Must we lust?
Can we stop
this deadly sin within
from showing on our skin?

What are we even lusting after?
Daughters and sons
and the untouchables.

They say lust
is the root of suffering,
devalues love, devalues you
to nothing more than
merely a lust of the blood
and a permission of the will.

They are right, of course.
But O to be lost in delight, even for just one night.

Then - when we've quenched this lust
- then what?
Move on the next thing that takes our fancy?
or move on with our lives?
what's the point?
We're already guaranteed our own special circle.

Must we lust?
these things we lust
do rust and turn to dust
only to blow away
at just the smallest of gust.
Causing more suffering.

Yet, we lust on.
We trust in lust.
We must lust,
even if it kills us.

Limbo

Black hole quasar pulsar star meridians oblique oracle messages from beyond the lost between the bureau of the forgotten
Dreams images disjointed some admirably projected on the screen of the mind they tell you a mystery where is the key
Like being in a library books everywhere any subject any topic whatever your taste or fancy but without retrieval how rotten
Space fascinates holds men enthralled the searching of the cosmos the whole of life it has consumed the overly curious

What I’m talking about is if you could take a meteor shower put it in a black velvet bag capture true magic hold for your disposal
Take droplets of rain speak to them and they would obey your voice become for one hour that which you desire most from life
Find the passage to the center of the mountain a gapping cave where a true oracle is beheld divine utterance her real espousal
You take knowledge long hidden disperse it among the most troubled and confused and aura breaks and arches those of need

Life’s dilemmas and contrasts these intangible twisted knotted fields of gloom you touch bows unknown understanding blooms
Course contrary buffeted by unpleasant wind oh to know how to rescind make rays of hope grow in resplendent rows
The common coal fired and pressured over millennia does purist light ignite the mind soul and heart in excitement it consumes
Striation found in the cold glacier this natural marking take from it learn the soul has divine grooves that only play spiritual tunes

This might sound farfetched but one day it will be the norm for Gods family the unexpected the unbelievable your daily life
Now we are in neutral or the drive is mostly in the natural like you build the best house then someone sticks up an eye sore
There is the contrast the conflict your spiritual house shines then your enemy self wrecks and devalues ruination rife
The spirit oracle revealed that the devil wants you as a trophy in a case how nice God wants you but he wants you as family

as space sufficiently expresses, or succinctly paraphrases with the concerns for time: or hue, or suntan, or baritone hummed weakening into a humph... crazy-bone etc.; sometimes poetry is so much more than the usurping of onomatopoeia... life is the essence of being timed, but that's hardly the essence in the space we occupy - over-versed thinking never formalised toward an outer-reaching imagination that might become copper-raindrops' worth of Disney, or a way memory is made adaptive to cure dementia... yes, space is the essential component for the compartment of life... i believe time has no place in what's to be called life, i believe time exists, but on an Olympic scale, in the metres and millimetres, on the minutes and seconds scales... space is the essence of life: so diverging from known apparatus to unknown operations, thus so diverging from known operations to unknown apparatus... and so on and so forth, until dinosaurs roar and we merely say: yawn - arrogant in our guise.

true, space devalues time; as said the people between us who we never had a meal with, but had the crazed look of craving an unnecessary contentment with despair. can i guess at something? i like your alphabetical onomatopoeia, i.e. pun for knocking, a sorta p p p / b b b, not necessarily needing the suffix for rhyme, why is it that poetry requires the echo, why not rhyme upfront? anyway... but it's there, that alphabetical onomatopoeia... a repeating of the first letter, like opening an oyster... which contradicts the orthodox methodology of rhyme... meaning that there's a repeated seance of an opening... which (although alphabetically staged to a prevailing repeat) equips the reader with many more surprising alternations - basically you begin with what rhymes alphabetically, but not necessarily phonetically: the lost suffix -ing via i had a cat called blinding, and he said all things were shining...  one of your poems enabled me to spot this reversal of poetic orthodoxy, in that the rhyme became less musicological, and more rubric enlisting a coherent schema, such as a list... or rhyme via propped first, and cascading into oblivion, never really minding the waggling tail of a bouncy-ball of accepted verse. aardvark and acupuncture... the rhyme begins with A, and ends as it should end, diverging, so there's no feel for a repeat akin to drum or rhythmic bass... otherwise: shout an A into a cave and hear an echo... that's what poetry is damnably worthy to congest one's thinking with... don't rhyme: echo! and ensure that echo is alphabetical rather than musicological. perchance lessened talk, i too would have revised this example with some worthy emoticon.

