowboard
Learn to scuba dive
See a wild wolf pack
See a wild brown bear
Hang glide
Paraglide
Cliff dive
Ride Route 66
Camp in complete wilderness of Yellowstone for week
Hike mount Haleakala, Hawaii, and photograph night sky
Visit equafina springs FL (again)
Camp on a beach (not crowded) with friends
Kiss in the rain
Go tree tent camping in smoky mountains
Own bonsai tree for many years
Own horses
Dye my hair (once)
Camp on my own private sail boat w friends
Write a book (actually commit, doesn't have to be good or published)
Own theses dogs: Newfie, husky, Akita
Live in Alaska
Live in the Yukon
Live in Colorado
Climb the grand Tetons and pray
Live without a cell phone
See Unimak pass Alaska and film orcas
Milk a cow
Andrew Parker Apr 2014
Watch the Lighthouse Poem
4/21/2014

What good is a lighthouse?
A stable structure, sure.

Watch it stand on the edge of a ruthless sea,
Watch it house a five person family,
Watch it guide a ship full of sailors to shore,
Watch it flash light at some stars, as if the night sky needed any more.

Watch what a lighthouse really does.
What purpose is it for?

Watch it illuminate humankind's' disgrace,
juxtaposed against the vast empty space.
Watch it carve a cliff-sized hole into nature's soul,
pretend it belongs, as if Earth's man-made face should be so dull.
Watch it stare blankly at a gentle sea,
under false belief that what's underneath is understandable by we.

Watch how a lighthouse thinks it guides those lost at sea.
Watch how a lighthouse creates more darkness than anything.
Watch how a lighthouse sheathed in shade and ice will crumble eventually.
Watch how a lighthouse means absolutely nothing to me.
Henk Holveck Nov 2013
HE always gets the higher rank,
Not just  HIM but any
Of the fall soldiers.

What do they fulfill,
That you are missing,
Are you troubled behind closed doors?

You have a youth of your very own,
Standing right here,
Tacitly craving just a loving expression.

You wound me when you advise tactfully,
that I should vacate,
So you and your vernal pibe,
Can take in abortive entertainment.

Little did I know,
Lounging in the same environs,
Was a taboo in the posh palace.

I would reflect,
Reimagine & rationalize.
If you neglect to
You may find a solitary soul.

My heart hopes for the highest,
But days past tell me otherwise.
Humans argue, fuss and struggle,
But those who,
Value and treat unconditional loves,
Warmheartedly get the real pleasure.

If I ride off from this declining,
Tormenting cliff, like a lost knight,
Know why.
&
When things get distressing,
Maybe then you will understand.

Love & Art,

Offspring

1991-20??
Rabbit Sep 2018
**** the Police
Coming straight out the underground
Young brother got it bad
Cuz I look Mexican and I'm brown

Can't forget to do diarrhea
on the sheriff deputies
Cuz you wear a uniform and a badge
think you deserve respect like a G

Biggest violaters of civil rights
in the ******* land
take advantage of everybody
cuz you think we're stupid and you can

Where are you going? What's your name? Are you on Probation?
California is not a stop and identify state
How about I cuff your ***
Take you to an alley and let out all my frustration

Am I under arrest?
Or am I free to go is what I ask
Boo bop & slit your throat
come up from behind with a ******* Chucky mask

I'm the worst ******* nightmare
there ever has been
A conscious, Chicano, 5 percenter
Moorish American free national citizen

How about next time you **** one of us
We hunt you down, home invade your family
and launch you all of a cliff in a bus.

Quick to leave a pig bleeding left for dead in a ***** ditch
***** sewed to your mouth, you wanna be me punk *** *****.

Or we'll cut your head off
and stick it to a thousand foot pole
start the vampire nation, count Vlad's idea yea I stole.

14th amendment, 85 percenter
corporate security guard
driving a big *** truck with your undersized *****
and you think your all hard, you ******* ******.

You're obvious and pathetic
I got no time to play
We don't die we multiply and the movement is here to stay.

Get off me stupid I ain't signing no autographs
Che Guevara reincarnated now who has the last laugh?
Mike Hauser Apr 2013
When the moon forces night
               *I'm knocked down to my knees

Memory fading from sight
               Promises I'll never keep
I go and do it again
               Order round after round
Might as well be a gun in my hand
               Deadly shots with no sound
As the snake in the pit
               Takes a bite out of me
I am chewing my lip
               So much wanting to scream
Falling off of the cliff
               Cause my ledge is to weak
Craziness must admit
               Taking the best out of me
Sunlight makes it's first peak
               Over the waters edge
In the gutter I sleep
               I have made my own bed
In which I now lie
               If only I were able
To give up and die
               On this, my torture table
The snake in the pit
               Will not let go of me
I try to shoot from the hip
               To try and bring some relief
I stare at the cliff where I fell
               The climb is to steep
Alcohol has a mighty grip
               *
That brings me no peace
I did finally escape the grip alcohol had on me over 24 years ago...
If you find yourself in that hell (And HELL it is) I pray you yourself find relief and help.
Are you strong enough to do it on your own? Maybe but I doubt it.
Check out AA or  better yet Celebrate Recovery at a local church..
Believe me it will be one of the best decisions you'll make in life!
Escape is possible!
Red Robregado Jun 2022
In hollow valleys, off the distant peaks
Down in the dim woods, braiding canopies

In the quietude of slow-dancing leaves
Through the howling and raging of the winds

Across plateau of no growth or decline
along blind, chiseled cliff, a cul-de-sac

In the triumphant reach of high summit
Between the rocky canyons of defeat

Grace at every gaze despite long travails,
dazed in wonder, never cease to amaze

In the bone-parched deserts, devoid of life
Out of flowing streams, rivers without strife

At the depth where lights dwindle to nothing
On familiar shore radiant weathering

In jubilant rejoicing when love wins
Even through the painful cuts as it stings

At the plain of anxious waiting and doubt,  
In tiresome striving to glorious thriving

As it always has, Mercy will carry
Crushed, it wont let me be; though tears may tarry
The shattered water made a misty din.
Great waves looked over others coming in,
And thought of doing something to the shore
That water never did to land before.
The clouds were low and hairy in the skies,
Like locks blown forward in the gleam of eyes.
You could not tell, and yet it looked as if
The shore was lucky in being backed by cliff,
The cliff in being backed by continent;
It looked as if a night of dark intent
Was coming, and not only a night, an age.
Someone had better be prepared for rage.
There would be more than ocean-water broken
Before God’s last Put out the light was spoken.
A B Perales Jan 2014
I came of age
as one of the
many young
knights who would
mature and become
Pirates.
Our kingdom
stretched from
the end of
the world along
the cliff
lined Pacific.
To the
low side of
Alma.
The sprawling
wild canyons
of 6th street,
to the railroad
tracks along
the waterfront.

