"equip" poems
You are the light
That hides below the horizon
I await humbly for your rays
To illuminate this darkened season
You are the beacon
That would build me anew
Equip me with newfound notions
When dreams and hopes are far and few
You are the air
Of a fresh new start
Allowing this body another chance
At retrieving a brand new heart
You are the opportunity
Held my breath for far too long
Soon be granted to live again
And choose the right from the wrong
You are the day
Like many have too often said
Due to arrive after tonight
And embrace me as I laid in bed
You are the tomorrow
The promise of my brand new day
But there have been many tomorrows
That have come and gone away
You are my tomorrow
My future, bearing much needed balm
Maybe tomorrow I may finally realise
That you would never ever come
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 7:17 AM UTC
This is hellopoetry
I do not dwell on
Hurtful comments
Or negativity
The insanity of the way
Humans marginalize
And hate others
Without reasons
Without merits
Is like knives in my heart
All I see is beauty everywhere
Every human on earth
Is a universe in their own right
A manifestation of uniqueness
That can never again replicated
I’m here to write and share my thoughts
With those who cares for it
Give the world a snapshot
Of my soul and it’s principles
My dream my pain
my emotion my humanity
If negativity is where you dwell
I implore you stay out of my inbox
Highly recommend you read
Motivating things
Or maybe listens to songs
That would cheer you up
I learned most storms
Don’t come to disrupt
Your life rather
to clear your path
The challenges equip you
With the necessary weapons
And tools you need to
Spiritually advance
Therefore I’m stepping
Into your hatred challenge
With confidence and much
More wisdom than I had.
Don’t let hatred dwell
In your mind and heart
For I have nothing but
Love for you my brother
If you had my life
You would understand!
Jul 3, 2018
Jul 3, 2018 at 10:59 AM UTC
Education is currently being used as a weapon
to arm the educated to defend the system.
Question the system.
Go out there and equip yourself for the right belief.
Be a dreamer. The dream is beautiful.
The problem with dreams is that you don’t know
the dream has turned into a nightmare until you wake up.
Are you awake? Be awake.
The problem with being awake; we need to rest.
Lucidly dream. Be lucid.
The problem with being lucid; you’re lucid.
There was a dream not long ago. The dream was beautiful.
We liked the dream, the dream became ours and we slept.
Slowly we all grew tired.
Those that did not need to sleep,
those that did not like our dream,
we treated like children.
We know that we need to rest and we were tired. We left our children to starve.
We forced others to sleep and so, we forced our children to sleep.
Even in our sleep, we forced others to sleep.
And so the big dream grew.
It became nightmare.
We all dream. Be aware of others dreams. Be aware of others while we sleep.
Be aware of those that sleep while we awaken.
When you wake and see your siblings rest no longer.
That their dream, once ours, has turned to terror.
The problem with dreams…
We force our children to sleep.
Is this bad? Always question. Should we force them to wake?
Force can create. Force can destroy.
The problem with being awake, when we know our brothers and sisters
sweat in there nightmares; we have a choice.
That is not a choice to wake them or not. To hope for the best.
That the nightmare will end and the dream will return.
A dream that has travelled
through the terrors of our minds
will not return the same.
Would you like the red pill or the blue pill?
Is there good and bad? Force can create and destroy.
Be mindful of how you wake.
Be lucid of how you force others to wake.
Tea or coffee; a cigarette; some breakfast; some fear?
Use balance.
We are all unique.
I have a personal story. As I wrote this, typos occurred in the original edit.
The technology, ‘swipe’ was used. I meant to spell unique and unite was spelt.
Personal became powerful and with turned to WE.
Is there a reason ‘i’ should always be capitalized?
‘i’ wish to be mindful of my readers. ‘i’ want to stay true to them.
We that can read are the readers. ‘i’ am the reader.
When I isn’t capitalized I began to feel more comfortable with using it,
if i gave it arms; ‘i’.
And when I typed to explain that,
I went to preferring if isn’t typing out ‘and then i and then ‘, to just type two of them;
ii.
We don’t want to be alone.
There’s no I in teamwork but
there is and I in kind.
I is complicated. Be you.
Find your voice. Have a voice and be aware.
Others have a voice.
What would happen if we all respected each other’s voice?
What would happen if we all had the same voice?
That was the beauty of the dream.
The dream is travelling through nightmare
and is slowly returning.
It has changed.
Unite our uniqueness’s.
