Education Gives Luster to Motherland

Wise education, vital breath
Inspires an enchanting virtue;
She puts the Country in the lofty seat
Of endless glory, of dazzling glow,
And just as the gentle aura's puff
Do brighten the perfumed flower's hue:
So education with a wise, guiding hand,
A benefactress, exalts the human band.

Man's placid repose and earthly life
To education he dedicates
Because of her, art and science are born
Man; and as from the high mount above
The pure rivulet flows, undulates,
So education beyond measure
Gives the Country tranquility secure.

Where wise education raises a throne
Sprightly youth are invigorated,
Who with firm stand error they subdue
And with noble ideas are exalted;
It breaks immortality's neck,
Contemptible crime before it is halted:
It humbles barbarous nations
And it makes of savages champions.
And like the spring that nourishes
The plants, the bushes of the meads,
She goes on spilling her placid wealth,
And with kind eagerness she constantly feeds,
The river banks through which she slips,
And to beautiful nature all she concedes,
So whoever procures education wise
Until the height of honor may rise.

From her lips the waters crystalline
Gush forth without end, of divine virtue,
And prudent doctrines of her faith
The forces weak of evil subdue,
That break apart like the whitish waves
That lash upon the motionless shoreline:
And to climb the heavenly ways the people
Do learn with her noble example.

In the wretched human beings' breast
The living flame of good she lights
The hands of criminal fierce she ties,
And fill the faithful hearts with delights,
Which seeks her secrets beneficent
And in the love for the good her breast she incites,
And it's th' education noble and pure
Of human life the balsam sure.

And like a rock that rises with pride
In the middle of the turbulent waves
When hurricane and fierce Notus roar
She disregards their fury and raves,
That weary of the horror great
So frightened calmly off they stave;
Such is one by wise education steered
He holds the Country's reins unconquered.
His achievements on sapphires are engraved;
The Country pays him a thousand honors;
For in the noble ******* of her sons
Virtue transplanted luxuriant flow'rs;
And in the love of good e'er disposed
Will see the lords and governors
The noble people with loyal venture
Christian education always procure.

And like the golden sun of the morn
Whose rays resplendent shedding gold,
And like fair aurora of gold and red
She overspreads her colors bold;
Such true education proudly gives
The pleasure of virtue to young and old
And she enlightens out Motherland dear
As she offers endless glow and luster.

Poet, be not afraid.
There are far worse things than
Bad poetry.

Keep writing; like a child keeps
Drawing with the purest of
Disregards to likeness.

The more stones you turn, the more
Gems you produce.

The more ink you rain,
The more gracious your written
Children grow.

All flexing builds muscle.

Rough bricks form castles.

Even Dalì carved canvases to shreds
And started anew
Not caring too much.
Not caring

Too much
To keep painting.

Its length is known as “one year” by realists,
Also referred to as “anniversary” by idealists,
But “four seasons” is how I would like to call it
As with the passing of time I learn him bit by bit.

We met in front of Record Hall
On a rainy night and boy did I fall
For this one man named Timothy
Who approached me differently.

We first found each other online
But he was unlike the other swine
Looking for a body and easy ***,
Trying to buy me with their checks.

Plus, he did not follow the ordinary formula
Like “coffee sometime?” which is just so blah;
Rather, he proved that he had read my profile
Attentively, so I imagined he must not be vile.

He did not mention or imply anything ******,
So I started to credit him some trust accrual;
He opened us up by relating to my stories
And spoke smoothly with sarcastic ease.

I fell for his chivalry and charm
As well as his unstinted smarm,
His passion for engines and parts,
Never giving up until it all starts.

He won me over with his corny memes,
Matching weirdness, and future schemes;
His unfaltering boldness and fearlessness,
Manliness, and, in due course, closeness.

A spontaneous boy who does puzzles with me,
A romantic gentleman who invites me to the sea,
A free-spirited dude who is a spirits connoisseur,
An audacious chap who is a cooking amateur –

He has a nerdy side as he likes to figure things out.
He has a masculine side as he enjoys working out.
He has a brave side as he goes off-roading in his Jeep.
He has a sweet side as he pulls me closer in his sleep.

He slyly squeezes out my personal info
From myself and makes me go “Woah,”
As he discreetly plans adventurous trips
Which makes me want to ****** his lips.  

He is not afraid or disinclined to reveal his worries.
He is not abashed to update me on his **** stories.
He was not nervous about exposing his cover letter.
He was not anxious about taking me to his mother.

Weight? He does not ask me to gain any or lose.
Change? He needs not fix or loosen my screws.
He takes me as I am, not as a mechanical robot.
He finds sufficiency in all that I do and have got.

He does not care that I wear makeup or look like a dude.
He does not complain that I take long to finish my food.
He disregards that I do not adhere to societal standards.
He discounts that I occasionally think and act backwards.

He makes me relax and loosen up in his presence;
He emits a homely atmosphere and is my defense.  
Hell, we even start doing ***** lovey-dovey acts
Such as calling each other’s names in several packs.

He uses his witty senses to title my works,
Which, to other people, may stir up smirks,
But he does not give two ***** about them;
As long as we represent to each other, a gem.

We are compatible and agree in many manners;
We are avid Android users, not iOS supporters,
We take pleasure in dallying under the covers,
We enjoy mysteries and psychological thrillers.

We follow a handful of seasonal anime together
And we tend to swiftly marathon them altogether.
We even have our own convenient organization
In times when we watch anime together in elation.

He asks, “wanna watch” when there is an update
And picks a title; I agree and say “ready” and wait;
He says “go,” I thumb him, we watch simultaneously;
Then, whoever finishes first sends a thumb amiably.

He tries to pass time with me after work so demanding
So he sometimes falls asleep and leaves me hanging.
However, he impresses me in still choosing to be dutiful
All the while exhibiting humanness, which is beautiful.

I am pleased that we have similar likes and interests,
Glad that both tally with “real love will stand any tests,”
Blessed that both are open to expressing affection,
Thankful that we are looking in the same direction.

Even apart, I admire his strong patience,
Extending over many hours and nations!
Oh, I almost forgot – he is also tall and fit;
The more I think, he has it all – you name it!

The list of what I love about him keeps growing,
With things to cherish constantly overflowing;
I cannot expect more or imagine anyone better,
So I find myself dedicating to him this love letter.

Gosh, how I miss our sessions of wine and cheese,
Cinematic baths and interlacing, candlelit bodies,
Our woolgathering moaning and perspiring mess,
Many nameless moments and silent togetherness!