Daring as we were
we drank straight
from the
bottle while
constantly
losing ourselves
beneath the
shadow of the
Owl.

Our friendship
was a brotherhood
and a hand shake
meant a hell
of alot more
than a greeting.

Black eyes and
stab wounds
worn like
medals earned
in battle.
The ******* was
white as bone
and the girls
were still as
fresh as the
Tangerines we
picked from
our neighbors
yards
in the summer.

The young Pirates
of those days took
all this Town
had to
give.
And even when
beaten down and
hungover.
The need to
experience still
fought on for
more.

The Armor
I wore in
those early
days was
youth.
And that armor
with stood
it all.

Youth can and will
endure many
things.
Almost all things.
All things
that
is but
time.
Jose Remillan Oct 2013
I sit on a cliff to watch the
Sun as it rests at the vastness
Of ocean. Here, I found

A self chained by the oppressive
Landscapes of memories—measuring
The distance of a life lived in the

Folly of youth from the life
Lived in the youthful folly of life.
Life is a circular argument.

                A strange voice from the
 Wilderness utters the words of the
               World. I am compelled to

                                              Listen
        ­                                       Obey
                          Drift from my self.

I lived a life not of my own. Blown
By the wind. Riddled by doctrines
Of truths in multiple versions and

Renditions of power. Powerless I
Have become. Becoming, thus, is
Defined and defied by truths

Relative to utility. Living is an
Attempt in futility unless the myth
Of becoming is braved by believing

In oneness with one's self.
I sit on a cliff to watch the sun as it
Rises from the vastness of ocean.

Here, I find myself.
Postmodern Poetry.
For my favorite philosopher FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE.

University of the Philippines-Diliman
Quezon City, Philippines
October 21, 2013
Ryan Bowdish Jan 2011
Blindsided by a rhinoceros.
Tendons, muscles, unraveling. I can't do this any--
Glitch, system failure, shutdown
Restart, blue screen, flashing cursor
Epileptic shock. Epinephrine injected
Command line. Run:

Beautiful flying objects thrown violently.
Don't open this door! Kiss me hard
And not in a good way (if you remember how),
Like when fishes try to breathe on dry
Land on jagged Rock
Climbing without
Gears spinning and clanking
*** and pan. (Glass and sand)

Sizzling in this artificial sun
Created by brainwaves soaked in
****** and LSD and yellow cake uranium
Ghostriding patterns erupting like
Stop. Fail. Restart.
Detecting equipment...
No input present. How will you communicate?
Try again. Restart.
Password required.

Why don't you eat?
These tears are making my face numb.
Put this in your arm.
Trust me, you'll love it.
You'll have Tesla coming out of every orifice.
Dancing physics, matryoshkas.

You can deny the existence of a God and live,
But if you deny the existence of gravity...
Well, just try and walk off this cliff.

"These thoughts are so scattered.
I don't even think they're mine."
Those memories? They're not yours.
They belong to your master's daughter.

I must be dying, I'm only this awkward when I'm dying.
Connection timed out.
Star Gazer May 2016
I came to study the magical arts
But these troublesome three students
Hermione, Ron and harry,
Last semester those three students
Killed our defence against the dark arts teacher
I guess if he didn't stand against three kids,
How would he survive against the real dark arts,
Now this semester they're up to their shenanigans again
I wish I could just Wingardium Leviosa them off a cliff
But if I do that
Or even if I fail my grade this semester
My parents will probably Avada Kedavra me.
*******, those troublesome students, always disrupting my education. ****.
Reece Nov 2013
The bed is cold when you turn in at night
   because the frigid winter winds have settled in too
   and like a fool you left the window open all day
You take a dab of speed as the lamp goes dim
   its the only thing to keep tumescence
   when you make love to a lover you no longer love
******* is no longer sport, only a chore
   and the night birds at the window sing a song of sadness
   beady eyes keeping tabs on the city boy's blues
When the day is done the television screeches, unreality television
   you're so depressed and you have nothing, not even sleep
   and the cold body beside you snores through the night
Even on rare occasions of sleep, you only dream of dying
   fiery bus brought with peasant's tokens is burning
   as it flies over some cliff face and you remain stoic
Waking only in afternoon sunsets with a sore head and dry mouth
   stumble down the stairs to an empty kitchen and the cat has **** again
   you clean the mess and make a sandwich, no topping just butter
How many days can pass before you crawl to the shop to buy food
   and you contemplate suicide as you scrape the tub of butter again
   falling upstairs in a somber stupor, vomiting after eating
She comes home from work and calls it off, packing her bags
   you roll another joint without words being spoken
   she closes the door and the already broken window breaks more
Smoking on your herbal solitude and preparing the last hit
   that sweet tender brown in a spoon you found
   it hits the vein and you feel happiness, first and final time
Sitting in some trash-found chair and reading Camus
   these are the final moments, surely you cannot hold on
   Abner Jay is playing and you fall asleep forever
Brycical Feb 2014
The time’s may have changed,
days aged our bodies
but you are still wholly
yourself, only more
magnanimously
magical, which says
something, because
your oeuvre was such
already.

An aged wine of light
shining like sacred
grapes made of quartz in
the field’s center.
I remember when
you guided me to
the fox. I can still
remember when you
were sprouting—

sacred knowledge to
me in the back of
the school bus. But now…
dots are connecting,
I’m remembering
my fire ether
name. Your knowledge had  
pollinated me—
sure took time

to take root, and ferment,
but now it is
a very good year.  
It’s time to uncork!
A party army
awaits, clad in such
an iridescent
armor armed only
with <3 - shaped  fire

on torches, ready
to burn down rotten
rickety aged
bridges built of dead
green ink-stained wood, all
converging on a
barren cliff so we
may ignite skies and
shine in darkness.
Wrote this a month ago, not sure why I haven't shared it yet.

