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Found myself centred around this river
As if it were my life, its shallows deepening
Into falling curves and rocky
Foundation, yet cluttered in part
With stagnating ****, at other times
Flowing freely and softly engaging me
Without its steaming torrents.

The waterfall thinks it can engulf me and
I consider it at times denying it identity
But sometimes it speaks loudly and refuses
To whisper....’And so you’re there’ I say, and here
Its raging response tumbling me into depths
Out of my control..... or so it thinks.

I emerge for air and breathe in deeply
To sustain me, for when I speak
It is with something resembling coherence
To blag me time from the place of harm
Where it dips sharply and crashes onto slithers
Of icy uncertainty, I begin to wipe my brow clean.

Releasing me from its fooling ways preventing the air
Being squelched from me; take it easy with me
My mind desires you to behave and let me be
Don’t fool me into calm currents only to be tossed
Amongst the white watery crash of boulders rounding
Beneath me, sharp shards covered by your caressing hands
That persuades my innocent eyes to close
To the raging force of veiled kindness

I can remember the ripples of softness that would
Cover my palm with coolness
That dappled in sunlight, reflecting my face
Asking me to admire the stillness
And I believed in the sereneness of the ebb and flow
That sheltered me in fineness with absorbent lining
Reminding me of life absent to the steep slant
Towards the shelled out wreck of my world...burnt out.
louis rams Aug 2010
I felt the love so deep in my heart
Like a knife tearing me apart
I felt your breath in every
Pulsating blood vessel  flowing
Through my veins, and I knew
That my life would never be the same.

I felt my heart wanting to break
Every time I’d look at your face.
Your eyes would take me on a long journey
To places I’ve never been before
Like in a whirlpool going round and round
And my self going further down.

You are every breath of my life
Every desire in my soul
And you are the one I want to hold.

My heart has become an open book
Pick it up and take a look.
My heart no longer has anything to hide
So come on down and climb inside.

Look at the way a heart truly beats for you
And there is nothing that I wouldn’t do.
To capture your love and put it in a bottle
For all the world to see, that your love
Belongs to me.

This is my heart and I give it to you
Like a bee gives us honey
Taste the sweetness and the joy it brings
For your love is my everything.
andrea tierney Jul 2013
I am lost in this world with no one to love,
not even my family.

About two years ago he left.
One second he was there the next he was not.
I felt my heart brake on that cold winter day, as i stood there and cried with my big eyes as i watched you and your new family drive way.

He looked back at me and waved good-bye,
i was a tear in his eye and he tried not to cry,
and scents that day my family slowly starts to die.

At eight years of age he did not know much about what had happened on that vary last day.

Now she is gone too,
the one i need to push me though ,
the one i call mother.

She said to me on that cold last day " baby don't cry this is not good-bye i will see you again someday" then gave me a hug as she turns and walked away from that sad little girl with tiers in her eyes as she sees her family slowly start to die,
but this little girl knew she would have to be the glue to keep her family together.

At night i lay down and cry,
I feel my tears flowing like a river down my cheeks and soaks into my pillow.

I lie and wait for that one day to come to see my little brother once more and he too will be the glue that holds my family together.
Martha Jordan Nov 2014
I have some very destructive tendencies
I'm a bad judge of character
Whether the the character is my own or not
Begs to be determined.

I tried the pretty, pleasant method
Of letting the venom from my veins
But these emotions have succeeded in their task
Of rotting me from the inside out.

The floor embraced my pen
And my ears were lovingly teased
I tried to fall into the high from my headset
But your passion did not sate me.

Elemental damage was never my strong suit
As prone as we are to wildfires
You'd think the liquid cauterizing me
Would hurt less than these ******* thoughts.

And tonight the truth made its way to me
My shadow understands; his love is pure
I'm a cruel, witless *****, a scourge in my own right
But he still dries my tears.

I can't even pretend I'm not hurt
So I'm voiding my lungs tonight
Peppered smoke promises relief
But I'm soon discerning the lie.

We are back to square one but
All the pop music these days is too melancholy
I've had altitude sickness before,
But this time it's different.

And I smile,
a painful thing that I'm glad there's no evidence of
I told you these things are rare, like you
This inspiration at the cost of my heart

But this is my salvation
When you move from prose to poetry
That's when I'm done with you.
My habits die hard
But unlike you, the feelings, the talent,
the slow agonizing death by fire,
the bad character
are all mine.
Sylph Dec 2019
I love art
It expresses a world beyond this one
Art can show me a life
A possibility
A desire
Anything
I can feel
I can hurt
I can express

My pencil dances on the page
A magic flowing from my pencil to the page
Finally free
People can finally understand
They can finally see
From my eyes
                                     Art

I watch them
captured by
their bodies the narrator
A beautiful story is now being told
A love
so deep
but so painful
a silent scream
                                   Art

That instrument
Speaks
This may have been Beethovens
But not anymore
This
Is now theirs
This
is beyond words
                                  Art

Theres always more behind the words
Stories
Secrets
Wishes
Confessions
Everything
A poem can tell the world what cant be said
                                  Art
Austin Skye Nov 2013
Through my ears, through my mind,
Buzzing music takes its time.
Slipping through, flowing by,
All of the lyrics, hanging in the sky.
Musical fog, fills my ears, fills my mind.
Cascading memories,
Changing into jumbled fears,
Filling my eyes with humble tears,
Dripping down my cold cheek.
All the words. My knees go weak.
Quiet sobs fill my ears,
Overwhelm my mind.
The dancing flames look so kind,
The touch of metal, so hot I find,
Painless burns, halting time,
And the bitter thoughts vanish so quick.
My body aches, feels sick,
My eyes shut
Until buzzing music takes its time,
through my ears and through my mind.
I wish I knew who you were
so I can let myself fall,
                                        fall into your invisible arms
get buried into your chest
where your blood flowing non-existent heart is at
fall asleep with the sound
of your soft voice tickling my ear

but I'm afraid of falling,
                                           falling into something
that isn't there
and what isn't there


                                  is you

j.f
What must inspire the vagaries of the wind;
Such a variable vocal cord must it wear-
To mimic the voices of so many beings,
And still beneath doors, around corners it bends:
But seems less like a fast flowing column of air,
So that each second, we expect to be seeing
The creature that to anguish it’s voice has lent.
As if the hearts grief has been at once laid bare,
And all the pent- up melancholy given wing.
Ceaseless lamentations rise up and are sent
To the same lone spot where flings curse or prayer.
After hours spent howling, it may begin to sing-
Who can say sorry when at last it has went.
Peace reigns when it abides in its lair.
A stirred- up breeze few good things brings-
And what makes moan when there is no pain?
Isla Jun 2018
I look over and see the rolling hills