April 6, 2015, on OkCupid, he gave me a look;
April 11, 2015, he “friended” me on Facebook;
April 15, 2015, he suggested meeting up to study;
April 18, 2015, he dated me and became cuddly.

All this from last year… one year forward, today,
We are still together and have not gone astray –
As long-term and long-distance partners, we are
In the hardest, yet happiest, relationship by far!

One is seemingly more impressed
by the less endowed or blessed
when somewhat incapacitated
and borderline inebriated;
the monstrous unconscious
disregards the likelihood
of fathomless undergarments
in other dubious departments.

Disregard the random blotches
or the involuntary discharges
instead revel in model tonsils
and almond shaped parcels
the comets of multi-notches
like a strange attraction
for disheveled carpets.

The blossoms of toxins
a libation ensemble
almost near horizontal
each movement a bent nozzle
like a prehistoric Narwhal
dancing like a jackhammer
with the elegance of a cement mixer
a broken leaking fissure
seeping vapid glamour
and indecipherable grammar.

The paraphrased clichés
and communiques of praise
like lost prophets put on display
caught in the ricochet of overplay
making an exit with the grace
of a stumbling ballet
down a poorly-lit
nightclub passageway.

Ultimately this can only lead to
the face-plant moment-of-tomorrow
the flooded memory of the-night-before
feeling utterly spent
hungover and hollow
with ill conceived consent.

The: Oh. My. God!
The: He/She is still here,
what do I say?
Hoping inexorably
they would just get up
and silently fade away.

Beer Goggles:
remember to drink sensibly,
or run the risk of
nasty STD's
or unwanted pregnancy
or breathless infidelity
or reckless insincerity
or if you're really lucky,
just another
session in therapy.

A man he wrote the book
A book for all and none
About a life spent leaning
Leaning towards the sun

In search of all a greatness 
His life a distant run
A battle for a giant
He reaches for the sun

On a field of giants
Merely flesh and blood
He disregards the mismatch
And stretches for the sun

Life the fiercest battle
A war that’s never won
Commits his life to reaching
Reaching for the sun

He asks the aged pastor    
Disillusioned as the nun
Confides in self and marches on
Onward towards the sun

Saw life and fortune a lady
Took a chance with love
Traded breast and beauty
Traded it for the sun

His only life a sacrifice
A gamble for a goal
With faith and strength he pushes on
He strains his empty soul

Tried to be a good man
Emulates Christ the son
Grounded broken wings he *****
Tragically towards the sun

To advance the course of history
Alexander, Caesar, the ***
A martyr for the western world
He reaches for the sun

To hold the mighty leviathan
With gear to catch a cod
Born with a head of a *******
He aspires to be a god

And oh his quest does beckon
Failure certain done
What else can he do
He reaches for the sun

To god he clings his anchor
Sworn service to God and Son
Hopelessly he leans
Leaning towards the son

If thine eye offends thee
pluck it out....

War offends
my eye.

All my
senses
defiled
*****
disemboweled
by the
abomination
of war.

My mind
disregards
denigrates
reneges
warps time
destroys values
alters psyches
lays waste
to my
conscience
of hope.

Mine eye offends me
the complicit witness
complacently
ambivalent
turning deaf ears
to groans
of the wounded
wails of the aggrieved
silence of the dead;
shutting doors
to sanctuaries
where refugees
seek safe houses,
locking factories
where men seek work,
level homes
where women nurture,
strafe playgrounds
where children laugh,
raise cities
where people
learn to be human,
immolate mosques
where
God's Children
cry out to the
Beneficent One.

Mine eye offends me,
my gut sickens,
to witness
the slaughter
of innocents
droning on
no angels to save
the million Issac's
savagely smashed to bits
by a Tomahawk's blow.

God's vengeance
escalates
the celestial ledgers
dripping red ink
from excessive
collateral damage,
people reduced
as objects used
to secure a loan
indeed an ARM
on a real time
American nightmare
whose reset rate
is mounting body counts
and massive budget allocations
protecting undisturbed flows
of corporate profits
valued in barrels
of imported blood.

Mine eye offends me
an innocence lost
Veritas vanquished
life is devalued
humanity debased
compassion defunct
empathy a twisted satire
an indelible weakness
incidental hostage
to the torridness
of the lurid play
of savage nations
projecting will,
a devastation
of action.

Mine eye offends me
the message of
sweet Jesus
a way of light
transformed into
biblical justification
agitprop verse
stoking blood lust zeal
for apostate infidels
sons of Abraham's
unworthy spawn,
of Hagar the *****
******* child Ishmael
turned out again
from tribal tents
of an absentee father
from an unfriendly
paternity.

This black *******
an abomination
in the sight of Allah
celebrates
a zeal to ****
unholy disciples
yearning to fill
banana crates
with body parts
draped in
drab Hijabs
decorated with
satanic verses
from a
Holy Quran
carved with
bayonets
of self righteous
Crusaders
armed with rifles
inscribed with
Gospel verses
on deadly gun
barrel stocks
to ramp the passion
of the righteous Crusade
against Godless apostates.

Mine eye offends me
as I witness
the **** of
corporate mercenaries
churning bereaved
Blackwaters
beholden only
to shareholders
gobbling spoils of war
to safely exit
to private vomitoriums
to expunge the excess
of gluttony
only to
quickly return
to engorge themselves
at the public troughs
again.

No constitutional
restraints
save the
strict guidelines
of holy
corporate governance scriptures
ruthlessly enforced with
golden carrots
of multi-million dollar
stock options
and the brutal stick
of shareholders divine right
to quarterly dividends
and above average
equity returns.

Corporate warriors
anointed by
holy oil
proffered
by capitalist shamans
and US Senators
conferring
jurisprudential deferment
on civil law
recusing them from
any behavior
to recognize the humanity
of captive insurgents.

Mine eye offends me,
as the flag
draped coffins
of returning
servicemen
and women
continue to pile
on the boiling tarmac
of Dover Air Force Base.

Tearful salutes,
folded flags
and mournful dirges
of prerecorded Taps
are small compensation for
shattered families,
and a wasted life,
unnecessarily spent,
criminally sacrificed
in a pointless conflict
in service to a lie.

Mine eye offends me
as I watch
my country's soft parade
of growing militarization
xenophobic fear
compelled patriotism
salute and goose step
to the flash of sword
and the sound of guns
and the glittering
medals of valor
adorning the chests
of a nations warriors.

