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Left Foot Poet Mar 2019
The Fidelity of Transmissions

”Cells, the units of life that compose our bodies, are able to make copies of themselves to help us grow, fight disease and recover from injuries. Cells have built-in mechanisms that maintain
  the fidelity of transmission  
of genetic information from one generation to the next, and to control cell division in a timely manner, allowing our bodies to build or rebuild various tissues.”

~~~
when the poetry cri de cœur grows unbearable ,
sound mystery-science calms his tumbling transcendency

alas, here too, his ears sit up straight when stumbling on a invitation to
“come write,” for hid within the science jargon, oft rests a snipers shot

redirecting the didactic mind back to the
everyman’s land where-poetry cells split,,
commanding him to delve into, visit new brain wrenching vistas
“the fidelity of transmission”
at its macro level, for science is micro-poetry,^
n’est-ce pas

~~~
when you love another
the transmission is a slow pour,
or a radical jarring,
the fidelity extremely extraordinarily variable

the loveliest unpredictable

the sip sip of eyelid kissing adoration,
the irrational irrigation of the no-space-between,
when the television remote disappears in the couch crack,
the screen, complete static, perfect complement, to a rigorous experiment of

the loveliest unpredictable

we manually conjoin fluids in her mouth’s petri dish,
stain the slide for observation,
in full Imax color observe the cells busting and doesy-do’ing over to
a new partner, where bonds of fidelity attach a partnership clause to

the loveliest unpredictable

when a child emerges, the first words are
find that remote, just kidding, first comes a comestible demand,
mother’s milk 98 degree heated,
feed me a white solution to any unanswered cell’s questions, what a

loving predictive predicate

scribble this, ****** that, change a diaper,
while debating whose baby’s assemblage resembles,
overjoyed at the experimental outcome,
proofs of the fidelity of transmission,
the outcome notated, but science demands no bias confirmation,
another test required of tissue rebuilding

the loveliest unpredictable

~~~

^postscript
for is He not laureate greatest poet of all,
developer of the scientific architecture,
inventor of varietal sunsets, moonscapes,
individualized singularity of snowflakes,
love making, gravity and the preprogrammed death
of your own cells,
etcetera etcetera etcetera
all just poetry in motion in fluidity,
ah, fidelity fidelity
fidelity
Sat., March 9, 2019
Sophie May 2015
As the moon begins to rise
As my devils too--
Start to conjoin,




This is bad.
Nida Mahmoed Dec 2015
One day, two incidents, one enemy; we’ll never forget,
A day which changed map projection,
Which apart the hearts,
Extirpate many dreams,
Floating bodies in the river,
Conjoin pain and frighten memories,
Memories which we would recall on 16th December,
When we were recalling the memories of severance with Dhaka,
Woe was in the breeze,
But an enemy afar from all emotions,
Bloodthirsty souls; Extirpate many dreams,
Dreams of to become a pilot, doctor and a responsible citizen,
One day, two incidents, one enemy; we’ll never forget,
We’ll never forget,
One enemy but two faces,
First Dhaka than Peshawar,
But they did not knew,
Events of dolorous conjoined the nations!

By: Nida Mahmoed
Dedication: This poem is dedicated to all APS victims.
Stanley Wilkin Feb 2017
The curious activity of men/women

makes me wonder precisely when

both will learn how to conjoin

with rabbits, geese, bull and lion.


Talking incessantly like birds,

roaring like lions. However absurd!

snapping like crocodiles

or habitually waiting in human files,


torturing like cats

water-boarding rats,

rolling like logs

snarling like dogs.


snorting like pigs

gobbling up figs

In everyone an animal lurks

whether saints or jerks!
Andre Baez Oct 2013
Osiris is not a viable option,
The rays of him are toxic,
One must err on the side of caution,
One mustn't take in the toxins.

Not with a serpents gaze of night ,
I am the gleam in their very eyes,
The twilight of people's lives,
The shine dwindling with time.

Street lights conjoin with the void,  
As loss and gain meet with choice,
The old teach young about voice,
Lack thereof and unspoken poise.

Lines have gathered across the head,
Along with emotions, swirling regrets,
Primal fear creeps up ones neck,
The remainder of memories to forget.

I haven't slept for I have wept

I
Am
No
King

I haven't sang for I have pain

I
Am
No
King

I haven't laughed for I am ******

Keep
On
Looking

I haven't smiled for I am vile

You
Won't
Find
Me

For she dwells within me

A potion within a vial

Searching for answers,
Answers that have long since forgotten the questions,
As words have forgotten poems,
Poems that have forgotten books,
Books that have forgotten shelves,
And you, who has forgotten me,
Although you live here, my Isis.

You do not have the mind,
To know that I dream of you,
With me, as one in the same,
Glimmers of hope which make way,
For back breaking pain, and disdain
As you say, my name, I sob, I pray,
You encounter the soul provider,
Whom you alone, deserve.

Deciphering the hieroglyphics,
The depth of my chambers,
Such an undertaking,
Is only for those not wary,
Of rude awakenings and laws,
Forsaking the freedom of my bonds,
Which hold my place, along the gate,
Which controls my fate.

Bonds of loathing and taunting
Specters of faceless smiles
Messages of nameless moans
Titles and spiteful rivals,
Bring cries of despair and tears,
Which shatter the floor beneath,
Uncovering layers of disgust,
Skin deep, is the source of vanity.

Vanity meaning fleeting importance,
For it, death, life, joy, fear, hope,
And melancholy; know nothing,
As they are simply the effects,
But not the causes of the ruckus,
The frozen coating of ocean surface,
Ignorant to the swelling below,
Waiting for a chance to bring Diablo.

I
Am
No
King

You
Won't
Find
Me

Strip
Me
Of
My
Crown
And
Bury
Me

My
Queen
brandon nagley Oct 2015
The real me, the spiritual me, break's free
From mine corpse;
Stepping into reality.

A rushing sound filleth mine head
A popping sound, mine spirit's above mine body, aloft the ground; I'm dead.

I seeith the nurses, the doctor's art frantic
Mother's praying outside the door;
Father's nerves art shot, he's panicked.

I couldst heareth mother interceding to the lord
On mine own behalf, the operation was over;
Tis mine blood got cold and fast.