They stretch long like your smile

I glance up and see the radiant sun

It shines like your eyes

I peer down into the pond

it is flowing and soothing like your voice

You are here with me

You are my mother nature
A poem written by a friend who wanted me to post it on my page.
Amitav Radiance Aug 2014
We are among the crowd
Individuals are invited to the party
Everyone cloaked in designer suits
Leaving their identity on the coat racks
In a way to be a part of the congregation
Glorifying the sameness in unique ways
Crowded loneliness have all met here
Everyone fades away in the sameness
Château Margaux and Cabernet Sauvignon
Flowing freely, to add to the occasion
Amitav Radiance Sep 2014
So many feelings comes surging
Breaking all the inhibitions
Every word cocooning those moments
Each of them a luminous sparkle of the soul
Flowing through the veins
Reminding you of the special moments
Waiting to be chronicled as a memoir
Taking up the pen
Connecting your soul with the paper
Every drop of ink carrying your inner world
Drawing a vivid sketch of your feelings
Wholeheartedly soaked in the ambiance
The white paper now colored with memories
Once staring at the blankness
You can see the words dancing to your tune
Pen moves like a magic wand
As you breathe life on the paper
With those precious feelings
Swathing it with your inner luminosity
Mw Sep 2011
Like stars upon the faded rim
Flowing faster, much colder, and worn thin.
Every cold, enveloped word spoke much quieter than this,
Hidden thoughts kept buried with each kiss
Hesitation slewn atop meticulous counting
Of seconds, and minutes, and hours surmounting
Every single day that has passed
Since the very moment I saw you last

Like slim and slender finger wisps
That sings like smoke that burn the lists
That sleet like snow that summer does miss
That slide like tongues into our trysts
That scars like cuts upon our fists
That slips like hands and palms on wrists
Do all my ears and eyes feel this.

Dissonance in cold maurauding sleep,
Announce the world the queen's to keep.
We don’t need swaying palm trees and cicadas,
Not to feel as if we have stepped into paradise,
Cradled in the still, warm shadow of devotion,
We are soothingly bathed in love’s sweet heat.

Emotion surges within, rising, an upwelling,
Breaking with the speed of a tropical storm,
We are saturated with loving, wholly drenched,
The feeling; as water offered to a parched soul.

With burning words we urge our worlds to merge,
Unexpected blending during the summer of our lives,
Forging an alloy of free-flowing emotion, so powerful,
So intense, we are captured by its undeniable allure.

We don’t ever need to speak of our love aloud: no,
Finding our affirmation in the sighs between lines,
The liquid longing whispered into stories that we build,
Mirroring our deep desires, hopes and needs fulfilled.

From heady dreams, creating our own sweet heat,
Exploring unconditional passion, trembling, complete,
On cold, starry nights, embracing, sated, warm, alive,
Our coalescing, enraptured spirits, breathlessly writhe.

Across the challenging separation of distant night,
Languishing on the cusp of sleep, edging dreams,
Images rise, silken gossamer threads of thought,
Brushing against latent desires, calling, calling.

Irresistibly drawn together, ah, sharing the dream,
Thrumming pulses racing as we gently caress,
Languorous kisses, hot, sweet and hungry, we love,
Sleep entwined in moonlight, streaming from above.
Paul and I have been collaborating on various writing projects since the early summer of 2014. During these months we had never jointly worked on the same poem, until now, producing 'Dream Fever'. We used the method tried and tested in many writing groups, passing lines and words back and forth until we were both satisfied that the finished poem was a piece with which we were both happy.
.
Selene Mar 2013
I had forgotten how the wind can shake a tree
And how water flowing sets you free

I had forgotten how tides ebb and flow
And how quickly the sun melts snow

I had forgotten the feel of sand on bare feet
And how to make snowmen from sleet

I had forgotten the earthy smell of spring
And how the wind whistles and sings

I had forgotten you know
That you love me so
Yitkbel Nov 2019
I

It seems that there are no more
Unreachable dreams
It happens that in this world
There can be no real peace          

When blood and tears still bleed
For those buried under the rubble of war
And unfulfilled needs
How many of us despair in the ennui
Of unexplained emptiness, of gluttony          
Of materialism and wants

Mankind must grow with upward gazes
As the sunflower must face the sun              
But when our desires are so easily reached
And when the time has become senile, and forgettable
What happens to us ordinary people?  
Swept away and obscured by Reality and the gunsmoke?
Then, silenced?



But I,
I must sing
Must sing in the desolation
In the silence
I sing
Forget me if you please,
Mock me if you please
“Chasing meaningless dreams”
“Reality isn’t idealistic like your poetry”
            

Yet-

Think,
what songs and chants, after a millennium still sing
Think,
what colours and paints, after centuries
Still brightly remains
Think,
Imagine if there are no words and Babylon
Is only recalled in the ruins’ dreams

I must fearlessly sing,
Fearlessly sing,
With every atom of my soul and being
With nothing, like a beggar to the kings,
But my love
Wild and free

Save the world in my paintings
Shine hope from my poetry
When my flesh is buried by the fleeting
When my soul ascends into the everlasting
My thoughts, my songs, will still be echoing
Resonating
Within every heart like me,
Borne
From
A dream                

II

Black smoke fills the red battlefield
Gray fogs and clouds banishing all light
All cries and outbursts, quickly dissipating
I still sing, within the solitude, brightly sing

The gargantuan Oak Tree breathing in the desolation
Its crowns are still hidden above the clouds,
Above all beings
Though, most of its leaves, have already left
For that place
We cannot yet be

The sun slowly descends
Bidding farewell to the moon waning  
Above the light-polluted plain
Wounded by the over-brightness
Of materials and beings
None can find any guiding stars
The hungry and lost dream of flying
The full and peaceful suffer in ennui



But I,
I must sing
Must sing in the desolation
In the silence
I sing
Forget me if you please,
Mock me if you please
“Chasing meaningless dreams”
“Reality isn’t idealistic like your poetry”

Yet,

I must fearlessly sing,
Fearlessly sing,
With every atom of my soul and being
With nothing, like a beggar to the kings,
But my love
Wild and free

Save the world in my paintings
Shine hope from my poetry
When my flesh is buried by the fleeting
When my soul ascends into the everlasting
My thoughts, my songs, will still be echoing
Resonating
Within every heart like me,
Borne
From a
Dream

III

All beings are occupied with walking
Through the hectic roads                    
But I am still trembling, climbing
The bough of this abandoned Oak Tree
Way above, the light, real, mirage or delusion?
Resisting my hesitation
I still keep my faith steady and unwavering
Though only the silence loudly sings
With a few leaves of mockery and laughter
Calling me absurd
Calling me silly
I still sing, I still scream
Dazed with my humility