How barbaric
are we?
allocating
overstuffed
apportionment
of weapons
and armories
while
people are
foreclosed
forcing armies
of unemployed
Joads
to ride
en masse on
an Acela Express
to a crowded
poor house
a listless journey
on pock marked
highways
arriving at
dreaded
destinations
to defunct
townships
offering
empty factories
and closed schools.

Screaming in silence
I scratch at my eyes
with numbed fingers.

Matthew 18:9

Music Selection:
The Doors, The Soft Parade

Oakland
3/17/10
jbm

What is love?
Murasaki would say it was an obligation,
a sort of duty
where the rules
say to bury one’s emotions
and succumb to the overpowering ***.

Mian Mian embraces the sexuality
of her culture. Arguing that love
is the force behind drugs and emotion.
It is not the government’s obligation
to dictate the author’s form of rules
on writing a novel that serves its own duty.

How does Black Jade feel about her duty?
Despite her lover’s sexuality
and his matriarch’s ruling
of marrying well even if he does love
her, the family cares more of their obligation
then of their prized sons emotions.

Coco lived by her emotions.
The sickness of Tian not her duty
as it would have been in the old days. Lui’s obligation
to turn in Shiba overruled by rough ***
and her quest for painful love
in a time that disregards all form of rule.

Peony was one who broke the rules
but was rewarded for it. Unless it’s Peony #2 because her emotions
got the best of her when she fell in love
at the wrong time. It was not her duty
to see the play nor feel anything ******
in the Three Wives Commentary; this, her obligation.

Was it Abe Sada’s obligation
to castrate her lover and make her own rules?
Madame Mao too knew all about ***
and succumbed to her emotions
when her duty
was no longer to love.

From emotional red chambers with rules
on obligatory ***, the cycle of East Asian
love patterns has yet to fulfill its duty.

My pain is like a dripping faucet
abused and mistreated
My overall condition, worsening drip by drip by drip.
Filling up the sink of life and drowning slowly,
agonizingly.

Choices made with haste and without true understanding of the possible result of the bitterness and pain I was causing.
The loss of the only child you carried in your womb, protected and loved by you, tenderly and with intent.
Mistakes so numerous, an exact moment of loss not known.
Immature woman given young child to raise in this world
of temptation, sin and emotional turbulence.......

-SIN OF THE FLESH CHOSEN OVER A GODLY LIFE-

My beautiful boy with a heart full of hope and abundance
damaged with a change of plans in my travels, unfairly and unjust.
Causing his vehicle to careen down an empty highway of bitterness and isolation.
Fortifying walls around his heart full of abundance of trust and love
Now cold and distant from the mother that shielded him from pain with strain and exertion.

My voice beckons him from across the canyon
To PLEASE allow me to make things ok again between us.
But, alas, only the echo of my own voice is rocketing in the distance
Emptiness and hopelessness, I strain to hear anything at all, no emotion allowed to return to me.  Not even an angry voice.
Beating myself with a metal chain, ****** and in complete desperation, standing on piercing nails with ripped off limbs.....

-OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER-  
FOR EVER??  
NO MORE CHANCES.  
FORGOTTEN, WATCHING IN DESPAIR AS HIS LIFE GOES ON WITHOUT ME
SO EASILY, HE MAKES IT APPEAR.

Regret is like an ancient building ruining the value of its neighbors
decrepit and broken down,
Depraved, isolated and abandoned with recklessness.
So ugly on the outside, no one dares try to re-enter the condemnation of the door.
No one believes it can ever be restored to its original beauty and inspiration.

Hopeful and optimistic for a reunion of remembrance and forgiveness.
Determined with purpose, willing to risk looking shamed and unlovable.
No more self-respect because of hasty, decisions and instant gratification.
Still holding my breath.  Could this be the time I call and he finally comes around?
Grasping to clutch, once again, the blessed unconditional love and trust of my only son.

Negligent and selfish, unintentional life choices of a mother
Difficult to completely accept responsibility for injuries sustained by my misjudgment.
Finally, after years of scripture and study,
Understanding the agony and misery
God must have felt to watch Jesus' beaten and prodded,

GOD SACRIFICED HIS ONLY SON
............THE ONLY WAY TO SHIELD US FROM THE UNIMAGINABLE PAIN AND MISERY
OF AN  ETERNITY  IN HELL ALONE AND UNWANTED
FINALLY RENEWED WITH FORGIVENESS!!!
AFTER WE HAD SINNED AGAINST HIM SINCE THE GARDEN OF EDEN FOR THOUSANDS OF YEARS.

Almost insane from the self-inflicted abuse,
Survival instincts start to make me want to give up and continue my bad choices to numb the memory of him.
Yet, still begging to have him love me again, even if it was for a single minute.
Dreaming of a loving hug from son to mother in earnest and heartfelt.  Willing to settle ANY emotion at all reciprocated.
Hoping he never makes a mistake that causes such irreparable intensity, empty and unwanted.

After 12 years of comforting and soothing and protection,
Everything lost, no more memory at all of mother needed...
No thought of how important he made me feel at one time.
Only father standing proud in picture next to child
                Lovingly smiling at him with adoration.

He respects him and loves him as much as he condemns and disregards me.
               He only speaks or thinks of me with disdain and total detachment
And.. Only when absolutely unavoidable and by force, it appears.
What kind of hell on earth is this?  
           My own tears drown my hope and regret now defines me with each effort of possible reconciliation that is tossed away like an unwanted thing.  

Drip, drip, drip.
My heart is ripped into a million pieces, by my own hand.  
Never to be needed again
If forgiveness will never be possible, tell me now.
                 Please have mercy, while I grieve the loss of my only son.  Yet he lives.

Arachne’s Shadow

Silver spindles manifest, each one
unique; artistry
at the tip of eight long
fingers--crafted carefully to
catch curious creatures;
trapped by the allure of Circe’s
web of lies. Glistening
and bright from distances, yet
dead upon impact; sticky, dull.

A corner, so decorated with
cobwebs and dust; Arachne
spins her loom in the dark, a room,
that is used seldom, with the exception
of the dinner show;  always
on time, 8 o’clock sharp. Witness
the cunning I lack, benevolence
she disregards; a fly—simple in intelligence,
but chaotic when trapped
in a small room; nuisances
that need dealing with.

Once caught, the struggling ignorant
victim chokes on
mistakes of days past, cheating on
a test, beating the ******* boy; observed
errors of judgment, punishable by death.
Every victim is different, but each is caught
screaming, praying, gasping
for life, only to be
muffled, hushed, stifled;  No remorse
during mealtime.

