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Sarah Jane Jan 2015
Life comes in waves,
Dualities, defined as;
Good and bad, happy and sad.
Blur the definitions,
Blur your perspective.
We learn through change,
We grow through pain.
Everything is as it should be,
Always, infinitely.
Tommy Johnson Apr 2014
Winnie the Pooh is trying to think
As are Plato and Socrates
While The Little Rascals get rambunctious
And The Marx Brothers cause calamities
Jim Jones stirs the Kool-Aid
And Georgie Porgie makes his move
Bo Peep and Miss Muffett start to blush
Red Ridding hood just swoons
The Muffin Man does a deal
With Johnny Apple seed
These beings and people our real
In our Surreal Reality

******* lets the paint splatter
And Moses parts the sea
Belushi buys an eight-ball
Bruce is on trial for obscenity
Rorschach is on the case
Right behind Sherlock Holmes
John the baptist goes for a swim
Along with Brian Jones
Jack and Jill meet Hansel and Gretel
They're hungry, they're thirsty
These figments of imagination do exist
In our Surreal Reality

Rasputin was so evil
As bad as Captain Hook
Now was it ** Chi Minh or Nixon
Who said "I am not a crook?"
Mao Zedong looked at Stalin
With a shared murderous grin
Booth stormed the Ford theater
And shot President Lincoln
Kennedy and King we're both casualties
Of the process of the deciphering
Of our Surreal  Reality

Zeus said to Aphrodite
"Wow, you look real good tonight"
And Handel says "Hallelujah!"
As the Wright Brothers take flight
Baby Face Nelson
Teams up with Dillinger
Moe, Larry and Curly
Mengele, Mussolini and Adolf ******
Three bears, three little pigs
Along with three blind mice
Sit together, while Maurice Sendack
Cooks them chicken soup with rice
Charlie Bucket had a buy out
Wonka gave up his factory
Fiction or nonfiction it's all a apart
Of our Surreal Reality

Chicken Little tried his best
To warm The Little Red Hen
Of the sly trickster
They call Rumpelstiltskin
Rimbaud applauds Leonidas
And his 300's final stand
Da vinci  paved the way
For both Newton and Edison
Folklore and war heroes
And those with intellectual mentality
Are all just pieces
Of our Surreal Reality

Wee Willie Winkie's scream
Wakes up Rip Van Winkle
But not Sleeping Beauty who's been asleep for thirty years
But has no acquired a single wrinkle
Caligula has lost his mind
And Nero's lost his fiddle
What does Beethoven's hearing aid
Have to do the March Hare's riddle?
Abbie Hoffman fights for civil rights
Thomas Jefferson for democracy
Products of the conceptual
In our Surreal Reality

Berryman writes an ode
To Washington's wooden teeth
Manson speaks of Helter Skelter
Neruda damns the fruit company
Charles Schultz frames the story
And Seuss gives it rhyme
Some where far, far away
Taking place once upon a time
And the villagers all had omelettes
Thanks to clumsy Humpty Dumpty
It's all food for thought
In our Surreal Reality

Santa brings us presents
And Cupid bring us love
But we can never get back
The members of the 27 Club
Warhol makes his movies
And Buddha meditates
Joseph Smith reads the golden plates
Mohammed and Jesus save
Theses figures bring people hope
In life's dualities
Trusting faith
And our Surreal Reality


Han Solo is in carbon freeze
Don Juan's preoccupied
Sinbad sets his sails
Simple Simon didn't get his pie
Caesar looked at Brutus
Brutus looked at Saddam Hussein
Hussein looked at L. Ron Hubbard
Who prayed to Eloheim  
Dionysus can out drink us all
We cringe at Achilles fatality  
As Ra soars through the skies
Of our Surreal Reality

Aristotle says to Shakespeare
"Well Billy you old bard"
Frodo trades the ring of power
To Fidel Castro for a Babe Ruth Baseball card
Biggie and Tupac write their lyrics on paper
Ted Bundy is put in jail
They're making another skyscraper
For King Kong to scale
Hemingway is too far gone
Kant's take on morality
Einstein says it's all relative
In our Surreal Reality

Churchill said victory
John Lennon said peace
Judas gave back the silver
Then hung himself in a tree
Tojo and Kim Jong-il
Wanna be as cool as Brando and Dean
George Carlin warned us all
Now Hermes leaves the scene
So do the butcher, the baker and the candle stick maker
Followed by Old King Cole and his Fiddlers Three
As they make their way to find
A sense or Surreal Reality

Odysseus pines for Ithaca
Paul Bunyan chops the trees
The Jersey Devil has not been found
Noah herds the animals by twos not threes
Anubis wraps the mummies
And Augustus leads Rome
Bugs Bunny laughs with Pryor
All at the expense of Job
So what can we all make of this
Is this all actuality?
Symbolism or nonsense?
Realistic Surrealism or Surreal Realty?
Jeremy Betts Nov 2023
Painfully vain for such an insecure person
Dualities confliction keeps me on the bottom rung
A innocent convict, guilty victim type wrong
An unrecognizable cosmic size con
A blasphemous conviction
Obviously not the one to bet on
A hit and run rerun just begun
But what's done is done
Wake up with the next sun
But never ask to witness another one

©2023
Michal Shilor Jan 2014
my polygamous relationship with you distances me from the monotony of monogamy and makes me feel lonelier than the loneliest mundane monogamist. my mere apologies for my misendeavors, the malnutritious morals of my miseducation propose metal mirrors and castaways controlled by cutting carvers, craving crazy letters and loyalty from lengthy lies and lonely lives. lethargy overtakes and vowels reign, raining drops like rainbows and rocks in rivers, rusting relationships, rusty railroads at intense intersections entwined in everything inside and nothing on the outside anymore except these
muscles. we are back at the beginning.

my mind marvels in the magic of the memories, the madness of the morbidity and the hesitations of your reaction. his, I take, is misunderstood as my misfortune, but it is not a miss, my fortune: it is a fox in feathers colorful like friendships 'fore their forfeited and feigned approval, forced for fear of polygamy tho' it promises the purest pleasure, the most personal independence and precious pearls of princes, princesses, powerful, plight-less

poetry.  peace surrenders,

souls surprise themselves, surprise their cells, call for curious catastrophes to take place. colorful and calm they coincide with cooperation that can not contain the context of truth, of teases, of teasers and targets and tonal dualities and we endeavor, we endear you, we dare destroy the darkness of the devil in its disguised diamonds.

words lie at my feet like pebbles of poetry and I promise personal demise, deterioration and ridiculous obsessions- there's madness to be had and fragments to be written and I play with silly alliteration instead!

serious and serene you stare as if my sanity has slowly faded and I sternly helplessly smile shyly.  I suppose you are sincerely offering me your blessing before parting, so stumbling slightly I surrender…


if this is the prevailing promise of mere mortality, I'm graciously aware I was worthy of words.
Bad Luck Feb 2019
I think I've always been alone . . .
At least, as long as I can remember.

But there's a part of me,
                       that still feels so connected --
To something near the source,
                        At the core of somewhere true.

Where we exist without our existence's limitations.
Where duality, begins to mean overlap,
                         And both fiction and fact,
                         One and yet another,
                         Things like "this" and "that"
                         Are the same, still . . .
Innocently unseparated,
                         In this place near to creation.

