Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
1969 Hartford art school is magnet for exceedingly intelligent over-sensitive under-achievers alluring freaks congenital creeps and anyone who cannot cut it in straight world it is about loners dreamers stoners clowns cliques of posers competing to dress draw act most outrageous weird wonderful classrooms clash in diversity of needs some students get it right off while others require so much individual attention one girl constantly raises her hand calls for everything to be repeated explained creativity is treated as trouble and compliance to instruction rewarded most of faculty are of opinion kids are not capable of making original artwork teachers discourage students from dream of becoming well-known until they are older more experienced only practiced skilled artists are competent to create ‘real art’ defined by how much struggle or multiple meanings weave through the work Odysseus wants to make magic boxes without knowing or being informed of Joseph Cornell one teacher tells him you think you’re going to invent some new color the world has never seen? you’re just some rowdy brat from the midwest with a lot of crazy ideas and no evidence of authenticity another teacher warns you’re nothing more than a bricoleur! Odysseus questions what’s a bricoleur teacher informs a rogue handyman who haphazardly constructs from whatever is immediately available Odysseus questions what’s wrong with that? teacher answers it’s low-class folk junk  possessing no real intellectual value independently he reads Marshall McLuhan’s “The Medium Is The Message” and “The Notebooks of Leonardo da Vinci” he memorizes introductory remark of Leonardo’s “i must do like one who comes last to the fair and can find no other way of providing for himself than by taking all the things already seen by others and not taken by reason of their lesser value” Odysseus dreams of becoming accomplished important artist like Robert Rauschenberg Jasper Johns Andy Warhol he dreams of being in eye of hurricane New York art scene he works for university newspaper and is nicknamed crashkiss the newspaper editor is leader in student movement and folk singer who croons “45 caliber man, you’re so much more than our 22, but there’s so many more of us than you” Odysseus grows mustache wears flower printed pants vintage 1940’s leather jacket g.i. surplus clothes he makes many friends his gift for hooking up with girls is uncanny he is long haired drug-crazed hippie enjoying popularity previously unknown to him rock bands play at art openings everyone flirts dances gets ****** lots of activism on campus New York Times dubs university of Hartford “Berkeley of the east coast” holding up ******* in peace sign is subversive in 1969 symbol of rebellion youth solidarity gesture against war hawks rednecks corporate America acknowledgment of potential beyond materialistic self-righteous values of status quo sign of what could be in universe filled with incredible possibilities he moves in with  painting student one year advanced named Todd Whitman Todd has curly blond hair sturdy build wire rimmed glasses impish smile gemini superb draftsman amazing artist Todd emulates Francisco de Goya and Albrecht Durer Todd’s talent overshadows Odysseus’s Todd’s dad is accomplished professor at distinguished college in Massachusetts to celebrate Odysseus’s arrival Todd cooks all day preparing spaghetti dinner when Odysseus arrives home tripping on acid without appetite Todd is disappointed Odysseus runs down to corner store buys large bottle of wine returns to house Todd is eating spaghetti alone they get drunk together then pierce each other’s ears with needles ice wine cork pierced ears are outlaw style of bad *** bikers like Hell’s Angels Todd says you are a real original Odys and funny too Odysseus asks funny, how? Todd answers you are one crazy ******* drop acid whenever you want smoke **** then go to class this is fun tonight Odys getting drunk and piercing our ears Odysseus says yup i’m having a good time too Todd and Odysseus become best friends Odysseus turns Todd on to Sylvia Plath’s “The Bell Jar” and “Ariel” then they both read Ted Hughes “Crow” illustrated with Leonard Baskin prints Todd turns Odysseus on to German Expressionist painting art movement of garish colors emotionally violent imagery from 1905-1925 later infuriating Third ***** who deemed the work “degenerate” Odysseus dives into works of Max Beckmann Otto Dix Conrad Felixmulller Barthel Gilles George Grosz Erich Heckel Ernst Ludwig Kirchner Felix Nussbaum Karl *******Rottluff Carl Hofer August Macke Max Peckstein Elfriede Lohse-Wachtler Egon Shiele list goes on in 1969 most parents don’t have money to buy their children cars most kids living off campus either ride bikes or hitchhike to school then back home on weekends often without a penny in their pockets Odysseus and Todd randomly select a highway and hitch rides to Putney Vermont Brattleboro Boston Cape Cod New York City or D.C. in search of adventure there is always trouble to be found curious girls to assist in Georgetown Odysseus sleeps with skinny girl with webbed toes who believes he is Jesus he tries to dissuade her but she is convinced

Toby Mantis is visiting New York City artist at Hartford art school he looks like huskier handsomer version of Ringo Starr and women dig him he builds stretchers and stretches canvases for Warhol lives in huge loft in Soho on Broadway and Bleeker invites Odysseus to come down on weekends hang out Toby takes him to Max’s Kansas City Warhol’s Electric Circus they wander all night into morning there are printing companies longshoremen gays in Chelsea Italians in West Village hippies playing guitars protesting the war in Washington Square all kinds of hollering crazies passing out fliers pins in Union Square Toby is hard drinker Odysseus has trouble keeping up  he pukes his guts out number of times Odysseus is *** head not drinker he explores 42nd Street stumbles across strange exotic place named Peep Show World upstairs is large with many **** cubicles creepy dudes hanging around downstairs is astonishing there are many clusters of booths with live **** girls inside girls shout out hey boys come on now pick me come on boys there are hundreds of girls from all over the world in every conceivable size shape race he enters dark stall  puts fifty cents in coin box window screen lifts inside each cluster are 6 to 10 girls either parading or glued to a window for $1 he is allowed to caress kiss their ******* for $2 he is permitted to probe their ****** or *** for $10 girl reaches hand into darkened stall jerks him off tall slender British girl thrills him the most she says let me have another go at your dickey Odysseus spends all his money ******* 5 times departing he notices men from every walk of life passing through wall street stockbrokers executives rednecks mobsters frat boys tourists fat old bald guys smoking thick smelly cigars Toby Mantis has good-looking girlfriend named Lorraine with long brown hair Toby Lorraine and Odysseus sit around kitchen table Odysseus doodles with pencil on paper Toby spreads open Lorraine’s thighs exposing her ****** to Odysseus Lorraine blushes yet permits Toby to finger her Odysseus thinks she has the most beautiful ****** he has ever seen bulging pelvic bone brown distinctive bush symmetric lips Toby and Lorraine watch in amusement as Odysseus gazes intently Tony mischievously remarks you like looking at that ***** don’t you? Odysseus stares silently begins pencil drawing Lorraine’s ****** his eyes darting back and forth following day Lorraine seduces Odysseus while Toby is away walks out **** from shower she is few years older her body lean with high ******* she directs his hands mouth while she talks with someone on telephone it is strange yet quite exciting Odysseus is in awe of New York City every culture in the world intermingling democracy functioning in an uncontrollable managed breath millions of people in motion stories unraveling on every street 24 hour spectacle with no limits every conceivable variety of humanity ******* in same air Odysseus is bedazzled yet intimidated