What is it that kills creativity?
Some say pain and oppression,
others say that it's the false constructs,
forced upon us by society.

But it is much simpler than that,
for creativity thrives under pain,
it paints its pain into words or pictures.
When happy,
creativity blossoms with inspiration,
and hope to share through pen and brush.

What kills creativity,
is the lack of emotion.
Numbness that suspends time,
disregards all wonder and presences,
for there is nothing to create when there is no dream.

So creativity floats in a sea
of numbness until new feeling is discovered.

Dear Random Strangers,
            
Your sideways glances and whispered remarks have been noticed.
What you think has no effect actually means the world.
I would like to ask you...
No...Beg you...
To please stop judging me because of the marks on my wrist,
Allow me the chance to tell you my story,
Before you put the damaged book in the trash.
I know my corners are dog-ear,
Yes some pages are ripped,
And my cover is torn and scratched.
But looks can be deceiving.

Random Stranger, I know we haven't met
But every time one person disregards me,
It becomes more easy to believe I am trash,
And it makes me want to throw myself away...

Society tells me my size 22 hips
Are disgusting
That the hole in my lip
Is atrocious
My pointed nails, my blue hair, my black clothes
Are products of the devil
I am given freedom of religion yet, I am condemned because my Goddess is not
your God
I am poked and prodded at because my sexuality goes beyond laying with a man
In my state, I cannot marry a women because society is so entrapped in their perfect religion
How is this a fair world if I cannot be me?
As a woman, I am expected to keep my opinion to myself, bear children, and serve a husband
Yet, I am independent and creative
I thrive to make my own path
To be successful in myself and those closest to me  
To be unique and to question everything I will not conform to a society in which I cannot think for myself

I believe in what cannot be seen
Therefore, I am crazy
I work better alone; think better on my own
I keep my words in my brain because they aren't the same as everyone's
So, I am depressed
My body composition is curvaceous and *****
So I starve myself to get the body society has entitled as perfection
But, what of my body?
Do I live how I see fit?
Hiding from mirrors and cameras, covered up by the baggy clothes boys wear on a day to day basis
Or do I entomb myself in a decaying corpse to live a short life of perfection
No.
I will walk with my head held high and my skirt blowing in the wind
Because I will not conform to society's definition of perfection

I crave affection in the physical form
Therefore, I am a ****
But you don't know my back story
You do not know how my entire life I was deprived of the emotions I so desperately craved
I don't know how to feel when a feeling is all that is offered to me
So, I remain alone
Because I am not beauty in society's eye
Therefore, I am not your first choice
Even though everyone says 'do not judge a book by it's cover'
I am cast away before you get to know me
Before you know my talents, my hobbies, my aspirations in life, my goals, my struggles, the reasons behind my words
Because society has been taught to love with the eyes and not the heart
What about the pigmentation of my skin complexion?
Society automatically disregards me as a troubled teen
That I will just become another statistic of the African-American populace
But I say I won't
Because my ancestors fought and died for their freedom, therefore I should fight for my say in my life
I will not be fat-shamed
I will not be ****-shamed
I will not be black-shamed
Because I cannot and will not conform to a society in which I cannot be me

You think you're special
Special, you are, my dear
Look in the mirror,
You're one in a million
You have two eyes, a nose
Oh, and a mouth too
That spits venomous fire
Onto every soul that disregards
The beauty of your mind
The logic they cannot find
In your thoughts and your speech
But, oh, how you mind
Everything that makes sense to you, is beautiful
And all that fails to, non-sensical
Of course, you're one in a million
A copy-paste of a different kind

Little boy smiling at me
Innocent and sweet
At the time he was a pain I hated to meet
My blonde bouncy curls he liked to pull
Teasing me had done it's toll
I'd chase him around
Doing circles on the playground
Just two young kids teasing eachother till no end
He was a stubborn boy, refusing to bend
Years passed as the boy grew into a strong willed man
I grew into a lanky woman without any goals or life plan
We drifted apart for awhile
Became separated by miles
You know when you meet someone again that you haven't seen for awhile?
It's hard not to remember them as they were when they were but a child
Meeting him again something had changed
Something that made my heart ache in way that was strange
Wanted to be close to him
Yet his once innocent eyes warned of sin
I could tell that the man had been through pain
I feared that this spark wouldn't remain
The boy was was still haunting my mind
The man was a reminder I was running out of time
Once so ornery and carefree
Now he could barely smile at me
I could tell he wanted this just as much
Seemed to fight the urge to lean in whenever we touched
So different they were. The boy and the man that he had become
The boy was there for me. The man just disregards my love
The man is forever fighting against the pull of fate
By the time he realizes what he needs it'll be too late
The one who use to chase me
Now tries to flee
Funny how the roles reversed
After so long I searched
Waited for him to come back here
Now all his pain screams not to come near
Strong man hiding from me
Broken and free
Long ago he was an innocent boy that taunted
Now he is the man that has left my heart haunted

My wife wears the sandals.
I never could. Must wear socks.
She says, No socks with sandals.
It's just not done! Sorry, don't
see myself with scented candles,
wispy beard smoking ***.
No disregards, it's just not my lot.

the whole team is here now
**** it
we started from the bottom
now we are here
what is the bottom
but the bottom
of an ****
a ******
a ******* ******
pouring out a baby
that's the bottom
everything
is grown
like a seed
to a flower
started
from the seed
to the flower
that's all he's talking aobut
upper class
middle class
no class
you don't get it
human achievement
disregards
money
trumps it
like a full house over three pair
there's a gap
no matter where u come from
talent
is talent
and u get
pushed
to the top
from the bottom
even if it was already at the top

Down at the local bar, there are two chairs.  
In one is a man named Logus,
Who came from The Desert of Nine Valleys;
In the other is a song-less musician named Sparrow.

Day after day
Alone in the bar
The man with the foolish grin
Is keeping perfectly still.
But nobody wants to know him,
They can see that he's just a fool.

He wandered very far,
Very far,
Over land and sea.
A little shy,
And sad of eye,
But very wise was he.
And then one day,
One magic day he looked Logus' way.
And while they spoke of many things,
Fools and kings,
This he said to him:

“Good morrow to thee, brother prisoner!
Do you realize that you have the most beautiful face?
Do you realize we're floating in space,
Do you realize that happiness makes you cry
And
Do you realize that everyone you know someday will die?”

