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betterdays Mar 2014
if you drill down,
past the hair,
flesh and bone.

into my mind
where the ego
and id  reside.
then turn to the left,
and follow the i.q.
down the alley,
you will find
a place.

where on thrones of
cogitating thoughts,
king big questions asked,
reigns in conjunction,
with, queen yet unanswered.

they watch with interest benign,
over a field of  an eternal tourney,
split roughly down the middle
by a chasm quite wide.

on one side
of the gorge is arrayed,
the banners of philosophy.
at the vanguard,
the epistemological knights;
plato, descartes, ferrier,
kant, hume,spinoza
and bosanquet.
the major forces ride beneath the banners, of their schools of thought.
followed by the lesser lights,
and those,
obscure or forgotten,
who walk at the rear,carrying the gear and
to set the tent poles.

as to the other side,
that is given to,
the seminaries of religion;
bhuddism, taoism,
islam, hindu, juche,
rastafarian, sikh, diasporic, parsis, tenrikyo,
judaism and christianity
with all its clans.
they array themselves in cadres,
according to belief.
and to the rear,
there rides,
an interesting guerilla band,
of intertestemantals,
about 3 or 4 hundred years wide.
these are the few who are  accounted for,
when god spoke nothing,
or perhaps
a lot but the message just got lost.
they number in their disparate clan,
alexander the great, ptolemy, the hellanic masses, seluecids, maccabeans, hasmoeans
and pompey the great,
not all, but the noteworthy.

across the divide,
by arrowing thought
were fought rallies of acumen
and battles of wit
and occasionally,
a persipacious fire was lit.

but there is one more player,
to mention.
apathy,
the great hulking ******,
who for want of gumption, and get up and go,
sat crouched,
(quite uncomfortably so)
on a spire.
made of mediocracy,
cemented by woe,
in the iddle of the rifted abyss.
unable to decide
with which team to go.
another 3word writing
exercise
epistemological
intertestimantels
abyss
Amanda Mary Rose Nov 2010
To save from the ever changing tide;
to never fall. This innocent’s
tumbling, tumbling ride
quite like Alice’s twisted descent.
Is this to be the fate of all
the girls who flower harvest?  
Forced to hell, meant to appall
and frighten all the rest.
Yes, the world is full of holes
But I will hide within the poppy field,
watch my step, refuse the ferrier’s tolls.
I will never, never yield.
Now, this is the vital chore,
to anchor safe upon the shore.
SONNET WEEK
Bryant Van Apr 6
More than many things, the Prince of the power of the air wants to be known as the One.

A Vessel has been born.

Waiting for you is a Hovering Throne for thy Crystal Castle.
The Chariots of the Celestials rode high with glee the day you were born.

Oh, Ferrier of souls, tell us their names!
From the mud, thick like tar.
We found you.

In between spaces not seen obviously.
With light.

The Great Fire of Notre Dame beckons you to come home.
Quickly reach out to the Source of this warmth.

Lead us not to Damnation but to Salvation.
Because the Lord
He is most patient.
For his Children.

— The End —