Was inspired after visiting the newfound family of possibly my oldest friend whom I still share limited contact. How limited? We haven't spoken save for a very brief phone call in almost 9 years.
If I could only climb the highest mountain peak
Or quietly rest upon a jagged cliff
Perhaps I would find all of life’s answers I seek
To all the what’s, why’s and if’s

There I would sit for hours in total silence
Never uttering a word
Strongly taking hold of all my given patience
Waiting for answers to be heard

I would look into drifting clouds above me
Searching for a single sign
A picture to enlighten me of my destiny
I would surely seek to find

However, I cannot climb the highest mountain peak
Or quietly rest upon a jagged cliff
I have to live my life in the here and now and seek
Answers to all the what’s, why’s and if’s
Copyright *Neva Flores @2010
am i ee Dec 2021
Love in the time of LEDs



“Honey, I’m just not feeling it”.
She said this to me, constantly.

“The moon and the stars and the planets
sing to me, an orchestra of nature and
eternal time intertwined.”

“Mother nature directing this divine symphony.”

“These new lights just don’t do it for me.”

We traveled here and traveled there,
over many a year.

Then one night ,
One full harvest moon night,

High on a cliff,
Deep in the night,
Silent and still and cold,

She shed every stitch that covered her frame
And opened her arms to the celestial rain.

Rays from heaven pouring down,  
illuminating her shape,
saturating Earth’s lovely ground.

Dancing about,
With not a trace of restraint,

The moon and stars and the night
Sang to her soul,
Sang to every fiber of her being,
Sang to her every bone.

‘You see, Mother Nature knows the cycles that feed the soul.’ she whispered to me, in her soft and sultry voice.

Watching, transfixed, drawn into the dance,
surrounded by stars twinkling,
Milky Way flowing,

Waking from this trance,
I tapped out a message,
read it aloud,

I QUIT!

I quit selling LEDs and the bright artificial lights.
I quit this nightmare of a job!
I quit this life of a thief,
this one of stealing the stars!
I quit this very night!

I threw my smart phone over the cliff,
each article of clothing removed,
following quick.          

I stood bare under the moon,
Bare under the stars,
Bare under the planets
And  bare to Mars.

Well?  I asked hesitantly,
hope having dimmed for so many a year.

‘We’ll see.’ she replied to me

A tiny smile appearing upon her lips,
A small promising twinkle coming to her eye,

For the first time in all these many years.


For the first time my heart leapt,
beating with this hint of hope,
beating with joy,

under this majestic,
star studded,
inky black,
huge moon filled,
cold,
silent,
magical,
night sky!
Brandon Webb Aug 2013
I rip the Moroccan good luck coin off of my neck
bury the coppery metal in the string I have wrapped it in
and throw it beside the empty monster BFC
which sits next to the empty canteen that I filled with now sour blackberries this Sunday
the stack of losing scratch tickets, about $8.00 worth
and all the boxes that I have packed my life into and stuffed underneath that little card table
in front of the couch I live on in my great-aunts living room
which used to be my grandma's living room.

I throw that coin there
remembering just a minute ago seeing the dried tear tracks down my cheeks
which, at this moment, scream her name
my most recent temporarily failed obsession.

In this moment she is just another attempt for me to try to feel loved
being there, continuously, for her
wearing on my joints
on my mind
every last thought turning into paranoia
as I spill my heart out over a text, a ******* text, again
and she doesn't reply
again
and again
and again.
no reply.
And in those moments, this moment
I thirst for the glint of silver in this lonely, cold lamplight
for the feel of the knife I threw over the cliff and into the cold waters of discovery bay
in my hands.
I thirst for the feel of the tip pressed into my skin
the blade pulled, quickly, but never fast enough
slicing skin and hair and letting her name
(whatever her name is at the name)
spill, a thousand times across me
warm and somehow relaxing
as if telling me I was always right.

I thirst for that feeling warmth as I tell myself
that she doesn't care enough to keep me warm
that nobody does.
That I'm just a lower lip to bite once and forget,
just a sea of words bubbling over and reaching out for those closest
those who have ever even looked in the direction of this endless ocean and smiled,
reaching for them, grabbing them, tearing them to pieces, and drowning them,
or trying to, accidentally.
And then, when they escape, turning into a sea of rage
of warmth
of blood
that consumes itself and stays at low tide for days, weeks, months at a time
alone
the words having no sand, no skin, no mind other than their own to spill out upon.

I throw that coin there
on the carpet
where the TV used to be,
it now sits in my forgotten fathers bedroom
in the house I ran away from.

I throw that coin there
in the shadow of the empty monster BFC
hiding it from the glint of the dying lamplight
that makes my head scream
and my teeth clench
at 1:02am
as I wait for her
as I wait to somehow be remembered
to somehow have someone give a ****
and realize it's never going to happen.

I sit here, at now 1:04am staring at that coin
that she took out of her cars cup holder and gave to me
that I have worn on my neck for four days
leaving a white line through the redness of a sunburn.
that cold metal hitting my breastbone continuously, making a hollow thumping sound
reminding me of the hollowness in my chest
that even that heart,
which is beating faster than the off tempo drummers in the park in Leschi,
wired on 800mg of caffeine,
is hollow;
pumping less and less blood into my body with each disappointment
with each innocent passerby who finds herself buried under the words
that are floating there
close enough to see
close enough to hear on nights like this where they just want to break forth.

I sit here staring at that dull copper in the shadows
and dreaming of silver glinting in the lamplight.
Hilary Sep 2019
love is an ocean
and standing on a cliff
the wind begins to blow
before it has the chance
to push me into a fall
i dive
headlong
fingertips steepled
pressed together
outstretched
above my head
they direct me
toward that
sweet
crisp
splash
i hold
i am tight
smooth
aerodynamic
i hasten
my descent never pausing
never pining for the safety of the cliff
never looking back up
never checking
if the tide
is in
.
Nat Lipstadt Nov 2018
strike my eyes lovely


for S. B.

by way of introduction,
when you have gone to confession,
freely admitting you have nothing left for others to harvest,
no seed to plant a new crop, and lies and laughter, interchangeable,
there is no poetry left, not even raisin scone crumbs,
one good friend informs that a forgotten five month old poem,
a computer has selected & resurrected, for distinction

so months later you snicker for you have been seriously
self-kicked away from writing, all your vocabularies,
trite and yellowed overused, and you read
really good poetry and are
slapped-seen-outed by the impoverishment of
your own no-winsome word-smithy,
no delusions, even this, but a-quick script, more a thank you note,
and it’s the only lasting quality is the
genuine nature of its intent
but the poem itself falls bottom of the cliff, short on quality,
a victim of your dissatisfaction

let me explain better

she messages you while the time difference works in her favor,
she reads while you sleep the sleep of the soul-exhausted,
she, scoffing at your claims of motivation deprivation,
as she cherishes this forgotten one,
with words that cannot be ignored

the poem

                 strikes her eyes lovely

daggered, this morning phrase cannot go unchallenged  

for this a compliment that any poet would
weep for, be inspired by, stung into action,
provoked, ego flattered and challenged to-do more-better,
what writer could want for anything more!