Logus doesn’t want to bother with the bird,
”These are all lies
and jests.”

Sparrow retorts, “Still
A man hears what he wants to hear
And disregards the rest.
Now,
Drop your guard, you don't have to be smart all of the time.
I've got a mind full of blanks, I need to go somewhere new fast.
And don't be shy, oh no,
At least deliberately.

What was I saying?
Oh yeah.
Let me tell you a story that's sad but true,
About someone who just may remind you of you.
Let me tell you a tale that may help you awake a woozy head-
I'll buy you a drink
-It begins long ago on a happy day,
With a fool who was loved, but threw it all away,
Who exchanged a good home for a flophouse, a bar and a plank-“
Sparrow’s eyes begin to glisten--

Logus Interrupts,
“While we're on the subject,
Could we change the subject now?

My name is Logus,
I'm carrying the wheel.
Thanks for all you've shown us,
But this is how we feel.
Come sit next to me.
Pour yourself some tea.
Just like Grandma made,
When we couldn't find sleep.
Things were better then,
Once but never again.
We've all left the den
Let me tell you about it:

I am just a poor boy
Though my story's seldom told.
I have squandered my resistance,
for an existence
In which
Ever anyone discovers exactly what the Universe is for
And why it is here,
It will instantly disappear
And be replaced by something even more bizarre
And inexplicable.”

Sparrow began stirring in his seat,
”You know, there is another theory which states
That this has already happened.
And you lived that,
In exchange for a pocket full of mumbles,
Such are promises."

Logus looks at him,
“And? I am still alive.”

Sparrow rolls his eyes,
“Geez, you know
Somebody once asked, "could I spare some change for gas?"
I need to get myself away from this place."
I said, "yep what a concept,
I could use a little fuel myself,
And we could all use a little change."
Too bad
A fake Jamaican took every last dime with that scam.
It was worth it just to learn some sleight of hand.
Bad news comes, don't you worry even when it lands,
Good news will work its way to all them plans.

But the building's not going as we planned.
The foreman has injured his hand.
The dozer will not clear a path.”

Logus scoffs,
“You talk in maths.
You buzz like a fridge.
You're like a detuned radio.”


Sparrow Laughs, “You'll never be what is in your heart.
Weep little lion man,
You're not as brave as you were at the start.
You have a heart that's full up like a landfill,
A job that slowly kills you,
And bruises that won't heal.
You look so tired, unhappy.
Such pretty houses,
And such pretty gardens:
Green plastic water-cans
For fake Chinese rubber plants
In the fake plastic earth.

There's an empty space inside our hearts
Where the weeds take root.
And now I'll set you free,
I'll set you free.”


They both left right on time,
The Sparrow accosted his mind.
The Sparrow said,
"Hey man, we go all the way"
Of course, they were willing to pay.
Back to the street,
Down to their feet.
Losing the feeling of feeling unique,
Do you know what I mean?

Well on the way,
Head in a cloud,
The bird of a thousand voices
Talking perfectly loud.
But I never heard him
Or the sound he appeared to make.
And he never seemed to notice.
But the fool on the hill
Sees the sun going down,
And the eyes in his head
See the world spinning 'round.
Of course, everyone goes crazy
Over such and such and such.
We made ourselves a pillar
We just used it as a crutch.
We were certainly uncertain
At least, I'm pretty sure I am.
Well, we didn't need the water
But we just built that, good *******.

For most have found both freedom and safety in their madness;
The freedom of loneliness
And the safety from being understood,
for those who understand us
Enslave something in us.

But let me not be too proud of my safety.
Even a Thief in a jail is safe from another thief.
And Horses run fastest on the way home.

Logus and Sparrow had just that in mind,
and so, after deciding to take Sparrow’s ride, they left.
After dragging themselves into the car
Logus looked at Sparrow from the passenger seat,
“I keep myself in
To pull myself out.
I'm rising up,
Wish I was sinking down.
And it's not like
There was warning
We were happy.
And it's not like
There was mourning
In the warning.

I guess I am a scout.
So I should find a way out.
So everyone can find a way out.

I know I am a scout.
I should've found a way out.
So everyone can find a way out.

Sparrow starts his car, the ignition doesn’t turn at first,
It’s an older model so it takes a few tries.
Sparrow turns to Logus,
“Well, that is that and this is this.
Will you tell me what you saw and I'll tell you what you missed
when the ocean met the sky. (You missed, you missed)
You wasted life, why wouldn't you waste the afterlife?

Drift all you like,
From ocean to ocean,
Search the whole world.

And you find your destination
With so many different places to call home.
'Cause when you find yourself a villain,
In the story you have written
It's plain to see
That sometimes the best intentions
Are in need of redemption.
Would you agree?
If so, please show me.

These thoughts and the strain you're under
Be a world child, form a circle
Before we all go under
And fade out again and fade out again

Logus starts groveling,
“Turn me on to phantoms,
I follow to the edge of the earth.
And fall off.
Everybody leaves
If they get the chance,
And this is my chance.

My shadow's shedding skin,
I've been picking scabs again,
I'm down, digging through
My old muscles, looking for a clue.

I've been crawling on my belly,
Clearing out what could've been,
I've been wallowing in my own confused
And insecure delusions
For a piece to cross me over
Or a word to guide me in.
I wanna feel the changes coming down.
I wanna know what I've been hiding.”

His eyes are the size of the moon,
He could 'cause he can so he does.
He’s feeling so good,
Just the way that he does
When it's nine in the afternoon.

Logus starts thinking to himself,
“So you think you're a Romeo?
Playing a part in a picture show?
Cause you're the joke of the neighborhood!
Why should you care if you're feeling good?
Take the long way home!
Take the long way home.

His phone starts ringing,
he clumsily pulls it from his pocket
and answers it.
It’s his wife, para.
She’s concerned,
“Hello? Hello? Hello?
Is there anybody in there?
Just nod if you can hear me.
Is there anyone at home?
Come on now,
I hear you're feeling down
Well I can ease your pain,
Get you on your feet again.
Relax.
I'll need some information first,
Just the basic facts,
Can you show me where it hurts?
Please don't
**** yourself for recognition.
**** yourself to never ever stop.
oh no!
You broke another mirror!
You're turning into something you are not.

Come home!
I'll bake you a cake
Made of all their eyes.
Do you see me
Dressed for the ****?”

Logus chuckles and thinks to himself,
“I know she's looking kind of dumb with her finger and her thumb
In the shape of an "L" on her forehead.”