But I,
I must sing
Must sing in the desolation
In the silence
I sing
Forget me if you please,
Mock me if you please
“Chasing meaningless dreams”
“Reality isn’t idealistic like your poetry”
Yet,

I must fearlessly sing,
Fearlessly sing,
With every atom of my soul and being
With nothing, like a beggar to the kings,
But my love
Wild and free

Save the world in my paintings
Shine hope from my poetry
When my flesh is buried by the fleeting
When my soul ascends into the everlasting
My thoughts, my songs, will still be echoing
Resonating
Within every heart like me,
Borne
From a
Dream

IV

Like salmon swimming upstream
Upon this Life’s Strait
Between Nothingness of Being
And the Endlessness of Being
Every woman and man
Rushing towards the same direction
Flight or falling
The end is always the same
Death, and repeats,
The Cycle of Living

The Sea of Every Being, who would stop flowing?
Stones, or vessels, everything standing still, will never remain
Fish and droplets, must also combine with the waters of already been

Throughout history,
Prosperity never enjoyed longevity
It doesn’t matter at all,
Whether or not you believe in the
Holy Dream
Everyone wants to leave a mark
Leave a mark on the plain
Where impermanence permanently be  
Leave a mark, footsteps
Where the dust of beings and the temporal wind
Will always sweep
It all
Clean

And I stop, downstream
Facing everyone upwards
Leaving
And sing



And I,
I must sing
Must sing in the desolation
In the silence
I sing
Forget me if you please,
Mock me if you please
“Chasing meaningless dreams”
“Reality isn’t idealistic like your poetry”
Yet,

I must fearlessly sing,
Fearlessly sing,
With every atom of my soul and being
With nothing, like a beggar to the kings,
But my love
Wild and free

Save the world in my paintings
Shine hope from my poetry
When my flesh is buried by the fleeting
When my soul ascends into the everlasting
My thoughts, my songs, will still be echoing
Resonating
Within every heart like me,
Borne
From a
Dream

Conclusion:

Row upon row
Hopeless bodies crawl and crouch
Upon the desert of abundance
Chased by the sandstorm
That will soon catch up to us
And sweep over all

But those of us awake
Rush towards the other way
Fearlessly sing
Joyously sing
It doesn’t matter what lies beyond this wave
Darkness or Light
We still sing
In the Desolation, I Must Sing
Original Lyric in Chinese written:
Thursday, October 24, 2019, 8:44 PM
English translation completed on:
Sunday, October 27, 2019, 2:00PM
---
Thanks to Lawrence Hall for proofreading! :)
This is from a few weeks ago; I think my mind and eyes need a little rest. I also should read a little bit more, my reservoir of knowledge is running a little bit low.
Mio Seanachaidh Feb 2017
A Siren visits me in the realm of Somnus
It is she who owns my body as well as my heart
We don't **** - we make love
From a single glance of a soft and tender look, she has me hypnotized in her spell
The voodoo charm she weaves, although I know she's make believe - in my own reality, she's real

Our stamina fueled by a fire
Our limbs lock, intertwine like vines
Our chests pressed together, hands and fingers bound together
I can feel you embrace my skin
Ebbing and flowing like tides on the ocean wave
Your hair feels like the clouds I’ve dreamed to touch
Your eyes are closed, savoring the memory to mind
We’re breathing in the here and now
I never thought I’d want someone so much like breathing air
Your tenderness makes me feel safe
I can feel nothing but fingers and skin exploring and groping
You leave me breathless and gasping
Your kisses are sweeter than wine
Our bodies naturally know what to do

We go far back to the very first time we first made love
This wasn’t merely a ****
Come and let me have your lips, let me taste your fears
I will give you what you need
I feel your skin on mine
Roam my flesh with your soul and worship my body
The thirst will soon be gone
Safe is not just a place, it can be the space inside the body
Open up and I will take you to a different high
I'll show you that heaven is not just a state of mind
Explore me with your kiss, trace the path to hell and sin and I will give you the heaven
Between my hips


I still struggle to find heat in my heart
As the darkness slowly shows itself
My mind and heart go further apart
I laugh at love
No longer knowing the meaning of the word

My soul releases every emotion
Each and every scream can't be heard
There are tales of angels becoming demons
A bearer of light becomes one of darkness
Banishing all worldly feelings
Gaining pleasure from the misfortune and pain
Feeding off the sorrow of sinners

Impariamo a godere di questo paradiso nel nostro inferno
Wet dreams

Glossary: Italian - Impariamo a godere di questo paradiso nel nostro inferno means Let us learn to enjoy this heaven in our hell
mark john junor Jul 2013
In the dark evening by the light
Of a single candle flickering
she played her acoustic and sang
Her voice good and true
to the depths of her heart and soul

Her set to her desires
Her attention back to me from
her fingers flowing on the frets
her eyes gaze into mine with
soft heat
her words take me
in her embrace

Songs she shares
speak of journeys and lovers
Desperate men in dark hours

She lays her insturment aside
and says the hour is late
offers me my place in her bed

with a soul as beautifull as her form
she lay with me
and sated more than my weary soul
lillacs and lillies abound
Josh Bilyeu Sep 2012
Hope serves the watchful eyes of the tireless observer.
Freight trains of predacious signals burn through the Western hemisphere, misfiring the neurons of walking creativity. Authenticity belongs in the unknown showers of passion. Growing out in billows of lover’s hair. Lost in translation, victories will be claimed in earnest. To failures be honest exploration.
Ignorance will not bind the bees of new springs or the birds of southern departure. I contend for further marching. Bring about the movement. Action stems from desire. To knowledge I lend my contribution, through passion we make this in-land testimony. Behold the passing of butterflies. Many ponder these chances of fate. Decisive will the what-if tragedies be if one could see the reversal of choice, but rain still falls. Events unfold with the consequences of existence.
Knowing the truthful selves of East and West comes at the even pace of diversity. Personality differs as peaceful individuals of preferable serenity work inwardly as the proclamations of the lively bodies of social intrigue light their torches. Jugs of withered grape inebriate the tongues of their mood. Unifying the tangible honesty of exuberated calm. Flows, flowing in rhymes of poetry.
Jules Oct 2017
It's been a year
I still have no mind
I still don't think
For thinking is my downfall

My thoughts
Are poison
To my success
For they pull me off course
And push me into the abyss

I want to think
But i can not
For i've built a prison
That keeps me stuck
in this empty mind of mine

I tell myself can try to  
not be impulsive
And  not be indecisive
But i can't
For i never learn

Ive restarted my mind but
My thoughts
are useless
and unoriginal
And self deprecating
But they are still there
For i want to think

I do not understand
The thoughts entering my head
They tell me to shut up
To look pretty
And to blend it at the same time

These thoughts do not sound like me
Like the me before i stopped thinking
For these thoughts
Are not mine

It was never me
It was all of the people
Who judged me
And imposed their thoughts on me
Until they became my own

For the longest time
I was mindless
With no thought
For i believed thought was my weakness
Keeping me from perfection

When thought returned
They were no longer my own
They seemed perfect
But they had flaws
For nothing is truly perfect
If it takes away your individuality

Now i'm breaking out
Freeing my mind
I'm becoming myself
One again

I am not perfect
And i will never be
For perfection is impossible

Thoughts are finally flowing
And they are my strength
For they are my own
I AM FINALLY ME!
Romanticised, phantasised, moments and actions
which reality could not hold,
yet, force of desire makes manifest.