Do you eat fast food? I love it. It is a dream… Do I eat it all the time, I hope not.
Ken Robinson is a good man to ask. Consider food for the mind.
There are beliefs out there. There’s a belief out there that our world is ******
Forgive the language. Understand it.
I wanted to say, ‘that our world is doomed; eternally ****** to be destroyed’ and that scared me. **** There will always be nightmares, disaster and destruction.
What is an ‘aster’? Curious.
When did we chose to destroy; each other?
Could we create; each other?
There’s a belief out there for that one too.
Are you awake, yet?
Sep 22, 2012
Sep 22, 2012 at 9:06 AM UTC
A string of words that flow like the rivers,
Showing enough thought to provide the shivers.
Reflections of the poet within,
The type thrown out in the garbage bin
Or the type framed and hung on the wall.
There's a poet within us all.
Not all are eager to show their inner poet,
But would rather let it set sail
As rivers stream from their eyes
Due to the symbolic lie
They believe, making them pale
As, with their sorrow, they wallow it.
Patronizing executives and farmers
Believe their exterior would be shattered
If their inner poet let slip.
Once somebody gives them lip,
They harden as if it mattered
And equip their shields and armors.
The Spartan with the inner-Athenian
Would be killed by his friends
If they knew who he was on the inside.
This fills him with fear.
He keeps his ears open to hear
If anyone is coming as he hides
So his poetry will have its end
Before this war with the Peloponnesians.
Such beauty gone to waste
All because this facade of masculinity
Everyone puts on to protect themselves
From the beasts in this society
That would love to shatter those dreams.
Artists should gather in teams,
Ready to fight this anarchy
That would place our poetry on the shelves,
Collecting dust with haste.
Collecting dust with haste.
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 6:19 PM UTC
The time will come
Where my words will
forever remain as unforbidden memories
Left by those that remember
me from our legacy in creation.
Wielding the pen is a concept
a complex human as myself
will never achieve the skill-set to master.
It's a calling for me to wield justice and harmony
My time to equip the sword, will be my destiny soon.
I'm not afraid of the battle ahead.
I have slayed demons stronger than my own
Fought against my alter ego and argued with my conscious for answers
Witnessed guardian angels endure tragic falls.
_The pen is mightier than the sword_
_The sword completes the point and cuts down the objective differently_
_I am not afraid to die protecting the world I love_
_It's all a cost for new age peace & awakening on the other side_
_I will not continue a cycle of hatred!_
_ I love every part of you and it's worth fighting for_
Jul 29, 2022
Jul 29, 2022 at 8:28 AM UTC
A sinister crimson smile spreads across my lips,
thinking wicked thoughts while weapons I equip
My inky eyes narrow as I step into the street,
I have a dark night ahead & a hero to beat
I feel it's time for a new villain to grow,
one whose not afraid to watch the blood freely flow
I'm going to show them all whose really chief,
& never will I suffer any of their grief
I ask before I **** them, one last query,
"Why so serious?" I laugh viciously, their eyes get teary
Then as the blood pours from a fresh cut, I go insane,
merely a part of my psychopathic game
So here I am, carving smiles into their faces,
dicing their flesh into ribbons & laces
Waiting for the hero to try & save the day,
anticipating a new game for me to play
Because around here, you can't just be mediocre
They'll see, I'll show them, I am the Joker
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 1:39 PM UTC
I want to be a safari woman
I will stand in a regal position with my elephant gun cocked,
Finger resting firmly on the trigger.
Will I dress as an Indian war leader?
Will I choose to look like a gentleman?
Or will my attire consist of camouflage paint and steel toed boots that walk with a purpose?
It may change daily, but I still possess the same desire inside-
To be one with this habitat so intriguing, so mysterious and concealed.
The rivers call my name.
As I paddle my silver bullet canoe into the abyssal waters ebbing and bending around my streamline vessel,
The water calms at my own will in a passive manner much like the coo of a dove
The trees know my presence
-Such a command I boast-
They know to bow at my arrival and whistle their harmonious flutters.
The babies cower at the sight of my polished machete.
The mothers stiffen when I equip it with a cool hand.
I am Simba.
I am ruler.
Africa,
Asia,
India,
I own this land as my own,
And I understand it is needy.
I care for it in sickness,
I check its fever regularly,
I mother every animal, every bush,
And in return they signal their respect.
As the day ends, the sun sings "good night" and the moon chimes in with a "good morning".