Their eyes are the size of the moon,
she could 'cause she can so she does.
They're feeling so good
Just the way that they do
When it's nine in the afternoon.

Para continues,
“But you'll still
**** yourself for recognition,
**** yourself to never ever stop.
You broke another mirror,
You're turning into something you are not.

And that's okay

I got a box full of all your pity.
We're fresh out of tissues
Because on them I wrote a comedy,
I wrote a comedy.

Logus looking down,
almost as if she’s there in front of him
to see how sad he feels,
“Sorry, but
I'll take a quiet life,
A handshake of carbon monoxide.

With no alarms and no surprises,
No alarms and no surprises,
No alarms and no surprises,
Silent, silent.

Tell me what to do!
Now the tank is dry.
Now, this wheel is flat.
And you know what else?
Guess what I received
In the mail today?
Words of deep concern
From my little brother:

Logus briefly thinks of a letter he received recently,
“Weep for yourself, my man,
You'll never be what is in your heart
Weep little lion man,
You're not as brave as you were at the start.
Rate yourself and rake yourself,
Take all the courage you have left
Wasted on fixing all the problems that you made in your own head,
you'll never settle any of your scores.

I backed my car into a cop car the other day.
Well, he just drove off - sometimes life's okay.
I ran my mouth off a bit too much, ah what did I say?

Well, you'll just laugh it off and it'll be okay.
it'll be okay.
Everybody needs a place to call their home.
Everybody needs someone to call their own.
Even when you're lonely, know you're not alone,
You're one of us.”

Logus' attention turns back to para.

Para begs,
“Please hold on hope, don't choke
On the noose around your neck
And find strength in pain
And change your ways
Know your name as it's called again.”

Logus sighs,
“Phew!
For a minute there
I lost myself, I lost myself
Phew, for a minute there
I lost myself, I lost myself.

Sparrow,
Somewhere on the edge of the conversation,
Begins getting heavy eyed,
Shutting one then the other and then opening both
And says to himself, drifting into an irresistible
road hypnosis induced sleep,  

“And if you could be what you wanted,
If you could be who you wanted
All the time,
All the time.

And now I'll set you free,
I'll set you free…”
Before trailing off.

feminism fails
when it disregards
those of color

for we know that every dollar
a woman makes
a man makes more

we seem to disregard the bit
where a women of color
make even less
than their white counterparts

feminism needs to stop
excluding
disregarding
those impacted most
it's a hazard to progress

pull up a chair
scoot down the bench
it's time we serve up
intersectional feminism
for the table can hold more
there's plenty of progress to go around

Don’t get arrested if you’re poor!
There’s no way they’ll let you go!
Privilege just means private law
To those who’re in the know

And if you ever wondered why it seems
The system disregards your self
It’s because you are on separate teams
"The law"’s an anagram of "wealth"

But do not worry, not all’s lost,
You poor demented yob
You can have freedom at a cost
-The freedom of the mob

Oh sure, The mob won’t listen
And doubtless will not care,
But it’s guaranteed admission
To most likely anywhere

But where will the people rally to?
Well, you may think this is funny –
It’s the same place that they always do-
The mob follows the money.

And the people rule the country
The same way as did the few,
But now you cannot blame them
Because "the people" includes you.

the cold, my love
is something so close to us
it finds us in our dreams.
it haunts not only you,
but me.

the cold, my love
has something I want.
it has the warmth that is meant
to be for us.
but it so blatantly disregards
our every being.

the cold, my love
will soon find its way
in and between.
soaking into our bones
to keep us from loving.

It may be the simplistic idea of remembering something you wish to forever forget
Or realizing the well known unimaginable as a futuristic reality
Perhaps the sad final solution to your seemingly endless suffering
Could it be the fact that what once was there is everything less than dust?
I am unable to fathom what it truly feels like
Due to registering only my own emotions and mental infatuations
So, let me describe a stilled serene place in time
Where through overwhelming tension and all that disregards any sparks of hope and happiness
​A smile is enough to hold a thousand defined words
Words that tell stories of anything that could and could not be
The deranged evil and the vicarious good
Which smile you wear is that of your choosing

The idolization of an individual
Is a form of dehumanization
It places an insurmountable pressure
To live up to an expectation
And disregards the downfalls and limitations
That make us all human
So anything but perfection is not permitted
The static perception of an individual
In itself
Is a form of dehumanization
As time moves along and changes
So do humans
We evolve and grow
But to place the identity
Of who someone was
Ten years ago
One year ago
Six months ago
Onto the current version of who you see
Is a form of dehumanization
To not acknowledge the change
And to stay static in your perception
Is a disservice
Not only to the other
But to yourself as well
Because your perception of others
Is a mirror for one’s inner judgement
Of the self

**** you for making me
Open my eyes to the
Outterness.

And for making me smile in my
Sleep.
Hell, I don't even know if I

Could ever fall for someone as
Perfect as your first-to-fifth
Digital

Impressions have made you
Out to be.
I zen my shoulders back down

And breathe, embracing the
Adventure of having even so much
As whispered to your

Shadow. Tomorrow
Or a decade's time away
Or a swift aeon's,

You'll be gone from my life.
I'll still be grateful.
No flower disregards

Even a second of petal-stroking
Sunlight.
In a world as dumb

As this one, your very being
Is a drop of supernova in a very
Silent *** of cosmic wordlessness.

I hope you're not
Scared of
Poets.

Another
****** up morning
Gray light transforming
The walls
Arcing displays
Of my never ending failures
Souls connected
And ripped apart like bailing twine
Remains burned
Put out with sacrilegious wine
Trampled and ground into misery
I eat the misery
My daily bread
Needs, wants, fated jaunts
Blatant disregards
Constant circling carrion birds
Salivating over my stumbles
I mumble, and cite
The glorious night
But I have failed yet again.
A Joker laughs
A Riddler giggles
I stumble and fall into the pit
At least there is no bottom.

