she was a masterpiece behind the glass draped in gold
he was tired and homely, his rage was growing old.
the line between them was bold
but it's fine
because they ignored the disparity
of dissimilarities
through this discrepancy, they painted their canvas
with lust and expectations
they could never keep it going, a senseless apparatus
neither could sense the strength of the connection
binding them hiding them individually,
the two became as one
two to one,
counting down the moments to their
untimely demise;
when the two are no longer as one,
but none.
none could've predicted the end,
not once
but twice
when they failed
they tried
and tried again
he told her she was heaven sent,
and he was shrouded in sin,
what they didn't know is that
they were one and the same.
cut from the same cloth
but rarely clothed when they were together.
Stayed high together
one could say they were
birds of a feather
they were lost but now they're found;
she was once was okay but now she's drowned.
deep under her love for him,
she tried to float and coast through
but it was no use
his love and adoration was all she had to lose
it was enough to clear her mind of the emotional abuse
but it was not enough to clear her heart of the love.
As she lay in his bed
praying for him to come closer,
he stayed as far away as he could.
and although he knew he could love her
he wasn't sure if he should;
she was jaded
and the time they shared had faded.
but in her heart she made it,
she could fade it!
She was lost it in all her minds of minds.
Trouble is growing from underneath the seams
how they've stayed intact is a mystery,
leave all the bad in the past
it's history
the present envelops her
with his presence
and it consumes, it engulfs her whole.
She finds she cannot live without him.
he grows cold, distant
she realizes he's already gone
and she disintegrated into his front lawn,
with all the dead leaves
and fallen trees
He says,
"i'm already gone."

I can only summon feelingfulness like the passing of a dove,
postponing its arrival mid-air, somewhere along the tucked
bramble across Poblacion, starting with metaphorical sensibility
or an insensibly bland space to procure wanted meaning.
Girls prefer roses and their bright foreheads diademed with more
flowers, and boys, their chiaroscuro or lack of a color thereof, seems
to be fitting in this maladroit contrast, and so I begin, as always,
with your very vague and caged memory. Your face, the whiteness
of snowcapped alps. Your strut, my slalom in a treacherous course
of words reduced to whisperings, to flutings. Your voice, though nuanced,
flitters with an overtone of arrogance: if sound was clothed, yours would
be flamboyant ermine. And the line in front of you before I, my arbitrary turn,
assimilates into a picturesque form of waiting somewhere in Cubao.
I wanted to smash myself with train-speed towards the metallic turnstile,
which, would then famish me even so, just as much as I wish to be a car crash
somewhere within the outskirts of your town, heavily vandalized by the swill
of squalor hefting itself like the rest of the world conscious of its viscera.
  This is how I start you – like waiting for the sun to emerge by Borobudur,
or the clandestine *** of mildew and grass, a hundredfold of images appear
before me and I cannot choose upon my whims and caprices. Are you a dove?
A spear of Sun? A thunderous crackle of an impending rain? A harlequin?
A moseying cirrus? Or just another by-stander in the crowds where I ultimately
seek your being?
      This answerlessness measures my knowledge of star, and my breath snuffed
out of me while I sigh from exhausted penchants, outweigh dissimilarities and symmetries.
A progeny from all superseding conundrums arises: are you a retrogression of a wave
back to its saltine wound, flailing in brine? Or are you just the vast sea and nothing else
on a fine and lucid day where children skip stones and chant name-callings?
                   I sense the peril in this undertaking, and much to my chagrin, I still
   do not know how to end you.

Do you find that one of the most enchanting things to express, most of the time, are the almost all difficult? Do you out of the blue clam way up with the prospect connected with tipping the coronary heart seem to your friend, mostly simply because you haven the least strategy points to point out to start with? Relax. Discovering intimate points to point out shouldn be hence torturous. Below are some good suggestions for break the ice plus warm the heart: Despite the fact that creases tend to be more appropriate in order to males, females could find all of them practical also.