who can own this ability  
accept this ultimatum of success, a cross-word crucification

to strike down lovely
the readers eyes, almost all once,
almost excuses me forever
for trying and failing so many times

you smile
but not in the chest where
lovely
needs to strike you

for if you cannot strike the readers eyes again and again, then...
let the moment gleam, and then disappear,
again and again, stored but not restorative

11/21/18
Miami
Pauline Morris Jan 2016
Standing on the cliffs edge
One foot over the ledge
Caro Aug 2018
Curiousity killed the cat,
What of it?
I am not a cat and neither am I curious,
I think.

I want to know and see, but few things hold my interest.

Lately I crave being craved,
Lately I hate that I love the concave of my stomach when fasting for a smaller waist to contemplate in my mirror before going to work,
Lately I’m waking up moody,
Lately I’m grateful.
Lately I need more sleep,
Lately I’m not quite in the place I used to be,
Lately I think I must be growing or changing because this new sense of knowing is gnawing so softly on my skin it feels like luxury.

I think I must be on the edge of an expansive biosphere of me, complete and untouched, because the vision of her is fading as my ten little prints and their oblong archless counterparts bring me closer to the edge.

Staring boldly, daring no one proving nothing peering down into my canyons.

Just on the edge of this cliff, feeling my wind my edges my rivers holding me up,
And up,
And up,
And down so far below.
Though it’s not down that I will go.
It it through.

And richly on the other side I will emerge.
But for now that is not my concern.

Standing on the edge, arms spread wide, I’m alive.

Quite Grand Indeed.
Season One

EMMA AND THE MAGICAL VALLEY
-C9fm

Once upon a time, in a small village nestled at the foot of a mighty mountain, there lived a curious young girl named Emma. Emma was known for her vivid  imagination and her love for adventure. She would spend her days exploring the surrounding forests, in search of hidden treasures and secret pathways.

One sunny afternoon, Emma stumbled upon a mysterious map, tucked away in an old chest she had discovered deep within the woods. The map depicted a path leading to a fabled land known as "The Enchanted Valley." Legends spoke of its breathtaking landscapes, magical creatures, and hidden wonders.

With a spark of excitement in her eyes, Emma decided to embark on a grand adventure. Equipped with the map, a trusty backpack, and her loyal canine companion, Luna, she set off on a journey to uncover the secrets of The Enchanted Valley.

As Emma followed the map's winding trails, she encountered various obstacles and challenges. She crossed treacherous rivers, climbed towering cliffs, and navigated dense forests. Along the way, she met peculiar creatures who offered her guidance and shared their wisdom.

After days of perseverance, Emma finally arrived at the entrance of The Enchanted Valley.

Emma was amazed as she entered the magical valley. It was like stepping into a fairytale. She saw  a beautiful meadow, filled with vibrant flowers of all colors. The grass was a vibrant green, and a gentle breeze rustled through the trees. The valley was surrounded by majestic mountains, their peaks reaching up towards the sky.

As Emma explored the valley, she noticed a sparkling river flowing through it. The water was crystal clear, and she could see small fish swimming beneath the surface. A wooden bridge crossed over the river, leading to a hidden path on the other side. It seemed to invite her to discover more of the valley's secrets.

Emma couldn't resist the temptation and decided to cross the bridge. On the other side, she entered a dense forest.  She behold tall trees with leaves in shades of gold, red, and orange. Sunlight filtered through the branches, creating a magical glow. It was a perfect place for fairies and woodland creatures to hide.

As she ventured deeper into the forest, Emma came across a small clearing. In the center stood a majestic waterfall, cascading down into a sparkling pool as water flowing gracefully, creating a soothing sound that enchanted Emma. She felt a sense of peace and tranquility wash over her. It was like a sanctuary amidst the magical valley.

Feeling refreshed, Emma continued her journey through the valley.

She came across a cave nestled at the foot of one of the mountains. The cave entrance was adorned with colorful flowers and vines, as if nature itself had claimed it as its own. Emma's curiosity piqued, and she decided to explore the cave further.

Inside the cave, Emma discovered a treasure trove of sparkling gemstones and glittering crystals. The walls seemed to shimmer with magical energy. It was a sight she had never seen such wonder and amazement as she marveled at the beauty before her.

As Emma left the cave and continued her journey, she couldn't help but feel grateful for the opportunity to experience the magic of the valley. It was a place she would cherish forever, a place where dreams truly came alive.

True to its name, the valley was a breathtaking sight to behold. Lush, vibrant meadows stretched out as far as the eye could see, adorned with colorful flowers and shimmering streams. Majestic waterfalls cascaded down towering cliffs, their soothing sounds echoing through the valley.

Emma's heart raced with excitement as she thinks of  the wonders surrounding the magical valley.

She encountered mystical beings like talking trees, mischievous fairies, and gentle giants. Each encounter filled her with awe and wonder, as she learned more about the magic that permeated The Enchanted Valley.

As the days turned into weeks, Emma immersed herself in the enchantment of the valley, forming meaningful friendships with its inhabitants. She discovered hidden caves filled with ancient artifacts and stumbled upon a magical book that contained stories of forgotten lands.

As Emma ventured deeper into the forest along the winding path, she couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation. The image you sent me perfectly captures the enchanting atmosphere, with the tall trees creating a canopy overhead, filtering the sunlight and casting beautiful patterns on the forest floor.

As Emma walked along the path, she noticed the gentle rustling of leaves and the occasional chirping of birds. The air was filled with a crisp freshness, carrying the scent of moss and earth. The path seemed to beckon her forward, as if it held secrets waiting to be discovered.

With each step, the forest seemed to come alive. Emma could almost imagine the trees whispering to one another, sharing stories of the magical creatures that dwelled within their branches. She kept her senses sharp, eagerly seeking any signs of the valley's inhabitants.