Maybe it's just my brain . . .
                        I do have a habit of creating dualities.
"Together, or apart? No," I think.
                       More like doubting infallibility.

                        --------------------------

So when I say I've always been alone,
I have to ask myself:

                                              "Have you really?"

"Of course you haven't been.
But who you are right now,
is no longer that you . . .
At least . . . not fully
."

                                      "So, if I was alone then,
                                       Does that mean that I
                                       might not be any longer?
"

"Oh, no."
I explained back to myself,
"I think you misunderstood me.
It's just . . .
That you'll never truly know,
Until there's nothing and nobody
."

                        --------------------------

That's a haunting truth to tell yourself,
            When you're off in your own head.
At least I won't be alone in my regret,
                         When I'm among the dead.
I'll find community in that.  
Surely,  that's the place to which I feel so connected!
The place where maybe two of myself is enough
                      to make just one of me feel,
Like I'm worth something more, than more or less,
                      In a place that's neither there, nor here . . .
At least, there, if I don't feel connected,
                     To myself, I may feel near.
Joseph Martinez Mar 2011
Somewhere I sit beneath a tree
& elsewhere that tree sits beneath me

Somewhere there are people who speak colors
or else they cry for what they see

Somewhere lay a thousand eyes upon us
deep within clouds we do not pierce

& somewhere else the plants have voices
men are silent, they've ceased to be

Somewhere the moonlight tints the morning
& the sun does not set; it refuses

Somewhere all that is will be upon us
in an instant; all insanity
rends the minds of logic
granting bird-calls to the one who's truly free

Somewhere still, the all-at-onceness
strikes in holy totality

& decreeing that the sky must now be parted
to draw distinction between o'er the deepest sea
having the audacity
to accept the duality
of man, of time, of life
rather a causality
in itself
of things, of people, of emotions
you can finally let go
the loss of innocence
before you even know
not hopelessly muddled anymore
like the grey colour
in the middle of black and white
no more under the pressure
now off to where the air is fresher.
Accepting the duality is accepting yourself - as you are. Just like we live in the grey between the black and white of HP.
CharlesC Nov 2013
A community gathering
with a calm surface
erupted of a sudden
to an external
stimulation..
a visiting speaker
uncovered it seemed
sharp hidden dualities..
these dualities flared
left brains fired
and a fragile dialogue
was disturbed..
Also fragile were
searches for identity
self searching for Self
awakening on hold..
A microcosm of life
in our time…?
From the depression of the distances with respect to the horizontal and the planes that separated them from the surface, below the references that came against, single sediment had been destined towards the high eminence, before the fossal of megatons of aldehyde below the bilges of the final base, where the seventh rings of the goat ibex were perforated, all in the antipode of the Constellation of Capricornus; where the goats were enraptured in the binary of Wonthelimar, behind the floods of absorption that took the Diadocos far from where they should never have left, in order to extrasolar wishes and never to come. From the node of the supreme and poked aldehyde of the horn of Amalthea, with the bizarre analogy of Zeus and Wonthelimar, both mammals with milk from goat's udders, one from goat from Mount Ida and the other from Aldaine in the Alps, with milk from ibex and In the face of Amalthea that appeared in the fossal, all the Seleucid generals had already vanished, starting from the Viper Typhon, who in the retracting sub-mythology of Capricornus was transmigrated to Wonthelimar, swollen with the aldehyde transmuted into this alcohol and into the udder milk of the Ibix that He lactored, while they were all carried away as in the chambers of Auschwitz, in distant lanterns and lamps of the Calypso that he dismissed them, leaving them with the escorts of the ibex or goatfish in laudable stratagems, which vanished them away from their desires from a new polis or Nostos Patrída, sprinkling them with goatskin and flourishing essences of the kashmar of Zeus' nurse; Amaltheum or Amalthea.

The Iberian rings from the medrones in advance reached the two final ring nodes, here Wonthelimar intimidated them with an accurate adjacent bleat of the kashmar that rubbed their back, before the newest and last lux of Amalthea that vanished into herbaceous fruits that always He carried the barefoot medron with him, to start with the antlers dumbbells and re-transport them defeated to the species of snake that frightened the pastoral god Pan who shepherded, and then he submerged in the water after becoming Capricornus Ibex Fish. Being aware of this and of those who refused to continue listening, Ibics rings were unleashed until the seventh medron, feeding back with Wonthelimar who ad libitum created Venus in triads of Zeus. Wonthelimar and Amalthea were remote in the eighth and ninth medron of the antlers, they appropriated to each the portion of the Parasha or Parashot of the Torah, and of the thirteenth Shemot so that their dualities and fumes from the unbreathable fossa would remain under the possessed surface of the pendular property balance and positive-negative gender correspondence. Right here Amalthea transmuted her mercy to save the world with her lactation of syrup and honey that was not in short supply, and that was extrapolated into a future abundance of food and nectar, making up for crusts that were uneven in average terms. From this bezel, both beings of the goat genome contributed to the pole of goodness for each one at the end of the benevolent cuirassiers of prospering, and not from the opposite that would lead them, even though they were dissimilar causes, towards a retrograde event that was not a consequence of the becoming of the plagues, and of the malignancy that does not flourish with the Shemot of the Parasha, to agree and lavish themselves on blessed virtues or deliberate wicked ones.

The meaning of a relative synchronic and factotum coexisting does not redeem the disintegration of an existential relativism in Skalá, the Hexagonal Primogeniture from one of its angular visions, metaphysically transfers from its temporary contingencies after its arrival on Patmos, while the temporary Seleucid temporality vanishes, It was affirmed from a contradiction since its truth was distended in the arena of Skalá not implying being welcomed, rather it was victimized by the absurd political dimorphism in a meta spiritual state, abdicating its dispersed retrospective, and now contemplating a compromise of the Hellenic genre, to gradually rebuke the virtues of their banners, twice as good for the purpose of reinforcing the will to accede, and not perish in the attempt to lead Alexander the Great. The criticism of founding the memories are of a revived past where it was not, marking the anthropological fact and false truth judgment, in meaning and contradiction in the polarity of both axiomatic genres, but that is saved when quantifying in who has to defend himself, if seeks to abrogate itself, in the entity that is characterized by induction and attraction of egonies and not of exo-egonies, thus describing it in the theme of "Do not support egos that recriminate other characters of frustration and empowerment of a Vernarthian logic split into Vern-narth. Vern has etymology of Bern or Bern olive tree of Gethsemane and narth of the ordinal scale that speculates its nickname in millions of northern sections of its origin, which subsumes the truth and the criterion of apocalyptic parapsychology, re-life of quantum historicity of the metaphysical and sub-block. -Mythological of Vernarth in his identical.