A person. ou bien glimpse incredible.Candor is essential. For those who say it the perfect means, regardless of the place and time, you may succeed in making the girl's seem like one million greenbacks, irrespective of the woman annoyed look or even bedraggled tresses due to a ******* day time work. Shel possibly know youe resting in order to help make your ex feel good, yet shel accept you for doing this anyhow. A pair of. ome listed here.In case you are down the middle of a fight and you're feeling that there's even now quite a distance to look before you decide to make out and produce way up, asking the girl for you to ome here?and giving the woman a good contract might be the place to begin regarding solving the dissimilarities. 3. never believed some tips i would useful to ought to have you actually.

It is not necessary to refer to a book or even a large, fat self-help e book if you're looking pertaining to intimate what you should express. What you should do can be explore ones soul in its place. With this range, you might be confessing that you acknowledge the faults however you love acquiring her in your life. 5. olding you just believes thus suitable.?BR/> Actual closeness is a huge consider just about any romantic relationship. By telling her precisely how proper you believe whenever you are together, your current area as being a several is going to be enhanced. 5 various. eeting an individual is the better stuff that at any time became of everyone.

If you think youe running out of enchanting things to state, a random sampling of your respective feelings once in a while is going to be approach to take. This is a common intimate range that wont make the woman believe you have got it right beyond a movie ?as it is hence uncomplicated; however if you simply say it in a very true method, it will eventually surely thaw your ex center. Six. pass up you.?Deficiency undoubtedly helps make the soul expand fonder and when you have not noticed one for a little bit, indicating miss out on an individual?in person and even on the is essential. Six. to you will recognize how much I love you actually? The following line, or a straightforward adore you?is still simplest loving line that you could ever imagine.

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you were the little rain,
and i was the hurricane,
everybody knew you were meant to fix something,
and i was meant to destroy everything.
you are the definition of lightness,
while i was the meaning of darkness.
your body is the realm of all the lost things that are found,
while mine was the other way around.
to sum things up,
we were the polar opposites.
the east and the west,
the tame and the wild,
the day and the night.
when i was lost,
people would say that someday,
someone will knock on your door and when you take a look at it,
you will not recognize who the person is,
your mind will be blasting with the questions,
"who are you?", "what are you doing here?"
and maybe you would even tell the person to get out.
but the person will leave something in front of your door,
a thing that you perhaps wanted or despised,
a thing that even the closest people in your life can give,
but instead, this time,
a stranger will.
it's called the unexpected.
you came knocking on my door one day,
thinking you can settle things with the hurricane,
at first i just laughed and said,
"nobody can handle the hurricane."
however after that i never thought a little rain
would have so much effect on me.
that was when i realised you are also the thing
that you left in front of my door.
you are the unexpected.
and by means of unexpected,
you never did anything i expected you to do.
you didn't give me a playlist of the songs that remind you of me
but my favourite songs are nothing compared to your voice,
one simple "hello" of you will make me stop listening to my playlist.
you didn't take me to art museums
and admire the wonderful paintings with my presence
but you made me feel like a living masterpiece every single day.
when i told you i love art,
you asked why don't i love myself.
you do not connect me to a rose,
or to a smoke,
you do not make metaphors for me
and you do not love poems as much as i do
but your words have the power to hit me more than any other poets could
and i am just a coward to not admit it.
you didn't call me at 11 pm to ask
if i wanted to go see the stars,
like i've always dreamed of.
but just by staring at you,
i can see the stars, the milky way, even the whole universe,
and i knew that moment
that there is no need for stargazing in the middle of the night
when i can look at you all the time.
you didn't enjoy my favourite shows,
you couldn't take it because of how much blood was shown in it,
and i saw beauty in it.
this is probably a poem about
our disparity,
our contrast,
and our dissimilarities.
but you did something that i never expected you to do,
you did the unexpected.
you found the light in me
no matter how dark it might be.
my body was no longer the realm of lost things,
because you've done everything to find them.
and i was no longer the hurricane who is known
to destroy everything,
because for some reasons i couldn't destroy you,
you were the exception.
despite of all the things i wanted you to do that you never did,
the playlists,
the museum dates,
the appreciation of poetry,
the stargazing.
you did something that took my breath away,
something that i couldn't ask for more,
something that was unexpected.
you loved me,
and that was enough,
that was more than enough.