I watch as the fish jump from the waters to catch their dinner airborne,
And the bats chirp above me while my campfire crackles in response.
I watch the stars mirror themselves onto the water, yearning to be remembered as something great.
A day of accomplishment achieved.
I am a real woman,
I am a safari woman.
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 4:13 PM UTC
Band-aids to prevent the social infections that could eventually
spread to the frontal lobe,
Diseases started on Fox News, spread to the living room,
circulate around the family dinner table
putting victims of ignorance on the coroner’s slab
Alleviate the pain.
Should we let the gapping wounds of intolerance fester, decay and grow maggots?
***** bigotry, vile illiteracy, primitive ideas coat the skins of society like a black goo.
Band-aids: self adhesive bandages
We aren’t teachers. We are medics.
covering the gapping wounds of life
lathering the lesions with Neosporin.
Healing the scars from parenting gone wrong
- scars from wounded self-esteems
-lacerations to the proverbial heart
Scars lasting longer than the body itself.
No one knows where its impact will end.
Band-aids
temporary fix
heal the wound fast, heal the hurt faster
A Johnson and Johnson remedy for damaged organisms
Well-meaning ones hurling scriptures scald hands with tainted words
Healing is a matter of time.
Arm teachers to protect children from the crazies who loom?
What will protect them from their own inherited ignorance?
The damage is already done when they get here.
Equip us with Band-Aids, boxes and boxes.
Hello Kitty over their ears to block the infection from coming in
Spiderman for their mouths. Stop the seepage of any contamination from spreading to others.
The remaining scars will fade, but not disappear.
even with a band-aid.
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 8:13 PM UTC
What I want
For Christmas is
Just the barest
Of necessities
All my teeth
Not just two
So when I eat
I can chew
A skip and jump
Back in my step
So each morning
I have some pep
A pair of glasses
Which self defrost
A set of keys
Which don’t get lost
All my hair
Put back in place
So I don’t have
That barren space
A pair of shoes
With self tie laces
So I don’t have to
Reach those places
A set of arteries
That don’t plug
A nice cold beer
Which I can chug
To have someone
My brain equip
With that new fangled
Memory chip
So it can tell me
My intent
When I stood up
And why I went
A bunch of prunes
Which are pre dated
To work just when
I’m constipated
A gizmo that will
So to speak
Turn off my wee wee’s
Little leak
So I don’t have
I’ll just be blunt
Those little dribbles
In the front
A cork that fits
My *** hole, please
So hemorrhoids don’t pop out
Whenever I sneeze
A longer arm
That would pass
Behind my back
To wipe my ***
On this I’ll end
My little list
I don’t want Santa
To get ******
BOEMS BY JA 103
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 9:26 AM UTC
Privilege child
Actions foul
***** lifestyle
Poor decisions made as he smiles
Black home
Friends gone
Parents tired
Of him using folks, then disowns
Choices bad
Women mad
Memphis child
Lost the trust that he had
Spending cash
$100 stacks
Behavior uncontrolled
Finance is where his knowledge lacks
Lack of care
Pulling back each layer
The pain he hides
Someone come send a prayer
Man-child is grown
Leaving a trail of loans
Selfish son
Refuse to pay back what he owes
Stays equip
Snorting strips
High all the time
On cloud 9 taking another trip
Jan 11, 2022
Jan 11, 2022 at 9:34 PM UTC
***"To all the fallen Kids, Heroes and Sheroes that fell victim to the massacre of June 16 1960, Sharpeville, Soweto…
Callings for new Seeds and Haloes, we pray for new Victors and Messiahs…coz still we ask “So where to?”***
Worthy knowledge deserves the one who will acknowledge, it found another, he was in shortage, threatened, he found joy in carnage.
Retaliation turned sour, as we shed tears for fallen heroes. Rest in peace to all the Petersens, the Malcolms and the Bikos.
Great minds edify and think beyond limits and sky.
This systematic routine of life laced with politics and economy infiltrates us numb, living in a liberated space and yet at times feeling so dumb.
To equip oneself with the truth, the past, broadens the mind with a quality that will seize to last.
A continent, must be God’s definition of art, beautifully authentic ancient dark civilization…envy must’ve burned the heart.
Propaganda made victims, a disease intended to chronic; now all that’s seen is reversed conscious, invincible and sonic.
Pride is you, continent, head up, chest up, we becoming confident. Mother of the soil shining naturally yet shining somewhat redundancy.