The scalpel was thrown into a glass
I heardst the surgeon's word's, we couldn't save him, we tried ourn best, I kneweth he didst all he can, he worked harder then the rest.

At that thought of mind, I shot through space and time,
In a tunnel I ended up in, mine sin's hadst crossed mine mind;
The wormhole I was in, was dark, at the end; a pinhole of light.

I felt none worry, distress, nor unease, I kneweth this was living, as I was floating, without walking nor running, an unseen presence carrying mine feet: I felt the calm and light warm me.

I hadst read of this, from mine Christian belief's, and the spiritual book's and video's I hadst studied; the other's account's were true of this tube, we move freely, towards the brightness with none toe's nor feet coming.

I ended up inside the light, it engulfed me, it taught me, this is where all wouldst be alright; I stood at a gate, not with Pearl's, but as other's saidst, Pearlescent by heavenly view and sight.

There were no demon's like at mine abode, no stress filled hour's, no Pain nor Human insight; I was met at the entryway by mine great grandmother whom hadst passed after me and mother left her side during her death.

Granny saidst Brandon " we hath been waiting for thee, I sawest generation's of mine kin; French, English, Scottish, Greeks, natives, swiss, Irishmen.

Mother's and father's side both, hadst known I was coming, their already aware, as the lord telleth them there, the time and dates of their loved one's succumbing.

I was overjoyed, none word's to slip mine tongue, here I was an adolescent of knowledge, though all I wouldst learn in big sum's;
I kneweth this was safety, rest, peace, I felt with mine loved one's as one.

Mine kin stepped aside, the one I've begged for help was in mine vision, he hadst three robes, ivory white- with a purple sash, there were holes still in his hand's, though his beauty burned bright on his father God's behalf.

His eye's were as flame's, though his amour' was overwhelming, I felt mine body as a tuning fork, vibrating with his brightness, as if this was his second coming, the universe was seen through his core.

He grabbed mine shoulder, we walked farther in, I felt none sense of time,no age limit just a frame of mind; where the young and unborn were, as well as oldened in age, there was aloud none sin.

The messiah showed me the street's paved with literal gold, something unseen back on planet earth, a place where a river of life floweth from God's throne, everything's sharper, senses heightened, as well as sight, sound, feel, touch, taste. Holy grace.

Color's, tints, hue's, all loud, everything was alive, LIVING, I was aware of all,whilst I heardst angel's singing call's, they sung different song's, yet on Earth a million song's together wouldst be nonsense, this place the music all perfectly was fused.

There were mountain's, Hill's, real mansion's built, as if an acid trip back on earth we wouldst conjoin with the planet in a false trip; here this was what was, amazingly struck me how all was one, no illusion's like earthly drug induced fantasies, no if's, and's, why's, or because. Though question's flickered through me faster then I couldst speak.

Here there was no need to move mine Lip's, telepathically we knoweth all, no brain needed, none memory enhancer's, no need to speaketh with human Lip's, thought's talk back and forth, though by free will we canst use ourn mouth if desired.

Christ took me into mine creator's throne room, the amazing part is God and christ art one, no comprehension of that back on the blue globe, beneathe the sun; as God sat down on a tall structured seat.

A river of life flowing out of his feet, inside were seraph's, cherub's, a divine meet, Christ was on mine right side like another story of a man I hadst read, I was living, Christ interceded for me, I was far from dead.

Mine great architect spoke living word's from his mouth, he was pure light, not as if the bulb in thy house, he shined, gleamed,he was the reason the third heaven needed no sun nor moon.

He spoke to me , " Brandon mine son, thy work is not yet done, continueth in love, though go telleth more of mine forgiveness and grace, telleth man to love another, and to respect their whole race; as tis at that moment I turned to Christ next to me interceding, the lord christ cried next to me, we must remember Christ took human form on earth, tis he kneweth the feeling of bleeding.

At that moment I was out of God's sight, Christ took mine hand and body back into the tunnel light, I flashed shot like a bullet into that tube out of sight, mine great-grandmother took mine finger's and locked them, and took me back to mine carrion, I didst not want to go back though god spoke the day and dawn.

I felt as a glove mine soul slip back into that cold corpse, mine pastor I heardst around me praying with part of the church;
Mother held mine hand next to me, dad I listened to saying this he didst not deserve; at that moment mine eye's opened.

Mother didst not knoweth I saweth her praying outside of the room when I was out of mine body, she held me, felt me, a child again I felt. I sensed mother's love again, as I told mine mother granny saidst hello, and she's waiting for thou to, and I told dad that his father couldst breathe once again, his cancer's not in heaven, that dad's father was renewed.

As still earthly being's I kneweth mum and dad didst not yet understand all the thing's of the bible art true;
As tis when I left the hospital I thought of the one's waiting for me, generation's of family, as I was waiting for them to.

As tis the memory hit me
Of Christ's Tear's;
How he crieth like men
How he Hurt's when he seeith us turneth against him
How O' how I remembered freshly the hole's in his hand's and feet. He told me to touch them, as he didst to his disciples
I remembered how I bowed
To mine Christ
Mine savior,
I remembered god his father's strong word's
"Telleth man to love one another"
As tis men art forgetting the reason why we art here;
To love.
To love one another is God's purpose.




©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
1Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in me. 2In my Father's house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. 3And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also. 4And whither I go ye know, and the way ye know.
John 14:1-3
Dreamer May 2014
Blue is the color of the baby sky,
fluffy clouds meandering the limitless heavens
Blue is the smell of the salty salty ocean;
the deep mystery alive with overflowing lost souls.
Blue is the whimsical whisper of the ocean’s song,
caressing the heart, pacifying the mind.
Blue is where cerulean skies
conjoin with caressing crisp breezes,
as I listen to the roaring debris of the surf.
Blue is the sight of purple waves
crashing gently against each other,
stretching afar
with no limits, no boundaries.
Soft fingers curl around jagged rocks,
whispering traces of blue.
Blue is the marvels of wondrous possibilities
etched by the sea;
It’s cascading waves marking time,
washing emotions onto the shore.
Blue is the feeling of eternal faith and fidelity;
candor eyes speaking your soul, seeing blue.
Wash me away, wash me away,
for I have yet spilled my thoughts and then my mind,
into the perpetual mystic heart of blue.