The sooty frequent of the machinations of the Skotádi or Darkness were systematized with Vernarth genuflecting before the Mashiach, poking himself in the Verses that are of draconian dipsomania and Manumission “Here is that spirit that haunts us by showing itself the smooth eruv of the Kathartírio; right here leaving their feet and heads that have been given to the Lord ..., here I have been anointed by him to also bring conversion and merciful news together with my Lord Apostle Saint John who has guarded me, who has removed the bandages from my hallucinated eyes, being trans mortal among the captives and galley slaves that with their chains have broken your tympanum, my beloved Mashiach, like a whale of whales stranded by your bleeding saliva! What greater power is over me bringing my mother's hand that inhibits my fever of trans mortality, and that makes a heartbeat even after my soul is not essential! Messiah, I am the one who has been in all the concentration camps, I have seen hands torn by the fierceness of human felines, and by the noble pacts that open with their stilettos to the Christians who follow your word ..., I know they will dwell in the afflicted wasteland where the nations rule each other with their gold fangs, and with silver earrings ..., dwelling in the opacity of the burned-out farmhouses in their afflicted famine, only waiting for thousands of transgenerational generations, from which the verse of Liberation will make them exempt from satisfying your appetite, even in the angelus or in the sticky wheat that is forced from the jaws of the Skotádi and the Katarthírio, where forgiveness will be to see and eat what it will cost us a lifetime to pay off what we could not condescend from the burning Mezzo acquire!

In this way it will be channeled under your majestic cloudscape and the surrendered sea of the sacraments in all those who did not make it at birth ..., and neither did they dazzle the depressed sower who will be redeemed from Zion. Everything is an undeclared transgression, but if he lashes twice in the gall of what he is capable of turning away from Suffering, and from the prediction that he declares himself to be pardoned free from the Truth that hides from his woes in adversity, and that continues to struggle under thousands of years for the Kathartírio ..., What is our Purgation that is more than an organism of Superior Light, sleeping and surreptitious in the calluses of those who contaminate their sacred walk for thousands of years through the desert ..., only arranged for those who will find it! indivisibly stigmatized! Do not ****** the Reception Vessel from me, because it is in it are the souls of my foundations that encrypt and underline more than my untied hands in the entire enunciation of its declaration and only in its inverted nomenclature of language. I can only say through my feet, that they are yours my Lord ..., alone and little that nothing coexists ..., it will be more than what I will not know how to say with all my respect, so what has to transform me will channel me into dissimilarities and before my dreams as a pairing of burning crematories on the extended flares that will not end.

Patmia is with her face and derision unmasked, noticing the abysmal restlessness of the alelí, with its imperfect aggravated treachery in what is incapable of persevering when the twilight becomes suppressive in the master key of the burnished ethón, whose most diluted timid will be only the roar of his turpentines that cry out for the Cristus that crystallizes, and dematerializes in chromatic colors that are unpainted from the splendid Sun translucent in the water of the Jordan. What difference will there be in the othones or screens that support their contrasts, if one day there will even be a lack of water for the baptismal of Ein Karem. I will be from a deranged domain where floodgates of hydrous fullness will not open, that fills real nature with the desires to supply what passion does from the top over the Jordan and this in the passion of Keter, as adoration and idolatry of incorporeal Water. Everything pleads about harmonies that are distressed, not holding the rod that measures runaway time in front of the inexorable Thuellai. And what is the knotty thinking, mute in its purposes that are of the sacred lexicon? But my Beloved Confréres let us bind the flavor of the elder root, and of its old painful as beards in the feather that will become feathery springs where its flow will germinate with the compromised berry of dew and vine, totally scattered in the frontal green of the Hexagonal Baptistery of the Shepherds in Ein Karem. Pluri-springs and their eyebrows, they will guttural squalls in the ovaries of their pericarp, but not from the same elderberry that will sprout in eternal life from its irradiated berries, where nothing and nobody will omit its brownish petiole and its late Zoroaster that carries it in his chins as ornaments in the merciful compassionate, before the punishing weak and his bite for everything in whom he does not resent him!