Odysseus spends summer of 1970 at art colony in Cummington Massachusetts it is magical time extraordinary place many talented eccentric characters all kinds of happenings stage plays poetry readings community meals volleyball after dinner volleyball games are hilarious fun he lives alone in isolated studio amidst wild raspberries in woods shares toilet with field mouse no shower he reads Jerzy Kosinski’s “Painted Bird” then “Being There” then “Steps” attractive long haired girl named Pam visits community for weekend meets Odysseus they talk realize they were in first grade together at Harper amazing coincidence automatic ground for “we need to have *** because neither of us has seen each other since first grade” she inquires where do you sleep? Todd hitches up from Hartford to satisfy curiosity everyone sleeps around good-looking blue-eyed poet named Shannon Banks from South Boston tells Odysseus his ******* is not big enough for kind of ******* she wants but she will **** him off that’s fine with him 32 year old poet named Ellen Morrissey from Massachusetts reassures him ******* is fine Ellen is beginning to find her way out from suffocating marriage she has little daughter named Nina Ellen admires Odysseus’s free spirit sees both his possibilities and naïveté she realizes he has crippling family baggage he has no idea he is carrying thing about trauma is as it is occurring victim shrugs laughs to repel shock yet years later pain horror sink in turned-on with new ideas he returns to Hartford art school classes are fun yet confusing he strives to be best drawer most innovative competition sidetracks him Odysseus uses power drill to carve pumpkin on Halloween teachers warn him to stick to fundamentals too much creativity is suspect Todd and he are invited to holiday party Odysseus shows up with Ellen Morrissey driving in her father’s station wagon 2 exceptionally pretty girls flirt with him he is live wire they sneak upstairs he fingers both at same time while they laugh to each other one of the girls Laura invites him outside to do more he follows they walk through falling snow until they find hidden area near some trees Laura lies down lifts her skirt she spreads her legs dense ***** mound he is about to explore her there when Laura looks up sees figure with flashlight following their tracks in snow she warns it’s Bill my husband run for your life! Odysseus runs around long way back inside party grabs a beer pretending he has been there next to Ellen all night few minutes later he sees Laura and Bill return through front door Bill has dark mustache angry eyes Odysseus tells Ellen it is late maybe they should leave soon suddenly Bill walks up to him with beer in hand cracks bottle over his head glass and beer splatter Odysseus jumps up runs out to station wagon Ellen hurriedly follows snow coming down hard car is wedged among many guest vehicles he starts engine locks doors maneuvers vehicle back and forth trying to inch way out of spot Bill appears from party walks to his van disappears from out of darkness swirling snow Bill comes at them wielding large crowbar smashes car’s headlights taillights side mirrors windshield covered in broken glass Ellen ducks on floor beneath glove compartment sobs cries he’s going to **** us! we’re going to die! Odysseus steers station wagon free floors gas pedal drives on back country roads through furious snowstorm in dark of night no lights Odysseus contorts crouches forward in order to see through hole in shattered windshield Ellen sees headlights behind them coming up fast it is Bill in van Bill banging their bumper follows them all the way back to Hartford to Odysseus’s place they run inside call police Bill sits parked van outside across street as police arrive half hour later Bill pulls away next day Odysseus and Ellen drive to Boston to explain to Ellen’s dad what has happened to his station wagon Odysseus stays with Ellen in Brookline for several nights another holiday party she wants to take him along to meet her friends her social circles are older he thinks to challenge their values be outrageous paints face Ellen is horrified cries you can’t possibly do this to me these are my close friends what will they think? he defiantly answers my face is a mask who cares what i look like? man woman creature what does it matter? if your friends really want to know me they’ll need to look beyond the make-up tonight i am your sluttish girlfriend! sometimes Odysseus can be a thoughtless fool

Laura Rousseau Shane files for divorce from Bill she is exceptionally lovely models at art school she is of French descent her figure possessing exotic traits she stands like ballerina with thick pointed ******* copious ***** hair Odysseus is infatuated she frequently dances pursues him Laura says i had the opportunity to meet Bob Dylan once amazed Odysseus questions what did you do? she replies what could i possibly have in common with Bob Dylan? Laura teases Odysseus about being a preppy then lustfully gropes him grabs holds his ***** they devote many hours to ****** intimacy during ******* she routinely reaches her hand from under her buns grasps his testicles squeezing as he pumps he likes that Laura is quite eccentric fetishes over Odysseus she even thrills to pick zits on his back he is not sure if it is truly a desire of hers proof of earthiness or simply expression of mothering Laura has two daughters by Bill Odysseus is in over his head Laura tells Odysseus myth of Medea smitten with love for Jason Jason needs Medea’s help to find Golden Fleece Medea agrees with promise of marriage murders her brother arranges ****** of king who has deprived Jason his inheritance couple is forced into exile Medea bears Jason 2 sons then Jason falls in love with King Creon’s daughter deserts Medea is furious she makes shawl for King Creon’s daughter to wear at her wedding to Jason  shawl turns to flames killing bride Medea murders her own sons by Jason Odysseus goes along with story for a while but Laura wants husband Odysseus is merely scruffy boy with roving eyes Laura becomes galled by Odysseus leaves him for one of his roommates whom she marries then several years later divorces there is scene when Laura tells Odysseus she is dropping him for his roommate he is standing in living room of her house space is painted deep renaissance burgundy there are framed photographs on walls in one photo he is hugging Laura and her daughters under big oak tree in room Laura’s friend Bettina other girl he fingered first night he met Laura at party is watching with arms crossed he drops to floor curls body sobs i miss you so much Laura turns to Bettina remarks look at him men are such big babies he’s pitiful Bettina nods

following summer he works installing displays at G. Fox Department Store besides one woman gay men staff display department for as long as he can remember homosexuals have always been attracted to him this misconception is probably how he got job his tenor voice suggesting not entirely mature man instead more like tentative young boy this ambiguous manifestation sometimes also evidences gestures thoroughly misleading after sidestepping several ****** advances one of his co-workers bewilderingly remarks you really are straight manager staff are fussy chirpy catty group consequently certain he is not gay they discriminate against him stick him with break down clean up slop jobs at outdoor weekend rock concert in Constitution Plaza he meets 2 younger blond girls who consent to go back to his place mess around both girls are quite dazzling yet one is somewhat physically undeveloped they undress and model for Odysseus radio plays Roberta Flack’s “Killing Me Softly With His Song” both girls move to rhythm sing along he thinks to orchestrate direct decides instead to let them lead lies on bed while curvaceous girl rides his ******* slender girl sits on his face they switch all 3 alternate giggle laughter each girl reaches ****** on his stiffness later both assist with hands mouths his ****** is so intense it leaves him paralyzed for a moment

in fall he is cast as Claudius in production of Hamlet Odysseus rehearses diligently on nights o
Airam Midnight Dec 2014
Pictures paint
a thousand words
a rainbow
a smile.