Sleepwaking in a walking dream,
as a thousand echoed universes flow by,
each alone, yet glowing in the brilliance
of a million thoughts and feints and
flowing emotions, occupying the fragile mind
from the nothingness held within.
gray rain May 2016
I can't be bothered with this
I'm writing the same ****
in every way I can think of
yet these sessions of venting
just build up my hate
and make me regret
I'm afraid to tell someone
in case they don't accept
but I need to be free
free to be me
sorry for this terrible rhyme scheme
but it's flowing free
and structure isn't working for me
Josiah Huergo May 2013
In silver box that’s lined with broken gold
these papers tell of old forgotten nights;
of cooler air than this that filled my chest
surrounding my whole being with such care
One story here was written under stars,
with hints of sentiment engraved so deep

When lovers break the bonds that dig so deep,
their hearts both crumble into darkened gold
A duo surely crafted by the stars
Eternal fate that dies within a night
I’d like to tell this story with great care
to stop this tight sensation in my chest

She held a special place within my chest
her love was bitter black and buried deep
I’d like to think, perhaps, she maybe cared
enough to give me years of solid gold
She gave me lovely dreams most every night
of places even higher than the stars

But now I only look up to the stars
and feel that awful feeling in my chest
What waste to give my hours all those nights
to mellow waves of sadness moving deep
Of all the colors flowing, none are gold
And nowadays I doubt she even cared

I followed the illusion that she cared
and ended up so lost below the stars
The heart she gave was made of phony gold
it sat and festered deep inside my chest
A shallow love that struck within so deep,
and now I only wish that it was night

Perhaps if I could spend just one more night
with someone else who gave such love and care
I’d feel the warm sensation fill me deep,
the charity and kindness of the stars
Another head to lie upon my chest,
a faithful love of real authentic gold

Another night goes by under the stars,
and all the care dies slowly in my chest
so deep within a prison made of gold
hope you
Dorothy A Jan 2014
It cannot put pen to paper
But all a flower has to do
Is open up its delicate petals
Unfolding like a noble lady's fan
Broadening to blossom into a lovely jewel
Poetry without any word

A spider weaves its web
Like an author spins tales
It's intentions upon its survival, but
Its intricate home of threads and strings
Like a gossamer harp
Is enchanting to perceive
A make and design of fragile strength

The oceans and seas
Mighty and commanding
They roar and display their majesty
With crashing waves and splashy bravado
They spare few prisoners
And graveyards of sunken ships
Whisper of stories untold

Birds chirp and warble
With songs that humans long to know
For they travel through the air
In simplistic freedom
Their chorus of communication
Is a poetic symphony just as entertaining
As any band of musicians or artists

The winds blow and whistle
Though they have no mouths
If you listen close enough
You can hear their secrets
Their breath of life in the
Ever flowing
Breezes that enfold us

You'd swear the mountains
Were painted that way
Brawny and broad, peaked high above
Against the grand canvas we call the sky
Yes, paintings are poems, too
For a picture speaks a thousand words
But no mere man can make a mountain

You see
We are merely students
Taught by God's natural, creative genius
We are merely imitators
Of what nature displays
We are not originals
For we are not the first poets
Nor the first storytellers
The door shuts
Cars stop
People stop moving
As the world is plunged into absolute silence.

Mines don’t explode
Tanks sit still
Guns not fired
As the war is plunged into absolute silence.

Birds stop chirping
Clouds aren’t moving
Water stops flowing
As nature is plunged into absolute silence.

The world is silent
And I know why
This is what happens
When music stops
..….Silence……
copyright Randy Wiafe 2010
Ghazal May 2012
I lie with my arms folded on
A white sheet spread over an iron bed.
My bulging eyes sit over my reddened face,
I am ruined; I am dead.

Then I see them, they’ve come for me!
Clothed in crystal, flowing white.
They look down at me, coldly,
And I look back at their unblinking eyes.


I’d waited for it; I’d fought for it-
And now that time has arrived,
Of my freedom, abandonment,
My true birth, after this fickle life.

But then I see more men around me,
Invisible behind their aprons and masks.
They remove the killer rope from my neck,
And a finger traces along its mark.  

And so, I lie on the iron bed,
Lifeless, but not soul-less,
Surrounded by Angels and humans,
Both of whom had arrived on the occasion of my death.

Take me home! I lift my translucent arms
And plead to the Messengers of Heaven.
I don’t want to stay and see my body being
Split into halves, divided into fragments.


“But how can we, so easily,
Rid you from your life?
You made the mistake of doing that,
Of which no man has been given the right!”


As the Angels speak, the scalpel starts
To burrow into my skin.
Deftly my flesh is peeled away,
Revealing my organs of vitality within.

My heart no longer beats.
My blood no longer flows.
My lungs no longer fill with air.
My anxiety to leave suddenly grows.

O Angels from the bountiful Heavens,
You do not know how exhausting life can be!
I’d got tired of breathing and gave up,
Because God too had given up on me.


So, liberate me now and take me
From where I came and to where I belong,
Where questions are asked and justice is done,
Where the rights are weighed against the wrongs.


A hand enters my open chest,
And forcibly pulls out my heart.
And just then, the Angels too relent,
And wrench my soul and body apart.

Angels and humans scavenge over me,
On my spirit and flesh they together feed.
But I’m happy, because morsel by morsel,
From the shackles of life, I’m being freed.

*I’m finally out, I look back slowly,
They’re stripping my face off my skull.
I look ahead, and float away in thin air,
No sign of my existence remaining on the Earth.
On the way to Kew,
By the river old and gray,
Where in the Long Ago
We laughed and loitered so,
I met a ghost to-day,
A ghost that told of you--
A ghost of low replies
And sweet, inscrutable eyes
Coming up from Richmond
As you used to do.