I will cross out the lines of my hands and I will return to where the Shemesh blowing from the Shofar ..., fitting only in my unleashed thoughts ..., with sneers of derision on the plain of a barrel and its berries to save us. In the world, they will fall like wicked towards others who will blame them! I do not know if the vice of hiding traumatizes me behind the tropes that ride dark or carry me over their darkness, and my very image that sacrifices it, or will it be of those who get fed up knowing that there was nothing from me to save ..., only the transformation that is made of the Jordan where they will never again be seen in the river ...! That he dozed next to Peter…, undulating like a cobra and feeling himself say white sin? Nothing is a substitute in the reception that never stops opening floodgates, perhaps expanding in the executive axes of the Apokálypsis, or of a Behina Dalet receiving multisectoral in what is not its equivalent ..., nor in the hatching of its identical disparate, and that nothing and no one will know by any Written or Wisdom rule to be transformed from his oral to his back! A verse will run shaken from the relaxed worldliness, compressing itself with graceful touches in the charities of the Shofar, and of the long sounds of perverted anguish without wavering in what is temporarily suspended, either in clauses overturned before the eyes of anyone, and those who are cowed from the fears that they never knew how to overcome from their own.

The Deus Himation bubbles, surpassing the warmth of what is and is not surnamed in what is a sweaty proverb, even in the solitude of all the patrimonial that has weakened from its plinton, grafting itself on the directive designs that work slavishly to their own compromise. laborious and healthy maternal, complacent of the sap that goes to the following of the mischievous sigueríos or Lost Seas of Capernaum, only washing in the heel where it will never be healed. Nothing more generous than to pursue indulgences in rivers that end of those that are pacified even more at night, when they still seem to flow towards the Shamaim or Heaven of imperishable prayer, as if they were crashing from some runaway and sticky wagons at dawn, but yes grim in the lump of a champion where nothing has ever to be compromised in the glosses of his worst injury!

The physical and psychic entities undertook to split each other from the deck of the tetracontero Eurídice, the disparities were uneven with the swirling undulations, without objecting extortions that were spatially independent of different causes of deviations. Everything was gray but lively and full of suburbs that praised the elations of the memorial, and everything alluded to the dream clovers that approached levels of feasibility between material form and space that became antipode when invaded by fewer quantities and accumulations. , believing that they could be dissimilarities of forms of speculation or its counter-architecture of Entasis verging on mechanics of concentric psychism. The Hexagonal Birthright; in its new physical form it traced itself closer to each other amidst bulbous and explosive nebulae, which displayed the agreement of matter and form by means of the Zivug or copula from a completely emanating obligatory law. Raeder and Petrobus were attracted by the law that would make of all inanimate things the new creation that would surpass the imagination and predominance of Mashiach that would finally descend from the Iridescent cloud to invest him and create the emanating body of him as the greatest necessary force of the Creator.

In any case, you must understand that even though the desire to receive represents a compulsory law in the opposite creature that is the essence itself in it, and it is the Kli adapting itself to achieve the goal of substitution of Creation, however, this completely separates it from the Emanating. The reason for this is that there is a disparity of form to the point of existing in total opposition between the creature and the Emanant granted in Vernarth, this is due to the fact that the Emanant is pure bestowal, without any trace of reception; and the creature is pure reception, without any trace of bestowal, thus there is no opposition in a greater way than this. Therefore we infer that this opposition of form is necessarily the one that separates itself from the Creator. A Titanic salvation would make the oceans move that would rise up to one meter the global sea level, snatching coercive in those countenances that exaggerated their actions on all the voids that would derive from the hole in his pectoral, even so of what it deprived him of in the light with the candles of Delos, and of the passers-by of Cappadocia who would concentrate in the rear of the Himation, this being dim and deprived of light in which the Ohr was already more light than all the Lights of the Apsid Manes that crossed the perimeter.

