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"disturbances" poems
The first thinkers were poets Naming Mother Earth Beginning symbolic thinking Of nature, death and birth Though themes are often repeated Love, Beauty and God Poetry in the guise of Religion A prophet or a fraud The poet resurrects the Primitive Through allegory and similes Disarming the unknown like explorers Sublime Prophets and Visionaries They must lay bare those treasured images That must be expressed Unraveling and revealing the sounds At each soul’s behest Encompassing the entire Cosmos So lyrical the beat The poet’s excitement flows outward Laid at the Reader’s feet So original, individual She won’t examine or explain Letting go the festering feelings Disturbances in her brain He exposes his dark, wounded psyche Just to release and express Such capacity to see and compare Hyperbole at its best I love, I hate, I suffer A special dance in rhythm and rhyme The poet as a buffer Lessening the pain and sting of time Laden with symbol and feelings She gives you sweet relief From something urgent, revealing Confusion to belief Through a cinematic kind of seeing The poet purges to transform By leaping through Alice’s looking glass She never was one to conform Quite intolerant of convention Just like The Mad Hatter His passions immune to all logic In syncopated patter Jamming up the poet’s mind Struggling for expression Seeking order out of chaos An infantile regression Cleaving to his imaginary world The poet breaks out into words Creating sound paintings to be unfurled So his own agony is blurred She succumbs to storms of passion With instinctive techniques Rhymes and rhythm still in fashion Out of hand flows mystique The poet mines from his unconscious The Reader is not blind For every single line and symbol Means something to the mind Causing an inner liberation Enlightenment or flight It is a matter of life and death When darkness turns to light.
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Nov 14, 2016
Nov 14, 2016 at 6:55 PM UTC
An Ode to Poets
The first thinkers were poets Naming Mother Earth Beginning symbolic thinking Of nature, death and birth Though themes are often repeated Love, Beauty and God Poetry in the guise of Religion A prophet or a fraud The poet resurrects the Primitive Through allegory and similes Disarming the unknown like explorers Sublime Prophets and Visionaries They must lay bare those treasured images That must be expressed Unraveling and revealing the sounds At each soul’s behest Encompassing the entire Cosmos So lyrical the beat The poet’s excitement flows outward Laid at the Reader’s feet So original, individual She won’t examine or explain Letting go the festering feelings Disturbances in her brain He exposes his dark, wounded psyche Just to release and express Such capacity to see and compare Hyperbole at its best I love, I hate, I suffer A special dance in rhythm and rhyme The poet as a buffer Lessening the pain and sting of time Laden with symbol and feelings She gives you sweet relief From something urgent, revealing Confusion to belief Through a cinematic kind of seeing The poet purges to transform By leaping through Alice’s looking glass She never was one to conform Quite intolerant of convention Just like The Mad Hatter His passions immune to all logic In syncopated patter Jamming up the poet’s mind Struggling for expression Seeking order out of chaos An infantile regression Cleaving to his imaginary world The poet breaks out into words Creating sound paintings to be unfurled So his own agony is blurred She succumbs to storms of passion With instinctive techniques Rhymes and rhythm still in fashion Out of hand flows mystique The poet mines from his unconscious The Reader is not blind For every single line and symbol Means something to the mind Causing an inner liberation Enlightenment or flight It is a matter of life and death When darkness turns to light.
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64
I shall go up north, as north as I could possibly go, trekking the wilderness of darkened hue, to have a little adventure with you. Shining lights from everywhere, as dark a sky as it were, greens and blues of a multi-color fare, I wish I can be there to enjoy your every flare. Tiny disturbances can be so magnetic, causing an atmosphere to become electric, as far as the elves have been to arctic, I bet I haven’t seen anything more mystic. You looked like the wishful green master that was ready to grant all my wishes, yet seeing you up close was a dream that was more than all my wishes fulfilled. Maybe, you really are that genie from a bottle.  :)
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Nov 13, 2019
Nov 13, 2019 at 11:15 AM UTC
Aurora Borealis
We were born into a world of shallow minds and deep disturbances of young millennials mimicking mindless mimes because we were told to stay in line but be yourself but follow me but think "originality." A generation full of copycatting individuals with monotone mindsets mulling over social ladders and trends dictated by invisible monarchs of industry inviting and spoon feeding insecurities masked as improvements. A generation spending more time pretending not to care than on passions stifled by our peer pressuring playmates who are all prescribed Vyvanse, Adderall, Ritalin for their incurable imaginations deemed "learning disabilities." A generation of temporary friendships because no one can connect with each other but we can connect to the internet and chat with strangers and share thoughts, photos, and secrets to a virtual audience that loses interest in an entanglement of wires forming a noose around our sincerity.