Affection draws me to you
your every part and every moves
and shatters me to pieces
your hair that falls like lightening
sparkles with thunder on my darkest night
like routine, these days
and shatters my conscience
like all those trees falling
helplessly, grotesque and broken
constellations shines in your eyes
and in my eyes are phosphenes
of your images blurred by shadowy lights
floating down the drain of my brain through my heart
as i slowly lose what was once so dear to me
i fall miserably in the salty tears
unable to swim across the dimples that forms in your cheeks
when you smile
i try to stretch my lips from ear to ear
in vain
i am not under my control these days
i have forgotten to love me
since you declined all the love
i showered over  you
and that love now flows down the gutter
like monsoon rain
my once big bright enthusiasm now floats around
teasing me to despair
together with smokes of cigarettes i have just begun to smoke
i have been such a reckless lover
you have been always been the better one
my favourite lines of love poetry
which i seem to relate has turned to some
crazy language i can't understand
all those days i sought to hold your hands forever
i dreamt  you by my side
brought you all my life, i could't lose
i fed to you, affection so annoying
now life devalues day by day
you have been a chain
even with regret cannot be undone
i wash my hand time to time
unable to wash you from my heart
i turn back and look at you
splitting me away...
from morning to night
as i barely survive
residing on the corner.. dark..
waiting for lightning
thunders, flood... silently
extinguishing the light of my life
with the candle dying over the note
i used to write love poems with your name at the end
does it even sense

Your soul not worth its weight in gold
Your lust devalues love within
Your pulse is thawing asset slush
Your greed decays my crawling skin

Your pools of excess no one needs
Your reigns of power crash on stock
Your floods of wealth they trickle down
Your drowning debt's my doomsday clock

Your mass consumption starves our dreams
Your trade deals drain our wishing well
Your tax breaks crush our frailest hopes
Your free market's my prison sell

Your loans are predatory sharks
Your health plan is a ponzi scheme
Your advertisements bleed me dry
Your credit card's my guillotine

Your profit's my minimum cage
Your cost of life insures my death
Your wage, my concentration camp
Your price tag's on my final breath

Loneliness is an acid,
That eats the threads of your sanity,
Ushering a tidal wave of depressession.

Loneliness is extreme poverty,
Leaves you mighty
Bereft of happiness,
Bereft of  relationship,
Bereft of love.

Loneliness is like a delicious piece of cake,
Lying forlorn in the fridge,
Which no one desires,
Soon to stale,
Thrown away, unwanted.

Loneliness is a chasm of emptiness,
That devalues your self worth.

Loneliness is having a seat in a corner,
With fake smiles,
A lonely heart,
And an empty feeling that comes from within.

What is useless if unpossesed,
And like currency if one devalues it?

Good and light, you hold it dear,
Yet its darkness brought you here?

Frame a dative… spelchekovian science
show me…
for the mind, a recipient, then come the
messenger,
the artist's intuitive hearing silent songs,
long after the alcoholic angst of the victors,

the good old boys, discerning whiskey from rye.

The mean dad's that haunt the fragile heros,
shirking duty to the institutions that reared you, boy.

There was an old boy's school at Los Alamos,
wasn't there, yes, the spiritual making of citizens
had occasion to fall from the annals of America's West.

Hard times don't last. Hard people do.
Too true to dispute, replied the peacemaker on watch.

If you read, you've read this far, making you ready
to rethink why you feel good reading lines ready
to be rethunk, in your mind, at the same time.

As any then in any future with electricity
at cloud of all knowing farthest sofareach.

Readers who write and share ideal viral aspects,
a touch of clear joy, shameless, blameless naked glee.
Such sow seed, we bits alive.
We can resee the scenes of Panic,
and recall manic antics that felt holy at the time,

there are all the good days that ever left a mark,
at your behest, for your per-use knowing, on demand,
ask, any mystery, show thyself not evil, prove my trust,

gnoshit, gnosis initiates are rare theses days,
or so any hermit guru would say if he were you,

have I not access to the cloud, using cred from
God knows when, did I not lay my heart, mind, body soul,
and spirit on the alter with Jefferson, in memorium,
"Eternal hostility toward any form of tyranny…
super positioned right mind measure, mensur,… meander,

sorrow, tomorrow, today we play,
a robocall, potential spam, I answer to anchor. Real time
Tzimtzums, pops can leave a body breathless, in a future else
when then this all seemed ok, not aspiritual, yes, yustsay
aspiring to our higher minds lowest sorted issues,
entertainment
to hold an audience, pending, hooks, we need seven, min-
imum, holy gnoshit boogers of amberised gnosisnotdrips.

Precious memories, how they linger,
how she thought she caught me cheating at her game.

Wisdom won me, wombed man, brought me to my knees,
if you please,
you walk upright, bold as brass heated seven times hotter
than any metal wonts to be, this side of the sun.