He examines the when
He examines the how
The what, the who, the huh? The seriously?
Then came to a conclusion that it could not be concluded
His love for her was a contradiction
The most beautiful thing wrapped up in the ugly of this world
His love for her was hypocritical
Hates how things folds and mold to the body of mere humans
But loves the same things on his Goddess  
She was his Goddess
He could never understand how something so wrong could be so fulfilling to praise
In ways that would be considered a sin
She was his sin
He loved the ways her eyes would not twinkle in the sun nor moon light
How she could be so ordinary
How she completely disregards everything that is his disability
How never had he heard
The letters O,C or D placed together in the constellation of words
That spills from her mouth into the Milky Way
It scared him how fast words could escape the cage of her mouth
Without a second thought
He envied the confidence she had in her words
He loved the way she loves the beach
He was afraid of how careless he was with life
For he would follow her anywhere she went
Even if it was as scary as the beach
He feels himself as Icarus
Deliberately flying closer to the sun
So that he could be swallowed into the liquefied breaths of his Goddess
This is how he sees his love
This is how he feels his love. This is how he loves her

Simplicity will make its rounds
As it always does when I'm missing you.
I can tell you're missing me in the way you glance
Quickly out of the corner of your eye
As I'm fiddling with my ink and paper.

We make rounds with one another
Alternating shifts between affection
And you watch me almost instinctively
Perched upon your over-sized sofa cover
Disguising all of my dresses you imagined as "the one"
Floral, striped, simple brown like parchment paper.

But you are stowing away patterns that remind you of summer past.
Only now it's spring and summer's not yet arrived
A fact that until today remained unknown to me.
But of course  you'll be leaving soon
And I'll be wanting you
Even if so it was not enough, even more
In the nostalgia of unwritten details in the past.

They pattern themselves as soldiers awaiting deploy
Into some unknown battle with a sparkling eye
For they know not what love is;
They have only tasted it in envelope adhesive
And flittering longings of long-lashed exchanges
Of forward observations brought to attention
By none other than the golden-haired stable boy;

So they battle with a passion of longing instead.
They have traveled this road many times
And knowing what to expect, they
Delve forward despite disregards of the illumination
Of the embellishing light of Lady Moon
Upon the night to beckon their lustful eyes and bodies
To become one with their defenseless souls
Beneath the silvery threshold of her flowing *****.

Don’t stand for too long
Or even wiggle
Because that's exercise
And exercising is a behavior
Unless it’s time for the daily walk;
Then you must go
Even if it hurts and you feel like a dog
On an invisible leash.
Never spend too much time alone
In a room away from the people you barely know
With whom you are stuck all day and night and
Forced to share toilets and
Puked-in shower drains and
Cramped kitchen counters and
Painful secrets you wouldn’t even tell your mother.
Precious heartbeats spent alone
Are called isolating and they are bad.

A smear of avocado hastily forgotten on a butter knife
Raises suspicion and a quarter teaspoon more must be replaced.
But heaven help you
If you pour a milliliter too much orange juice.
This is disordered behavior
And the few offending drops must be poured out.
Time will teach you
That wholesome rosy-faced girls much younger than you are
Holding clipboards with your life on them
Will treat you like a child
And disregard your hard-earned quarter-century
As a fish disregards an airplane.
Black tea past three o’clock is criminal;
It must be eschewed
Lest the minuscule amount of caffeine
Affect your sleep eight hours before bedtime
And override the Seroquel and the Ambien and the lithium.

And don’t you ever shut the door or flush the toilet
‘Til they’ve come in
To ogle your **** and ****
And when you’ve finally proven yourself trustworthy enough
To shut the door and flush
Never stay in for more than three minutes,
Even when taking a dump.
You will be suspected of purging
And you will be grilled like that eggplant you didn’t taste
Until you beg them to take your blood and say
Please please check the electrolytes and the pH
And I will even *** in a cup!
I don’t care! I just need you to know
I’m telling the truth.
And never say you feel sick to your stomach
Especially when it’s true.
That’s just an excuse people like us use
When we want to yodel to God
On the big white telephone.

Thirty seconds stolen in your room
To brush unruly hair is forbidden
Unless your waist-length hair
Is nearing dreadlock status
Because you might be Up To Something in there.
You can say **** but not fat
Unless you are justifying a tablespoon
Of Catalina dressing
To the Food Police.
You can’t have a hand mirror because
You might smash it and hurt yourself
But you will be surrounded
With lovely, breakable little picture frames
Full of inspirational quotes.

If you’re upset at dinner
It’s called anxiety.
If your heart hurts and skips beats
From years of puking your guts up every day,
It’s called anxiety.
If you need your space
It’s called anxiety.
If you can’t meditate
And you get so bored that
You let a juicy pregnant wolf spider crawl
Over your hand and arm seventeen times
And instead of OM SHANTI OM your inward chant
Is I Am The Walrus
It’s anxiety.
If you tell them you’re not anxious
It’s anxiety.

You can’t have your wallet
And your phone at the same time
So you’re less likely to run away
But they never check to see
Where your debit card and ID went off to
When you trade in your wallet for your phone.
They never notice the triumphant curve on your lips
Nor the slight stiff rectangle
In the breast pocket of the flannel shirt
That is perpetually around your waist.
You will keep these with you
All day and all night
In case someone drives the final corkscrew
Into your ear and you must vamoose
Before you find yourself
Floating white-knuckled in a deluge of blood
Grasping a cheese grater
Surrounded by seeping lumps of people meat.

But this house models the real world.
You are sick and you have no idea
What’s best for you.
After three weeks they know
Exactly how you work
And if you don’t agree with that
You are wrong.
You will relapse one day.
If you don’t agree with that,
You’re wrong and you will die
Because you can never quit cold turkey with food.

You must learn to enjoy the food
That you fight and claw and scramble to make,
To enjoy each perfectly metered tablespoon
Of peanut butter,
To delight in hastily and stressfully prepared dishes
Upon which you are terrified to put condiments
For fear of being told the selection is inappropriate,
To relish weak iced tea with no ice because
Someone took it all and never filled the tray,
Sparingly seasoned with two Splendas,
Carefully handed out and locked away by the keyholders,
Never sweet enough,
Never ever sweet enough,
The real sugar of real life replaced by
Bitter ******* brandied with the saccharine syrup of so-called safety.