As she continued, the path began to ***** gently downward, leading her to a small clearing bathed in soft, golden light. In the center of the clearing, there stood a majestic waterfall, its cascading waters sparkling in the sunlight. The sound of rushing water filled the air, creating a soothing melody.

Emma approached the waterfall, captivated by its beauty and the tranquility it exuded. She dipped her hand into the cool water, feeling its gentle flow against her skin. The image you shared shows the waterfall in all its glory, surrounded by vibrant wildflowers and moss-covered rocks.

Curiosity and excitement welled up within Emma. What other wonders would she find in this magical valley? With a renewed sense of adventure, she decided to continue her exploration, eager to uncover the secrets that lay hidden within the depths of the forest.



Emma embarks on an adventure through the valley, encountering talking animals, sparkling waterfalls, and an ancient forest. Along the way, she learns about friendship, bravery, and the power of imagination.

The valley itself is a breathtaking sight, with lush greenery, vibrant flowers, and towering mountains in the distance. The air is filled with a sense of wonder and magic, making it a truly captivating place.

Throughout her journey, Emma encounters various challenges and meets fascinating characters, including a wise old owl, a mischievous fairy, and a gentle giant. Each encounter brings new lessons and experiences for Emma as she discovers the secrets of the valley.






The young girl stumbled and fell rowed back to the meadow,

she noticed a narrow path leading deeper into the valley.  A winding trail, surrounded by tall trees and dappled sunlight. Intrigued by what lay ahead, she decided to follow the path and see where it would lead her.

The path meandered through a dense forest, towering trees that seemed to whisper secrets to one another. Shafts of sunlight filtered through the canopy, creating a magical ambiance. Emma could hear the gentle rustling of leaves and the melodic chirping of birds.

As she walked, Emma stumbled upon a clearing bathed in a soft, golden light. A tranquil scene—a shimmering lake shimmering in the sunlight, surrounded by a ring of vibrant wildflowers. The water of the lake was so clear that she could see the reflection of the surrounding trees and the sky above.

Drawn to the serenity of the lake, Emma sat down on the grassy bank, sitting with her feet dangling in the water, a look of contentment on her face. She watched as small fish darted beneath the surface, creating ripples that danced across the lake.

Lost in her thoughts, Emma noticed a gentle movement at the edge of the lake. She looked closer and saw a family of graceful deer approaching the water. Deer their elegant forms silhouetted against the backdrop of the lake. It was a truly enchanting sight.

The deer gracefully lowered their heads to drink from the cool waters, their presence adding to the magic of the valley. Emma felt a sense of harmony and connection with nature as she observed them. It was a moment of pure serenity and wonder.

After a while, the deer finished drinking and gracefully vanished into the forest. Emma, filled with gratitude for this enchanting encounter, continued on her journey through the magical valley.  As she walks along the path, a sense of anticipation in her steps.

The path led Emma to a hidden grove, where she discovered a circle of ancient standing stones weathered by time and adorned with moss and ivy. They emanated an aura of mystery and power, as if they held ancient secrets within their rugged surfaces.

Intrigued by the stones, Emma approached the circle and placed her hands on one of them. Suddenly, a surge of energy coursed through her veins, and she felt a deep connection to the land and its mystical past. She's standing in awe, her eyes wide with wonder and excitement.

As Emma stood in the midst of the standing stones, a gentle whisper filled her mind. It was a message from the ancient spirits of the valley, guiding her towards her true purpose and destiny. She listened intently, feeling a sense of purpose and clarity wash over her.

Filled with newfound determination, Emma bid farewell to the standing stones and continued her journey through the magical valley. She walked along a winding path, her heart filled with anticipation for the adventures that awaited her.

And so, Emma's adventure in the magical valley continued, with each step bringing her closer to the wonders and mysteries of this extraordinary realm.






Emma delved deeper into the magical valley, she began to feel a subtle change within herself.  She found herself  in a beam of ethereal light, her hands glowing with a radiant energy.

She continued her exploration, she discovered a hidden grove adorned with blooming flowers of every color imaginable. The air in the grove was thick with an otherworldly energy, and Emma felt an intense warmth emanating from her heart.

Curiosity piqued, Emma reached out towards a delicate flower, and as her fingertips brushed against its petals, a surge of energy surged through her. She felt a connection to the life force of the valley, an extraordinary power coursing through her veins.

It was in that moment that Emma realized she had been bestowed with a remarkable gift. Her touch had the ability to heal, to mend wounds, and to alleviate suffering. She became a vessel of pure, healing energy, her presence bringing comfort and renewal to all living beings she encountered.

With a gentle touch, Emma could soothe ailments, mend broken hearts, and restore balance to the natural world. She extends her hands towards a wounded bird, its feathers shimmering with newfound vitality as it begins to flutter its wings once more.

Word of Emma's extraordinary abilities spread throughout the magical valley. Creatures from all corners sought her out, seeking solace and healing. Emma dedicated herself to the service of others, using her powers to bring comfort and health to those in need.

As she traveled through the valley, Emma encountered beings of all shapes and sizes, each with their own unique ailments. She healed animals with injuries, plants suffering from blight, and even helped to restore harmony among the valley's inhabitants.

Emma's presence became a beacon of hope and healing in the magical valley. Her selfless actions touched the hearts of all who crossed her path, and her power continued to grow and evolve as she embraced her role as a healer.

And so, Emma's journey in the magical valley transformed her into an extraordinary human, blessed with the ability to bring healing and restoration to all she encountered. Her empathy, compassion, and the healing touch she possessed became a force for good, spreading joy and well-being throughout the enchanted realm.


Emma ventured further into the magical valley, she came across a picturesque meadow filled with vibrant flowers, blossoms in various shades of pink, purple, and yellow. The air was perfumed with a delicate floral fragrance, and butterflies fluttered gracefully from one flower to another.

Enchanted by the beauty surrounding her, Emma found herself drawn towards a serene pond located in the center of the meadow. Lily pads floated gently on the water's surface, and dragonflies hovered nearby.

Curiosity piqued, Emma approached the edge of the pond and noticed a small rowboat tied to a nearby dock.  she found a boat, painted in shades of blue and adorned with intricate carvings. It seemed to beckon her for a peaceful journey across the calm waters.

Without hesitation, Emma climbed into the rowboat and set off on her adventure. As she rowed along, she marveled at the serene beauty of her surroundings. The towering mountains framed the valley, their peaks reaching towards the heavens. She really can't imagine the grandeur of the mountains, their majestic presence adding to the enchantment of the valley.