Everything seemed a strange self-annulment from a clear and understandable limit, but Wonthelimar rose to the surface of the Állos kósmos, finding himself in atmospheres of truth and reality of a Cantabile, who decided about the horse Kanti coming with him towing him from the Erebo de Chauvet Bilocated. As a musical and festive ending, he received them on the upper plate of the happened gestures, where a cabaletta rendered parts of a Cantabrian aria, in sulfurous and remorseful cavatina married with the cross emotions of a finale who sponsored expressions and festive Templar tales, with the descendants of Zeus or minor children, or grandchildren after this had to give him milk and honey but with báchkoi. Among the couplets that received him, some came about the smoke of terror that was confused with the dustbin of a Cavallo or horse acclaimed Kanti, with gasping bustling from a cardex, containing all the repertoires of a cantabile if this scene were to be repeated in The same epic allusion, and in random consequences, that go after a cavalcade that is not abstracted in real characters, but more in conformity with the well-deserved place of epic imaginative beings or in the operatic psychotropic of a duet, which would go flagellating in individuality and in each which is not content from another section of the Cantabrian.

The Universality of emotion and feeling is a tragic Parodo emulating voices of all those who sing from a cantabile galloping in their voices to the beat of the heart in some, and at the same time chanting stanzas and antistrophe in reverse epic and tragic lines, for the purposes of the coliseum that diametrically obstructs the Hellenic choir, which is attached to the intervention of the Hexagonal Primogeniture that was already beginning to rise in height, and in the prayers of Saint John, the Apostle and Prochorus from the captaincy and the ode that would begin to stanza, from the west to this and the antistrophe would follow with Vernarth, Wonthelimar and Alexander the Great from east to west. Ad libitum of their enjoyments, they were eating Greek snacks or Katogorias on the way in bases of Almonds, cinnamon, olive oil, sugar, and sweet wine that they carried on their backs in Rhytas shaped like the horns of Zeus and the Ibix of Wonthelimar, which the same Procorus carried on his golden back. The meaning is affirmed as a meaningless infringement of laws of temporality, and truthfulness at the expense of short evidence, and of facts that vanish in the light haze of causalism and not of effectism, when the adjective or noun is made of a strong verb in the Metabasis and in the imprecations that Vernarth gave.

Vernarth's metabasis: “the verse and the adjective will be subsidized by the noun in the construction of Állos Kosmo Megarón, from where mathematics will immaterially explain sap suckers under the noun in liquid milk of the color white and of the high nutritional value in female lactated, and of mammals to feed their goats or ibex. The soul of this prerogative implies that the verb will be to promote species rather than a nutritious milky elixir for Zeus, and the candor of his **** will tend to the bipedal or quadruped subject self-procreating from a Milky Specie. (Milky species).  Being ****** into milk by self-procreating snitches. Vernarth says (give me some milk, and I will be the son of Zeus, perhaps as a means in everything and not a whole of which I never thought...!)

Amalthea in rituals and relics from prospects of demigods was purposely cordoning them off in Mycenaean deities, from a contemporary Westerner comforting them near a hippocampus; with signs of ibex Capricornus, rapt at the nymph that spoke from Mount Ida in Crete and that she made congruent with the constellation of Capricornus, more precisely in the Cornucopia making this heraldry of Wonthelimar with Fortune, Abundance, Occasion, Liberality, Prudence and Joy. In a woman sitting on a throne, a young nymph with a flower crown, a naked woman with one foot on a wheel and the other unstable, a woman with sunken eyes and an aquiline nose dressed in white, two faces from the past and future, a woman happy with the exuberance of the Cornucopia with children and a palm leaf. Being the abundance that in serial Amalthea bordered all the ladies in different esoteric and Mycenaean prosperity, constantly shining with radiations on the present in the Unicorn Ibix, which Zeus left after breaking its antlers, unleashing kindness and plethora in fruit buds, and vegetables that were appropriated in the Fortune of Wonthelimar reissuing what in their domains they can do, and now in Patmos with its Cornupia being transferred from that liquefied shaft honey and milk cultivated with attributes of herbs contributing to the leisure, peace, and relaxation of the cosmic world that ascended in Wonthelimar as Ibix in advance of Capricornus, from where the Auriga always broke into his expeditions with a trajectory towards the eighth cemetery of Messolonghi, where he brought it from the Capella Star for the femurs of the Diplodocuses who seconded Drestnia to watch over the hydraulic pits of the Koumeterium from Messolonghi, before traveling to Tangier.

The entire herd went back to an ancient promontory that was halfway up the mound towards the black styes or abscesses, in the central intuition of the fossa that began to dissipate towards their backs. Amalthea extends into the Állos Kósmos, which came in zoomorphic receptacles collecting the announced blood of the animals that flowed in black planks from the vortex of the fossal, towards the liminal or transitory sleeper of the fossal that oozed acetosities of the Aldehyde to be transmigrated after the bilocation of the Chauvet cavern. All wore willow halos on the crowns or diadems of their caps, including the proliferation of phantasmagoric Allies that went in rows from 780 to 680 BC. C., with fortunes of the Cornucopia that arched in magical arches due to the dissociative changes of the universe, as well as the circumstantial creed of some omnipotence that will cause emotional transgenerational transgression, in the rain vessels that they made fall from the Ombrio de Zeus, in a daily latticework closing the spaces, and only leaving for some intruders and onlookers to see his flashing Astrepé. Right here the diádoc fossal vanished, when it rose above the horizontal that poured into the Chronic Vernagrams of parapsychological personalities of ingenuity classicism and in Astro-concomitance, which would rethink everything that is past and future from a Vernagram, which is more than a compression of a mere future of the quantum spaces and the sacred medrones of the Ibixes with their direct relationship with Capricornus. Diverse capital moments were treasured in the breeze of the Vas Auric that was traced from the opposing moraine that fell in lapse-time, through the labyrinth in storms and thunderings that became planetary with the Lynothorax cuirass that Alexander the Great accommodated in the festoon border of his Aspis Koilé, kicking copiously as a sign of shaking the head of the gods who deceived him to be alive, and who was now reborn in the faith of Saint John the Apostle, favorite of the Mashiach and where he will have to wipe his face with the shroud of Veronica Before entering the Állos Kósmos Megaron that everyone built, in favor of a Panagia or Temple, unlocking the majolica that seeped out from the rest of the transmigration, and his own in the configuration of a corpse with a tricolor gesture.

The presumptive eradicated the side of the forearm rots that was being restored in Wonthelimar's laps, which helped him get up and catch his breath while the Katogorias snack filled his mouth with nectar and almonds with Macedonian Psiloi combat tactics with serum and flames of Alcohol dripped from her nostrils and sinuses in the sweet wine, which in pompous dilemma defied the judges of her life in the choir of the Bilocated Epidary Theater on Patmos, and in the ***** dry Kashmar of the orchard with the pale faces of the grotesque, that rested in the memory or Mnmosyne and in the fauna of the Thracian and Thessalian helmets.

Alexander the Great says: “here I agonized and now in the fresh waters of the springs of the Lerna, I will also marry the glorious mystay and bákchoi, in the memories of Vernarth seeing him besieged by Achaemenides in the stooped position of Dario III, to come purifying and sustaining of my limbs, learning to walk and speak in Neolithic techniques, which extruded me from the Lerna by barriers of the moon that shone from the bronze of my Leonatus helmet. Thus I could see that Vernarth, fought alone against thousands throwing fire through his mouth and his eyes, separating the waters of the Falangists, who plowed like ships deforesting the Persians, and leaving them in their mud, imposing glorious Hypaspists who unbolted from their back some arrows with heads of snakes and Hydras.