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Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 2:38 AM UTC
Still Howling
glowing waters, tranquil as though the ocean were holding its breath and yet breathing in and out, in and out rhythmic, an inexorable drum an explosion of ripples as I drop the kayak in, the disturbances swallowed by marsh grass, waving in protest murmuring to be still, stay still. I shift in my seat, heartbeat in my ears, loud breathing scared of being swallowed, lost to depths where darkness clung – yet hardly imaginable in this world of dripping sunlight. dip the paddle in, tasting the waters right, left, right, left cautious, careful, clumsy at first splashes of droplets as I pick up the pace, salt on my tongue, tasting the burn. the pull and tug of muscle against the world, a silent war the ocean protesting futilely, but surrendering to the kayak with a creaking moan as I shoot through the water like an arrow, splitting the curling, white-crested sea. the wind picks at my braid and throws it to the past with a lingering sigh my paddles cutting through that glossy mirror of cloud and sunshine shards of brilliantly stained glass.
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Sep 11, 2011
Sep 11, 2011 at 10:38 PM UTC
Learning to Kayak
the LIGHTHOUSE ~~~~~ On the high cliff .:. (Fog) Few stars appear The dark ---------------- We wander thru We gaze upon each other In awe In wonder We have no idea of what we are doing here ----- the LIGHTHOUSE ::::::: We never really "touch" One another //// *we hardly notice any disturbances of the waters We don't even know of the cliff or the shore* -- ----- ------ He sits in the lighthouse He wonders what signals he should send He wonders what he would say if he could speak
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Mar 28, 2013
Mar 28, 2013 at 6:01 PM UTC
Lighthouse
*Conquer the disharmony That creates ripples on The veneer of silence From the depths Powerful chants resonate This world within An inspiration to quell The disturbances Savor the silence And feeling of nothingness You have emptied yourself Of all the disharmony Now, only powerful silence And you are one With the cosmic harmony*
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Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 7:39 AM UTC
Cosmic Harmony
Disturbances, however hard they try, Will always be horrifying. Now alarming is just the thing, To get me wondering if disturbances are atrocious. The ramp is not nonthermal! the ramp is exceptionally nonthermal. A ramp is hot. a ramp is nonthermal, a ramp is caloric, however. hardships are not lean! hardships are exceptionally zoftig. Do hardships make you shiver? do they? Don't belive that gales are big? gales are little beyond belief. Now unimportant is just the thing, To get me wondering if gales are shrimpy. I cannot help but stop and look at depressing tornadoes. Do tornadoes make you shiver? do they? Cyclones, however hard they try, Will always be traumatic. Never forget the harmful and painful cyclones
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Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 8:08 AM UTC
storms
sitting down drawing circles on sand by the ocean for 16 years without disturbances, save a few hefty feet trampling down sand castles but then one day something happened and an overwhelming wave comes hurling itself at you, and you have no escape plan despite living on the sand all your life the wave comes bearing galaxies from atlantis, blinding starlight, and a myriad perfect seashells. it feels like an eternity, being consumed by the wave as you're given a tour of every attraction there is, receiving free samples every now and then. you succumb to the star dust, enthralling you like a child at disneyland, or tumblr teens on the fourth of july. it feels like you're the only one lucky enough to witness this spectacle, and you're marvelling marvelling marvelling marvelling marvel- . . . . . no air you're gasping muddy sand in your eyes and through the excruciating discomfort, you see a hundred other silhouettes looking back at you. ---; this is how it was, loving him briefly. and this will stare him in the face, but perhaps his eyes, too, full of sand will stare right back at me “silhouettes” he'll say “silhouettes are what make my day”
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Sep 22, 2016
Sep 22, 2016 at 4:37 AM UTC
sandy eyes and silhouettes
Sometimes when I rise out of the nebulosity of my ego, I can see  dead leaves on the ground. Above I feel formless, Uncrippled by any  precursing contingencies. Disturbances are nullified by the rising and falling of my breath. I am no longer a keeper of anything. I feel as I've been left to float inside a vacuum that requires the complete disassociation from anything that I have ever known. Everything here is gentle, && welcomed. vibrant and healing. perplexing to those that aren't ready to let go, salvation for the many who are.