A picture of us
Will always remind me:

That once
there was you,
there was me.
And we tried
a you and me.
PNasarudheen Sep 2012
Onam Reminds



Onam reminds me of the venomous mind

That overthrew  a just ,kind king ,unkind

Aryan imperialism subjugating the Dravid

The white over the black , dark apartheid



Justice of the black is unjust for the white

A matter of jealousy, dissatisfaction and fight.

For the British, Indians were raw to be refined

As Allopaths frown upon Ayurvedics  as bad.



But, what is the truth? think of the covered past

Weigh evidences: from history, literature and art

Of all non-whites; really, they were and are super

In many respects, hence, awake from your stupor.



India shall not be a kite of any ruler outside

No race is Blessed to override anyone beside;

Almighty considers all equals - by their deeds

It is That, that fosters all by weighing our deeds.



When greed of man rudely jeopardizes the Nature

Nature jeopardizes human life, making a fracture.

Torrential rain or draught is a positive measure

Applied by It on earth (as earth-quake) to treasure.



Man like Vamana  tries to grow and measure the earth

Other planets ,heaven or hell to exploit Nature’s wealth

As Jehovah ,the Almighty, Brahma, or Allah, the Cause

Of that Pulsation is everywhere, beware man! and pause!
RLF RN Oct 2015
On the edge of the railway
I was caught unprepared,
of whether to fight or not
of whether to give up or to give in.

I went to runaway
taking every breath that is left in me,
chasing the shadows away from my sun
pondering through these thoughts
of whether should I live or should I die?

I took the imbecile mind of a weak heart
struggling for words I cannot say,
revolution against chaotic ideas,
generating evidences of what is left,
generating evidences of what was taken away.

I stumbled on the great floor,
misled my feet on the broken rails of the railway.
I fractured my foot, the other luckily was scarred
now I have to run, but I just can’t.

Where should I put myself in this trouble
imparted on my living sense of self?
Now I have to run, but I have nowhere to go
I need to escape this extravasation of doom
as I left my heart on the coffin of his memories.

I wept right where I was trapped,
until someone offered his hand
and gently lifted me up from this pandemonium.

I turned my head up,
and saw the sincerity of heart that he possess,
whose eyes brought me to a safe haven.
I moved with him, and with him I breathe
the air of solace, the soliloquy of the imbecile.

He brought me to the sun, bequeathed it to me
and for me he chased its shadows away.
My doom is now the doomed,
as my chaos is now the chaotic,
for what was drastic is now lenient,
and that railway is now just another railway,
a quotient of my unfulfilled repose.
Mystic Ink Plus Sep 2018
Tell me a lie

Then
Try to convince, it's true
Try harder with evidences to prove

Tell me a lie

Then
Change the expression to assure
Hide the vibration to prove

I will be amused by
The act
The subtle effort, and
The precious wasted time

Ha ha
Tell me
More lies.......more
Genre: Experimental
Theme: Vibes never lie
You’ve read of several kinds of Cat,
And my opinion now is that
You should need no interpreter
To understand their character.
You now have learned enough to see
That Cats are much like you and me
And other people whom we find
Possessed of various types of mind.
For some are same and some are mad
And some are good and some are bad
And some are better, some are worse—
But all may be described in verse.
You’ve seen them both at work and games,
And learnt about their proper names,
Their habits and their habitat:
But
How would you ad-dress a Cat?

So first, your memory I’ll jog,
And say: A CAT IS NOT A DOG.

And you might now and then supply
Some caviare, or Strassburg Pie,
Some potted grouse, or salmon paste—
He’s sure to have his personal taste.
(I know a Cat, who makes a habit
Of eating nothing else but rabbit,
And when he’s finished, licks his paws
So’s not to waste the onion sauce.)
A Cat’s entitled to expect
These evidences of respect.
And so in time you reach your aim,
And finally call him by his NAME.

So this is this, and that is that:
And there’s how you AD-DRESS A CAT.
CG Abenis Feb 2012
He tells me to do this and to do that,
I follow his orders no matter how fool I become
I just can't let my body follow my brain,
It's like a string is attached in every part of my body,
And he becomes the ruler of my entire movements.

He tells me to do this and do that,
No matter how hard it is for me,
I have no choice, I just do my part.

But freedom
is what I shout!
Freedom
is what I want!

As you can see, there are no marks in my body,
No evidences that I've been ******* with strings,
No evidences that I've been controlled by my puppeteer.

But why can't I say no to his commands,
Why can't I not follow everything he says?

As you can see
I have body like yours,
As you can hear,
I have a voice echoing in this place like yours
And as you can feel in my chest,
I have a heart that beats like yours.

Am I puppet?
( no )
I'm not a puppet,
I am a human!

But if I'm not,
maybe I'm just a puppet trapped in a human's soul.
Jean Rojas Apr 2015
You can not **** the hummingbird
And think that there
Will be no repercussions

You can not silence
His lips
With the barrel of a gun

You can not bury his memory
By stonewalling and
Distorting the evidences

You can not erase his ideals
By destroying his name…..

Extinguish not his memory
By firing the shots,
It is an act that only
Fans the aching flame

You think he is forgotten
But he lives………
Healthy in the hearts of millions
You thought are but a few

Someday we will sing his song of love
Someday he will rise again, defiant!
Daring to fly, as high
As the burning sun
And you can not stop him
Or **** him once again

For the hummingbird shall endure
The compassion of men shall sustain him
And he will conquer this death
That you have inflicted upon him

So you can **** the man and his body
You can blow his face all away
You can trample him with your
Angry tyranny
But you can never, never
**** his soul!

The hummingbird defies you
The hummingbird lives on and on and on………
For: Captain Panfilo Villaruel
01 December, 2003
Aditi Jun 2015
Let this night
Bury in itself
All the evidences
Of what happened

Let the wind
Absorb in itself
The screams
No soul heard

Let this floor
Be cleared
Of the innocence
That was taken away

Let these walls
Be painted a new shade
To silence them
so they never tell the tale

Let the incidence
Be turned into twisted politics
A step sideways, and two backward
Never evolving

Let the world
Be dumb and deaf
To the injustice
Done

Let the candles
Be lit in her memoir
And watch them wax
As the news get old

Let the case be placed
Under a big pile of dusty, unsolved files and say*
We did our best
Baby girl, did not you know
The world is no longer safe
For angels with pretty wings to fly in
-Aditi
Kim Denise Aug 2015
I'm all over you
like fingerprints on tape, an
evidence that I
was there once, and loved my stay.
Pompous:
"Oh God, no, not another shallow rhymer,
fitting each word to its neat little place.
Oh God, no, not another painterly composition
with planal directions going round and around or leading that way and this.
They did that in the past; get to the new.
Make sure the reader or viewer knows that the masterful
knows more than than the masterful lets t/h/r/o/u/g/h/  out.
Disdain extenuating weakenings caused by straining for clarity
or unnecessary exertions in expressions of cohesion.
Words, though plain, arouse astonished wonder by nonchalant impenetrable shufflings.
Be clued-in, be bold, be tough and show it when you sculpt the clay.
When shaped, use your trowel to scratch the surface, evoking even more obscurity.
Toss it off in broad strokes of masterful negligence.  
Be above the miniscule.
By these means show in shadowy hints the profundity that winks beyond merely ordinary restrictions.
Break the barriers, fly the constructive. Those old shackles lie about the world.
Show you ain't no conforming *****.  
Display in impatient referenceless strokes
Your forceful awareness of the world as known."