Vernarth watched as everyone climbed the Profitis Ilias mound, two hundred and sixty-nine meters above sea level, where the monastery of San Juan is located; here he was suspended in his solitude after everything that happened at the end of the moat that definitely I would return without the Diádocos, with a hint and its functionalities. From here Helios became genealogical, who snatched him from the kingdom of dead flowers, which were to be assumed from the Olympian where he will join him to the essential of Aïdoneus; immaterializing in the darkness of dizzies and the flowers that died in the genealogy of a new species. The scenic swept its cognitive and ferns with more than three hundred frank species that frowned like the enemy of an evil friend, with seedlings that expectorated from the resonance of the bushes that invited to thrive in the salty ripples that made a dreamer fall asleep on top of the kerchiefs or brambles that memorialized Gethsemane, burning his face and hands with psalms, telling him about his Baba. For when it is a luminary by night and by day, they will compare it with the white grayish drupes and mops, like those of the Bern orchard of Olives, in aqueous and resinous colloidal, which was crowned in harmony and syntropia in Vernarth activating intellectual conscious plantations, which will restructure its balance of ultra Hoplite, in metabolism of the Lentiscus flowers, with great brotherhood in the Olives that each time exercised the gift of bending their oleaginous self-species, towards planes of the Cornicabra olives, with large branches and high tree altitude that fruit within of the Cornucopia that he now carried on his back, supported by an oiko spin, juxtaposed with the fibula on the right shoulder of his lymphoma, which with large branches and high tree altitude fruit within the Cornucopia that he now carried on his back, supported by an oiko line juxtaposed with the fibula on the right shoulder of his lymphoma, and with polyphenols in scale geothermal energy that still leveled the Ponto Sea towards the tectonic plate to give it the flavor that was owed from remote prehistoric times.

Patmos was aborted from an immanent consent and new force of the impending enemy in Pythagorean perorations and an offending thought. From this prerogative is born the generalized punishment of sub-mythological ethics in favor of legacies of allusions to reorder or defragment the enslaving and demolished bio culture, which would begin from the establishment of the Vas Auric found in Limassol, which took possession from Rhodes with clean scenes from Tsambika monastery. The epic ran like icy cold down the shoulders of all those who sweated for the generation of cops, and in domestic evasions in superior lordships to Hades or Wonthelimar itself, both sons of flocks and goats that nourished them by providing them with a mountain perspective, as a magnetic pole towards gothic energy that ruled more in the Magnetic North Pole, and the geographic oversize that reviled latitudes in riches that would dismiss Borker and Zefian, as masters distributors of the ethics of the Áullos Kósmos of Patmos, redeploying thousands of dead from pre-Hellenic times, so that they recirculate through the roots of the Kashmar, re-sulfurizing cinnabar saps as the germ of the subterranean Acheron, which consecrates the living and the dead in the eternity of the infinite Duoverse Universe. The order will lie in semi-shadows that even in the dark provide the pleasant warmth of camphor, with advanced Horcondising formulas, which will appeal to hungry souls by suppressing gifted energies, and by inseminating them with ovules without originally conceived organisms.

From Hylates, Cyprus; Zefian came by order of Vernarth, assisted with the extension of the earthly laborers of the Attic Calendar on the twenty-first of September, from the device of Apollo at the site of Boeotia, and especially of the Boedromion. The arrows that Zefian brought had an instant Boedromion crossing the lines from spring to winter, with seven arrows that Zefian threw into the sky and never fell, but if portentously received in the virginity of animals. The flora with seven golden arrows of the Chauvet de Wonthelmar cavern, condoned the exhaustive end of the fossal where they still remained, in a gesture of tenderness and relative Mycenaean genealogy, from Crete the contravention of Apollo and Artemis towards an olive tree was approaching, originating in the Zefian's arrows, to mark the new cardinal points, begin with the first two arrows that they put on the string of the bow, each one flying north and south trajectories and the other two that were once again attacked with the east bow, to shoot the arrows of east-west with southern magnetism limits. Zefian's imagination was of proportions that were not limited without wandering from their phalanxes when they pulled the string, like joys of a ghostly existence that pushed him in each bolt, presuming that where they fell would be the beginning of the storms that would originate the Állos Kósmos Megarón, for belated courts imposed from a cosmos, which he led by insisting on his will and from a doubtful Vestal god advocating the association of the hospitable Canephores, such as Vestal Virgins of Roman bilocation, and quantum parapsychological of the feared inter-tale alive that rebels in the arrows that they had not yet fallen and did not know their whereabouts. As plates or serial hosts, they were evoked from where the origin of the Universe was broken, to open towards the organic, vigorous, and anti-burn contravened Duoverse to the divine celestial origin as a parameter of *****-ovule, rather in aeonic instances in the fireplace of Hestia, running in eternities towards vast volumes of light-years, where eternity has no measure, let alone the existence that begins and ends born from a homozygous arising without a Universe, to hatch from the branch of the Heterozygous Duoverse, bringing different unions of eternal cells by universal divine decree, and not the union of disparate cells. The science of the Mashiach came in these divine arrows that marked the points of the cardinal in the numinous and exclamatory expansions of the exiled universe of Vernarth, towards the perenniality in itself, but being heterozygous for a world that would begin to live in non-organic cells, but yes of divine composition, over saturating the limits of the origin, and destiny of syntropy of the conscious actions of the metabolism of the Alma Mater and of the great doors when losing the bodyweight of the physical-ether, but yes from the platform of the Mashiach that will take them hands without leaving them abandoned, showing them that they were no longer children born of ovule-*****, but rather in the luminous matter, envisioning expansions of prayers beyond from the universe, where it will accompany them in a multidimensional plane..., and will have no end from a human scientific conception.

Wonthelimar says: “Since the omphalos was swallowed by Cronos, Hera's elegy was unleashed, for not raising her son Zeus in free clumps of goats and Ida's honey. I in the Alps went to the herd of the Ibix like a Zeus saved from the darkness of Chauvet in the mountains of Gaul. There are chisels that cut stones in beautiful whirlwinds, but I know that a lot of cosmology would not speak of the Mediterranean Cornicabra and its olive drupe, nor less of the Cornucopia that sinks with sumptuous and ephebian flavors in the fruit, and the greenish heraldry of the binominal that is disturbed in its phalanges eating and sipping honey, in antler pots with pride of the Ida and the Vercors massif”
Wonthelimar Amaltheum, Állos Kosmos Megaron
onlylovepoetry May 2023
Save My Soul, (But First), Rub My Feet


thus a poem auditorialy conceived,
but!
the sexuality of the deceiving dualities,
irritates erogenous, exogenous perceptiveties,
plethora of intensifying variables, a not-serious,
harmless remark yet bring us to myriad of
marauding reversals, add-venturing into harm’s way…

much to discuss, but this
topic bettered by much
trading of traditional bantering
brevity bettering our wordless battering
insinuating, sensational signals bring
us backwards & forwards
to an exploratorium of wide boulevards

back to new unfamiliar venues,
narrowing alleyways & places we were before,
places before we were before where,
no unnecessary commas to separate,
distingué, distinct
tween the instinct of old and new,
an uncommon commonality experiential revisionism

now I understand what you said to me,
a tenderizing of
the sole synapses directing
the brain, the old ooh ‘s, aah’s
reigniting what what lay dormant,
at long last,
by opening doors to alternations,
ven diagram of digressing yet intersecting
old & new pathways,
from the souls of her feet,
to, too, two,
we become diamond
on souls of our heat
Tue May 30
4:42 PM
I can't listen to
Heartbreak music
This one can't do
Hadn't got to use it
Now I'm twenty two
DO NOT LOSE IT