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Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 8:57 PM UTC
Mistakes
You're not going to let it win You are not going to let it destroy you You are going to find control You're going to accomplish what you plan It's going to be left as a ship wreck And be compared to your successes You are going to do this You are going to get through this I'm not going to let it win I am not going to let it destroy me I am going to find control I'm going to accomplish what I plan It's going to be left as a ship wreck And be compared to my successes I am going to do this I am going to get through this I'm not going to let MDD win I am not going to let MDD destroy me I am going to take its control I'm not going to let MDD stop me from accomplishing what I have planned My MDD is going to be left as a ship wreck And be compared to my achieved successes I am going to do this and beat MDD I am going to get through MDD's disturbances And I will not let it prevent me from living I suffer from Maladaptive Daydreaming Disorder It pushes me around Kills my hopes and dreams And contributes to my wish of never being born But maybe I can try If I put my head into a good perspective To gain the control Back into my life Why should we have to suffer?
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Nov 18, 2015
Nov 18, 2015 at 12:13 PM UTC
Approaching Maladaptive Daydreaming
an ****** calligraphy of hallucinated images gesture to the posturings of omitted consciousness the preoccupations that puncture the ‘rational’ thought of a false corporeality and rely on an artificiality to produce a reality writes of the pagan haunts of silver ****** ghosts of fantastic rumors of acquired futuristic loathing where cognitive disturbances are the reconnaissance of a fragmented mind seeking an evacuation to the past screams at the monuments of immediate dismissal of everything not of their transmission
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Mar 4, 2013
Mar 4, 2013 at 5:58 PM UTC
twenty first century baroque
if i sit on the fourth step of our staircase, i can look through the window and watch the street outside. this waiting game has always frustrated me; my knees buckle underneath me every time someone walks past our rust-encrusted gate. i can feel the anticipation weighing heavy on my chest with every glimpse of a shoe or a shirt only to have my nerves unravel once i realize they look absolutely nothing like you; every stranger that walks by is just another soul that wasn't yours. i use numbers as my ultimatums. this is the third person who has walked by that isn't you; two more, and i swear, i'll go back to my room and write and chat with other people and watch youtube videos and try not to think of you even though my fingers are itching to pull at my door **** (just one more look). i count ten vehicles that pass before stalking back in to my room, only to peek out of my door to check the streets again minutes later; every jeepney that doesn't stop is just another car that you weren't in. i welcome distractions that send me moving around the house. to wash the dishes, get my dad snacks, fake going to the bathroom, check on my brother, nibble on some leftovers in the refrigerator. as long as i have my little disturbances i feel like time's moving faster, but then i find myself pausing by my front door and wondering when you might come knocking or if you'll even come knocking at all; every minute that you're not here is just another sixty seconds to spend thinking of you.
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May 18, 2016
May 18, 2016 at 2:08 AM UTC
the thing about anticipation
if i sit on the fourth step of our staircase, i can look through the window and watch the street outside. this waiting game has always frustrated me; my knees buckle underneath me every time someone walks past our rust-encrusted gate. i can feel the anticipation weighing heavy on my chest with every glimpse of a shoe or a shirt only to have my nerves unravel once i realize they look absolutely nothing like you; every stranger that walks by is just another soul that wasn't yours. i use numbers as my ultimatums. this is the third person who has walked by that isn't you; two more, and i swear, i'll go back to my room and write and chat with other people and watch youtube videos and try not to think of you even though my fingers are itching to pull at my door **** (just one more look). i count ten vehicles that pass before stalking back in to my room, only to peek out of my door to check the streets again minutes later; every jeepney that doesn't stop is just another car that you weren't in. i welcome distractions that send me moving around the house. to wash the dishes, get my dad snacks, fake going to the bathroom, check on my brother, nibble on some leftovers in the refrigerator. as long as i have my little disturbances i feel like time's moving faster, but then i find myself pausing by my front door and wondering when you might come knocking or if you'll even come knocking at all; every minute that you're not here is just another sixty seconds to spend thinking of you.