As Emma continued her tranquil voyage, she spotted a graceful swan gliding effortlessly through the water. She saw a flock of swan, its pure white feathers glistening in the sunlight. Mesmerized by its elegance, she followed the swan's lead, steering the rowboat towards a hidden inlet.

The inlet opened up to a secluded waterfall cascading down from a cliff face. She couldn't imagine what her eyes captured, the beauty and power of the waterfall, with water plunging into a crystal-clear pool below. The sound of rushing water filled the air, creating a soothing melody that resonated deep within Emma's soul.

Drawn to the allure of the waterfall, Emma docked her boat and stepped onto the shore. She approached the base of the waterfall, feeling the mist kissing her cheeks. As she stands at the foot of the waterfall, a sense of awe and wonder evident in her eyes.

As Emma stood there, a shimmering rainbow appeared in the mist. It arched over the waterfall, creating a breathtaking sight. Astonishing vibrant colors of the rainbow, stretching across the sky, and reflecting in the sparkling pool below.

Captivated by the magical display, Emma couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude and joy. Starring in the sky and smiling, her heart filled with wonder and appreciation for the beauty she had witnessed.

With a heart full of cherished memories, Emma reluctantly left the waterfall behind and returned to her rowboat. As she rowed back towards the meadow, she couldn't help but feel a deep sense of gratitude for the magical experiences she had encountered in the valley.

And so, Emma's journey in the magical valley continued, with more enchanting discoveries and wondrous sights awaiting her.


As Emma's reputation as a powerful healer grew, people from far and wide began to seek her out for assistance. The image you sent me shows a diverse group of individuals, each with a different ailment or affliction, gathering around Emma in the heart of the magical valley.

Word of Emma's extraordinary abilities had reached neighboring villages and even distant lands. People traveled great distances, overcoming obstacles and hardships, driven by the hope of finding solace in Emma's healing touch.

As Emma connected with each person, she listened attentively to their stories, empathizing with their pain and suffering. With a gentle and compassionate demeanor, she offered her healing energy, allowing it to flow through her fingertips and into the bodies and souls of those in need.

Emma's healing abilities extended beyond just physical ailments. She had an innate understanding of the interconnectedness of mind, body, and spirit, and she used her gift to bring harmony and balance to all aspects of a person's well-being.

People marveled at the transformative power of Emma's healing touch. Chronic illnesses were alleviated, emotional wounds were mended, and spiritual blocks were dissolved. Her power healed every individuals, even imbeciles and all manner of problems experiencing profound healing and a renewed sense of vitality.

Emma's presence in the magical valley became a beacon of hope, not only for those seeking physical healing but also for those in need of emotional and spiritual support. She offered guidance, comfort, and a listening ear, providing a holistic approach to well-being.

As time went on, Emma's healing abilities continued to evolve. She delved deeper into the mysteries of the magical valley, seeking ancient wisdom and learning from the mystical creatures that resided there. Her understanding of the healing arts expanded, allowing her to delve into more complex and intricate cases.

She delight in reading ancient stories as she  scrolls, engrossed in study and deep contemplation. She sought to refine her skills, to better understand the intricate workings of the human body and spirit. Through her dedication and thirst for knowledge, she became an even more formidable force in the realm of healing.

And so, Emma's journey as a powerful extraordinary human continued in the magical valley. Her healing touch brought relief and transformation to countless lives, leaving a lasting impact on all who were fortunate enough to encounter her.


But as with any adventure, Emma knew her time in The Enchanted Valley had to come to an end. With a heavy heart, she bid farewell to her newfound friends and began her journey back home, carrying with her memories that would last a lifetime.

Upon returning to her village, Emma realized that the true magic of The Enchanted Valley lay not only in its enchanting landscapes but also in the lessons she had learned along the way. She discovered the importance of bravery, perseverance, and the power of imagination.

From that day forward, Emma became known as the village's own adventurer, and the greatest physician of the land. captivating everyone with her tales of The Enchanted Valley. And as she shared her stories, she inspired others to embark on their own journeys, reminding them that magic can be found in the most unexpected places, if only they dare to seek it.

A story by Cloudnine Fairmane C9fm EMMA AND THE MAGICAL VALLEY
A story of my imaginations. It was fueled by how I sometimes feel.
Alyanne Cooper Jun 2014
I once stood on a cliff
Ready to let it all go.
The waves crashing below me
Threw coarse icy salt into my face.
Two steps from the edge,
Ready to fly into the cold darkness.
Sudden warmth covers my shoulder.
i should have known.
You always come for me.
Just before i can take the plunge
Your hand pauses my train of thought,
Causes me to take a step back.

What would i do without You?
You take away the cold
That threatens to completely freeze my heart.

What would i do without You?
You're the only One who knows
Just how much i want to be saved.

What would i do without You?
I don't even want to know,
Because I don't want to imagine
A life that has no You.

I once stood on a cliff
Enjoying the sunrise
With You by my side,
Hand in my hand.
Janek Kentigern Oct 2016
Sadness
it's strong stuff...
I've had so much I can't walk
without falling
I can't talk
without stalling
And slurring
Can't think
without blurring the lines
between problems
and mere actualities.
Lacking the faculties
to sort factual reality
from the masochistic fantasies
that lurk at the back of me;
Passively, I watch them attacking me
ransacking stacks of ****
that once brought me happiness
laughing mirthlessly, cursing the birth of me,
tormenting, caressing,
augmenting the worst of me,
Cementing self pity, bitterly nursing the urge
to revel in misery. Rolling in muck
and mire of recent history,
desiring nothing.
In anger I pander to these base demands,
Mistaking mere sickness
For something more grand
Avowing the charge of my own propaganda,
Allowing this world that I loved
to be slandered
Cowed
My friends are pulled down to an
unflattering angle. From here they appear
(no matter how dear)
to be traitors and thieves,
with knives up their sleeves.
I'll believe every lie my sick mind can conceive.

Don't give me the keys
'cos I'll drive off a cliff
Don't give me a pen
Cos I'll only write this
There's nothing unique in the words that I speak,
and this piece is nothing but
cliches,
mixed metaphors you've met before
similes sing of sick malaise.
Tongue out of cheek,
Dazed.
I'm released from policing
my verse,
Sad soul knows no quality Control,
As the heart beats crazily, I proofread lazily
sentimentally, hazily.
Without a **** to give
I chuck away the voice that says
“Don't write if it ain't great.”.