Andrew Rueter Nov 2017
We live in the unlighted state of America
Where what happens when we turn the lights off
Is dealt with darkness
And matters of delicate touch
Are treated with sharpness
When our only language
Is to inflict anguish
We cut connections in the bedroom
To clear our cynical head room
For contempt and judgement

People looking for a feeling to fall into
Or a reason to live
Must face frigid climates
When the public invades privacy
And ill fated ****** exploits
Pervade salacious tabloids
Our ****** regrets
Cut the deepest
Society reaps them
Sowing us together with resentment
We provide each other with relief
But not the relief we're looking for
We give each other hours of relief
Until those useless hours become days
And those fruitless days become years
That engender endless tears
As it remains warm in our car
But the winter outside freezes anything that breaks the plane
And our air conditioning only helps so much
When the spinning wheels are in our faces

There is a national coverage in the media
That presents a bleak picture of the ****** health of America
I feel I sit somewhere in between
*** offenders and a disgusted public
When I observe the observers
Who are too scared shitless to ever face their own emotions
Judge those for overindulging in their emotions
They lived their life in fear and safety
So they could be the righteous ones
To admonish the risk takers and mistake makers
Yet they are of the least value to humanity
They're the people who grade all your answers as incorrect
Without providing their perfect alternatives
While trying to erase the context
Because of what the context has to say about society
People feeling that they can never be emotionally vulnerable
Until they experience sheer desperation
And no dollar contract
Can replace human contact
Yet we give men so much money and power
And ask them to feel fine in our cold shower
Until we are soiled by their intention
A nation committed to selling Stella Artois
A nation full of Blanche DuBois

Humanity folds in on itself
When we attack with ***
Humanity does itself a disservice
By not trying to understand these attacks honestly
We forsake forgiveness
And embrace desperation
Until we become unbearably desperate
For attention
For approval
For ****** contact
For money
For validation
And sometimes our desperate desires become tangled
I'd like to think of that as love
And not a meeting between two practical rapists
That conjoin in the middle
Yet somehow come out distorted on the other side
Bobby Golden Oct 2015
Freedom roams within
A utopia where souls clash and conjoin
for a small while
Needles bend easily
Kindred spirits on the house !
A thousand and one voices ring
High end and low
Because not every dream has been alive,
As we hold them in our chests, in deep cavernous wells, of silence, darkness, intuition and empathy,
And we use the words that drips from these stalactites
On paper as we try to connect or connote some kind of meaning,
With an other type of human being who,
Is as lost as you are.
And whose dreams are held too tightly sometimes that they die out,
Like a flame without air.
And the in the air that is too hotly bound to the oxygen we need too,
Breeds a source of discontent for people.

And we read you,
People whose dreams have died a long time ago in the arms of, of a faltering god;
Whose responsibility you take,
Militant faith where you store an arsenal of weapons to use,
When you know you're good enough,
And when you're ready to protect yourself in the arms of something as,
Clean and crisp as rotten air,
yet there is a, heaven within us,
One that you see and try to take, use, misuse and abuse,
Wrapping tendrils of our beliefs around your fingers and pulling it, out,
Like you are pulling our hair, because being good sometimes means you have to be bad,
To enter paradise.
And your dreams lie within that attraction and it's as vulnerable as a flame.
So, you can never, stop, breath-ing.
And so we give you our breath, and we forget time is living, within us,
And that dreams, are not meaningful, unless you deem them so,
And beliefs turn to ash in our mouths, and our fingers become useless,
As our eyes,
Which are now turned inside out,
Because what is paradise, if hell is as hot as flame,
You're trying to protect?
And so the pursuit never stops, In the endless fashion,
To create something worthwhile out of nothing,
And we become clay in your hands,
And we feel you.

And we hold you,
the people, whose parents were the big bad wolf and the wicked witch,
And the monsters that you came to fear so that you hid under the bed,
And in closets,
and let your words suffocate inside of you,
And we the poets, see you, and feel you,
But, you, you, never ever see the beauty in the mirror, before you,
Created by the magic of a thousand mothers and fathers,
unable to complete the job,
And you in turn become the beast, the pumpkin, and the eternal sleep,
And finding someone to awaken you from your slumber becomes a life long mission,
There is no dream here to die out, we try to enliven you with our own,
We set you on fire in the nighttime,
The time when you believe all, comes alive, and a human touch,
That leads to an ****** or two, is the medicine you need to,
Climb, over, the, top, of, the, cliff and find, a way home;
But touch becomes emptiness, it dries up in our hands.
We are the dirt in your claws, and,
Like some thing has died, it turns to dust between your fingers,
And the more you, try to have us,
The more purple, black and yellow we become,
The smaller we grow,
in the cinders of your dying fire,
And we find beds to hide under, and closets to hide in,
Because dreams are something, not everyone can have,
So we hid ours deep enough within ourselves,
Because any flicker of any kind of intention, or emotion,
Is enough for your ancestral traumatised hands,
To try to dig it, out of, us,
By force, of necessary.
And we, feel you.

We tell stories.
Far too many of love.
Of people and love,
of a displeased marriage, whose loss of faith in love is renewed,
By someone else's smile,
That you take and wear them secretly out In a back bedroom,
Behind closed doors, behind peoples unmarked backs;
Where lost souls go to be reborn into new names and bodies,
And you take their body, and consume it,
because you were given a smile, and,
A smile in your language means some thing completely different to mine,
And this is what dreams do without air,
and won't let go of the *******,
And the alcohol,
and the ****,
and the songs that you listen to when you feel like,
You......are......dying, out,
And the fuel is running low.
****.
There is no ******-e in this story,
But the chase is un bountiful and therefore never ending,
And we try to become everything for you,
The fairy godmother, the prince, the magic wand,
And we try to consume you bit by bit,
Eating you up, in hopes you'll grow, bigger,
And meanwhile we are posioned by the food, exhausted by being made the demon, and
The madness that sits at our table is relentless,
You, are the by-product of a lost womb, and a fatherless hand,
And our dreams flicker in your tornado,
In the storms you create, in order to ravage, some emotion,
And, we, feel, you,
Oh, my, love,
We feel you.

And we the poets we take it in,
We see it all.
We see you angry, and disatissified,
We see you breaking,  broke and broke-n,
We see you destroy, thus, we are destroyed.
Our petite precious souls, with our epic hearts, our universal souls,
And that place where we hold our dreams,
We let you in.
Because we have warm fires, Big arms, and we,
We can create magic with our mouths and our fingers,
And we can help you to forget where you are and what you are,
As you, drag your fingers, round the cavernous walls in my chest,
Looking at wonder, that I've held within me , all. This. Time.