A short expression of my heaviest burden
First impressions, barely got a word in
Last impressions before you'd chosen him
Was we could be thorns on God's roses
Cause we would never part like Moses

Revelations

The story of my life
A book of my lies
But what is life without love
But death in disguise
If I die with our love
We can sing in blue skies

Daydreams while I'm awake
Remember all I want is fake
No closer do we quake
Than the sun and moon
The beauty he can never take

Wrestling dualities
Welcoming reality

Unfortunately

-Luca Ivaldi
Hey, just that guy that you feel bad will die alone.
Prana Moonshine May 2015
Gently close the door before
Running away from the sangha of the gongs,
Running to the sangha of the forest.
Dualities, so extreme,
Oneness, so infinite.

I step more patiently now,
With the same wonder,
But with increased senses.
The senses feast on stimuli.
The senses fast on deprivation.
Yes the green is greener.

I return to the chakras,
The protection of the fox,
The fuzzy comfort of soft things.
To hear music, to bake bread,
To feel touch.

Now our distance is greater,
And it creates closeness.
Now the sadness of spaces
Creates refreshed longing.

I smile at the mystical and curious
May Apple Retreats.
The Big Tree, the threshold.
The portal, welcomes me,
Shelters me.

Practices breathing fully,
Proclaiming:

                            “LIVE LIFE,
                              LIVE LIFE”
Kida Price Jan 2013
The mirror's reflection looked away from me today.
She knew my secret and my shame...
Even now I thought I could hide it from her.
There are certain dualities to monogamous promises
Because emotions are never made just for one.
If I knew I would have loved him then I would have hated him first.
If I knew I would hurt him...then I would have killed him before I could.
I've traced all my steps back into a wall.
The path that was there before has been blocked by my own hand.
I built it with every lie and every truth about myself,
And yet I stand dumbfounded at the choice I am to make.
I'm panting and wild eyed for an escape
And my captors are threatening for an answer.
Both breathing fantasies and lives that I want to see
And all they get from me is a choke.
A stammer.
A stutter of a choice made but not thought through.
I give them both each hand to have but the joke is on me...
Basic anatomy only gave me one heart.
And them as well.
They both gave theirs to me and now I'm overly supplied
And worrying over them spoiling if I leave them out too long.
Then I think to myself of a prose well said,
"Get thee to a nunnery."
And like a coward, I flee.
Aspen Welsch Feb 2019
I want
a quiet mind.
A slice of space time
carved out, specifically mine.
I lost and found fullness in the void.
The promise of isolated existence,
of a transcendent world where I forget.
Of matter absorbing, swallowing, expanding and
delivering me the gift of nothing and something
together, motionless silenced in a simultaneous moment of
hush.

Still, the universe goes ever on and on.
There is power in the invisible.
The interlocking dualities of push and pull
only felt and shared, not seen.
There are forces binding us in the black abyss
which separate and join in tense dances
through made-up minutes which bend endlessly.
What is real?
Is a vacuum really empty?

I find comfort in the nothing,
that is also everything.
Alice Sun Dec 2013
Most cringe at the fringes of reality, mind-splitting dualities

tear apart what's known, but its a start to grow, a seeker, a

keeper of secrets you have grown to be, yearning to be free by

learning what has to be, but you dare not to care, to show the

divine glow, hiding by gliding behind the shadows, and now

twisted wits slit your mental capacity fastening locks that

casually create apathy, now callously you afflict, lifting veils

that trick, gifting secrets by sifting through weakness,

designating your self a genius, resignating your true gist with

lists of accomplishments that compliment your ego, letting go of

your whole creating a hole that needlessly creates your

deviousness of pure meanness that's created quite an inconvenience

to a once great friendship.
If you think of Things with your brain you  reach the limits Of  your brain . only With heart You reach the limits   of  thingS you think of
I saw   every  soul trapped in
One of these orbits
1    -  The orbit of the queen: the mind shouts “I’m the queen”, this orbit is a denial of the
roots where the mind lives this imaginative happiness.

2- the orbit of the lost crown:every mind catches a crown trying to convince the other
that she found the lost crown. In this orbit the mind is nothing but a continuous
comparison.

3- the orbit of fear: in this orbit the mind fears the truth , what if the crown that she
catches is a fake crown? What will happen if the main reason of existing doesn’t exist for
real?Will she throw the crown a away? Will she give up on its lies? Questions in this
orbits are nightmares.

4- the orbit of mechanism: in this orbit the mind hides the crown within what attracts her from outside to rest. Isn’t the dream just the mechanism of the mind to avoid the
disturbing outside to sleep? Isn’t the nightmare the mechanism of the mind to disturb the body to get comfortable to sleep? In this orbit the mind needs to sleep, she solves the questions with denying herself as if everything she needs just exists outside.

5- the orbit of the first maze:what makes the a maze is that all exits are entrances of the
maze at the same time. In this orbit the mind tries to remember where she hid the crown, t
thus it becomes under the authority of the outside, if she hid the crown in a kangaroo she will be tracked out when she sees a kangaroo. in this orbits “ things live instead of us” to remember the crown she tries to name, classify, and categorize the world.Instead of getting whatsoever in the basement out to find the crown, she tries to put whatsoever she meets in the basement might she finds the crown accidentally. In this orbit the mind is a prisoner of dualities.

6- the orbit of the second maze: in this orbit every pronoun is a mirror. She, he, and they
try to infect you, me and us with their absence, to get us out of here and out of now,  the “ we” is the masked “I” , he and she are two banks of a river just only far a away become one bank. I this orbit the mind tries to catch a center, but “every solid base becomes fragile and pathetic, in this orbit nothing is trustworthy,(  believes, ideas, values, concepts,ambitions , even the language itself , are not trustworthy).