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6
The ship(notified) lost leisurely drifts over waves westwards, "Unhurried hereafter" is the slogan written on it's mast it would seem to an onlooker. A net is cast wide, to catch as much fish as the tired crew now needs. Each furious wave that rushes towards the ship changes tack, proclaims a frothy message of peace. No more communication exchanges causing disturbances, no hurry any more. None waits for the lost ship, in any distant shore, with a binocular, or spanning a Radar, uneasily . The crew had already forgotten every mission undertaken before. It has no schedule, deadlines, plan the ship feels more buyout than ever before ,just floats along, as if it's a tranquil thought, towards the direction where the purple sun prepares to set dramatically. Accompanied by two astonished whales, sailing along like two mates, the ship, now a lone wolf,with a hidden yearning has become more alive, once declared lost.
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Nov 9, 2015
Nov 9, 2015 at 1:36 PM UTC
The lost ship, more than alive
And the question is, “What constitutes the good life?” And the neurons in my brain automatically begin to connect and arrange themselves into a conveyor belt of possible responses. This is not about fancy cars and giant mansions. This is about searching high and low for the unique existence of character buried in the depths of your heart. The labyrinth of suffering is something that traps and consumes every single one of us. Being aware and accepting the circumstances that will occur after exploring all the different solutions of discovering a way to escape is a major fundamental element needed to survive. Ostracizing yourself from the countless number of distractions in today’s generation to truly identify your individuality is the most crucial procedure in recognizing an outbreak from conforming to false associations. Infinite minutes are wasted every day because there are numerous amounts of interruptions that interfere with our life’s mission. Eliminating these disturbances will erase people’s impulses to shake hands with laziness. More people need to realize that utilizing time and wisely spending the precious moments we have left should be more carefully valued before it is too late. At times like this, it is perfectly acceptable to be self absorbed on account that working towards a goal is in effect. Take the time to focus on figuring out how to learn and how to proceed in expanding the mind’s personality. It is so important to acquire the ability to control the aspect of reason. But once enough experience is achieved to gather the information on how to conquer the labyrinth of suffering, you will then inaugurate the good life. There is only one way to assemble the knowledge as to where the door lies and that is by simply living life and never giving up. Take chances and live on curiosity. We learn by putting ourselves in situations that are out of our comfort zones, giving the opportunity to mess up. Overcoming the situation is when we gain the confidence to promote ourselves to the next level. Life is full of mistakes but it is about being intelligent about those obstacles. Building up from those faults and taking advantage of everything life offers. We will move on from every mistake only to come face to face with another one. But life carries us. It challenges us. And the brave souls that accept that challenge are the ones that go on living the good life.
0
Aug 29, 2013
Aug 29, 2013 at 4:09 PM UTC
The Good Life
And the question is, “What constitutes the good life?” And the neurons in my brain automatically begin to connect and arrange themselves into a conveyor belt of possible responses. This is not about fancy cars and giant mansions. This is about searching high and low for the unique existence of character buried in the depths of your heart. The labyrinth of suffering is something that traps and consumes every single one of us. Being aware and accepting the circumstances that will occur after exploring all the different solutions of discovering a way to escape is a major fundamental element needed to survive. Ostracizing yourself from the countless number of distractions in today’s generation to truly identify your individuality is the most crucial procedure in recognizing an outbreak from conforming to false associations. Infinite minutes are wasted every day because there are numerous amounts of interruptions that interfere with our life’s mission. Eliminating these disturbances will erase people’s impulses to shake hands with laziness. More people need to realize that utilizing time and wisely spending the precious moments we have left should be more carefully valued before it is too late. At times like this, it is perfectly acceptable to be self absorbed on account that working towards a goal is in effect. Take the time to focus on figuring out how to learn and how to proceed in expanding the mind’s personality. It is so important to acquire the ability to control the aspect of reason. But once enough experience is achieved to gather the information on how to conquer the labyrinth of suffering, you will then inaugurate the good life. There is only one way to assemble the knowledge as to where the door lies and that is by simply living life and never giving up. Take chances and live on curiosity. We learn by putting ourselves in situations that are out of our comfort zones, giving the opportunity to mess up. Overcoming the situation is when we gain the confidence to promote ourselves to the next level. Life is full of mistakes but it is about being intelligent about those obstacles. Building up from those faults and taking advantage of everything life offers. We will move on from every mistake only to come face to face with another one. But life carries us. It challenges us. And the brave souls that accept that challenge are the ones that go on living the good life.