And we, the poets, can do this.
Because we have risen before and we gently glide in the night,
Looking for the sandman to pay a visit,
So that we can rejuvenate our eyes to stop seeing why,
We are not loved, oh so much, as if not so right,
And if, how, can, why.....?

Because here within in me is where your dreams came to die,
And my fingers are like pens of withdrawal as I try to **** you out of me,
Or us. We,
Are the ones whose hearts become so heavy, you will have to hold your breath
Pretty ****** tight to dive to the bottom of our seas,
To find a dead mans locker, where our love is buried.
And your faltering god, and your displeased marriage, and the mould that grows, through your ancestry,
Is no match, for us
For we are the poets, and we tell here stories, because we can't just write, a book;
The words....just don't conjoin together enough to make, me an author, worthy of a paperback,
firewood for someone's belly,
But simple words, here are built,
To keep the flame alive.

Because we are not some flittering, falling, pretty,
little whispers of things; we do not come bearing arms,
Or a key under the mat,
Or gifts at the end of the bed.
Do not be mistaken that we are the wick to your flame,
We are not treasure hunters, we do not find gold, and silver,
We are not jewels for you to sit and pore over in the night,
We do not want to join your crusade.
Because we, the poets, are the keeper of words,
The holder of dreams,
We have caverns within our chests, so large and vast,
Dreams cannot die out, or suffocate from you.
Because you, are the stories we write about,
A million souls who use their emotions as bullets on paper,
A billion breaths weaving together inbetween rocket fuel tears,
Ignited by you, a match we use to burn a new script,
A thousand pairs of hands building a home so big,
where you can never find the lock,
Because we are the poets, and we are the keeper of dreams,
And our flame never dies out.
The universal therapy
a common, household medicine
crafted by collaborations of talents
and celebrated by siblings far
in distance, near in heart and mind.

If ever a religion existed
which all would embrace,
a movement to seize the fires
and conjoin hands
to spread and span,

If winds had a literal way to speak
to our simple minds,
if anything could drown us faster
than the rising expanse
of miles upon oceans
and make irrelevant
the laws of land, gravity and life...
Very much a work in progress.
Christopher Lowe Apr 2016
Life is but a single moment
A flicker
Each a glimmer of imperfection
Because in that moment
We share the moments of others
And our imperfections conjoin
To create tragedies and love stories
So that
Even in death
Those moments echo on
K Balachandran Jun 2012
Yes, she stole my thoughts*

devoured, digested and made her own
in the shortest possible time one could imagine,
made her imprint to make it a through job.
all between a stuporous sleep of my unmaking
after that frenzied mating instigated by
her  cheating instinct at its acme.

she did it quietly in the dim light
of the zero watt bulb,
after we slept together
for the first time;
it was eerie
my romanticized thoughts
were the first to
get drawn out,
a tree full of wild red blossoms,
the name of which slipped
from memory to oblivion,
migratory birds of different feathers
sitting on that tree chirping in love's sweet passion.

i woke up
when the thoughts circling
like blood in my veins were touched,
she was there prowling
with the look of a witch,
a happy one at that
how victorious she looked!
my angst has no place in her scheme of things
after that, she coughed and spat
and pretended ,IPR never was violated
When you get bitten by the
serpent called  lust,
and two ***** conjoin,
thoughts go down and hide,
one become unreasonable
and glide through moonlit sky,
stars wink, thoughts wink back,
and the stupor takes over.

yes, she stole my thoughts
how could one complain?
You need to be one or the other at a time.
Unending disputes about violation of  intellectual property rights get one confused beyond the limits of reason, girlfriends too will have to bear the brunt, i am sure. IPR demons may be  prowling within homes .
K Balachandran Oct 2013
The sun, passionate lover, persistently follows his beloved,
gentle river, a demure maiden from the hills.
Though  sparkles and glows on his attention,
she loves to shelter more, within the woods, out of his reach.
When she at last comes out in the open,
to the planes, look! how much overjoyed the resplendent sun!
With his million magical hands he embraces her
she turns  crimson, in her intense desire
then comes the subtle moment of ecstasy,
in the ocean, they both conjoin, together they swim till nightfall,
the story is enacted, in endless variations, between these lovers.
Marko Antic Mar 2016
You say that you are contentment
while You warm yourself up
tucked next to my heart
and that I sleep largely peaceful,
rarely snore, and that I do not toss and turn endlessly.
But tonight , tonight for the first time, I talked in my sleep
I was mumbling, leaning against your back

You said, that it was rather beautiful
The true, real me, the unconscious me
the core of me that you love
the magic essence of (my) being.

In the morning You make coffee
and hum in the bathroom.
Our afternoons and our morning
the string that conjoin them
the light in the mist of life.
Translated by Mary...
Simon Jul 2020
Timing is everything when you aren’t certainly prepared to strike down your own advances in the face of extreme fun! Because fun (on the other hand) can’t and will not strike fun at the advances (that is your own product). Only to have (“timing is everything”) shrivel up and die! Except that doesn’t make any sense to have one or the other act as a simple countermeasure conjoin up with an interconnecting way of making things (all the better). But it’s already been like that too begin with! Someone once said as if by the simple means of a very lonesome echo. An echo that doesn’t have any priority to offer itself, except for the many occasions of seemingly never-ending “reverberations” that rebound off an endless process meant to coincide with something more important then itself. (“Itself”) … As in a very lonesome echo that keeps “broadcasting” every chance it could get its own “echo processing” hands on! That is if it’s not already of the “correct sorts” to measure such a claim. (Since a something can’t be seemingly claimed if not for a desire not having its own identity to bear!) For it simply trying to claim something (only to get it right the first time) is only but a fashionable illusion made to show that once something only seemingly happened once… It actually had been going on for an “infinite” amount of time without any specifications for how long it could have lasted? Or how long it’s very “reverberating transmissions” (and the effects surrounding it) would essentially last for? There was never an essential answer to this very question. Since questions aren’t in the correct sorts either, when trying to come to terms with an answer that demanded essential “answers” (right off the bat) in order to carry on forward. True…true…true…. The (someone) again once said, as if by the simple means of a very lonesome echo. How many was that…? And how many times did it resort to acting out in the best interests of something other then itself? The narration of this very passage “ticks” momentarily, as if to really “access” any of what this lonesome echo broadcasting mindlessly was “babbling” about?! When the narration did eventually come to terms about what its own “accessing” safely filtered out in the open for (all to see…not just in itself), it was confused (more then EVER)! What information it simply found out, was about how the lonesome echo repeatedly broadcasted something too many times that of course (it was not seemingly aware of…at first). Because even if it was, it certainly wasn’t caring of the repercussions bending the very instances that are (all the sudden) too alert to take…certainly lightly. Just as the narration of this very passage once took this all to heart (once upon a time ago). (If only for just a single moment). Not long after when it revealed that these very reverberating transmissions were in fact bending the very behavior of this once lonesome echo. And as if the narration hadn’t already been ticking it’s very “accessing protocols” together, revealing also another profound secret piece of information. Is that this all took place long in the past. Showing these very reverberating transmissions were the result of an overly prolonged exposure to something finally catching up too itself. Can you essentially guess what that very (something) was who finally was catching up too itself…? If you did, great! But remember this, as it’s VERY important (so to speak) …. Cast logic completely aside for only just another overly prolonged (“exposure” of a moment) having possibly been the size of another “infinite” lonesome echo broadcasting wildly! (Not to mention fusing its mindless behavior together as one!) You’d (all the sudden) get a random “alerting call” from that very someone who was essentially reaching out with tons and tons of echo’s in order to (not just make a “too long of a point”) when they essentially were only doing it for fun. Except for the fact the lonesome echo was essentially losing itself one reverberating transmission at a time. Strongly revealing another piece of the puzzle…. That it wasn’t just losing itself throughout its own “reaching out” protocol. But simply trying to keep up with its own alerting call it kept casting judgement on in order to simulate some “twisting fate” together. A twisting fate that it initiated together (in it’s reaching out protocol) as “timing is everything”!