You play on my mind like a looped vinyl disc,
Your words are my new favourite song,
To utter my thoughts, are too great a risk,
For you and for I, for ‘us’, I long,

How can I live leaving great all unsaid,
Dare I wear my heart on my sleeve?
Hands and legs entwined, entangled in bed,
The last I would want to aggrieve,

-

I confessed, you are the one, the exception,
Best friends, we are - forever more?
The one to which I pour my affection,
Don't bloom this wound, open and sore,

A soft whisper disregards all my plight,
'Your heart is pounding like the rain',
'Breath with me', soft, you console that night,
In that moment we were the same

when i say
**** the police
i do not feel obligated
to justify or quantify an
assertion that seems
fundamentally apparent to me
i do not find it necessary
to recount the endless horrors and
psychological terrors visited upon
ordinary men and women
nor do i deem it essential
to my personal ethos of
mutual dignity and
profound respect to
needlessly revere those
behind the badges
and the guns
i just see pigs dressed in blue
prove me wrong

i'm still waiting

when i say
**** the police
there's just one thing
i hope you understand
i do not detest the finger on the trigger
nor the hamfisted hand shoveling
Krispy Kream donuts
into a bottomless gullet
nor the fist clutching the baton
pummeling the peaceful protestor
who gave a riot-geared narc
a bouquet of flowers
nor the thumb emitting mace into
the unsuspecting face of a teenage girl
with a hot-pink mohawk

i do not mean offense when i remark
officer
your mustache reminds me of a walrus or
officer
were you the high school bully or
officer
can you direct me to nearest KKK meeting
please and thanks

so when i say
unequivocally
**** the police
know that it is because i detest
a racist misogynistic homophobic
apparatus of institutionalized oppression
that harasses the marginalized
as it butchers youth of color
and masks the misdeeds of its privileged elite in
a fraternity that utterly disregards morality

when i say
**** the police
it's 'cause i realize that absolute power
corrupts absolutely but the same
could be said for even a modicum
of power that twists and churns
and transforms the best of us into
vicious caricatures of humanity
the fissures of hegemony are exposed

as hierarchy crumbles we find inside us
the power to extol truth
even when it's unpopular

and say
**** the police
'cause they're too lazy to use
their words when the State gives
them a gun and
a license to ****
all charges will drop
because the only police who police
the police are the police

when i say
**** the police
it's because the State uses fear
to control its subjects
in hopes we won't realize
we don't need them
they keep us scared of one another
of the demons hiding in the dark
focus our terror on the monsters
lurking underneath our beds rather
than the Feds driving down I4 with
firearms strapped to their hips

when i say
**** the police
it's because it has not
escaped my notice
that the U.S. has the largest
prison population per capita of
any nation in the world due
to draconian laws governing
the use and abuse of substances
and i may be straight edge but
i'll be the first to point out
that the State's manufacturing new slaves
with its arbitrary arrests over ***

so i say
**** the police
because i remember
my brothers and sisters
who swine stole from this Earth
though i wager i'd never meet them
i'm certain their so-called criminal behavior
certainly did not merit an execution

and contrary to popular belief
black lives matter
so pull your head out of the sand
with that
all lives matter
hog-wash and open your ears for just a second

brother Michael Brown shot
down in Ferguson for walking
along the middle of the street

Eric Garner
strangled by a narc
accused of selling loose
cigarettes after dark

Sandra Bland failed to use her turn
signal and we discovered her later
hanging from a rope
like Roxanne Gay said
even if she killed herself
white hands are still locked around her throat

Trayvon Martin dared to wear a hoodie
and trespass in an affluent community
for failing to return to the ghetto
a vigilante **** sent him to the morgue

twelve-year-old Tamir Rice
played cops-n-robbers in his lawn  
no one stopped to tell him
its the boys-n-blue
who're robbing young kids of their lives
with bullets packed tight in their 9's

over 860 men women and children
killed by thugs draped in red white and blue
in these first 9 months of 2015 alone

so when i say
**** the police
i say so out of a sincere conviction
that there will be no peace until we get
some ******* justice
and i know the State Department's supplying
our masters with leftover gear from its
exorbitant multi-trillion dollar wars
M-16s tear gas flashbangs,
body armor HumVees tanks
rubber bullets surveillance kits and small arms
to suppress dissent and smash
lawful assembly with violence
but when they order us to cease and disperse
or suffer arrest
we'll have three words poised on our lips
**** the police

She is not folded in the crooks
of crooked grins
or enveloped in the yuks
that follow poorly executed jokes.
She pays no mind
as she singes the edges
of those brave enough
to approach her.
She spits on empathy
and disregards
the “what ifs” or “why nots.”
Rarely spoken aloud,
she is deafening
when confined to quiet corners,
and will lurk there,
unmentioned and unforgotten.

When permitted to surface,
she looks nothing like you’d expect—
badly disguised and undeniably
                        ugly,
with unforgiving features
that have been bent and twisted—
coated with
a sticky sugary sheen.
She demands to be considered,
as she slides, jagged and bitter,
off of the tongue
and into the light.

She’s always there,
regardless of any acknowledgement—
closer than we desired,
bigger than we imagined,
wiser than we hoped.
She, the *****
that we are forced
to shake hands with.

There is no silence in the night, darkness breaths, it grows unbound,
It is filled with shadows shifting, whispering, waiting to be found,
Silhouettes block out electric's shine, darkness creeping through the door,
Together searching, trying to, find out what they are looking for,
Frigid breath capers coldly, shoulders crack with goosebump-scars,
Her porcelain skin glows brightly, in the broken light of scattered stars,
Staining black like flecks of paint, a shining blur of cut glass shards,
Sweet scent is lost, we are found, my burning cheeks, she disregards,
Singing breaths whisper love, wishing the night will never end,
The empty night is beautiful as she, we now no longer have to pretend.

They once said that "a piece of cake, is a slice at the beginning your life"...
But is that even true...at the very most end of the spectrum, from which your heart beckons too the very mind that surpluses the very objects (from which is can't find itself in the mess of truthful results), that begin to truly shame the result of even trying to piece things together, time after time...?
NO!
Which are exactly why things don't need to be remembered from right off the bat.
That's because a piece of cake is the truthfully defining reach from which we can't solve the very most bottom remedy from straight out from under our very heartstrings. Heartstrings in the very form of how our very life began. When you were too busy fighting objections too win over your very mind's eye (at the very center of opportunity itself)!
Basically, the very end results, begin with a single fraction of those very "to-do" list heartstrings...that don't truly account for the most interesting of logical finds. Simply put, it literally calls forth (the very claim of one's own arrival) at the very hands of remembering what it was truly like too live again!
Except, when you tasted the very cake that belonged deep in your own heart.
And a heart that is truly beginning anew, again. But with a twist, you see....
Nothing is really the same, after from which you taste this newly found piece of cake, that slices off one end of its own self...and disregards the rest, after the final aftertaste had reclaimed it's own glory.
This is mostly because you think you feel what the mind's eye REJECTS the claim like a chronic storm of results for the such displeasurable spectrum.
Now you know when you slice a piece of cake at the very end of one's own life, and take that slice at the very beginning newly found account...for it is a truly newer start at the very beginning of something entirely new.