7- the orbit of the creator : this orbit is the “ barzakh” ,then barrier , where the mind can
see through all orbits but no mind from other orbits can see her. In this orbit the mind
knows how other orbits can magnetize, possess, control, hypnotize, and how to flee.
When She laughs she is the laughter and when she dances she is the dance, she can make sarcasm out of any thing. She can sense when to visit an other orbit and when to
vanish.She swims within ambiguity without losing her direction. She stares within the
deepest well without falling down, she goes like light within dirt but stays pure. She is a
balanced beauty like a butterfly, she lives to recreate her own meaning of life since she is
grateful that God created the life meaningless so she can add her own meaning. She lives
according to her free will, not because of needs or fears. She is honest even when she lies. This exceptional mind is shapeless like a cloud, so who can stab her in the heart?
PFL Jun 2016
Ubiquitously, ideas are conceived,
I wholly in you as you are in me,
This father tells his son with certainty.
Escape, we cannot, this universal reality.
Right or wrong dualities, balance, not explained,
Its instability privately entertained,
The constance of truth’s demise.
Words, alone, cannot suffice
When clarity is shadowed by
Renown contrived lies.
Freedom relents,
Best wishes set forth, then go astray.
Evil dominates good’s intent,
When humanity ceases to speak, ignorance’s silence reigns.
Those chosen step forward alone, while the rest fade away
Into the dark truths, they’ve conveyed.
Their beliefs, a glowing flame’s frenzied trance,
Drawn to, the timorous souls, who’s to say,
For such admiration would not behoove to take the chance.
They desire to part from their union with despair,
Willing to let self-identity disappear.
Granted access into an incredible nothingness,
No need forever the seeking of more,
There to find, the new you, self assured.
Told, they are, others less fortunate cannot relate,
For they have not been chosen to reach this special state.
Foolishly they never ask why?
Those who have gone before them have yet to send back a sign.
How much you believed in them and they you,
Within the moment after, you knew,
All the words exchanged and trusted were falsely construed.
You’ve lost, yet have they won?
Who’s going to tell the truth to your four year old son?
"He was a good man, who always came to daily prayers with his 4 year old son." Fort Pierce Florida Imam
Skaidrum Oct 2020
the sun squatted just over the horizon,
a giantess,
a red bulb;
the pregnant flower––
enabling all flesh;
flora and fauna
alike.

the moon sank her fangs into the sky,
merely a anorexic sliver of a crown,
a knife, against newborn night;
a ballet dance,
eating her own heart out
as the monsters devour
her leftovers.
1/23/20
––From some old religion of mine; i.
"vive la light"
© Copywrite Skaidrum
agdp Feb 2010
When we enter this reality
Through the uncalled memory
Of our birth,
Crying with nonsense
To newly unveil senses.

The doctor readying his slap
To insure
You’re aware of the world.

The initial daybreak
Grasps with instinct
From the stem
Of our brain,
But we develop
Further in life learning
To walk, talk,
And even further
To tuck in that dress shirt,
All in all learning
The basic facets of living;

Only to further learn
That we cannot know everything
Undefined definite definition
A plotting knot of resolved fiction,

Dualities, influences, susceptibilities,
Insecurities, indecencies, and tendencies
In us all for us to see
And choose not to be.

The card game
Of social exposition
And inquisition
Learning to understand our face
And the people that we trace,

Forming, deforming, uniform
Difficulties
We stumble,
To return standing;

Challenges in holding hands
Returning affections, and mental afflictions
Gaining understanding
That we are being human beings
Refractive in and Reflective at seeing

Birth parallels death
No choice, versed vice
Falling and stumbling sadly
Last moments
Of our lives, begin

Talking gibberish,
Eating mush,
Having no memory
What happened yesterday?
While you lay in your crib
Asleep to a reality
12/10/07 © AGDP
Bassam Mar 2010
I tend to forget to tend to my wounds, forever failure in focus
Self-improvement is out of scope.
You make me feel as if I should have succeeded, that the happiness came under false pretenses.

I tend to forget that laughter cannot be measured, neither the grounds on which they occur,
Nor the amount in which they are manifested.
All the happy times are irrelevant, because the ends don't justify the means.

I tend to forget that everyone, including the mentally disabled, desire to advertise their strength,
Their resolve in the face of the adversity between two people who
Claim to love each other, long after the love is gone.

I tend to forget that no one is as naive as either of us make them out to be, that none will
Absorb the previous problems at face value, and
That there are two sides to every coin, as all life suffers from the conflicts of dualities.

I tend to forget that your constant quest for social acceptance is what
Has made you a person uglier than you truly know.
I see through your act; an addiction to be validated, and your pretty portrayal to the spectators.

I tend to forget the analogies between dirt and flower, but no one stops to think that perhaps
The soil from which nature grows is more beautiful than what it blooms,
As it is the foundation, the core, the element, which is hidden from the pretension of the colorful.

I tend to forget how much I once desired to be the voice of reason, now the voice of rhyme.
Forever cursed to be well-versed in poetry.  And I know the reason why,
It is just a hypothesis, but I truly feel that there is method to my madness.

I tend to forget the discipline involved in making dual voices similar, one in sound,
Other in beat.  Like two hearts in conjoining cadence.  Reason
Does not do it all justice.  This is my way of making sense of it all.

I tend to forget that anything that grows together, flows together, such as the written words in verse.
The flowers may distance themselves from the dirt from which they arose,
I will remain below the sunlight, hidden in obscurity, watching the Heavens of your lies from the Hell of reality.
(S.H.K. 2010)
Aaron LaLux Jun 2018
Gorgeous Ghost

Hauntingly beautiful,
a most lively ghost,
a unification of The Dualities,
is what best describes you,

time to make a choice,
fame or the family life,
put it all into my artistic endeavors,
or put it all into making a boy and raising him right,

what does it take to make a life,
what does it take to take one away,
better get out there and live your life,
because we both know tomorrow isn’t promised today,

hey,
hello,
is anyone out there,
anyone at all,

I’m feeling possessed,
like a house that’s haunted,
and that haunter is you in this moment,
but only when you’re being brutally honest,

I know I’ve got talent,
and yeah I know that I waste it,
reality bites I bit the apple,
bit my tongue drew blood and can taste it,

Martyr me now,
or forever hold your peace,
US Embassy moved to Jerusalem today,
I’m still shouting “Peace in the Middle East”,

May 13th 2018,

see they say the Devil’s in the details,
I say Satan knows me well,
but I’m here in God’s honor so what does it all mean,
I don’t know but when I do I’ll send you the email,

or send it to you in a way that’s ethereal,
like a seance when a Medium’s in a trance,
kinda like Poltergeist or better yet Ghost,
because it’s less of a horror film and more of a romance,

hauntingly beautiful,
a most lively ghost,
a unification of The Dualities,
is what best describes you…

∆ Aaron LaLux ∆
Nicole May 2022
What is wrong with me?
One moment everything is fine
Then I'm triggered and gone
As if it's always been this way.
Why can't I feel ok alone?
I know I'm good and enough
But when you're not here
I feel like I'm losing my mind.
Days pass on top of days
I can feel myself burning out
I need time with myself to recharge
But I have an insatiable ache for you.
I'm mad at myself for this
It's not your fault
But it'd be easier if it was
I wish I didn't need anyone else, but I do.
I never asked for this life
Everything is painful and I don't understand
How so many people just keep going
For as long as a lifetime.
Every connection feels life changing
Witnessing your humanity moves my soul
But is it real or just an illusion in my mind?
Do I see you or just a projection of me?
I want to cling and I want to run
I want to text you and to give you space
I want to say **** it all and I want to stay
So many dualities that I can't breathe.
I should be happy because things are fine
Nothing is inherently wrong
But I feel so unsettled and uncomfortable
Like nothing will ever be enough for me.
I just want to be ok
And I don't want to need anyone else
I have to learn to balance these issues
With the curse of my human condition.
You isn't one, but many
Dave Bosworth Apr 2013
Reverse the flight of Lucifer,
Hurl back to heaven the fallen star;
Recall Eve's fate, establish her
Again where the first glories are:
Again where Eden's rivers are.