Fun isn’t within the priority of itself. Just as someone once said about themselves “once upon a time ago” for being essentially narrated for their very own safety. (Even if it at the time again, “once upon a time ago” was for their good!) Only to have the essential name of this very passage mock itself time and time…again!
Del Maximo Jan 2010
where sea sings to sand
in crashing surf melodies
crisp scent of salt air
seagulls screech, sand ***** burrow
sky falls off the horizon

blue on blue oceans
conjoin cerulean skies
far as eyes can see
squinting slightly in hot sun
warm smell of tanning lotions

buoys bob in and out
mesmerizing slow dances
rocking with the wind
gliding boat sails billowing
golden crests reflect sunsets


Del Maximo
©July 16, 2009
Brycical Jun 2015
Drifting....
waning, wandering away from myself....
              electric pine and turquoise eyes unfold,
       greeting me,
    a jade leopard winks with those eyes,
an inside joke
in the new moon darkness lighting the room.....

I watch myself levitate into conscious caverns
  in my gray matter canyon
wind tinkles and chimes
( ( ( ( v i b r a t i n g ) ) ) )
the moist,              fleshy rocks...
          memories of sativa green Canada echo--
a family of strangers
      humming, buzzzing & drumming rhythms
tattooing heartbeat sigils onto each other
            amidst a sonic amethyst campfire
          moonbeam embers glow
        indigo guitar strings sing hymns
     swaying and swimming in cuddle puddles--
   a new age baptism.

                             My wings shimmer,
                         visions simmer and chill
             the darkness returns
            left with myself again
        I flight right into another lightbub storm
     as trebble trouble words rain bows of colors
  atop white lilies reaching for stained-glass clouds.


              Distantly, native flutes flourish
       like rippling water rises slowly
                         into incandescent tides...
                      sweet, filagreed foam tickling-
                 washing
                bubbles popping over pores.
           and I rejoice!
         a homecoming for an ocean's drop rejoined--
                         rejuvenated!
                           berserk bongos bump 'n thump
                              a raucous rumpus of blissful voices
                              vicariously lift my visage into everyone
                                   at once!
                                  astral silhouette forms cajole and conjoin and
                                         we     laugh        ourselves      into ******!

And for a fleeting moment...
I reminded of the celestial infinity
that surrounds us,
where time isn't measured in promises
and trees aren't groomed to be currency.
Here, I remember the why of my existence,
only to momentarily forget,
upon opening my eyes,
until delicate deja vu echoes intermittently remind me
once in a while.
I was in a trance when I wrote this
Evie G Jan 2022
You, to me, run like clockwork.
Which is to say:

In sections , your insides spin at insidious speeds, whirring a blur of gold silver copper gold silver copper-
In others, they crawl, wrestling, pushing, heaving, scraping and screeching.
A cacophony of cogs, the crashes spark thoughts.
Thoughts that think of everything,
Thoughts that think your mate can sing
Thoughts you thunk when you where drunk,
Thoughts you think you thought you’d thunk,
Thoughts that form into ideas,
Thoughts that show eternal fears.
Thoughts you thought you thought you’d thunk,
Thoughts you think you thought you’d thought but nought comes to mind about the thought you thought you’d thought about thinking the thought you’d thunk,
Thunk, Thunk , Clunk.

These lighting shards that shatter and glow,
They seem to know which way to go.
Conjoin with fractured other parts,
To hold together another heart.

But all they see, is a calm face.
That subtly shifts from day to night.
So unaware of any fright.
Tick, tick, tock.

You are the all encompassing
Incomprehensible complex
A never ending clockwork
Spinning deeper and deeper
Swirling deeper, deeper
Twirling, deeper, deeper, deeper

Dirt and diamond and daisies and you,
Contain all in life i know to be true.
Clockwork you.
Cheeky little poem I wrote for drama school auditions :)
Ever untouched by prying eyes
Your incandescence knows no price
No quantity of gold could wager
Your glimmering translucency

For beauty sits through frosted glass
It knows no mirror image
In sunny spells it lights the way
Just possible to distinguish

At night it sits upon the lake
Which ruminates inside your head
To change you but remain unchanged
To glow when couples wed

You are the anthropomorphism
Of waves on a summers day
You are the moment two opposing
Paths conjoin in harmony

In the instance your cover’s blown
Your reflection sits untampered
For that instant your delicate soul
Lies naked, conserved, unhampered

For all of this I sit in awe
As viscous silver streams
Carve channels at your feet
Ejecting precious molten metals

Which ignite with scorching heat
I find the strength to sit up
Then rise up onto my knees
Put out your hand and pull me up

I feel so deeply of your beauty
I cannot help but smile
When I think of your gift to me
It strikes me that time has passed

Since the sun shone to illuminate
Just how grateful I am to have an
Opposing path through frosted glass
A flower to my unkempt leaves.