Facetia:
                "Oh?
A world which evidences no form and structure in living creatures;
no eons of effortful evolution;
Forests have no ecology, and laws of nature aren't for binding.
Mind never happened, spirit's a farce,
unions only expedient plottings.
Lessons of history describe the disruptive;
it's what you grab and who you club;
others are only take or be taken.
Show 'em who's boss,
stash it away,
it's dog eat dog until there's nothing.
Shake it all up and break it all up.
It's only entropy."
By Roberta SchulbergGoro
Written March 6, 2008
Revised 6-7-09
Berne Aramaic Element

From Bethlehem the messages of the fields of Moab are felt, after the death of Eimelech and sons Mahlon and Quelion, Naomi remaining alone, Alone in the middle of the ears. Lepidoptera would begin to fly in all the lands of Judah after this distressing event. From the far reaches of the fields in the hot afternoons, Ruth could be seen in the fields and in the Hera united tightly with Naomi, where each one fence after fence will go the other in the name of Jehovah. Ruth deliberately gathers the grain and ears with the sheaves, between the reapers and the swollen sheaves, to provide sustenance for a whole past life of famine brought by Naomi's lamentations. Then Ruth after gleaning the grasses, thanked Boaz by looking into his eye fixedly, being able to see in him, how to lift the hay and run it to the world of the midwives to feed the newborn children, that way everyone will eat and be satisfied with the pottage until they are very satisfied.

From this land of ears of corn, will arrive the celebrations of Shavuot and of good grace for the stay of the Hexagonal Birthright in Gethsemane. The actors and landowners of these lands are making a great contribution to this phylogeny (with the consolidation of the Aramaic language in the garden).

Ruth appears saying: “Look well all the field, we are all in it, we have water and enough heat from the Shemash ignition, to grow the ears of wheat, and here is the refuge of Jehovah who gives us his protection, making us an equal part of his children to sustain us. I feel great pride in being deferential to Naomi; she will help me with the ears that will migrate to Gethsemane, with the transcendent visit of the Apostle Saint John. The bumblebees, bees and wasps will be satisfied; they will provide the nutrient food to those who will have to make the communications in the garden. "Blessed is the food that it gives you by harvesting, preserving and lavishing it"

A great axiom of archaeological heritages begins to be evidenced in this agriculture of transmission from the field to the expression of the cognitive and emotional areas that represent the oropharyngolaryngeal endocranial molds of sheep that become inert with crops and insects. Here the beloved rhetoric of insects will intervene with personal wings from the basic prop of their emotions, attracting signals from the fields and their images described by the flocks of insects that migrated from this Ruth book passage, to be able to retransmit them with the phonetic signals that go beyond the spike, which is rather a settlement or a Kibbutz, current to mold or settle archaic civilizations under an idiomatic link, which will address the phylogeny as cephalization of invertebrate animals with those of the benefits of support of adhesion between so much science and simply the invocation of Jehovah bringing us food languages with nuances of religious joy.


Phylogeny in Gethsemane: **** erectus crossed multiple evidences of pro-adaptive evolution beings, - Neanderthal / **** sapiens. The children of Israel wrote parables, epistles, verses, stories and books ..., their vocal and phonetic tract spoke of storms and environmental factors between heaven and earth, of the "Great noise outside of us, but little silence in us." The elementary thing is the larynx that only has to pronounce the image that denounces a concept, evokes the minimum sounds in different positions of its instrumentalized mega sound. Talking about how language varies according to history, and the civic-environmental environment instructing us in its threshold and descent, by detaching itself by the air effusions of language at the laryngeal level. It authoritatively collects the intervals of vocalization and relationship with agriculture in all its dimensions, descending through its internal walls, but rising through our parietal emotions outside of itself.


Of the little air that the world has left, to continue digesting temporarily, it has to let the air flow, which is possessed of mechanically inert particles, and unsanctified prophecies with corollaries of miracles.  Inherence that has made the super existence of those who still do not perish by the hand of a monarchical mandate. Thus the mute swallows air in asphyxiating and polluted halves, while others redistribute them for those who need to sit at the table to pick up the Bread and share it with others. "Here the echo of my Christian body resounds." That in Aramaic, it will signify much more than the language in its blood, grapheme and phonemes or stylistics, it is the shock of vibrating beyond the deep ground, reverberating with the grace of its divine enunciation”. Joshua, swallows spikes and olive leaves simultaneously arranging us in his arms, as his children, a sheep in his arms giving us milk-hydro milk from the sustenance of his creative verb.  "A strict fact of preserving the Aramaic and not misleading them by turning the pages in history." The Aramaic must be incorporated for the times that Joshua after more than two thousand years He is still here walking from one place to another, to tell us that He is still here, only suggestive of your walk plagiarizing with your larynx the sound of his expression DE shepherding. The sheep is a mammal ..., more mammal than man, since its statement always reflects in the bases of its skull, for the rest of its offspring as a biblical language, under all the rainbows of the cherubs, together with the children surrounding them in identical intention. **** habilis - **** Sanctus, in a process that has a Christ base and peripheral anatomical capacity for language in the wandering of the sternum to confuse them with each other, not altering the structural or functional complexity. From the potential of the Lepidoptera and winged insects, the phenotype will arise that will relate and relativist the mechanics of the Aramaic or the Aramaic method, of not misplacing the tongue because it is divine, as well as divine and laryngeal torque of those who have Aramaic blood and body, since his mechanized mystique is to devour the smallest words with the maximums in a whole range of sounds of the field speaking of: "Come to my field here the spikes and insects will speak more than the mechanical potential of your Voice."

They continue through the field Ruth forming phonemes in small verses, which go hand in hand with the words and those that refer to them; They are settlements of those who do not speak only suggest the presence of Jeheová without being present, but if after being with his stomach satisfied, parodying the activities of the field with his poetry made reality in a poetic-hydric whole and of the transgenerationality of the ancient peoples who no longer speak .., "They only express their wisdom with agro-phrases of wheat ears and olives in all their songs."