Reconciliation over retribution, an astounding virtue, still forging a social democracy.
Peace will be hard to find in this pandemonium world.
True healing comes from divine providence, I was told.
Male and female, human beings, we need to perceive each other like nature, true identity knows no stranger.
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 8:24 AM UTC
Mold me a helm of platinum.
Plate my neck in ornate roses
and arc both ******* in tongues of steel.
Spill an hourglass of silver sheets
to silhouette each torso curve.
Sculpt iron vines over each hip.
Caress my keep in chastened press;
form gold like liquid down my legs.
Engrave a crest of two joined doves
upon my hexagonal shield.
String leather sheathes with your golden hair.
Equip a morning star with spires
that mock the dullness at your rest,
yet forge my sword of diamond strength
formidable as your excited state.
Look on me where I stand armored.
Embrace away my fancied suit.
Please…
lay me down, Love, gently Love,
and place a flower in my hair.
Nov 3, 2016
Nov 3, 2016 at 2:34 PM UTC
1221
Some we see no more, Tenements of Wonder
Occupy to us though perhaps to them
Simpler are the Days than the Supposition
Leave us to presume
That oblique Belief which we call Conjecture
Grapples with a Theme stubborn as Sublime
Able as the Dust to equip its feature
Adequate as Drums
To enlist the Tomb.
1.5k
Words like water,
oh how the speech can delay.
Dripping eloquent but lost to rivers,
indulged in deluge,
overwhelmed in expression, comments and decree.
I want you here,
oceans away.
How can I touch the chatter,
be diluted in a voice.
Move me with your extract,
alluded, trembling from afar.
Waking up to different sides of the moon
I need you here,
sunshines away.
and the blades from petals still stabbed
like it was torture
though it crumbled in effect
why the trouble for pistol flowers
when aching is within a splinter.
Something so beautiful,
lost to an operating system.
Quiet rumbles, not big enough
to make a sound.
Even if I screamed,
my vocals typed to characters,
you would not,
could not hear my strain.
Efflorescence,
our love it blooms.
Flourished in email, video plays, stills.
Across the ocean I came,
to wake up in the sunshine,
with the moon at our side.
Sprouting up new love,
greater than we thought equip.
Even through storms, snow, rain,
I am ecstatic here,
your body I call my house,
your smile I call my home.
Mar 14, 2017
Mar 14, 2017 at 11:52 AM UTC
You are killing your own people
You are killing off our sequels
...
You're dying
If I told you that you'll be ok
I will be lying
...
On the ground with you
We're united by a state of hysteria
So pledge of allegiance to your own grievance if you want to
Our allies realize our lack of participation within the United Nation
They know that's it's a race of the racist
It's hunger and starvation for **********
So they don't support our sport
They don't get a kick out of our matrix
Master the skill of being manipulative
And maltreat our own citizens
Who will have our back when we're getting attacked?
For sure not the group of people who our history once beset
Wait reset
Why strain something that isn't our stress?
Hold up quest!
Consistent warfare give us a rest!
Do we ever handle things professionally?
There's pros and there's congress
And according to our constitution
It's precedent that every president
Is only present
Im a skeptic of their effectiveness
They're just a face for this place
A image so when things cringes
We can look at him in disgrace
Sometimes I think I've been misplaced
.....
Misplaced
Taken away and placed
In this place full of waste
Place full of wasted minds
Place full of wasted minds who waste their time
Place full of wasted minds who waste their time trying to waste everyone else's mind and keep others below their waist line
United States of Hysteria
Where you have to equip yourself with a personal barrier
The superior preys
The inferior pays
And the wealth relays
The baton get passed to relatives
This is where you can cross the finish line first and still be without work
So we pledge of allegiance
With our right on our heart
Stripes and stars is for
Lashes and strikes to stun our awareness
Our apprehension just blow effortlessly in the wind
They cover their flaws
The gover-meant to **** us all
Is there a such thing as a war on war?
We nuclear our own fears
And air strike on our own tears
Use Sub Atomic Bombs against our own peers
Chemically engineer everyone who's mere
All hail U.S.A
All hell U.S.H
Sep 1, 2013
Sep 1, 2013 at 9:42 PM UTC
We have different prospective views of life, we can live the life that we choose in order for us to be happy- but always equip humanity for a better living and learn how to bend-but not to break_life is a precious gift from GOD.