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2
driving at Kennon (treacherous zigzag    resembles hopscotch with death) as i play Morrissey on the radio and the woman sleeps, sometimes waking up lamenting the death of moths I ran over, splattered on the windshield, "Poor little creatures!" she said. no, baby, i am the poor little creature and so are you,     relentless against the dark   past Urdaneta — her being mineward, i play with death as i turn the headlamps off (pure blackness, nothing as if falling into a bottomless pit as void sits on its throne waiting) and on (all white as pains   now, trucks flare up and down the bend,   the tumbled boulders keep meting out    some forceful way of disturbances,   our collapse, the afterthought of it all) i sensed from the beginning that the old moon will wade out and soon the sun will throw dissipated shades all across camps with bonfires dead and stilled. at the height of all, it becomes so hot that the birds leave the trees together with the flowers and the Cordillera cannot cry any longer. my woman wakes up as if rattled with different pains, her face floating past the mountains dreaming at the verge of birds in the morning— and it is twilight and still the same birds, now it is the night and you cannot see the birds anymore, neither a hint nor a trail of where they have disappeared like the glory of Rizal in Luneta. the lightsome globules in Paris. the lions of Manila, now a town full of cowards as alleys fill with ****** the kids laying flat on their bellies as the lawn takes its revenge on the rest of the surrounding,             beheading the tree, and the        birds fly farther and away.
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Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 7:09 AM UTC
Disappearance Of Birds
driving at Kennon (treacherous zigzag    resembles hopscotch with death) as i play Morrissey on the radio and the woman sleeps, sometimes waking up lamenting the death of moths I ran over, splattered on the windshield, "Poor little creatures!" she said. no, baby, i am the poor little creature and so are you,     relentless against the dark   past Urdaneta — her being mineward, i play with death as i turn the headlamps off (pure blackness, nothing as if falling into a bottomless pit as void sits on its throne waiting) and on (all white as pains   now, trucks flare up and down the bend,   the tumbled boulders keep meting out    some forceful way of disturbances,   our collapse, the afterthought of it all) i sensed from the beginning that the old moon will wade out and soon the sun will throw dissipated shades all across camps with bonfires dead and stilled. at the height of all, it becomes so hot that the birds leave the trees together with the flowers and the Cordillera cannot cry any longer. my woman wakes up as if rattled with different pains, her face floating past the mountains dreaming at the verge of birds in the morning— and it is twilight and still the same birds, now it is the night and you cannot see the birds anymore, neither a hint nor a trail of where they have disappeared like the glory of Rizal in Luneta. the lightsome globules in Paris. the lions of Manila, now a town full of cowards as alleys fill with ****** the kids laying flat on their bellies as the lawn takes its revenge on the rest of the surrounding,             beheading the tree, and the        birds fly farther and away.
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37
Sometimes LIFE stands for L-lifelessness I-irritation F-futility E-emotional disturbances
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Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 10:18 PM UTC
LIFE
Clouds like arctic mountains surround me My thoughts are becoming fog; I have been engulfed By my own pavid being Where my disturbances of thought Are evil and I am pure love Dead in a world so alive. The fiery soul of nephilim Acknowledging the conclave- Heaven creating Hell; Made by their own for their own Heavens sacrifice Residing peacefully alive in a dead world Synergistically intoxicating My paralysed mind The eternal love of all Gods legions For the sake of Hell And the salvation of Heaven, The dawn of Elysium rising Concordantly above mortal reasoning Forever in Pergutory. Now remembering Dreamt dreams dreamt i cry As I watch my beating heart Fall upon the ground Like a bird of prey with broken wings, My hearts bitter sweetness fading Untoward Heavens hellish passion. ELEETE J MUIR.