Have you never seen the blemishes, sun spots, raging
storms, time and chance, when and where, here we are,

lucky us, we are alive in 2023 before the folly of mass-
education by way of animation, and literature referencing.

Drama has a value, reason allows, making war devalues it,
turns it to **** only members see, select audience,
the seekers first see Vonnegut ******* {;*}

I wish that I could live in my own house
Where my brother's and sisters live
Where my birth giver and male parental unit call home

A few things stand in my way
The emotional disconnection gives a slight separation
The abusive love and controlling tongues play a part
The creepy old man who touches me in ways no one should

That.

Definitely is a big part.
I mean when you got your Father card did you skim over the fine print where is says protection? Did you forget your glasses so you couldn't see that it said, "must go to a loving home"?
I mean these are all technicalities.

But me?
I'm not. I'm your daughter.
It sounds weird the way it rolls off of my tongue. The metallic after taste, like I've just been slapped. Daughter. Something doesn't seem right.

I mean why have a home where you feel loved, supported and valued. When you can live in a place that devalues all that you are, for all that you stand against.

A trained poet, knows that falling in
love in their life, devalues poetry itself,
no-longer motivated to read in their
own search for love. Sonnets for beauty,
lines to express emotions, nothing can
replace the touches and glances, from
a smiling lover.

Love succumbed to a mere defition of words, is Love exercised in vain.

Love is an entity and quality of God....as A matter of fact, Love is God....

Love is a product of faith and without faith, Loving would be senseless.

Faith is substance of all that we can not see, but hope for....and faith is what adds value to that we see ahead.

To Love with 'understanding' is when understanding will actually cease to matter, not because what we feel doesn't matter but, 'understanding' devalues the matter that we feel.

Love is measured on what you feel for the next person and all you hope to share and not because of what they can return to you as a measure of that which you invest.

Love will fail when the past is the measuring stick for what you have, over what you could have....don't waste time on what you can never change.

Reasons why Loving becomes difficult, is when Loves has expections of a response to what you give....and therefore question would be.....how much do you measure the returns of profit on your emotional investment?

Love is made easy when it is done by you....strengthened by your own prayers and your faithfulness....with the only expection as a blessing that you be with someone who holds the same measure of faith in what they feel for you.

Love never changes you as person, but acts as a reflection to who you are.....as a result, Love will keep you inside what you share even when all the doors are open for you to walk out....

Love is God and Faith is in works...
Say "I love you" as a reminder but Live it as a lifestyle.....words alone will never be enough because......

Love succumbed to a mere defition of words, is Love exercised in vain.

by Nduduzo Mbele
written 14/03/2017

My only empathy I have towards truth,
it cannot be meet without some sort
of resentment. It lights a quiet earth,
sparks conversations after thoughts.
To what I can smile at, an effort to improve.
Plato, lonely is it ever truth is. Conflicting
views, based on emotion, that devalues
parts of life. Plato, perhaps it’s not the
contents of truth, just a matter of
respect.
(knowledge variable)

A life comes to a stop, dry and still air, manifest and illumination, I’m in freedom and in searching wonders that has a stream of meditation, laughing clowns and sadening circus performers.

I’ve written poetry different from how I would speak in person and whenever I do speak, it’s different to thoughts that speak inside. All connected but sounding different. Sparked from isolated darkness and the devil's details. I Won't bother to explain, even if I did, you won’t understand

All poetry is a poor translation from one’s emotions.

Perhaps to the first step to an awakening, is to notice death is coming and that’s always coming for you

When I write, I always end up in a cold abyss, a freezing world, where I’m always alone, despite how many people that love my work.

There’s are infinite amount of paradoxes for us here, perhaps it’s not all for us, they’re just dream-like figures in the wild and unable to be touched. Guilt.

Love is a real killer, it utterly destroys everything you’ve worked towards and devalues everything outside that world between you and your soulmate, rendering it to decay, in dryness and whimpers. And if the love isn’t real. Don’t do it. It will only end up in heartbreak and striking you a certain bitterness, you’ll be unable to shift.

If a man takes on the world, to beat the world, to box it, to fight it, always place at least one grand on the world. The individual will always shiver and frail to the collective

She sways
uncertain,
heavy with
that horror
that will
not fit
in her skin.

She grieves
with oceans
that dwell within,
a salt-water geyser
spewing lava fire
that reddens her eyes
and face
while she
is slowly stumbling
through her place,
hoping that
this is just
some nightmare
or mistake.

She shakes
like an
earthquake,
ten hours
too late
and she can
still feel
the after shocks
of what was lost.