After Walking through narrow cobbled streets, now they are full of character with the Bedouin fumaroles, it is like walking through a heart hungry for alkaloids and lipids; to tour its synagogues evoking an outstanding barrage of pilgrimages without knowing how much more they will have to accompany our steps. Jerusalem, the walls that protect it, are witnesses to many battles that have been fought "in the name of God." As well as the soil that speaks for itself. Without a doubt, the Mount of Olives can be seen from Jerusalem beautifully, but not in the same way the other way around. The trees, whose fruits contribute positively to the economy of the region, in addition to symbolizing strength, security, prosperity, give hope in the journey of history with the same thing that never tires of the same. The orchard or garden of Gethsemane, a name that refers to the olive presses that are used to extract and process the oil. According to the Gospels, the Lord came to Gethsemane with his disciples to spend some time in prayer. But, as the environment in Jerusalem was one of insecurity and high tension, due to the celebration of the Jewish Passover festival in a context of political and military occupation of the Roman Empire, Jesus, very saddened, began to feel anguish ... asserting himself from the branches each once felt an olive near his fingers.

Etréstles says: "All the physical, emotional and spiritual forces of Jesus, here are smelled digging into the organic tissue, experiences that go beyond the intellect ..., it is the own and unequivocal admissibility of military feet walking on the ground after their meditation and recollection. From today, when the lights in the shadows will fill the limits of the garden with ecology, the giant camels will have to graze when the atmospheres have to make the tribune grow grass on his evangelizing poetics, to have it for tomorrow in the dawn meditation. All the pros and cons will have to be lost with the guests prayers that will inhabit the spaces that human reason does not have to intervene”.

Meditation with the Cherubim, the hexagonal primogeniture and insects penetrating the divisions of time that the cessation of a breath is obtained and being able to offer with the imagination the inclemency of having everything just beginning. That is prayer; it begins cyclically and then returns to the beginning, without leaving us comforted to finish what does not enclose the lapse circle of the meditative circumambulation.

Apostle Saint John said: More than pain and worry, after praying, he regained his strength and courage to face life, with its troubles and betrayals, with courage, dignity and hope. But more than this atavistic-anthropological complex, it is the salvific integrity that the verb saves the verb, through the vibrational prayer of the sound and perception of the words, and more with the Aramaic sound that is narrowing like the streets of Jerusalem, to distinguish biases of praising essence in the elements of noise, almost to the harmonic limit of a sound perfecting in a psalm or parable, which emerges from its oropharyngeal movement, leaving without expiation the abrupt change towards Hebrew thought and doctrine, together with the external sound emancipating the perfect cacophony of its vibratory inner howl, beyond the ritual that satisfies our needs by having a Father. He sanctifies and purifies because it is life and the dawn of new land that lies in the garden of prayer, every time I have to get up is to take the Bible and look as in a whole interlocution for me prostrating, and every time I get up and that I speak with my father I am attentive to close myself to his dimension.

The food that returns and feeds back, is the blood provided with justice to inhabit the body that synthesizes its protein oratory. The food that you go there from a breeze and merriment, puts on the tables all its clothes to sit around, it is the lament that smells like seed that evaporates from the hands, it is the heat of the holy field. The food that speaks of inviting so many to sit next to us is the one who least thought he was lacking in love, and that he should not be prepared, being the one who would eat everything until he was satisfied, leaving nothing in the compote or yeast, because of he will persist the food that satisfies only for the one who has the excessive spirit of the famine of whom it can be satisfied. Gethsemane is a flowery field where Lepidoptera, drunk with angels, fly, who only have one mission; “Give food to those who owe the desire to eat and nothing else, because the rest that suggests it is abstention, and this will be procrastination of the verb, which ceases to create and endow even if it wants it, since all the support of life can cease at risk bread and wine more than a toast and cheers! Rather, it is due to the devotional nurtured circle of the action of lavishing the Son-Father circle, granting the establishment of hunger-satiety to forge genetic and paternal seeds to recirculate them in the procreation chain.

Eurydice speaks: “My body flames like a spike towards my beloved Joshua, I come from the mask of a ship. I went to Jerusalem to look for flowers, which pour out aromatic herbs to bring and bless their words tied at their feet. I was late and I have lost my way, unable to find my way back. I only saw that from afar some lights in the northern area of the orchard lit up like cycling olives exploding in the air in fireflies that swarmed next to the Lepidoptera ..., they guided me here. But I repeat, when I saw the lights I go back as a child in my distant Greece, with my Orpheus when I managed to sleep Cerberus near Lake Styx. But I reiterate ..., beyond the lights I have been able to see how the insects are weaving and concocting his words, my beloved Joshua, which the auditors will be able to help the square and interpret for many more than thousands of years, taking us with their pre-recipients that we they allow you to feel your voice and hear it as far away as if it were closer than the olive branch that caresses your face. But I reiterate, I never thought that I would get lost, I am even arriving as if it were the figurehead of the prow of my ship, I always wanted to be near a world of light from the Olive Tree of Barnea genetics like this one that has led me to meet it "

Eurydice heads to the holy place, when she approaches the Fireflies and Lepidoptera come out to collect her, she allied themselves to the twisted shadows of the olive trees sharpening in clear harmony with the mirror archetypes of the dark foliage, reflecting the green shadows on the wild fruits by the oleaginous branches that went towards the branches embracing with those of the olive tree or thorny thousand-year-old olive tree, procreating the sacredness and ancient magistracy, for Eurydice it was clear that in her nation whoever wounded or cut an olive tree had the penalty of exile, she knew that she was in the House of the Olives, were in transit to their maturation in the autumn months of the boreal hemisphere, with their raps decorating the wisdom of have it with a favorite daphnomancy or divination of Joshua's message with the olive tree, with its white petals like the apostle's cassock, becoming lumpy in its texture when the olive begins to be born emitting crucifixion howls.

Just eleven days, before the ekadashi of the full moon, the phenomenon of the beat occurred, which happens after a year of abundant olive harvest and another in which the harvest is small, here the change in nuances is evident and corrugated textures of the countenance of the olive trees, without it being possible to think that this phenomenon will necessarily occur biennially or triennially. It was suspected and it was known that the developing fruits would go in this event through their hormones and the substances that intervene in their growth acting as inhibitors of the differentiation of the buds, so many of them would change when they were transformed into a flower to do so in wood, and from this process it was deduced that the turn occurs when grass and gospel are needed. The actions destined to promote greater harvests in the years that correspond to load, by taking care of the planting of meditation, and the abandonment of it in the years of discharge that contributes even more to accentuate the failure in doubts of faith. Some varieties of olive trees are truer than others, so it can be assumed that a genetic component generates this phenomenon. On the other hand, there will be the Christian cultivation technique, reducing the amount of time, such as watering or early harvesting of the olive, stop the tables that need to have it on their tablecloth. In such a way, that this phenomenon will help together with the genetic phylogeny, to reinsert lost words expired from antiquity in the emanation of God's wisdom, through the universe acting as a great Drupe or peach, which will assimilate to be the amygdala that will allow to assent the sent vibrations when they connect with the plagued ground walked and retracted of the Messiah, bringing to his earth the words in Aramaic of the sacred salvation of his prosapia, word and surveying work; which will allow them to transfer some appropriate property of their spirit to Patmos when they return.