****** back contention, merge in one
Warring dualities, make free
Night of the moon, day of the sun;
End of the old war of land and sea,
Saying, There shall be no more sea.

With love of love now make an end;
Let male and female strive no more;
Let good and bad their quarrel mend
And with an equal voice adore.

Bow lofty saint, rise humble sin,
Fall from your throne, creep from your den:
The king, the kingdom is within,
That is for evermore, amen:
Was dead and is alive. Amen

*Ruth Pitter
Bre Jul 2019
I’ve written before
About living in the grey
The in betweens and out of lucks.

I seem to never escape
The areas where the line blurs.
I don’t love just one part
I can’t be just one type
I’m a hurricane and a sprinkle
A little lost a little found  
Blue grey black yellow pink

These dualities live in me
The insecurity yet destiny
The anxiety yet certainty
The love of one v love of all
And above all
The absolute knowledge
That these dualities
Can’t
Be
Known.
X
When will I realize there is no enemy
I'm only caught up in a cage of my own dualities
It's not the only time I realize we're all standing here
But it's the only time that I see what needs to be said clear

I walk into a battle field before I come home

This is the moment where you take this story for as it is
Another book in life that takes you for a ride to glory or hell
So when it comes into time, on which line, which side will you choose?

I walk into a battle field before I come home

I'm only speaking in the tongues that give you the remedy
Come on and listen in, together my friend comes the clarity
What are you waiting for? A miracle is always happening
Oh you can't afford to let it all slip away

Don't run away
Your troubles will double and finally catch up to you
There is no hiding now
Don't look to the other guy
It all comes down to seeing yourself in a different way
So stand in front of the mirror
Just take a look and see what I see

I walk into a battle field before I come home
**FadedFate**
George Krokos Nov 2023
I once had a dream about what I would like to be
but the dream's still being realized in life to see.
To date I now find myself having a poet's brain
and a passenger traveling in an outbound train.
The carriage I occupy is starting to break down
and I wonder how much longer it will be around.
Though it's better to always keep a positive mind
and not let the devil of despair to rob you blind.
The life we're all living now is just another dream
of that Infinite Existence in the flowing stream
of Its own imagination which has no real end
apart from the limiting state we all try to rend.
Only a few ever come to know about this game
that is played out within a holographic like frame
which includes all dualities of form and substance
created to express Its own boundless abundance.
The illusion's needless to say so very well done
that we are all caught up in it and try to have fun;
going from one extreme to another as we live
in mastering the art of how to love and forgive.
______
Written in Feb.'22.
Another one of those existential, mystical and philosophical type poems.
Robert Ronnow Aug 2015
If a poem or essay can end with a conclusion or its opposite, either one,
Can it be of any use to anyone?

Do the discrepancies and disparities, dualities and densities, reflect only
      the dementia
Of the bearer of the pencil?

First entertain, then enlighten if you can. One stretches truth in order
      to pretend,
Another leavens with levity one's inevitable end.

Most days it's not possible to bring your life into an expressible state.
Disparate hopes, arduous chores, word choices. And, of course, the  
      state of the state.

Driven by ideas rather than rhymes, for it is not metres, but a
      metre-making argument,
That makes a poem. Convenience store or university English
      department

The day's disputes, down to the meaning of the weather, leave you
      indisposed
To share your heart of zero and your inner rose.

It is the strong force, the energy of the loved ones combined with
      cooperation for good or war.
Dad's years in New Guinea fighting ****, he said, were his best by far.

The best that can be said or done is Be where you are. Love the one
      you're with
Not necessarily an adult of the opposite ***, perhaps just a kid who
      hates math

And school, dresses goth, reads rarely but learns a lot from movies
      and YouTube,
Has the presence of mind to say I am who I am, deal with it. That's
      who I want to be

And have always been. Today clean the house, again. Woke up this
      morning to two thoughts:
How sweet to be alive! Life is tough.
--Emerson, Ralph Waldo, "The Poet"

--Stills, Stephen, "Love the One You're With"

www.ronnowpoetry.com
Michael Marchese May 2017
All furies, pharaohs, phalanxes
Will bow before the one
Whose fountain flows from phoenixes
To bathe him in the sun
For what is time if not his throne
And what is God but just a word
To thine whose kingdom shines against
Existence's absurd
And most perplexing paradoxes
Of dualities of man
And its sealed Pandora's boxes
Of reality's demand
Upon the lonely lucid dreamer
Who has seen beyond desire
In a world of Disney Movies
Where such fairy tales expire
To a hungry belly's hatred
And the fear of thirsty lips
And taking more than your fair share
Of poison apple trips
Aaron LaLux Sep 2016
Las Meninas

Dementia makes a great creator,
sacrifice your sanity for the greater splendor,
it’s interesting how insanity makes a great inventor,
all the greatest were/are/will be crazy now and forever,

just ask this to Francis Ford Coppola the director,
or bat ****t (no disrespect but pun intended) Christian bale the actor,
or Vincent van Gogh who cut his ear off all creative geniuses are tortured,
so I suppose Picasso's no different in his portraits of torment as a painter,

what a mad medium the Expressive Arts are,
as if every artistic creation is it’s own emotional provocateur,
a window to the soul of a lunatic lit by the light of the moon,
and shown through the manifestation of a painting in living color,

abstract dualities uncovered,
a crack in the cement of our foundation,
the wooden frame of our reality begins to splinter,
like window panes in the winter open to interpretation,

ascending,
up a spiral staircase into the attic of an artistic addicts mind,
find some time then misplace it,
then replace it with a twist of fate and sprig of thyme,

face it fate is what we face when we're outta excuses and out of time,

I’m,

writing words,
like oil painted on canvas,
in a race no one wins,
even those with the most advantage,

brush strokes,
art works,
we are all tainted,
just look,
at Picasso,
and all the pain he painted,

this is the ballad of the obscene lick the palette clean and get wasted,

drunk in love,
under the influence of,
colors of pastels and multi tones,
high off life,
we’ve got a show tonight,
but for now I write in verbose undertones,

at the Picasso Museum in Barcelona,
in an insane world only crazy love seems sensible,
with Jay and Beyonce they say the circles get smaller you go,
and we’re at the top of the pyramid circle so small it’s a point at the pinnacle,

paining portraits in our own ways,
some sing some dance some actually paint,
and I’m not the Devil that that accuse me of being,
but I’m also not exactly a patron saint,

paint,
a portrait of this torture,
name,
it ‘Maids of Honor',

create,
an entire series of misery and maybe it will be your zenith,
make,
Hell as beautiful as Heaven & then when it’s finished call it Las Meninas,

then release it all and they will call you a gothic prophet an artistic genius,

love the art,
but not the artist,
love the hate,
but not the haters,
love heart,
but not what it harbors,
love the work,
but not the workers,

people love,
what they’re told to love,
like people love Picasso,
because that’s what they’re told,

rarely is greatness recognized,
while the artist is still alive,
no one wants to take the time,
to truly appreciate and recognize,

and speaking of time I know I’m late,
but better late and I apologize for my lateness,
but a true creative type can’t be rushed or hushed,
so please if you want to receive you must have that virtue called patience,