“Love? What is it?
Most natural painkiller
that there is.”

- William S. Burroughs
Hao Nguyen Apr 2016
We all derive from the same paper
that which is forcefully folded,
patiently pressed and
carefully creased.

We all speak through the same pen
that wishes for stencils,
grimacing at unpracticed,
crooked lines.

We all take action with the same scissors,
cutting away from the whole
to create paper people
holding hands.

We all are constructed in the same accordion,
snipping away the background
that falls like snowflakes
to create identity.

We all fear severing the same sections
that conjoin one being to another,
waiting with knives in our hands,
anticipating to cut.

We all fall from the separation,
slicing the connections that bind us,
sacrificing our grip
that suspends us in safety.

We all meet at the bottom
of the same paper shredder,
lost in the screams of its blades,
obsessing ourselves to be
broken pieces of an individual,
but forgetting that we paper people
once all derived from the same paper.
In a desolate desert where peaches are scarce
An oasis appears and a goddess prepares
To ****** her next partner with apples and pairs
And proposing a union she takes me upstairs

Into the skyline and over the weather
To a room in the clouds we inhabit together
The book of life opens, she reads me my rites
Informing my dreams for a thousand more nights

Our foreplay, like Gospel, begins with a word
Whispering wisdom and secrets unheard
While waves of effulgence wash over my ears
And unspeakable lightness conveys me to tears

The courtship completed she lifts up her veil
Undresses her figure and shows me her tail
Her gown on the floor in a soft silky heap
And we drift to the bedroom where cherubin sleep

Melting like butter, collapsing before her
Her miracle strength has me backed in a corner
And so I surrender, no use to resist
Beaten by Ishtar, I wait to be kissed

She spreads herself open, unnaturally wide
Receiving my body and spirit inside
Inserting my tome like a book on her shelf
We form an anthology, bound in one self

No match for a goddess and giver of life
And yet we conjoin as a husband and wife
The muse and the poet are spun in one strand
Just see how my pen is now firm in her hand

With one leg in heaven and one in my bed
I recline and receive her celestial head
Arousing my mind and exchanging our dreams
Through visions that swim in ethereal streams

Perusing her volumes and rarely seen stacks
A scholar who studies the shadows and cracks
I reach out to ****** her wavydark hair
Her substance reflecting like dust in the air

I dip in her inkwell again and again
In search of the words that will flow from my pen
Receiving and giving, a cycle unending
Eternal rewards from the muse I’m befriending
ChawzzyScript Jan 2013
Can the skin of my lips touch again the soft suppleness of yours?
I like the euphoria that races down my spine and spreads through me like fever;
Weak and lightheaded, I am painfully vulnerable to its effect.
Giddy like a child to know you feel it too as we linger pressed together.

Can we meld again our faces and make our tongues dance?
I crave the taste of the mint that still haunts your house;
With eyes closed, I greet the endorphins with playful giggles.
Your hands clasped in mine, we brace for the onslaught of our zeal.

Can we again have our souls collide within the envelope of our breaths?
I long for the dizzy heights aloft of my infinite love of you;
Your arms around my neck forcing my head to meet yours with haste.
My hands cradling your backside, drawing our bodies yet closer together.

Can we repeat again the wordless speech, the slow mind coition?
I fancy my heart a metronome escalating a beat in syncope with your own.
A little nibble, a teasing bite, a nosh if you will, as if your silk lined set were food stuffs with gravy.
I suckle the lower lip as if it were an areolar protuberance feeding my infantile psyche.

Can I again passionately conjoin your mouth with mine, and hold you there in my thoughts?
Can I dare evoke the feelings I so wholeheartedly embrace, and return them to you with fervor?
Can we share each other in spontaneity as a hello or goodbye, again my love forever?

Please...!

Can I kiss you again?

-----ChawzzyScript
Tyler Noseworthy Jan 2010
The images of your beating heart
Fall trace inside your hazel eyes
Remnants within, breaking apart
Ripped apart, by another's lies

Your torn-up heart beats to a different rhythm
One in complete synchronicity to my own
Your emotions have jumped, going out on a wim
Now, no longer will you be left alone

For my heart beats, in response, adoring your tempo
My soul, in shock, gets lost in your intoxicating eyes
My arms, get trapped, around your voluptuous waist
And my lips, they steal, the most luscious of kisses

To drown in your eyes, would be an end most fitting
For one, like myself, who adores them finely so
To harm them, would be a crime worth a beating
I'll protect them with my life, no matter the show

To press you against me, pulling at your waist
Slender, and feminine, the most perfect of shapes
Never to be apart, stuck together with paste
Together forever, like one vine to two grapes

Before leaning in for that one special moment
When two lips conjoin, and become a whole
If broken apart, I would write a lament
To which, my life would be the eternal toll
Clinging to comfort, fearing abandonment,
Who dares the self-empowering act of separation?
In what position do you conclude your
Worthiness to reign supreme in such fertile moments?

Rhetorical of course, for a physical battle is but absent,
‘Tis only a tacit exchange of venom between two souls.
Always present, but selective with its encounters,
I wait not for your presence, and sleep consciously eager.

And that who equivocates tear drops with victories,
You subsequently turn hand when we conjoin.
When moments turn into years, I ask only for more.
How audacious to criticize your offerings am I.
Georgina Walker Jul 2010
she's gold on one side
silver on the other

heartened and free
she runs like a car wreck
racing at breakneck speed
trudging through sand to conjoin
two-fold into one.

little passes by her that goes unnoticed.

she drinks in every opportunity
to swallow what ever happening will feed her today's lesson.

equanimity hostility frivolity passivity.

she knows the streets have taught her more
than she will ever forget.

and she can remember how it felt
to taste ***** in her mouth
when she looked in the mirror
that mocked her every breath.

she tries to back step
and unmake a bed
that she's told she made
and must lie in
for the rest of her life.

she wants to call consignment
and have it undelivered
but they won't take
bug ridden
**** stained
sprung and un-stuffed
pieces of junk that carried
peoples dreams in the dark.

there's no worth, they say.

so she's left
carting around holes and dead air.

melted glass and ***** cartridges.

spent fits and broken tin.

wondering
what kind of legacy this is
for a very pretty tousle haired girl
that trusts her with unfeigned eyes
and believes in super mom?