Days achieving nothing
but self inflicted *******
Gouging self-inflicted chasms
between loved ones and I,
apoplectic rage in spasms,
fits of fleeting normality
Bridge defeat, despair and insanity.
Weaponised hatred for all of humanity.
A small inconvenience
becomes a calamity.
Then revert to intertia perverted by vanity.

Next, corner a companion and
complain away the pain and drain your glass again and again without restraint

Explain the ways that your to blame, oh the shame the shame,
Dissect regrets, reflect until you've bored yourself to death,
(let alone the poor sod who kindly nods and slyly checks their watch, before they stammer out excuses,
Hints which I'm too hammered and useless to hear,
Too wrecked to check myself. They've done their duty as a mate, but remember,
steer clear of the fate,
Of getting ****** down into the vortex, of depression and regrets.
We've all got our problems. He's out of cigarettes.)
Whilst here I  reading aloud
still sore texts, to detect traces of affection.

Sad ****, sad drunk, alone again,
At least tomorrow I'll be hungover
Too sick to seek a balcony
To be flung over,
At least I'll have pain
Thats not purely mental
Physical anguish trumps the existential,
In Preventing bad thoughts by sleeping past noon
I'm presented with nought but this cheap honeymoon
Which will end, can't pretend to extend it at all
and I'm back with this noise seeping in through the walls
A tiny tinnitus that grows to a roar:
"maybe you're better off dead".
Bite you lip, hold on, its temporary. and whilst it feels scary, remember
Your not sick, you're not dying, your just heartbroken,
trying to move on, and maybe occasionally crying.
And that's healthy.
The weeping ain't that bad,
It's the cold light of day. It's the misguided logic. That's says "you had the best time of your life, now you've lost it,
All that was worth having,
Is behind you, and may I remind you,
You ain't getting younger, it's starting to show,
And times flowing towards the end, the time you spent on earth was wasted, getting wasted, not facing life head on and you'll never change. It's not strange that she's found someone better"
etc etc

You've been here before and each time it gets better. If you could write a letter to your younger self you could share a wealth of knowledge about Dealing with horrors from within.
Emotions invade us, but we can repel them. But you have to embrace them before you expel them.
So whilst it's not fine yet
And whilst I still pine, yeah, I'm resigned for the time being,
seeing the bigger picture.
And we're designed to recover then remove the stitches. No plans go without hitches. At last, whilst they might not go as fast as we like,
In the night take respite cos
Like the drunken high, and this ******* Hangover
This too shall pass
And one day you'll wake up sober.
LJW Jun 2014
The snow leopard mother runs straight
down the mountain.
Elk cliff. Blizzard.
Hammers keening
into the night.
Her silence and wild
falling is a compass
of hunger and memory. Breath
prints on the carried-away body.
This is how it goes so far away
from our ripening grapes and lime,
coyote eyes ******* the canyon.
Yet
we paddle out in our ice boat
headed toward no future at last.
O tired song of what we thought,
stillness crouches like a prow.
We break the ice gently forward.
If I want to cling to anything
then this quiet of being the last
to know about our lives.

Copyright @ 2014 by Jennifer K. Sweeney. Used with permission of the author. This poem appeared in Poem-a-Day on June 27, 2014.
Francie Lynch Jul 2014
Dedicated to John and Bob

From first flesh we move down widening halls
That lead to lives of wondrous walls.

Our spidered fingers gripped walls of brick,
Cruets, cups and candle sticks.
Incense clouded open graves
When we too believed we too were saved.

Between Annex walls we learned our phonics,
On tin-roofed walls we lived our comics.
Garage walls scaled showed different views,
Kitchen walls steamed with soups and stews.
Our school yard walls tallied pitches
That marked our summers of youth and wishes.

Now lift memory's pane and go back
To the white-framed walls of a secret shack.
There, in confusion we would cling
To the unknown wonders girls would bring.
These young boys' walls we both outgrew;
Now new walls sprang, as we did too.

Coffee House walls offered something new.
Wet kisses lingered near shadowy walls,
We heard poetry read in a backroom stall.
Recreationals made our new skin crawl.

Cliff walls were breached by stairs of clay,
Carved by Incas on a turquoise day.
Tent walls echoed with impish fray,
Green walls beckoned at the end of day.
These walls gave rise to hot desires,
Like Vikings planning funeral pyres.
New music, cheers and weekend guests
Stood us ***** to pound our chests.

Those walls no longer ring our shores;
Time swept us forward with worldly lures.
We doffed our coats of suede and frills,
And donned new clothes and workday skills.
The walls of work are a rocky climb,
Stones laid by us, for yours and mine.
Such towers & turrets of heart & hearth
Guard all we know of any worth.

I see distant walls on cliffs, in fields;
Where do they lead? What will they yield?
Yet, there three friends climb one more hill,
Climb one more wall. Then all is still.
My friends John (known for 55 years) and Bob (known for 45 years) and I have grown up together. Altar boys shimmying around the brick of the church, camp counsellors, workers,  Dads, and friends all our lives. We still hang out plenty.
ok okay Sep 2018
Hang me from your balcony
So you can hear my fantasy
People only want to listen when your wrists are painting poetry
Push me off a cliff so you can make a tragedy
Tragedies make poetry
Poetry is lovely
Tie me to some train tracks
To create a mass catastrophe
Catastrophes make poetry
Poetry is charming
Life is cold :l Second part was inspired from 'life is beautiful' lil peep x
Seán Mac Falls Jun 2012
1

The chards rising.  Am I the praying bird?
In the gleaming sun my bones are negative,
My flesh a cypher walking through the plains
As ghost I move, my dark lord, above me
Flocks swirl and spike. I stand accused,
Your pointed face divining oblivion,
And no redemption in the rains of my
Cliff walk days.


2

I see my shroud pinning on the wires
His legs are razored forks spinning my
Compass from True North. Your dark brush-
Fire wings, the swept wind, wheels and strings
My fate. Such black rhetoric in a burn,
Your caws, loosed perches, on the stakes, picks
My crowning grave. Black dove, your feathers finger
As they slice.