By the river old and gray,
The enchanted Long Ago
Murmured and smiled anew.
On the way to Kew,
March had the laugh of May,
The bare boughs looked aglow,
And old, immortal words
Sang in my breast like birds,
Coming up from Richmond
As I used with you.

With the life of Long Ago
Lived my thought of you.
By the river old and gray
Flowing his appointed way
As I watched I knew
What is so good to know--
Not in vain, not in vain,
Shall I look for you again
Coming up from Richmond
On the way to Kew.
Kevin Swiney Sep 2017
There's this liquid straight from the bottle,
That honestly makes me feel awful,

But it takes away my flowing conscious,
without it everything is nonsense,

It's a strange liquid that makes my feelings stronger,
And in doing so it makes me warm like my skin is fur,

Soothing, right down to the touch!
Although everything turns black when I've drank too much!

My mind is an ever-flowing mountain of idea's in the shape of streams,
From all these things I see day to day, and  past to past I can still feel you're still inside of my dreams,

Go and and go away,
Please God, I cannot stray

I breathed you in,
your addictive tasteful sin,

My darling was the medication I needed,
To stop the hallucinations that I once succeeded,

To the touch it feels me and I- hurt,
When I'm drinking and I'm feeling, everyone compares me to the dirt.
This piece was different, and I enjoyed writing it. Tell me what you think
There is no birth, without death. I will not die. I am forever.

Undying.

I am the Grey Fog of the Heart.


Flowing endless. Endless River.

Endless stars in the Endless Sky.

All is Endless, Boundless Might.

I am akin to the Gods of Night.

I am forever.
This poem may be unfinished.
Lev Rosario Oct 2021
I am in my room
Surrounded by food and drinks
A camera in front of me
An outline of a monologue in my head
40 pieces of Chicken Nuggets
Two large fries
A large coke
And three Big Macs
I shall take my time, there's so much to discuss
Infinite Jest and the Culture Industry
American drugs and entertainment
Its sedative effect on the characters
I start with a Big Mac
Layers of soft bread
The salty cheese and patty enticing my taste buds
Between every few bites
I take a few fries at a time
Soft and sluggish, a slight saltiness on my tongue
How it's mashed by my teeth in mutual consent
Hal Incandenza, Katherine Gompert
Their use of Marijuana in secret
It's effects on the body and their addiction
A garden of salt splashed by the sweet rain of Coke
Flowing down my throat
I shall only worship a God who knew how to cook
And to enjoy a great meal
The medical Attaché's eyes
Gazing perpetually into the screen
Expiring in catatonic bliss
After the Big Macs
I attack the Nuggets
The beautiful effect of its skin
And the barbecue sauce in my mouth
The essence of chicken leaving my mouth wanting more
One by one
With more fries in between
More Coke dances in my mouth
Leaving a suave sensation in my throat
The years named after products
Year of the Whopper
Year of the Depend Adult Undergarment
Year of the Trial size Dove Bar
Mario Incandenza and Gerhardt *******br>"Life's endless war against the self you cannot live without"
And the tennis
The endless tennis, the dancing chess of the athletic body
It takes about an hour and a half
A time of bliss
Where I can please my YouTube audience
Where I don't need to think
And the only body part that needs to work
Is my mouth
Set of cave genes If you could read... pluri freedoms of the dark light of ignorance teach understand that breathe under the Naturality Natural Nature is not necessary to have an understanding heart and store on their empty heads of knowing ancient rain where wisdom possess. If dance on every grain of chickpea for each foot plant what could a plant obey; foot, Plant, and Plantation...

Resulting in kingdoms on my animals, fungi, plants, and protists, media freedom as a seed to reach our evolutionary lack of ceased hopeness...

First  Ellipsis Angle loneliness"God felt Chained"

Chained down by dragging the last link of its multiple arcane freedom in which transfigured recent swings where he collapsed with the latter being of himself whose life lies lifeless alive but lost. The latter that child not to know and deprived of nascent freedom that will never be born and come knowledge in our genome of Independence.

When the caveman thought to be a complement to the world is enslaved by the mystery of lost in himself... The born and born, never dies, that's so naive and innocent... is still full unaware of their free will, rather it is he who must re-literate and be a living part of the ancestral genome Cavernario component. Oh Heavenly Lord of the steppes I look because more of you today without having lived what you lived, as he would have played with my gaze to succor and keep you had fallen into the fangs of an animal, or you had fallen on the glacier cliff where he has separated you from your Clan Cave.

Emancipation means to be always innocent, my blood runs through yours,
I read and understand any phenomenon of deprivation exist without you lack wisdom satiate if all your generations crushed by the ignorance of falling subject will be well, me and my being I take my precognitions as a tormented child's worst nightmare before about sleeping. Sixth Papal almost, almost kneel before the creation of memorizes creation. This prerogative Lord lives Bread’s God Minor remaining....of whose iconography will not leave this fifth fraternal dimension will not come, if not more will enter the latter end of absolute solitude... and shorter than the last thousand years of Neandertal.


Cavernary Political and Ellipsis:

On a day of gentle wind and tense rain proclaiming Clan joined, they all shouted running, the ground shook and the children slept in terror... the 10 infants who were talking about the Sign from above, but the nines they crossed his arms remaining to create solidarity roof that protects the man in your imagination...
The eighth child of the clan ran quickly into the arms of his mother and she imagined how far, how far would never come... uncharacteristically who came with his brother seventh had in their hands the word of entertainment of Being, to be a plaintiff political all of braiding them together with lines enabling the hermit may decide that creation is a mass of lines of certain fashions together, everything sings like the slightest cyclamen dew on the line pointy rough fallen fungus. All arms folded on the upper porch of the Vatican Macario in Franconia, saying that many who unite in their fevered requests large modern man ceased to be autonomous when it came out of their caves and charnel pit.

Ran all she enjoyed doing that almost without knowing whether or not they fall...
Ran because of every day the sun ahead of them a lesson for a man of the future...
They are running to be released the day of his birth chained to stars of light, to carry him to his mother and father, sneaking to his brothers.

Brother worn eleventh birth to her existence as another being evolved Eukaryotic: Surely those provided beings of cell membranes rhizomes reflected in higher liberty lives purged of ectoplasm walk without a discounted subsidiary. Shakespeare in Helsingor appeared immune to a blood brother to all that limits the Draconian feel in the pinnacles drawn 700 greened steeds. From the deepest swoon in the underworld subway Helsingor, follow the prevailing souls presided over by the great ear of the hard sandcastle, stressed hard Ghosts of Stratford upon Avon.