May 6, 2017
May 6, 2017 at 3:30 AM UTC
The sword and the shield,
I take up both in earnest
For it is my duty to wield them,
And my pleasure to do so
A glinting blade
And a sturdy shield
Sharpened to it's peak,
absolute in it's protection
Tis better to defend than attack
For brutality is unbecoming
But one cannot have defense
Without attack preceding
But both I equip myself with
For my charge requires their duality
And without them both
I would fail my calling
My intent is to seek
That which is symbiotic to me
One who has need of prowess
While completing me as well
I offer my sword and my shield
Fierceness, and refuge
All I ask in return
Is that which makes me whole
Pursuing that mystical essence
To complete my trinity
A labyrinthine soul
Yet simple in it's meaning
Her who needs me
And who I so badly need
Solace for her
And a purpose for me
My sword and shield
I offer them passionately
If only to find her
My waiting princess
Jan 28, 2012
Jan 28, 2012 at 12:53 AM UTC
~
The Great Switch Off
*louder in its silence,
than a flicked light switch
in the midst of a midnight-darkened house
more crackling than the slowest
of lasting gunshot resounding re-soundings,
of the ice pond white coverlet shredding itself apart,
by its own voluble volition
I hear the switch
switching off,
the giving-in, taking over,
the surrender negotiations
swift concluded with just those you know,
two words
let the anguish languish,
the discipline,
become someone else's disciple,
just let me be
well familiar this on-off moment,
well recalled from all prior nine lives,
exactly the where and the when was,
I gave up on trying,
but never needed the why
cause the why was inadmissible,
tampered evidence, dampened down,
tainted lies and justifies
tomorrow I'll restart, re-equip,
cause the catching up with lost sleep
a minimum week,
to require, to reacquaint,
with the on-demand, life props
for properly slacking off*
***the oldest loudest sound
you have and will ever make,
the crack of self-deception,
when your mind lies to yourself,
this latest, greatest switch off is only
temporary***
~
Feburary Nineteenth, Two Thousand and Sixteen
5:49 am
nyc
Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 4:56 PM UTC
i’m awakened by the
climb of the chime of your
mirror bell as you zip
above me like the shadows
of the golden metal that echo
in my ear.
but it seeps so strangely under
your clenched fists, as i watch
you pedal and ascend
one knee after another,
as sweat condenses on the
handles, and streamers sputter in the wind.
all i recognize you feel is blur,
and the substance we need
to pedal, fill your mouth and
choke muscle and tendon,
as our cartilage crammed turbines rise and fall
like the pant of your lung as you tricycle
away from the choker covalently
bonded to the first of all that matters.
yet we giggled - we snorted,
while printing the memory
on your chip as the disc swerved away.
rue had let you run over my
toes with our red.
you rose and fell over
the unseen ivory bones; and i pleaded for
a motion of cyclical squeeze more
potent than a chip and a
wheel gone awry.
such as our disc shattered
in two, i stooped on our
step with palm under arch,
limp from the stubs of nails
that bled out like thorn bush
creaking to the zip code that a
tricycle is no bicycle when one
wheel decides to drift away.
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 12:59 PM UTC
It’s been a long time
Since I faced this canvas
Maybe it was a lack of time
A vacation with no rest
Actively brain dead, I couldn’t test the ability to conjure rhymes
A failure to excavate and train my mind
Or maybe it was because I had lost my inspiration
A certain spark or connection to my lost art
For someone who once felt complete, this is certainly a lost component of my heart
I ramble and I apologize but this barren realm sometimes requires this
Let me discuss a discovery that I made
Rather something I hadn’t noticed I lost
A longing for love…
To find one and bask in her radiance
And enrich her with the emotions I have since kept latent
I used to believe I was searching for purity
Someone simply made for me,
But experience would soon prove those thoughts foolish
Because sadly life will always inflict the heartache Ashanti described
To those who didn’t know it yet strap yourselves in for a bumpy ride
But the ride will equip you with the knowledge and experience needed to keep growing
Anyhow I digress, see this topic was often something I stressed
But lately, I’ve kept it at bay, admit to myself it was okay
Exposed myself to what the Christians would claim are sins
Stupid morals and standards
At such a young age who the hell was I to judge?