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Jan 13, 2012
Jan 13, 2012 at 10:03 AM UTC
Nephilim
"...There are presumably images in the experience of lower animals...They have not that future and past which gives them, so to speak, any rights as such..." -- George Herbert Mead. Lower being a term relative to concepts like the limbs of trees or the position in a list, only a careful, philosophical assessment was capable of blooming as a flower from the starfish to the stars. The past was an increment creating a (perfected, preferred) series of growths unfolding by the propagation of a (blueprint, dream). The dreams quantized ideology to make the receptivity and the discoveries made by grape hyacinths or hardy grass. [ d _ cos ln d ( g , h ) P ( t ) ] = { [ tau n ( u ) d I ] / ( d e ) } : int F ( B ) d I = dfn q ( r ) d r . Best liked was the colorful effect of self enthusiasm, bringing shade, from the darkness to the twilight, of the trees. Yet, the animals had learned to grow claws and legs. Were the birds not learning to fly? Striving brought a weight of labor, the years were fading into prehistory. Predestiny had been a decision by tulips. Disturbances had been required to bring evolution. Insects were living a fantasy with flowers. This looked across to obscurity. Those hidden were not like those dancing.
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Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 8:22 PM UTC
Powerful Rights As Aptitudes
Spider Walking into a corridor of neatly aligned cobwebs, that have your history strewn across, like telephone wires intertwining and intersecting, Making all the conversations and voices interweave, crossing paths - causing a disruption in the line, the static disturbances echoing through the dark corridor embellished with these cobwebs that have been lost in your mind. The cobwebs speak like conversations from broken telephone poles that are overlapping and confusing the mind, muddled and disarrayed, lacking any sense. time has consumed these thoughts, leaving bits and pieces, that only mislead you You swing across paving new paths with silken threads, crisp and new, like adhesive, glistening with prosperity. Yet you keep these deep rooted cobwebbed memories locked in your mind, like Pandora’s box ready to unravel. So just let them retire, they have fallen and become undone, and now they just collect dust from your memories Reminding you of thoughts, that are specked and flecked with dusty recollections. Those worn out thoughts can no longer collect, they only eject, tangled stories confusing you and bemusing you So don’t collect your abandoned webs, like a memory book - they are no longer relevant, they were just webs you wove to learn how to weave the web you now conceive, strong and secure, fully capable to endure.
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Dec 26, 2012
Dec 26, 2012 at 3:21 PM UTC
Spider
*Went into the pool To dip my head Under the water To break the Disturbances from within. Dipped my head for Few seconds or minutes. Couldn't tell the time Except to feel the calmness All across my body, As if the time has paused, Nothing mattered after that Except the stillness underneath And within!*
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Jul 30, 2017
Jul 30, 2017 at 3:14 PM UTC
Under water
We thought we’d declared it dead The words we bury in the soil of time Eroded by broken silences In the most unexpected of times The words that stung my tongue seem to flow numbly Desensitized and dehumanized, We wrap ourselves within a world of plastic Where the external disturbances are kept at bay Where no one may tap on the window and see within the soul If we seethe in the residue of our animosity We’re as good as snarling animals quarreling for the final prize Before we draw the line between harm and benefit We must draw the line between man and beast
0
Jun 15, 2010
Jun 15, 2010 at 9:46 AM UTC
Draw the Line