Says King David: “like the olive grove of Barne of old stone, it will serve us for the harvest in the morning, with its fat percentage it will help us to feed the Shemash fat in the new Sun to wield the winds that will curb the nocturnal mist of the waning moon. All of us as kings have been baptized with oil at our coronations, also coins traded in Kar, to pay their benefits, with the allegory of Yotam, in the Book of Judges to choose the king of trees ..., the olive tree refusing because it had to produce oil, in the menorah are the two tiny olive branches, but large ones are lighting up the great temple of life. Now we will need it, since the eleven days come before we rescind the cessation of Aramaic as a lost language, rather to reimpose it in the entity of its gesture-visual channel- and spaces of what it hears or hears in repeated aramic oropharyngeal systems and voices when lamenting in Hebrew cheerfully passages of the Torah, with the same meaning and channeling source of pentateuch. To recast him in the Barne species to transcend genetics, together with his phylogeny towards Katapausis and the monastic cell of St. John on Patmos with Vernarth. "

Eurydice kept giving atomic waterspouts of momentum at her feet, to soon reach Gethsemane. When she arrived, she saw how the cherubs were pruning the Olives next to the Hexagonal Birthright. Everyone was preparing for the festival of the olive tree in the Garden. She was nearing the end of King David's itchy speech among the Roses of Sharon, but on the cobblestones where a Cherub was replying to her, so that nothing would be wasted if she was heard by her figurehead ears. He arrives and carries the aromatic trans essences and flowers to begin with intuitive adoration for each barefoot step he took, each petal and particle of his essence revere the base of the invested Messiah, reaching the perfect triangulation of the acetoso balsamic and the thorns with flowered arámicos of this revival of the path of the Barne olive grove species, to initiate a night in which to rest with its pinches that it deposited when brooding between the eyebrows of the spiritual garrison that was stationed in Gethsemane.
Berne Aramaic Element
grim-raven Apr 2015
I don't know
No one knows

RELIGION

A greatly diverse word
The complexity from each Gods can't be explained

Christianity or Islamic?
Hinduism or Buddhism?
Confucianism or Taoism?

I don't know
No one knows
Which of these is the one?
Which God is the Man?

Each have their own beliefs
Each came from different myths
How the hell would humanity know?
How would a religion shatter every other's ego?

Just what if?
What if Christianity tells the truth?
Would it mean that homosexuality is just a bluff?
Is it just a wrong "choice" and can be cured by having faith in God is enough?

BUT what if?
What if Atheism tells the truth?
What if atheists just have so much strength?
Strength in facing the truth that after we die it will all end?

Until now, evidences are still vague
Even the most religious one had thought this inside their head
What if the world we have now is just an illusion?
No one knows for sure how to cure this confusion

RELIGION

I don't know
No one knows
Who knows?
K Balachandran Jan 2017
The evidences all
were strewn all over
the place of crime;
visible to the naked eyes
as if posing a challenge
to the pretentious detectives.


But the adamant
forensic expert on the spot,
sporting thick rimless glasses
wouldn't notice
any of those nonsense!
Those eyes fell
precisely on an evidence
that could have been there,
within the first five minutes,
and constructed what he could
out of those evidences.
(Whatever that means)
S E Apr 2013
We’re finally “together.”
It’s like a crash course on each other
After months of restraint I finally get to that “place” in you.
An intoxicating crash, our paths finally “collided”
And two human hearts beat fast,
With a relational feasting, a deepening
A seeping saturation with each other,
over-taking
And not realizing
A little scientific fact called:
Momentum.
We crashed and combined but could not stop and life has a way
Of moving you often and sadly,
People are intersections moved right through, because we all have
Different directions.
Courses connect and then somehow we just—
Well, it’s not that we forget.
It’s not even neglect
But a slow disparity collects
Whatever tugs us takes us and even if we don’t feel the pull
We feel the distance, when it’s full.
Our hearts are weak and light and we are flighty
And we don’t know when to fight
And even if we don’t mean to flee
People leave. It happens
See,
The way I saw it
Parallel was a pain.
Moving along the same course but never any collision, only frustration
Separate lines never meeting at a glorious point we could call us.
I said, better to have loved and lost
Than to love and love and love and never get there,
As if love is a destination.
But people don’t come with a “finish line”
There are no simple lines in love.
Nothing is straight--
We are fluid and incongruent
And swung by each other’s shifting weight.
Because, momentum keeps us moving and that movement is often claimed
By another little scientific fact called:
Entropy.
But if something huge
Something really huge that will not fail moves us then that means
It will not sway us.
It draws us not to each other, but to something much bigger, a much better “somewhere”
Then that little point us.
And when we’re both drawn to the same place
By the same force,
When we’re on the same course
Not as finish lines for each other
But as runners in the same race
As evidences of the same magnetic tug we try to trust
Too weak to be faithful satellites of each other
But revolving around the same one--
Then we’re truly together.
Mikaila Sep 2013
The little evidences of you fascinate me.
On my journey through
Someone else's words
I trip over your underlines and coffee stains.
Stumble and pause,
Wonder what you were doing or thinking
When you dogeared the page.
I don't know what that is.
Fascination, I guess.
I don't even know you.
I don't even know what I want from you.
But the proof that you held this book
Before I did
Captivates me.
What does it mean, that circled word,
To you? Words are so...
Personal.
They hold so many memories,
Such different thoughts
For everyone who reads them.
I find, as I excavate the loved pages of this book,
That I want in.
In
To your head, your heart.
I want to see your naked soul
In an offguard moment,
Before you can decide what and
What not
To show me.
As I travel the lines your pen has traced before
My fingers,
I want to know what made you put them there.
I want to know who you are.
And
More importantly, perhaps,
Why
I want to know who you are.
grim-raven Mar 2017
The rule of north and south
Opposites attract
Likes repel

But we were not opposites, you see
Tiptoeing on the branches of the same tree
Uncanny similarity and we both knew
Something is wrong and we have no clue

Evidences and theories and proven laws
All were broken for our good cause*

The improbable is what made us
And though it might seem very foolish
Breaking the rules and be as selfish
We can both admit how delightful it is
We have just beaten the laws of physics
This is what we choose
Same polarity but we have fused
Same as ever, I and thee
You are you and I am me
Divya Kaushik Apr 2017
A sharp tickling pleasure throughout the day
Your slight appearance on the scene
Have you designed the beauty
Coz it is just as serene

The journey from attachment to love
Observing and listening all the time
The universe evidences this transformation
Are you the one spreading energies of divine

Gallons of lemonade for unquenched thirst
Your smile does serve the same
Experiencing that immaculate beam
Anyone can be easily tamed

If strides ever try your soul
Push them out and give them a blow
With you in shade and turmoil
The world will lose its glow.
To one of the most beautiful girls I've ever known.
K Balachandran Aug 2016
The only ship in the angle of my vision
seems to be still, as if cleverly painted above
the placid waves, that reject all agitations
near the shore I stand, a conspiracy perhaps!