3

Smoke, the cardinal blood caries my teething
Bone, spades my hand without a flight.
Taut, the pulled noose my hooded one
I see my scarecrow’s reflexion, the scar,
Let blood, the seeded droppings end trailed
To my door. Feathers, ferry to carry on
Dowsing downward, black knight of down, to sticks
On extended wings.
comes a time to turn   to put the feet of the heart
forward    step at a time   each foot shod in time lessness
and space lessness

comes a space to hold    to place the hands of the soul
around    the body’s tabernacle    each hand soothed and
soothing

comes a view to see    to cast the eyes of the being
beyond    the mind’s walls    built by No without
Know ingness

comes a time to cluster these     in courage and trust
to move away    from the air lessness of shallow being
Toward

to step off the craig    onto Love



c. 2017 Roberta Compton Rainwater
Eddie Starr Mar 2014
In this world today it seems so many people are blinded.
By selfishness among other things, this is truly sad.
They have a intelligent mind, but its hidden from others.
Because of the selfishness that they are caught up in now.
So its hard to see anything but the self-centerness.
That holds each and everyone of them captive.
So they will continue going down that jagged edge cliff.
Brandy C Zoch Jun 2016
planning suicide
taste-testing cyanide
gun powder blush
drunk driving lush
hit on myself
burried by a shelf
pretty lace noose
back-rolling caboose
trip to a cliff
rat poison spliff
davey’s locker dive
****** du killer bee hive
releasing the Kraken
monoxide hose in the back end
a sleep not to dream
an end to the mean.
a dip in formaldehyde
planning suicide.
Dec.24, 2013
ryn Apr 2016
We hang
precariously
by the lies
we present as truth.

Dispensing tainted words
we thought inconsequential.
Ill-conceived notions
we sowed and nurtured.

But now we dangle
by the skin
of our fingers over this cliff...
Desperately clawing
to find purchase...
And gravity is a
mean *****.
indigochild Feb 2019
we live in foggy car windows, spitting out white lies that turn in vain,
white lies that turn black
like your hair, as it caresses your shoulders
like my hands, as every cell in my being reaches for you
but the cytoplasm current is too strong, and swallows me whole
like if your words were quicksand
i would sink
i wouldn’t fight the pull
i would let each needle and thread stitch me to the right side of your brain
with no anesthesia
nothing can hurt more than tiny paper cuts that we don’t know about,
you are the hand sanitizer and lemon juice that drips into my open wounds
i try, and try to shake you away
i don’t recognize my own bed when i sleep alone
my dreams are more of a reality than the actual person laying next to me

i feel the cliff under our feet, i push you first,
but your sweaty palms grab my wild fang t-shirt
and i’ve never felt more alive than when falling to my death
leave the world behind
i don’t know if that is a blessing or a curse
leave me behind?
i don’t know if you are a blessing or a curse
let my lungs fill with each particle of quicksand until it overflows into my throat, spills out of my mouth
onto your lap

babe, i’m not trying to fix you even though i always try to fix people
you like me with makeup and rose petals
i still take rolls of tinfoil, clump them together, and swallow them whole
to fill my aching hunger, the number on the scale means nothing when you are dyslexic
please don’t see me with hives and weeds
that grow from my ankles, straps on me
with a ***** on the end
begging you to call out my name
with mouths open, and gentle kisses in the elevator after i met your mom
pull the bandaid off, rip my onion layers off

i still feel more at home
on crowded buses where i am the only, white person
white person walking in low lit alleys with gazing, men
men beckoning me to come closer till their hands slip, in
in hidden closets dating the opposite, ***
*** in unfamiliar places with temporary, homes
homes in hospital beds and drugs pumped into my, veins
veins in your arms, is where i am still trying to feel at home
trying to feel
trying...

honey, i’m sorry if i held your hand too long
if this can’t be as good for you as it is for me
cut me from my shambles
you didn’t have to say you loved me
i read it between your poetry
yet, i still hold my own hand, draped across my torso
sometimes gravity pulls my hand up my ribs, to my breast
so i can feel my heartbeat
maybe this time i won’t forget how to...breath
i will stop digging up my own grave
just to inspect my broken corpse, to try and rebuild this temple
the bricks don’t fit anymore
too many fragments taken away

like my body was used for science
the doctors diagnosed me with a hypothesis
it read if with you, then without me
what is a hypothesis without the theory?
theorize goodbye kisses at red lights
research the car filled with the smell of *** and morning
question **** stains on my sheets
or tear stains on my shirt you wear

i cried for the first time with you there
you were laying next to me in bed, my arms around you
you were asleep
and i wiped my tears on your shoulder without you knowing
i cried to the rhythm of your breathing
spoke hymns in your ear you would never hear
confessed my love, gave you my all
your eyes never opened
weaved your hair in my hands
while i unthreaded stories of my past traumas,
giving you one piece at a time
your heart never flickered
tinkerbell lost her flicker when she didn’t get attention
but how much was too much until it suffocated her?
my thighs in knots from straddling you
- did i suffocate you, sweetheart?
Josh Bass Aug 2014
You are special
All I ask is that you do your best
I am proud of you
You are special

If everyone else jumped off of a cliff would you?
You are better than that
You don't know what love is


Choose something you love
Never work a day in your life
Work hard
Respect everyone

Don't make the same mistakes as me
You are the future
You still have the rest of your life to figure it out
You always have a room upstairs
I wish I had known what I know now
My job is killing me
It's not for everyone
If I only had more time

Your mother and I are getting a divorce
Can you set up my twitter account?
Hey buddy I want you to meet Dinah
I just don't understand what goes through your head


Stop being so...
Compassionate
Sensative
Cautious
Depressed
Honest
Diverse
P­assionate
Caring
Imaginative
...no...
ENTITLED.
Marshal Gebbie Feb 2013
Balanced on the cusp of reason
Teetering in rationale,
Gyroscopic permutations
Take the leap or stay and snarl.

Reason fights with high confusion
Torn between the yae and nay,
Gyroscopic permutations
Pack the case and leave or stay.

Screaming taunts in ragged order
Torment in saliva mist,
Gyroscopic permutations
Cut the throat or slit the wrist.

Standing on the lonely cliff top
Way below the surging tide
Gyroscopic permutations
Take the leap or run and hide.

Balanced on the cusp of reason
Teetering on right or wrong,
Gyroscopic permutations
Join the dead or sing a song.

Walking up the baking highway
Soaking up the streaming sun
Gyroscopic permutations
Laugh or cry... today I won.*


Marshalg
Throwing the dice.
22 February 2013

© 2013 Marshal Gebbie

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