she cries at night
and tries in the morning
being as tangible as they expect-

but in that socketed place
that holds spun sugar contemplation
she buries herself.

one two-fold parades all day
playing puppet gurrl games.

she lives in a land of
pots of gold and rainbows
clover and blue moons
moving one step at a time
towards what's expected
because she knows nothing else.

day in and day out
running like a car wreck-

gold on one side
and silver on the other.
CautiousRain Jan 2022
Did you love me in a past life?
Is that why you made a pact with me
to conjoin this time in a karmic unraveling?

What did you intend to learn from me?
Our energetic ties implied we should have known
how this would all end;
I felt it in the beginning,
that this might not be sustainable,
but I persisted and so did you,
dragging our feet into the trenches.

Did you care what the end result would be?
Was it satisfying enough to watch the soft shell
surrounding us crack?
Karmic cycles on repeat, look to you and love again.
A Poet Apr 2017
Watch the sky,
from light to dark,
wait for the sound of rain,
only to know your desire was in vain.

Hold my hand,
Such slender fingers,
two shadows become one,
two souls conjoin,
only to deform.

Our dream is but a crisis,
death closes in,
Screams gasp for air,
your hand turns to a tight fist,
two shadows become one,
as one dies out in the light,
your future is no longer so bright.

A tree grows out of tear,
each branch takes one more strand of hair,
time catches up to everyone
as you sit and watch the sky,
the rain finally came,
you meet death with a smile and a stare,
in heaven two shadows become one forevermore
Jayantee Khare Feb 2018
दिल मिल जाएँ लफ़्ज़ों में
गुफ़्तगू हो नज़्मों में
हो के शायरी के हिस्से
आओ लिख दें दिल के किस्से

In words, the hearts conjoin
Communicate in rhyme
Be the part of my poetry
Let's together write the story
Poor translation regretted.. lol
Jemimah Jun 2013
Honing crisply honour-bells
silver-charred and dusted thoughts
alight with the thousand notes
and woe-bygones
and ill-betides:
these nights of fated rue –

Called to join and to conjoin
this solemn incense scent to heaven
while shaken pyres
and innocent liars
twist mistaken tongues
consented:
in memorium to–

*Humanity's Nature.
any constructive criticism...?
your thoughts?
:)
Echoes know
That as echoes go
Echoes echo and just grow and grow.
And echoes mate
Conjoin and integrate
Then as the echo spins
It turns it's echo into twins.
Echoes roar.
Echoes echo more and more
As each echo echoes off the door.
But echoes die
As echoes fly into the sky
They fade into the fading light
Silently echoing off the soundless night.
I like
Echoes.

John Smallshaw   2011.
erin walts Feb 2016
Letters conjoin to make
meaning
They fall into place
like humans fall in love

soemtmies not in the rihgt palce but sitll

has *meaning
Lorraine DeSousa May 2015
Under a meridian moon,



That silvers the shroud of night,



My fingers map the contours of you.



And in this safe harbour of limbs



Two polar opposites conjoin.



Magnetic fields pulling us close



Navigating the other’s shores.



Taking me from valley to mountain,



Parallel lines now fused together



And the world bows down to us,



Our love bursts open like flowers in the sun.



And we float on tranquil waters



Light, so light, no orientation.



Motionless, trembling, helpless.



And within the tremulous radiance,



We return to scale.



From the zenith of my love,



I want to be a cartographer,



To represent a special concept.



And depict this phenomenon onto paper,



Giving you the legend and the key,



And draw you a map to the stars.
Steven Fried Oct 2013
River
Flow over me
Anchor

Steady rock
Crustaceans roll by
Iron stood

"Come with me my friend
Explore the wild wet world
Stick no longer here."

Brother eel
Slither lithely by
I am scared

Strong rock
Weak spirit
Conjoin
Caught in the middle
the centre septre stream
... genesis;  a moment the tendency for an object to twist, aligning in congruence with memory cells or a harbour memory cell hub a channel is created.  

So thought - forms can relive themselves time after time
I read an anthropological script one time and it suggested that we are souls if not stars or orbs of lights stuck in a single episode of a drama that is cosmic
So God, His Wife and their Son/s are reliving themselves through time and space ever expanding to find order
In retrospect that would explain why Showbiz is so big
For the First Fruits long for their story to be portrayed so to find justice, freedom and order
So then here I am, having incarnated for the enth time

In this world they rarely raise souls
a boy is raised to be a man
a man to serve the Man or to pay for the debts of the other man
normally to replace his Father or right the wrongs of his forefather
so there you have it, a script is ready for you to act out and your opinion is yet to matter as a soul


And Gaia suffering from the pains of the past and she grew cold, evil and bitter; worse than her perpetrators
then the middle you see Thor and his dysfunction and thence comes Lucifer and he contends with his father and seeks to oppress mother to take over the galaxies
hmmm and Him Thor in the thin of the divide
in the brink of chaos
assigned to create order

Earth then, working and cleaning out the emotional scars and mistakes of past - lives
incarnating again and again until we raise our consciousness to Higher Dimemsions
So we look to heroes you see to motivate our vision
You  contend as a gladiator and the Powers will reward you as far as your success makes them comfortable and no further
It is a danger to stand up to the gods and confess that you serve God
So maybe a nobel prize you get when you're older and you've sold so much of yourself in the process
Your victory over problems and exhibitions or sporty knockouts intimidate those who are assumed to be the limit
so this makes them insecure
these problems started before our parents and grandparents Im sure
Lands we fight and commodities we strive for only to have a say about the Word
the word that flowed through sound as it fused with light
So who with clear audibility to decipher the root code?
Her earrings Pandora we'd search for
His Heart Artola we'd contest for
Her beauty Hirana we'd aspire to behold as we become grand

The glitch in her consciousness or the filling of the void creates a monster that is a vacuum for the hollow negative consuming dark light changing names Alycza to Cleopatra but what happened to her best mantra Callia
And we live in the play
affected if not convicted of her hurt
so we long to heal


And the union again takes us to the  unnoticed spaces of creation
half the time we feel marooned
yes it is the fusion completing HAROON So we understand time better and reach RAJUN
A place of the utter Integration
Love
Happiness
Divinity
Peace
Eternity

So many roles in the middle I tell you there are many things with which you wouldn't want to fiddle
Excuse the so's; this is not a riddle
a puzzle we'd fit so pieces we do not belittle to conjoin the twigs and winds to find a fig we'd rig to our humane config.