We’re all still learning, don’t you dare ever hold a grudge
I just want someone to hold
A girl with a confidence all her own
But still depends on my love
Her imperfections whatever they may be
Will make her perfect because she is
To me
And when I sleep I will rest easily knowing
She makes me happy
Genuinely content as I take one last look at her in my arms
Until the sun rises above our heads once more
A kiss to her forehead and I whisper,
“Sweet dreams my love,
Sweet dreams”
But until then I’ll keep the faith
And see what paths in life awaits me
Until I am once more reintroduced to love.
Sep 1, 2013
Sep 1, 2013 at 9:43 PM UTC
To arms! To arms! Arise thou stricken knave!
For merry mischief summons thee from rest;
Arise! Arise! The battle thou dost crave,
Hast struck thy heart like thunder in thy breast.
Put on the silken cloak embossed with gold,
Raise up that sword, equip the heavy shield;
Throw off thy weary battle-scars of old,
Onwards to war, and never shall ye yield!
Advance! Advance! Thy nemesis appears,
Wade thru the lesser men, brush them aside;
With battle drums a-ringing in your ears,
No friend or foe will tarry e'er thy stride;
Fear not the daggered eyes, the poisoned glance --
"Perchance my lady, would ye care to dance?"
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 7:08 AM UTC
These
silky
smooth
syrupy
words
shine
for most.
For the powerful,
they are a weapon.
For the weak,
it is what kills them.
Words are amazing;
they can do
so much
and
so
little.
To find the right ones is near impossible;
they always seem to be right out of my grasp.
They are so easily misinterpreted,
what was meant to shoot someone up,
instead,
tears
them
down.
I misuse my words often,
for I am of reckless nature.
I often equip them as my weapon in this constant battle
they call life.
I am an incredibly accurate ******
my words hit the heart easily.
I keep reloading my pernicious gun
without checking to see how many I wounded.
I walk right past them.
Not a care in the world.
My friends have started to disappear.
Is it I who shot them down?
But I was aiming to make most laugh,
not tear a few apart.
And now, my anger is boiling -
why should they find offense to what I said as a
meaningless joke?
Or maybe I should not joke with these
wretched, wicked words that have hurt so many.
As I sift through the rubble,
searching for remains,
I begin to wonder.
What it was I said
that killed them.
Im slowly realizing
how much pain
my words
really cause.
Every time I muttered
I
hate
you
I shot you down,
until you could stand no more.
Apr 19, 2014
Apr 19, 2014 at 12:05 PM UTC
Remember your true calling /
As the susurrant breeze wafts your epidermis /
And the platinum moon glistens /
Atop the clouded expanse of The Cimmerian Skies. /
Know The Transcendental One walks with you /
Forces unseen fight for thee, /
You are enclaved within the omnipresent mist, /
Of Jehovah God, The Most High. /
"But you are 'a chosen race, a royal priesthood, /
A holy nation, a people for special possession, /
That you should declare abroad the excellencies of the One who called you /
Out of darkness into his wonderful light.'" —1st Peter 2: 9 (NWTSE) /
Equip yourselves for your pilgrimage /
Doven divine Aether, /
For strength, wisdom, justice, love, /
Courage, beauty, & indefatigability. /
Your journey is yours & yours alone, /
Walk through the rain unafraid, /
Believe in The Light when Stygian Shadows fall, /
Cleave to The Cosmo-Plexus of Empyreal Love as you effloresce in The Light of The Sun. /
Your testimony is power, /
Your story is a shockwave pulsar through The Ages; /
Therefore, use your promenade down the experiential cascade /
To prepare your souls for eternity. /
(—Se' lah)
Feb 23, 2024
Feb 23, 2024 at 4:46 PM UTC
Coke at the fireplace,
sitting in a crowd
It just doesn't stop.
Doesn't quit.
"As long as there's that tic tic followed by that bump"
you sway your hips.
red dress shayshaying against your hips.
soft satin rubbing on that skin of an angel.
it's a black night
in a white light
You don't know what this means quite yet,
but the pulsating beat
tapping on your soles
in the distant city
it beckons for you,
to come out tonight
and dance your way back to it.
It's a white light
actually it's a white light in your eyes now.
that's what happens when you're destined for this part
equip yourself
on this ride
satin feels like a itchy grip now don't it?
but all is better ain't it?
many a hour later
you shall
share with us this splendor
blinding magnificence
for we are the peons
and you are the the great inquisitor
of the abstract blue
slanging rocks,
on the mountain tops.
Should we know better
or shall we know less?
Feb 13, 2012
Feb 13, 2012 at 2:38 AM UTC