Thus, from the Seven Baptisteries of the Apokálypsis, the titanic separations of its cracks would make Othónes or screens, which would make the quantum shock light of Hashem as it adjoins Vernarth, interspersed with the cypress trees that burned with blazing lights of the Ohr Hozer or reflective light between them, thus they carried the Hebrew garments like a Stampita Gaeta; From where Vernarth, in his past lives, a turbid little picture that came loaded with the silt of Mount Orlando in Gaeta fell from the under bench, it came dancing through the tenement that brought the prosaic wind with a beautiful Sephiroth, which pushed them back with those timid luminances that they were snatched by the Kelim or series of vessels from their Falangists when they enlisted with the florid Larnax of Alexander the Great.

Beyond the Advent Wreath and its four luminaries, it was fought in the Fifth Candle, like the Fifth Chalice of Elijah, entering them not very far away with all his desires to welcome them and consider that under my initial "V", they would find the synchronization of the Fifth Cirio and the Fifth Chalice, which is my "V" in the fifth dimension of the Fifth courtyard and in the shady Fifth of Helleniká! As established in the geophysics of Delphi, close to the elevation that will occur with the meeting at 583 elevations whose essential number will be 16 and six plus one is Seven, and the Profitis Elías is 565 adding sixteen, and its number essential is one plus six equals seven. This numerical command will unify them in reality when their talents would be flooded in the unification of both and composed vaporizations of the Hydor or blessed flow source of the Mashiach, thus creating all the wonder that would explain the allegory for those who want to follow after leaving. the Purgatory of Kathartírio, or the very tributary that would emanate from the frontispiece of its appreciation with the albiceleste presence of subjection of the azurí, creating hanging scales of transfers with the Exile of Ignominies. Higher up a Seraphim was flying, inviting him to a cake, leaving his hands everything he had to attend to immediately so that he could not decline it, but the Mashiach already in front of him pouted to accept the Bizkóto, and that he was also close from him, a few meters from his right, Saint John the Apostle insinuating him with decisive gestures that he will satisfy his restlessness by tasting the Bizkóto of the Lands of Patmos.

All the curious went out to walk through the hills, to generate the favors of the breezes that began to travel the vicinity of the Megaron, which now no longer made themselves unknown with imaginary unbelievers coming from the Siblis towards a present that always devoured them. Their reception position was designated for each one in the same habits that invited them to gather around the Matakis, very close to the twelve shadows that hungrily flaunted, in the essential or preliminary of what they intended to appropriate a primordial one. What else could be said if the same portions of matter extended over them, conceptualized making the memorable ones go through, and collisions that would restrict everything to a totally new beginning, very freed from the exclusivities of dressing soon with the Himation full of clairvoyance, which as a first reason was He would present in different bowls that flew alone through the zephyr of Patmos, like the elements of the Eurydice to be installed in the Matakis or entrance tablecloth of all the souls that would accompany him from the Kathartírio or Purgatory and faithful Falangist's Hoplites, providentially making signs to meet in the Profitis Ilias gorge once again to restructure the Syntagma. Undoubtedly, the mass of the Shock of the Masach or Screen of the luster of his new soul that was being presented by the Seraphim of the Mashiach by Bizkóto himself as a source of pleading humility, so that it could then be transmuted with the divine evaporated water of Hydor that would transform it. in the Alef, or sequential of the number Seven that would emanate synchronously with the heightening of the frame pinnacle of Delphi 583 and then that of the Profitis with the essential of 565, to be instituted in the ranks of the Alef as seven primordial in the plurality of these pinnacles, and of the wafers that the Mashiach instituted with the Seraphim of the indicated beginning of the procession of the Himation or Máza imátiou. Bios was the placement beyond the one who can never be seen behind the infamous lattices, which only extinguish in Lives that are our own, those that are worthy of us, of Bios, of the "V" Beyond death, and of the Verses of liberation, Transformation, and pacification, to channel her towards Vernarth through the skies of Greece.

Perhaps there are types..
inventions of mousetraps that
catch with compassion..
celebrating the inventiveness
of the finite mind..

but what of those appearances
of brushstrokes or words
which seem from afar..
as from the whiteness of
this page..
or the sudden juxtaposing
of nature's dissimilarities..

those sudden types
seem available to all..
do not depend on our
diligent preparation in
schooling or craft..
or culture or beliefs
but only upon a
recognition of ourselves
without  the opaqueness
of a masking resistance...