Freedom plague spits words of pancreatic poisoned exordium, spits verses of confusion disorders without permission, without solid bass sound without liquid sea that resists mad edges followed by solid sound...
But smaller stones give priority to conjugate final sentence and noble verses Guardian
to mission how important would Liberation:

Maybe it's a synonymy of Astral Solar...
It is not Solitude, is a free nation that has its own kind prosecutor's office for even when Euthanasia closes your eyes to the astral, will run the stones of the Sea of joy believing that neither you dare if there is no healthy grass to clarify the rainy day terror.


Reverse walk creeks aggravated birds feet, walking great playful ruse.
Reverse run my comrades preparing festivity meals with chandeliers and singing lay plenary., Singing Avenue pine port Firenze, Second run subtracting minutes and hours the minute is enough for me with your face in my arms to recognize your longevity anathema times oblique faces for lip-smacking hailstones Templars.

In 1297 in northern Italy nearby rural families migrate to chalky Venice, Perugia came the exiles walked to find their independence south of the Iberian Peninsula. They were so atoned as in the echoing flutes, harps, zithers, and harpsichords field temperate; They invited the blunting of intemperate monocordio.

Golden Chariot Carrenio

The golden carriage carrying them came without a single space rather than inheritances acquired goldsmiths of ancient noble and chaste solid shine. Carrenio; the coachman wore on his left arm bracelet thousand mobile travel without stopping to drink more water and to feed their horses. After revamping its gold pieces bartered by a slave who was getting Carrenio Christians fleeing the Romans. Well, they fled as far as the plains of great earthly squandered his memory and that end of the end should come.

How am away from my land more I learn it's back to her,
There is no ground for the first time, but that which is foreign
Carrenio of Perugia and sensed that ****** was Jewish ashes,
Luther King black paste of burnt forest,
Mandela and Biko Ogre garage from Victorian Empire,
Gandhi in his humility is always put behind the Sun
to figure out the small
Tagore trashed my heart caressing the entire universe uncorrupted
Hölderlin together in the cabin waiting for his mother at Zimmerman,
That my beloved Borker forest should shine gold teeth with black resin,
Theresa of Calcutta was eaten and swallowed all diseases lepers knowing good taste proverbial dessert psalm,
Jose Miguel Carrera was more than a trench, clay bullets in each of his temples where he received
To be doubly Lonco is to be halved, lacerated by lay his head on his land, not galloping on his back throngs of wit and hope out Nazareth trembles when an F-16 diluted ***** covering landless caravans Heritage continues to lead the people killed but the mosque wall has been Fe Erecta.
Helena plenipotentiary Kowalska at Vilnius, Faustina Divine Mercy Diadema
The agonizing deprivation of millions of people with cancer in every continent of private well-being analgesic, weighed down by increased pain, almost as strong as the Master Hammered Golgotha, so it was that Joshua has cancer always to slow it down on us. Benigno whether metastasis, malignant albeit benign finance.
The death of an innocent little angel devoured by the beast remains as a fluff hairless sardine in the jaws of a shark baron.
Khalil Gibran writes that with both hands to support the reviewer behind in Bicharri and bohemian Paris,

Salvador Allende Gossens was born since he was deceived by his parents who would heal politics, would rather dig their ancestors in their brains scattered in the currency in face seal or tail of.

Frei Montalva that today has to receive the Macro Augusto Heaven their arms, their sorrows, and regrets, although his worst military executioner.

Legion is an offshoot of liquid central gray material, which defers well done becoming but not defeated, it is the decree of the divine threshold space Living or ceases to live, that failure does not exist, it is the postponement of success - success.

The Genocide September 11 in New York was a ritual, who produced was a small wrath strength of the Rotary world, as the camshaft is upset in the history of trying to make more alphabet in schools where the flag hoisting and found scholars in West and East, so they can learn more than reading of both unlettered, lip and water to possess it to write with it. The worst disaster is read with the memory that will never happen... I write my greatest need with lipstick and my greatest need I write eagerly to participate. Yesterday I passed by a boutique and buy lipsticks that are closer to the language, written with the mouth and not the hand. !

Freedom, debauchery, libration, drawer, Bookstores..! Carrenio..: he said see I'm right! Raise and educate has a great synonymy with autonomy because the ancestors wrote everything that deprived them and made them fear, but do not have to eat the autumn gives me to dress the return of spring, bread orchid, and cineraria. Hence by that inner syllabic singing hunger sated that sought sheet to sheet rid of everything until the end of the book as the encounter between night and day without considering oblivious to anything or anyone on the track window swing wind, wind seeping.


It was old Zeus or Hera of Antique,
Cavern to house geometric polyphonic, angular seeds to create fashions kiss kissed everything that any vertical plane does not fit with the closed horizon
For hands and angels, Hebrews the inner soul of every carpenter and stonemason shrunk, wash their eyes and cheeks with songs of vibration and idyllic comfort,
Everything resembled and sounded Bethlehem 2.0 deities choirs sweeping grasslands,
The similarity of this clairvoyant child is born in a cave...
Rising motherly free Soliloquy Papini sitting to the right of ruminant cattle,
So archaic that to be born is not born in a clinic mega Cristus but hundreds of kilometers and hundreds who are born with the undergirding whispers and servitude being.
Where the multi gray impetuous born star is a healthy gauze story in the present tense... this angelic child grows by Miriam washes his feet in a belligerent abolished stone. His father must wash their hands on a stone which is where measured his ecclesiastical mystical stature, stone Madonna to heal his feet where he leaves to free himself, to free us... Marble gamete fémina vault, where he sleeps without knowing whether it is due, the ***** fell from the sky.
How wise is the Wise, it makes permissible for much more than two thousand years we stone quarry wheel and wheel, homily, and blessing to not wake at night to sleep startle middle and uphill.

Me of the referent of antiquity is not me of today is polished cobble stone,
Useful weapon quarry road there and backtrack to have blisters stone and soft thoughts under my pillow soft stone as a whole.

If you're ****** private living and have a free soul choosing coexist, then you are low in the cemetery on a tombstone of heresies.

Neolithic early 4500 after Hildegard von Bingen and his entourage and prowled full and channeled, swooning in her swoon with flowers in his hands and his followers planting forests on top of Stonehenge.

Carrenio says...: you see I'm right, we coexist, I die like the worst ****** cancer and then put a tombstone Stonehenge conspire in my honor black pain prayers of Salisbury. It blooms in vibrant red rubies that detonate in chromaticity and life. The stream itself is exceeded the aquatic plant Macarenia.

Call us and civilize us, outdated as far as my tired feet though I come not ashamed to see my new tracks.

Carrenio says...; see I'm right Joshua has traces of gold from other Caterpillar shod feet. Antique everything is prescribed according to their legacy today is Lent Pro that came before it was Lent vestige Pentecost came to be a nickname of the mystery of the passion in less than a rooster crows.