Ego death Death of mind Death of body Death crawls gallantly Gallantly crawls death Seated in a wooden chair Breathing in smell of candle wax The sweet aroma trickles into my nasal Gently Like a sweet secret whisper Memories strike Fear of the night Death of all light Combustion of dendrites. Death happens rapidly A spider; well groomed and ready to feast Pulls his venomed victim from the steady arm of life Fangs drawn Body of insect brawn Of skeleton armor Penetrating easily Devour young Dermaptera The victim is dying Slowly and painfully The spider finished his meal BANG! he looks up towards the light A nervous giant approaches with intuition to **** The boot overcomes the life of an arachnid Another life has come to a stop Crushed armor lays silent on the floor Bow to the human God Animals growing to fear The moth captures the fear inducing look of human eyes The most feared Tyrant of the insect jungles Grasses higher than skyscrapers Giants roaming on their chosen paths Crushing any live that stands in the way The Ocean Boats in mass amounts Distorting the predator balance Innocent shark Pulled from its domain by alien hands Slicing off fins and cutting throats Leaving you drowning in your own element Cruel human torture What lies beyond the dawn? Karmatic destruction for torture of nature? Torture of men Crushed by gravity Ripped from earth Blood drawn Gods angry and willing to provoke death on the wicked Disturbances in the valley of life Heartache in the valley of life Thoughts of torture to loved ones be your punishment Eternal sorrow and regret That is what the wicked get
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May 3, 2013
May 3, 2013 at 1:25 PM UTC
The Balance
Ego death Death of mind Death of body Death crawls gallantly Gallantly crawls death Seated in a wooden chair Breathing in smell of candle wax The sweet aroma trickles into my nasal Gently Like a sweet secret whisper Memories strike Fear of the night Death of all light Combustion of dendrites. Death happens rapidly A spider; well groomed and ready to feast Pulls his venomed victim from the steady arm of life Fangs drawn Body of insect brawn Of skeleton armor Penetrating easily Devour young Dermaptera The victim is dying Slowly and painfully The spider finished his meal BANG! he looks up towards the light A nervous giant approaches with intuition to **** The boot overcomes the life of an arachnid Another life has come to a stop Crushed armor lays silent on the floor Bow to the human God Animals growing to fear The moth captures the fear inducing look of human eyes The most feared Tyrant of the insect jungles Grasses higher than skyscrapers Giants roaming on their chosen paths Crushing any live that stands in the way The Ocean Boats in mass amounts Distorting the predator balance Innocent shark Pulled from its domain by alien hands Slicing off fins and cutting throats Leaving you drowning in your own element Cruel human torture What lies beyond the dawn? Karmatic destruction for torture of nature? Torture of men Crushed by gravity Ripped from earth Blood drawn Gods angry and willing to provoke death on the wicked Disturbances in the valley of life Heartache in the valley of life Thoughts of torture to loved ones be your punishment Eternal sorrow and regret That is what the wicked get
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64
Your eyes are introducing an attentive gaze Analyzing everything, you see Commanding the unfamiliar to be openly revealed Exhibiting your intensive curiosity An open expression of gathering awareness Gently glows there upon your face Transcending all of the troubled disturbances Communicated here in this place There is a vast swarm of shifting transformations Not seen by the unguarded eye Now zealously revealed to your attentive gaze As your awareness begins to rise The harmonious elevation of your wondrous unveiling Strikes a chord in the depth of thee Awakening the knowledge, you hold deep inside As what is hidden, you can now see
0
Aug 20, 2010
Aug 20, 2010 at 8:20 PM UTC
Attentively Watching
Our bilingual illiteracy and contemporary expression of vintage infancy remind me of developmentally mature eccentricities within a complex haven of interpersonal dynamics. Just like a carnival hall of mirrors, our perceptual disturbances succumb to elaborate revelations and dreadful expositions of what we presume to be articulate prose. Although the socio-political roots of a seductive striptease may shatter the silence of our audible and urban ecosystems, we can now access realms which connect to the severance of divided collusion. Our galaxy has established her infinite story, in the same manner as a wrought iron gate interferes with the evidence within our contemporary society. It is just like an alternate universe.
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Feb 8, 2016
Feb 8, 2016 at 1:02 AM UTC
Empathy
There were certain disturbances: Skirts high on the thigh, front-row desks and that shadow between the knees; Questions showing the definition of the torso and the upraised arm; Sojourns to the office at dusk to pose shyly– fingered tress in golden lamplight between door and frame– and the door closing; And of course learning, passion, bright eyes and a vernal splendor of poetry.
0
Nov 7, 2011
Nov 7, 2011 at 4:57 PM UTC
Crush