No way I can tell if the ship moves away
or impatiently steers towards the port's embrace;
perhaps  in keeping my spirit to espouse ambiguity.

Just a morning jogger from a planet far,
I am nobody to judge, still I am curious-
that vessel with an  uncertain, navigational plan,
Isn't it me?Am I reaching anywhere, tell me.

I can see, none seems to expect it to come in
or go away and hide itself as a dot in distant horizon,
none who did bid it farewell, too is not to be seen.
Where have all gone, leaving no clue behind,
making it difficult for  one to create dreams.
How  so quickly time did erase all evidences,
which rendered goings and comings insignificant!

Is that static state, an illusion, a metaphor for life?
None is here to answer such questions as the world
has gone too far from there, to a space uncertain.

The port is busy as usual, any day it could be.
I wait for something to happen, will the ship
come to life astonishing me and move again?
I listen, the wind that blows from far horizon,
tells salty tales, tries in vain, again and again,
to recite the fish songs from deep sea blue down.
Dhimss Jul 2020
Our bodies fit perfectly
hearts racing rapidly
lips harmonising ceaselessly

Nebula gawks
making asteroids stop
No evidences,
just stars,

No one but You and I

Gleaming stones dull
In comparison,
set aside to our
brewing passion

You light my day
like carousels do
to a carnival
developed from the verses of a close friend, Inspired from my life
Jordan Frances Dec 2014
Your face is a mirage
When I am deprived of energy
Or water or sleep
You are who I see.
Your hands seem disconnected from your body
In the nightmares and hallucinations that plague me
Who are you, sweet tragedy?
My hands are evidences of your hands
And the damage they can do as
Your hands are stained with wreckage
Mine are covered in bruises
As they shake so cautiously
You are me
And I hate that we are the same
That the way you used me has made me
That the way you scarred me has colored me
That the way you broke me has molded me
Like clay between your sticky palms
I am a byproduct of your abuse
Of your horrible habits
I am one of your horrible habits.
You are every one of my worst fears
They all trace back to you
I am an endless cycle
And you were the catalyst
I do not hate you and do not want to
Because you are such an integral part of me
That while I want to erase it sometimes
To shatter its existence
I know that without it
I would also cease to exist.
You consume all of me
I let you define me for so long
I thought I had finally taken back control
But facing the inevitable is causing me to lose it
You are breaking me once again
And turning me into who I was never supposed to be.
Because now, as I look in the mirror
Between the cracks and water stains
The broken shards of glass show me
That my face is yours.
for M. Perhaps,
this will be the
last.

I.
It’s funny. How words try to eschew
from my mind whenever the table
topic calls your name. How the prompter
tries to say your name but my fingers
refused to dance to its rhythm. This

II.
has to be the last of this joke. This poem
will not speak. Muted. Like how it

III.
is supposed to be. This line
on my right palm is nothing

but an illusion. Because often times they are
trying to connect to yours. This has to be

IV.
the last time I will think
about your cruel punch
lines; my drunken lines; and these
unsent letters I am trying to bury

underneath the midnight darkness
just because I am afraid of them
as evidences for the trial I am
setting upon myself. Because it was
always been a crime—

it *always
has been.

V.
This has to be the last joke. And

I am done
being the laughing stock

for the crowd that is waiting
for us to falter

and leave me

hanging.
Mikaila Sep 2015
I can feel it.
You'll be the person I wake up about
At 2 am.
The feeling that forces me out and onto the darkened streets
To wander in search of something I can't define.
I will know this city by your name.
I will find its joy and its melancholy because those feelings in me will bay like wolves until I let them lead me home.
Home...
Home is not inside of me, where it should be.
It is someone's eyes, someone's arms,
It could be
Yours
And THAT is the thought that will pull me along the shadowy paths that line the Thames
And through the forgotten alleyways that twist and tangle in the heart of this place.
I will love this city by your name, I know it.
Already I cannot sit still for it.
Already I can feel the mad urge to go, to search, to scour the night for reminders of you
For answers to impossible questions.
It is not an unpleasant darkness that tickles the edges of my mind
But it is
An insistent one.
I know I will not sleep when I am home
But rather follow this craving to some new, lonely place
And fill it with the expansion of my soul that comes with passion.
I need these empty places when I feel the echoes of love swell within me
Because I no longer seem to fit into the world
There no longer seems to be enough space for me.
Questing inside as I am
For evidences of love
Of safety
Of home,
The ache in me soon and easily becomes
Just too vast to sit with
Too full of motion to remain still around.

Lead me somewhere tonight.

Lead me to a temporary home
And let me breathe in cold, dark air as I try to sate my need for comfort
For contact
Help me find the roughness of stone beneath my fingers
And the kisses of the wind on my cheeks--
I want to touch the whole world.

There will be
No sleeping with this feeling tonight
And I couldn't
Even tell you why.
I couldn't even give you a reason
Except perhaps
That you have eyes
I could love.
jeffrey conyers Sep 2015
You, you took what wasn't yours to take?
Least, without her willingness and permission.
And now you professing, you didn't do it.

When evidence points right to you.

You enjoy, what was joyful to you?
But a nightmare to the other.
And now you crying, you didn't do it.
When evidence points right to you.

Two destruction of lives that now been torn apart.

Think, think before you go through with anything.
And you'll never regret a single thing.
Act, without comprehending the consequences.
And like many guilt parties in society.
You'll be crying-I didn't do it.
When evidences points right to you.
Puspangana Singh Nov 2015
They say sixteen is a tender age.
I do not have any idea if that really is,
But my sixteenth was a purgatory of heavens.
You were the reason my mind suffered;
You were the sole means of release.

Seeing you was flying out in space, with no force, because there, even gravity is absent.
And what was I for you?
A science person? An uninteresting nerd with glasses which were certainly not in the picture of your lover.
But I was enamoured, ******* with you,
Whilst you never as much as glanced down at me.
So now when today you see me,
All changed, do you think that you would have any place in my life again?
That time would rewind its tide?
That my wounds are healed?
Because time is no healer;
It just hides the scars of the stitches.
And in actuality it is the layer of cells from my own body,
Shielding its inner parts from the world outside.
Time has nothing to do with wounds and healing.
Still, time. If you talk about time, then I am going to walk you down through all the layers.
See for yourself, what effect you had on me;
Judge for yourself the level of intoxication.