Beside it is the mystery of the disappointment of stubborn demon, which helps you all carry the cross, but not the entire load. Fire and Light at dawns where the splendor born...


Genome Freedom, even today every centimeter of my witness of each component, if the basic origin of the signs of the primitive world, is that we have lost the bark of the lexicon, which does not allow us to understand the meditations to ask for something, not You need to ask something. Today genome is requesting something because thousands of people who asked for millions of years, now it's time to cater to them. They were wrapped in cloth shroud of spiritual sacredness, today cemeteries mega dance their souls leave no sleepers both much grass on their heads not yet sullied by the puppet Azrael.


Impossible not to decorate the rocks forged empires that fall into the rubble, they bring 476 d. C., a new opening Middle age freedom of travel both in history thousands of years begins a new axis Golden Carrenio’s Chariot.

Carrenio Wagon

This great colossal ship Carrenio time is a timber that holds the sky, a beam that does not faint or distended thousands a. C, and the old age of King's large musings that were forgotten. It is astride ship millennium, their history of oppression has seen in the wheel, instrument wise rolling like a wheel before 5, 000 years ago, here  We fought and prostrated to distant lands millennium after millennium him away.

Golden Chariot is the structure that freedman us to enforce a new life on earth, even the Gods prided themselves move the stars to constellations called her noble Auriga sailing in full the Universes and Cartwheel Galaxy or cart Wheel. As if to say that when the Universe and its own mythology, were visited between them inch by inch by wherever they shine.

Carrenio mask and frame used had strength, temper, and tittle. When the first libertarian squall of antiquity came closer, Rome was already small and nobles populate what is a quote, Piccola. The executioner always frightened and starts out of his own wickedness. Markos Botsaris as did in Greece, and surrounding towns Messologhi remote, they were free more than tuned in massif Arankithos high wind. He was riding to Kanti once again with the golden rider Etrestles of Kalavrita. According to the Chronicle that came from distant millennia has envisioning promote its neighbor's heroic to free Messolonghi of ****** wars. All this I saw with his own eyes Carrenio, every thousand years styling with Etrestles, cleaned their nostrils so that new breed of horses to thrive,

Avignon, in the necropolis, witnessed as Azrael was cleaning his wings Jade antipopes, another story begins... even he seeks to candela who can read this story, and who can provide it from hand to hand cutting semicolons who disclosed.


Second  Ellipsis Angle  New Era:

Ara released the ropes throwing a big ship, History makes a man is at the center of the world. Revolutions, thinking, communication, and especially vindicate man in his right-libertarian. artists with their creations flowing all over the world, mutating classic Renaissance to abstract overlook. Family appearing welfare and needs. A ramble and so many broken laws. Mankind is distracted l film and theater artist of tradition. Art now has sound and movement, then social and political revolutions are industrial that unite everyone behind the pivot deployment of social classes.


Everything evolves until we get tired of doing so. It rests and then continues. This is modern reality, we wrote about the history of events on facts that have never been told. The world has tired all the Eras, but each pause time that has happened has been recharged, nothing finished if not started again. After so many wise lawyers, clergy plunged into great towers bound books. Is evident again can not read or understand. Our realities are missing valid without knowing I close and then open another door. human and civil rights, fair wages, so excessive autocracy monarchy. Freeman can walk along the paths, even if they were trenches.

Zephyr soft murmur which clutters in the Irises by Van Gogh, the painter is the biggest star trek, called with his feet images and colors that would make his own liberty to live naturally insane. And many others Brueghel "Triumph of Death" that roam the countryside, perhaps a medieval piece of Tarskovski; Andrei Rublev in futile painters decorating steps in the fontano chignon Androniko Monastery Moscow, extinct Rublev 70 years, Tarkovsky 54.

Early ellipsis - Campo dei Fiori in Rome to see die at the stake Giordano Bruno by order of the Holy Inquisition. The irruption of the Inquisition, but their feet are touching the flowers, the seasoned cassock continues to haunt the universe of Faith Dominica Trastevere, it is seen to lectures on how to be bold with the informers and the Whistle Blower dies without shade in spring, you resist the star on the asphalt on the magical island of holiness.

Carrenio says: Come I'm right, we can not read, because the brutality of the Cosmos is manure per ton weathered in the backyard of the aristocracy. I will continue with respect and crosed in Crete. Lila Kedrova means the fear of bunk bed tied to her bed and is free in foreign lands leg. Queen insular matriarchy, she lives more than any Greek Goddess, waiting for his Adonis, to fill out honors. Win an Oscar but lost to Zorba, he loses his house but won a Tony Awards. How many women teach us that to win you have to give everything to lose his brains, and thus count as the lost number remains to be retained. Zorba whines in her arms, she moans in the arms of her husband Zeus Steve, proof of a new era. Onyx for his tomb, plate of this great tragedy.

On the evening of December 14, 1964, attended the premiere. Soul of Carrenio was with them but was denied his attendance at the banquet, finally running out and watching the glasses lips and stoles spent his neck.

                                          
          ­                      Numbered Mysterious Death
                                                  Mané

If I have to feel floe on my feet and cold in my prayers will be the Dark Glory. What is slimming rays of the day, everything smelled of silence, maybe it was Kennedy, or better was The Mané.

Closure of my glory suffers the wind...
Flowers lying silence my soul alight,
Thick square displays the song of my voice...
When they speak Quadratils one to one order their
Spirituous voice.

And the spirit singing fiber of my heart told me:
Never you say I Exist ¡ not exist because they do not exist!
Only face daily the different reflection of your body
In front of yourself with another face and another body...

I want to talk with the thought
And this same subtract my little silhouette,
Lavishes wingless bird that flies only in their theology...
That is the duty and melt with my look,
Solid colors components
Crunching the altars of heaven retaining its pale warmth of anorexia.

Yellow Glory hair good event...
If you receive yellow lights, plus I do not sing my own game here in my empty veins,
Yellow my heart...
Yellow my heart
Yellow my collective heart.

They are run by large green and sunny meadows, children who had Mane in this major milestone in its last gasp. Now she is the mother of his children; it up and them in the last temptation of the mystery of death.

Carrenio keeps rolling, the brightness offered his Golden wagon to the ground. Gold grooves ago, and looking at where it realizes that it's landmass light mud. Since he felt whispers from the confines of time he had never felt as if you were finishing your journey or the world. It raining years and years and continues because nobody mends the mysterious death Numbered.

Heaven and Earth did not hold, the bottom fell precipitously pocket Lord and denied several times uncontained. She shivered in the World and the rooster crowed several times to never be heard or the Pentagon.