life is the canvas passions the paint it’s time for action let us paint this…

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆
Picasso Was Fckn Insane... ∆
sajjad ali Apr 2015
immature and childish  just look older cause of
the weight I've put on never held a job longer than three months
never had real True Love got mixed up in the dualities
and wanted to sort this **** out mixed holy water and whiskey
and had that shot :)
In my mystical ways i have become god
but that's ok cause mums the Boss!
I've played Jesus, Muhammad and Moses
and Adams the Boss
Right back to the top
this is more personal , the deeper meaning of things
somewhere in history or just in wisdom and knowledge lost
wake up in the middle of the night jumping out of Bed
saying I'm God
the all seeing eye follows me everywhere I go
now my profile pic is the eye of Ra on facebook
serpents are the wisdom symbol
matrix and reality no more confused but
cant fight a design that you cant control
what i desire is that sacred pearl
someone posted a poem on it here a few days a ago
ancient knowledge a hidden treasure i got my eye set on the
biggest prize
i am but dust of the earth but love makes me divine
and who you love and how much plays on your soul
cause if you love Jesus you want to be like him but what if
you love the mystery like crazy then what role do you play?
if you stare into the abyss long it stares back at you
that's some scary ****!!!
I've been staring the abyss in the eye ball for 7 years
now i have become the abyss
i don't think **** through i just say it as it is
the doc says I've had Adhd since i was a kid
but in reality there are no loose ends
been single so long i think I've forgotten how to kiss
calculating how long i have to live 30-35 years of more ****
loneliness and solitude are both crap
now you can understand why Adam was ******* in the
Gardens of Bliss
Eve like the New Year's is a wait
but unlike new years eve, she never comes
35 more years of single man this is crazy and guess what
Muslims there are no Virgins. Like Heaven/Paradise i have heard
is very selective women enter free ..... men have to pass the test.
So Mr. Man's world not so lucky are we
Be good Be good
Might be an eternity of love waiting after a short life
like 60-70 years a spec in time
and maybe sleep forever after a lifetime of misery
that's going to be the worst like seriously
hell on earth and then just go to sleep
what about huggies and kissies ??? :)
too much feminine spirit mixed with the masculine
but still like girls , still like girls .
Poetry is nice short and sweet like unless its like really amazing
unlike my ranting :) this will be the only time the only one
Apologies in Advance Peace and Salaam
And Namaste too if you're into THAT ****
mY Soul bows down to the soul in you
like the Japanese do it when they greet
when love comes I worship her she worships me
Penny Royal Tea
just a messed up write it all down ranting/rambling :) definitely not a poem.
The They Sep 2012
Lost in the somnolence of his solitude
The poet’s hell
Lies in the heaven of his existence
That he cannot see
With eyes closed
And back turned towards the future:
His game composed through endless hindsight,
But no sight for what is here…

But I am here…
And I looked into his eyes…

Lost
In his dualities and questions,
Frustrated with only heaven’s silence for an answer,
He vowed to fill the world with words,
But still he stopped to listen to mine:

“Do not feel the guilt of change
As words seem to lose their meaning
As they fly away from your tongue
And drift into the sky.

In this moment together
Do not fight time as it moves forward
And wait forever for abstract completion,
That escapes us even now
As we dance
Into the present’s dawn.”
Skogen Feb 2011
Dr. Seuss said when you are in love you can’t fall asleep because reality is better than your dreams

Thats a true statement.
But I’m living my dreams so its an equal placement.

It’s a surreal thing to transition from mental malleability,
to life’s creation which happens to be my reality.

Although its almost unreal in the way it takes over my soul,
This passion which overwhelms and so I let it take the helm and guide my goals,

Set free to create and reiterate my thoughts from the mind trapped nay, set free, to drift between reality and actuality, its a thin line, when I’m drunk on this wine of a thing so  fine and deep, I hope to sleep, and when I do, I seep, across the line to thine, existing dualities is my reality.
Terry Jordan Aug 2017
Be open to the present
Don’t milk the daily grind
Life’s the gift that’s given
In one moment at a time

Flow with the dualities
The mystery goes on
Each storm defines the gift
That we’re given in the calm

Everything’s so dangerous,
The wise Gertrude Stein said
That nothing is frightening
So let go all fear and dread

The pain of love we yearn for
Like willows in the wind
We bend but will not break
While we’ve lied and loved and sinned

It’s the journey that matters
I know you’ve heard it said
Tomorrow never comes
To this second we are led

Don’t hang on to those moments
You’ve lived it now it’s gone
Being here in the now
Is our best hope for the Dawn
Robert Ronnow Aug 2015
1

Last night dinner
with four couples
points out the difficulties in living together
and apart.
                    Even the
son of a wealthy doctor, disdainful of
inebriates more artificial than the moon,
full, full of joy for humanity
and life
                 suffers deepening depressions
like the dark outside a lamplight.

It was a good restaurant
expensive but comfortable
in the alternate life-style way
the cook was a hairy
talented clown
and we clowned though beneath each
facade
was turmoil and decay.
                                           We lay
beside each other like bones
in a boneyard
and find joy (I do anyway)
in the bone dance
to bone music.
                                
2

Without a thought for slash fuel
or deer, the mist
deepens and deteriorates upon
the mountain. The mountain
completely unaware
of its greenness. The ice
is centuries old.

A red-tailed hawk
floats above the unit
observes what small mammals, birds
are in the clearcut

Awaits
the moment
to strike

or fades away almost
silent as the mist. I dream
of it, though I am awake
among my co-workers, the bullet
system zinging cut logs down
to the road, firewood.

3

Pardon
me you mountains
for coming to the edge
without mystical knowledge
or belief, only love and wrinkled
eyes for the women and men who
light the fires and wield the chain saws,
drive the cat, swing the ax, I

completely laugh among them like a god
yes, although my face is a mask of hate
and pain, what god does not come to this field
of flowers out of fear and confusion and chains
product of the hot anvil and hot engine
of human history.
                                                
This duality, these arm-breaking dualities
this volcanic eruption erupting from some
confluence of beheaded forces, one
powerful with eternity, one
blinding with intensity, meet
and in the middle is me

like a husband and wife fighting
like two dogs fighting but not biting hard
life bests my best synthesis of it
and I begin to pray, hard to believe
I kneel woefully and pray
for a happy combination
of sun and mist
and sometimes man’s destruction.
www.ronnowpoetry.com
23
My physicality
matches
my mentality
and
my spirituality

consist of dualities
balancing Supreme Being
utilities.

Using them to the best of my
ABILITIES!
I'm Twenty-three
23
it's deeper then the
the roots of a tree
awakening for me
I buried
my best friend in
the year
2013
Notice now above you
You read the number
23 Now go
right, left
right, left
3
2
1
0
I
Here
Dogs barking outside
my window
.........
......
....
Citlali Moon Jul 2018
From the moment we became a union
My mind, my heart, and my body
All thought of you.
You were constantly running through me.
Every hour, minute to every millisecond
was just You.

Only to find out,
You have given me the worst gift of all.
Now, I am suffering from the disease of heartbreak.

How treacherous and blind
A first love is.
Painful yet sweet.
Bitter but happy.
May I find peace between these dualities.

— The End —