She shudders
trying to catch
a breath that breaks
faster than lightning,
air that will not stay
where it is needed
ca, cau, cause…
cause, her little boy
just got shot
by some
off duty cop.

Not totally unexpected
after a lifetime
of being disrespected
and disregarded
by society,
by a culture
that devalues
her son’s humanity
because of
the tint of his skin
and where he
was currently living;

But this is a pain
that keeps on giving
more sorrow,
and then on
the day after
the day after
tomorrow,

she sees
this social disease
on her tv
where talking bobble heads
deny the cop’s complicity,
rewrite reality
whilst ignoring history,
and turn her young son
into a big bad ****.

It’s early hours,
my sleep gets disturbed.
Outside my door I hear the sound of rushing footsteps,
keys jingling and jangling down the wing.
Through the fog of sleepiness, I can hear a distant alarm bell sing.

In the dead of night,
the only truly peaceful time inside.
It is death itself that breaks the silence,
stirring sleeping guards into action.
Oh, the irony;
that death causes such life in those whose default mode is indifference.

So, don’t you tabloids tell me that my life’s easy inside!
When its steals your will and destroys your pride.

It won’t be long before the ‘Window Warriors’ begin their chanting,
regaling the wing of another young man’s end.
Their words, cold and callous;
reflections that a sentence takes away so much more,
than simple liberty behind locked doors.
Where there was once stood a proud man,
now lies prone just the empty shell.

So, don’t you tabloids tell me, that my life’s easy inside!
When its steals your will and destroys your pride.

In a system that devalues human life to a mere number,
290, there’s a number,
the men and women that met their end in prison last year alone.
Each one of them dying before their time,
each one wasted to anonymous dysfunction,
putting rules and protocols before humanity.

Effects that reach far beyond the walls and razor wire,
Into the lives of family, friends and loved ones.
Left behind with sad memories but no answers.

So, don’t you tabloids tell me, that my life’s easy inside!
When its steals your will and destroys your pride.

Life is so easy in prison!
You all read about that in The Sun;
So, it must be TRUE !!!!
Everyone has an Xbox and Sky TV,
and larks about all-day drinking *****.
Who really cares if it is not the truth?

The reality is, life inside is scary, it’s lonely,
it is harsh, and it is stressful.
Living in a concrete box,
viewed through the oblong microscope in the door,
like you are some-sort of germ or bacteria.
Eating your meals 6ft away from your toilet.

Prison is a monster.
It swallows you up whole,
chews you around for a while,
and what is left is spat out back into society.

So, don’t you tabloids tell me, that my life’s easy inside!
When its steals your will and destroys your pride.

You’re so full of ******* !!!

Light, reflects on walls,
Comes back and questions.
Refraction from curtains,
Occupies razzmatazz mind
.........grossly withdrawn from I.

Light, your endless queries from the almighty till soul sacrifice;
Why tears is burden, thy the love!
Hallucinating you, unable to illuminate.

Hope, oppressed under your self-shine
Relentless brightness devalues the dark.
Dark side of your's forever hidden
Digging the truth, whole day long.

It hurts to look at the same person
In a different way
They used to be themselves
And they used to love themselves
And nothing got to them like it does now
Who would’ve thought they’d grow up
To be someone that devalues themselves
Someone who thinks low of themselves
Just because of others

Fatigue overcomes me
I want to give up
A weighty reason to give up.

A familiar thought appeared: it's time for goodbye.

All efforts are in vain, everything does not turn out as I thought.

Fatigue discolors the days, devalues the taste and adventures of life. Where are the feelings of sense to move on that I want?
But I put a comma, not a dot.

I will not give a full stop after all these tensions, sleepless nights
and thoughts of finally about the merit prize.

A cramp tightens the jaws
and I want to scream out with all my heart. And drop everything, quietly pause.

Are the time and effort, my dreams empty?
If I am destined to get real of them all.

Fatigue, I will not allow it to break me.
Why do my dreams seem so small?

Fatigue. I'll just take a time out,
get some sleep.
I never let any doubt
be in my head deep.

Today a digital beast
is beating me,
frustrating,
as I reset and load
in hopes that I will
find the control
and right configuration
to defeat this fire breathing
video game creation.

Scales, claws,
fire, and fury,
armored up in a hurry
and I worry
that it will get me again.

Even if, I do not win,
I can reload and start anew.

Wouldn’t it be sweet
if life worked that way.
If I could quick save
and reload after a mistake.

If I could take big risk,
and have the bugs in my life
get fixed.

If I could go online to find
life’s cheat codes
to beat all of those
real life monsters,
not the fantasy type
but the kind that
devalues human life,

steals from the poor
and gives to the rich.

Man, I wish fixing life was
as simple as this
digital dragon that I will definitely beat
eventually.