I used to wonder at nights who you love, or would love, if not me.
If not me! As if that was a possibility.
In my mind, in my own personal heaven with you, it was.
There, it was a truth, a stark reality which no one would have been able to alter.
I would lie awake for hours at night thinking how it would feel to talk to you, to touch you, to feel you.
Lying beside me, my mother would ask me why I was so restless.
Oh tell me, what should I have told her?
That I was trying to peel off the layers of your face?
Deep in my bones, straight from inside
I had this belief that you were a radioactive mutant walking among normal people.

I used to gaze at the night sky, thinking if the stars would die when the sun will rise.
Yes, even after being a science person,
I used to ponder over the lifetime of stars, even when I knew.
In what sort of alternate reality was I living in, or you had made me exist in?

Is it not a dark comedy that
Sometimes honesty is the worst policy.
And after that eternal heartbreak
I will say that I still love you,
That I miss analysing the curves  your lips used to take when you would smile,
Dreaming how they would respond to my lips,
I miss stealing glances at your face, thinking it to be  breathtakingly the most beautiful creation of God,

But I don't need you now.

I know my defenses are weak,
But even nothing is something,
And that love was more than something,
It didn't even amount to nothing in its own nothingness.

Today I lay bare the story of us for the whole Universe to read.
But as the words flow, I think, and I think,
Do our thoughts determine who we are?
If yes, who am I, an OCD patient?
If no, who am I, a hopeless romantic?

I wanted no stone unturned, and you just ensured that the Kingdom came.

I want to cry, and wash you down with my tears,
And live anew, but what do I tell the others?
What do I tell the others when no tears come?
What do I tell them when I try to picture myself with that person who had impressed me with his knowledge of English literature, my thoughts are interrupted by the inner flashing of your face?
You tell me what to tell them.
That there is no remedy for memory, and that dreams don't lie?
Even when you don't, you make me,
There is something constructive hiding in all the destruction that has been caused.

Am I close to you anymore, now that it's over?
One day, yes, one day,
I will get over this concept of you and I.
Because you are not the only one.
You are not the whole Universe, now that there have been mathematical evidences of the existence of Multiverse.
You are not the Verse, I am.
In that tale where you were no less than the protagonist,
You were nonexistent,
Just a figment of my overheated thoughts;
I was never a fortune teller,
But when today I see you and then I see myself,
I am happy that you left me alone.
Mystic Ink Plus Apr 2018
Based on all evidences and witness
And revised act of 2018
This Court
Acknowledges your big day
and wants to,
wish you happy B’day

“Stay blessed
Stay free”
The Jury said.
Genre: Fiction
Theme: The jury’s last words decide the future. There is a single decision between a totally different life.  What if  judgement be filled with kind words, what if jury find a hundreds way to decide letting one to improve, not just to punish.
Noone Jul 2018
I dont know if I should be regretting those moments with you
At that time, it was everything I wanted...
Surely I thought it was everything you wanted too...
But it seems like our desires were not the same..
All you wanted was ****** pleasure
And all I wanted was spiritual treasure..

Of course, I am healing
Its been months since you left
But I stop my scrolls when I see your picture in my newsfeed
And wonder for awhile, why did it happen?
How did it happen?


I cant say I was possessed
Because I know it was me,
One hidden side of me...
Everything happened so quickly
Now I m just left with a question mark
Did it really happen? Did it really happen?

Then I start searching for evidences
And no, I cant find any..
I deleted them all, our pictures, our conversations, your number...
So can I say it never happened?
Can I just pretend it was all in my head?
Can I just act like everything is okay?
If I say this, will everything be okay?
The ancillary argument is an asclepion which is anaphoric to anathema, anointing anecdotal evidences as an asymptomatic astonishment, assumptive of an averring the verbiage unwavering used to auxesis an auxiliary found aiding the circular back to an autonomy, assuaged in its entirety, appendant to an irony, giving appurtenance to astronomy yet astringent to all company of asters in the wovenry.

  A sweetened ingredient in life’s vermouth, is a lesser known but still common truth, resounding voice a sound so routh and unforgiving of jockeying jocose uncouth but the greatest parts of life we know are sorely wasted on the youth and so fundamental is this truth or verities vivacious muse that some might say we light a fuse when using such verbose abuse that angry are they who find our use an anathema to amuse?

  To wit so that I must abjure the painful notion there is a cure to a playful mind’s language of slur not meant as such but thus obscured the difficulties so inured on my ment-al-lity of thought a crime, a retching twist of someone’s time thus wasted on a poem blurred, a freedom though has just occurred; my mind a paradise, my thoughts a bird...

You wonder why I wrote this po-em,
Think on your life and about your **-eme,
Look back at youth’s wondrous days,
When life was new and full of plays,
And ask yourself is this a maze?
Sharina Saad Aug 2014
The roses died

Oh my roses
All torn and dried out
Oh my roses died today
The garden looks so gloomy
Dried leaves on the ground
Colorless flowers thrown apart
Oh my garden of roses
a Killing field
a mourning place

The plants bowing and mourning
The smell of death
is everywhere...

All of a sudden
heavy rain falls from the sky
Clears aways the evidences
of terror...
Like nothing has ever happened

in my garden of roses
It wasn't a suicide
I plotted the death
A brilliant plan
I denied their rights to live

The rain washed away
all the debris...
The truth is forever hidden

Tomorrow...
I have a new plant
A new garden to be praised
and soon they will  forget  the roses...
My condolence to all family members and relatives and friends of passengers of flight MH 370 and MH 17 ... Good night Malaysia.
Satvik gupta Aug 2019
Why ,

Only The Truth needs evidences to be certified ?

Only The Thoughts of violence to be victorious over a fight !

Only The Money, to get all things right !

Only The Moon, to perceive that it is night!

Only Books, to make your future bright !

Only Girl/Boy, to describe the  love at first sight !

Caste , creed ,colour , to judge over the white !

I ask you why "_"
#hail #
Mane Omsy Apr 2017
Pieces,
Fragments, pick them up
Join and find a glue
Such a tribulation, not a clue

No more flights
Not even the dreams
A moment to blame my fate
What scratched out my faith

What's the point in crying?
But the tears won't stop
Wounds, bruises, left evidences
A spiral down to the sewers
Redemption - VII

The moment you realize that everything you dreamt of having in future has vanished just because stupidity stayed on your way, mind will come up with several ideas and ways to eliminate the whole belief in hope and lead you to commit the worst of all - suicide.
jeffrey conyers Jan 2015
If I stand accused of a crime that I said, I didn't do.
Notice the news has reported the allegation in various forms.
While crying to the public that the accuser will be protected.

All good and dandy.
Except when the evidences comes back that I was falsely accused.
Now, who's the victim?

My reputation has been maligned.
Why the accuser still has been protected?
When they should face the shame of the public too.

We, hear that if they was seen.
That others might not report their crime.
But being caught in a catch twenty two.
Makes you wonder, who's the victim?

If not the innocence?
Then who?

— The End —