And disease release, pains appease so we please the free and each soul turns on their stellar switch
After war, soldiers we have died so many times
I have tried to resign too many times only to be assigned
Exits I've tried as I was entirely tired
but soon darkness was fired and the good hired so our psyche was wired and the psychics reeling their powers
a new kind of life
life never. feeling sorry for a person
why do we feel sorry for ourselves
seen my father's tears so many times no more emotional games could be played
boom; the wake "I don't want to be in the muck and mire of evil anymore but a process of admission and confession awaits before I can experience cathartic filth induction"
So guilt free the freedom-seekers.so they can forgive and be forgiven
for do we know for sure how much time we've been given
many exist, those standing virtuous long have they been living
Can we live to seize the moment of deep sleep in a state lucid free from the matrix
and please not enriching the chemist; this can be done without psychedelics
Uniforms bossing hasn't this been the battle of shem to drug tossing so we can be one like tether Higher - dimension flossing
getting nearer to the Divine Source, how is meditation and prayer for glossing?
So costumes - they give us flesh, this animal and that to Adam a bone to string to sand, beat and wing
a flying structure human being
or humans being
what a fashion show for genetic engineers
And stars we remember
once we escape the material and return to the ether

the middle; you experience the in-between
the good and the bad
peace and war
love and lust
lies and truth
virtue and vice
greed and generosity
satiation and addiction
theft and earning
possession and sharing
Burning and cooling
destruction and creation
I am tired before my time.
suddenly aware of an ascending sense of depression
mostly unaware of my instinctive feelings and aggression.
my mind is running laps around the empty hole inside my chest
and i am just exhausted, my energy is constantly suppressed.
uncomfortably trapped inside my bed, just trying to arise
an aching sense of actuality, my brain can fantasize.
the throbbing pain of all my joints conjoin my body to my mind
regretting all of the troubled thoughts i thought i left behind.
proactively trying to occupy less space
staring in the mirror not recognizing my own face.
it's safe to say i'm lonely here, drowning in grey
but who is kidding, if you were here i'd probably just push you away.
written in the middle of the night.
Ghazal Oct 2015
Hearts bound by Destiny don't obey
the rules of distance, time, realities;
they cannot be chained by worldly restraints

For their bond had been carefully crafted
that day the universe had taken upon itself
to bring their love story to completion

And who can defeat the universe?
Constraints, tangible and intangible,
try but miserably fail,

As the two hearts, sometimes flutter,
Falter, fly hither-thither,
But never go away much further

And are pulled back together,
again and again - again and again!,
With the strings of their celestial love, unbreakable

Sparks fly when the hearts conjoin,
Reeling from separation, their love now intensified;
The beatific universe watches over them

*And blissfully smiles
Raymond F Bell Mar 2015
The waters have parted
An unwished dream comes to fruition
Will I stay dry
If I stand in the partition
Should I leave my things behind
And risk my old life for a new
Can I safely stand in between
Or will the walls conjoin and renew
Leaving me tossing and drowning in the middle
Wishing I had stayed back on the shore
Where my life was stable, standing on flat land
Always wishing for more
I just see a life on the other side of the sea
Feeling like that side is better and fit for me
But Moses isn’t here to assist me through
What would you do?
2/18/11
brandon nagley Jan 2016
i.

Every poet here, every poet here is a breathing soul,
Every poet here, O', every poet here, is a living whole.
Every poet here, every poet here is that fine grained gold;
O' every poet here, every poet here is an ancient mold.

ii.

Every prophet here, every prophet here prophecieth,
Every prophet here, speaketh love pain and fear;
We all liveth, and thus we dieth.

iii.

Every minstrel here, O' every minstrel here, hath shed tear's,
Every minstrel here, verily every minstrel here, ageth in year's;
Every minstrel here, O' every minstrel here hath felt anger,
Every minstrel here, verily every minstrel here, hath seen danger.

iv.

Every writer here, O' every writer here,
Shouldst put away, the hate, anger, and
Fear's, and conjoin into one, a poetic dream,
Coming apart at the string's, by hatred under
Ourn sun. As we only hath one life, to maketh
Purpose of a smile toward's another one.
Puttest away the poetic gun.
Every poet here, O' every poet-
Doth thou heareth?


©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
This is just a reminder to all poets... To support one another... Love another. Cherish another despite views, ideologies, idea's.. Beliefs... Writing is the souls expression. A freedom of any one man or womans words... Not to be tainted by others... As this place has become one of hatred... Name calling. A place rather of clownishness, not poetry. A place of hatred. Not friendship... As noone not one single soul here. Should have to worry about being attacked by others who want to inflict misery, and fear. and hatred onto the web. Because it's easiest to hide behind the screen to attack others.. When in reality... They'd know better to not do it in person to the people they are attacking... So as poets.. We must ignore the hatred that is going on. as I've seen many poems on trolls lately. Hatred. People getting made fun of so on and bullied... The biggest gift to those who are doing this stuff we can give is to love them. Forgive them. Not talk bad behind their backs as they do us... And to show them ( what real love is) because in actuality... As case shows throughout history!!! True love always ALWAYS conquers over evil... As Ephesians 6:12 said.. In the bible I read. Yes glad to say I'm a Christian an improving one, as noone is a flawless being. It reads.

12For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places.

And this is truth! Satan is very real. As are his demons. I know personally being attacked emotionally spiritually and more than that ( physically by them) with physical proof. They do exist. As this world shows an example of them working on people right now. Swaying many. But me. They will not sway. I will overcome the hatred and darkness that hates the light. One problem.. God is of light. And darkness cannot be the light of God... So as one not just because I believe in Christ and God. But as how I was made to be. One who knows not hate. And can't fathom ever hating anyone mineself personally! I choose love.. Forgiveness... And letting things be. And hoping the hatred stops and certain others may just find love, and overcome very real demons overcoming them... As we must overcome darkness with light..
Thanks for reading followers. And if ones talk behind your back or call you names. *** at you. Spew out hatred towards you. Our goal as human beings is forgiving and loving another... For we shall all be judged one day. And have no right judging others.. For when we ourselves aren't perfect beings... Though God wants his creation to love another. Now will you love all beings? And forgive?? Choice is your own...
Thanks for reading poets...

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