He is walking and knees bent,
we embraced by the golden chariot and oxen nor held
we bent us all lying on his knees,
up shoulders not hear from where came the bad grace of his departure,
numbered all the time of complaints of how then she would come,
It is unknown who would be but brought wine in his hand on the crispy mask
We ran from side to side and nothing was real

Everything seemed to sing in the chapel on a sad day,
But I hear loudly like Latin and watchfulness,
Those who know his mystery is no stranger to them
They all look but transgress the sin of silence.

Carrenio still absorbed in the hallway,
Angulo ellipsis she comes winged like a star burning tar,
A high speed to give us the new
No garden can deprive greet in speed visit
Dome comes, it comes on the eve of the new moon.

Numbered Widow mysterious,
Mané is a land of golden color and no celestial whoever wants in his cell,
A breath test, and feeding the Toffy and his henchmen
That sustaining more lively detail, there is no one that can not be targeted

It was modern, it was night, it was his torn life as an accomplice of his exile abandonment in his allegory of tender dismissal. Carrenio achieved so say goodbye to the beams of light that told him of the mysterious death Numbered. He sat on the roadside and drank some wine. Then dry with his handkerchief his neck, and have never wanted to experience such an event in a toast ever drunk.

Third Ellipsis Angle  of  New Era

Independence of Chile, it concerns Mapuche atingent case. Araucania pound, then 1818 central Chile. In Brief, Earth makes free an entire nation. His naive and primitive braves inhabitants emancipated themselves from all sides, they came to save a people who were just following where nobody can reach. Independence of the United States separates us for approximately 42 years, breaking up owners of nowhere. Industrial Abolitionist and South Slaver and Agraria. The biggest event that more than 640, 000 men and fallen activists planted safely from repression fields.

In Chile all rule resembled this secession in today's Araucano man prays for his fallen by almost more than 3 centuries in Chilean lands of Araucanía’s men. Lautaro genius and his supporters the heart of Pedro de Valdivia ate; Map ever made to your battle mapping Tucapel. "Initiation and final symbol occurred after 282 years of fierce war" and Mapuche land forever their independence from the Spanish Empire Captain-General important in foreign lands never subjected to foreign rule would eat.

The Machis and Loncos make supplications in native forests falling on them pollen on its back as if nothing out 10 times better...

To Libertas strengthen in the west is necessary to push the limits of the earth beneath his tongue and penance for the greedy entangled in the lines of bloodied sky, rebellions Chieftains death-defying all together at the edge of a cliff. 1769 The Pehuenches led by Lebian Cacique, joined the Mapuches razing Yumbel and Laja, the most peaceful Huilliches also joined mass alerting perhaps innocent people land blood-stained war and the Mackay Luchsinger.

No doubt portals military rebellion trigger blood, where they opened a tip and swords in the past. Here's reading concern is that the succession is timeless time, a sword without a sword, but on the tip of her blood is seen where there were herds and warriors crushed by their own footsteps. Here the phenomenon of freedom begins; Humanity runs treading his own footsteps, to save his family from a threat, but not strange forces that force you to use your defenses, because in the groves populate many helpless souls with his sword unused at the expense of being forced to use.

Freedom genome; It aims to reach where it has not come without looking back,
Chalices pour out is where the troubadours do not cuddle her close looks like time, singing while watching the changes are not of a new life


Heaven star,
Come to me,
I ask a sign to see them arrive,
Because I want to thus been dragged
Being together Eager to feel...
Those respites without being comforted
going to the mouth of the serpent.

About the Garden,
My home is to put my love,
He has to put the days imagining close...
To enjoy yourself is nonexistent...

Oh, my house tormenting me...!
Because in it I feel your smell
They are alone lights
Where I would wait for me to be in the dark...

In the coming future,
You will not see or hear my anger...
Perhaps my happiness nor peace praying
As the spear in the hands of the perpetrator.

You know a storm of whispers
I do sow your name in the wilderness,
It's because my judgments of hope
They mount up arable land deposited in my frenzy
Misled by a love which is my love.

But you never understand,
Because time has invaded my dwelling,
Invading my brain to give
It has invaded my choosing to love...

On the grass path,
Every time I move away from you,
I turn to see if you have not been...

Love came,
And I think that leaves us alone to avail ourselves
Ranging in our time...


But I can not resist his silence,
For my house want the noise of its action,
Why keys to the gates that serve my understanding.

Tramples my heart the fragmenting oddities into smaller pieces,
Your answer that call.

Tur love be like if I had created...
As if only you had appreciated your beautiful creation.

Do not destroy your work expresses in his mystery give life to your dreams!
Man aiming better earth, ask some of you to join your dreams...

! Your wife of this land does not procrastinate your misfortune,
I discover far peaceful landscapes like an echo in the spring,
As large and deep as your forgiveness for loving me more


It tells the Earth to the Sun in its perky tear benefactress of new opportunities as good and healthy smile rainbow on the back of Oviedo sheep valleys of freedom of Pietrelcina life.

To be continued…
Genoma Freedom , by Jose Luis Carreño Troncoso - Under Edition
Do you know me now
As I travel alone....

The road I travel
I want all of you
Like the sea itself
Flowing beautifully
Endlessly....

From your own shores
If you knew me then
Will you know me now....

Like the land itself
Something hard
No lack of mysticism
Flood my lands with seas....

Not my mountains
Would you want to know more
My wandering tides
My wandering mind
Changing oh so silently
So vigorously
Never stop the flowing of our fragrant emotions....

As your rivers flow through me’
I have built dams’
Not to ban you away
To retain you’
When a time
We no longer exist
If only we meant the world
To each other....

As travel alone....

Debbie Brooks 2014
Yes darling I travel alone
O'er the midnight moorlands crying,
Thro' the cypress forests sighing,
In the night-wind madly flying,
Hellish forms with streaming hair;
In the barren branches creaking,
By the stagnant swamp-pools speaking,
Past the shore-cliffs ever shrieking,
****'d demons of despair.

Once, I think I half remember,
Ere the grey skies of November
Quench'd my youth's aspiring ember,
Liv'd there such a thing as bliss;
Skies that now are dark were beaming,
Bold and azure, splendid seeming
Till I learn'd it all was dreaming —
Deadly drowsiness of Dis.

But the stream of Time, swift flowing,
Brings the torment of half-knowing —
Dimly rushing, blindly going
Past the never-trodden lea;
And the voyager, repining,
Sees the wicked death-fires shining,
Hears the wicked petrel's whining
As he helpless drifts to sea.

Evil wings in ether beating;
Vultures at the spirit eating;
Things unseen forever fleeting
Black against the leering sky.
Ghastly shades of bygone gladness,
Clawing fiends of future sadness,
Mingle in a cloud of madness
Ever on the soul to lie.

Thus the living, lone and sobbing,
In the throes of anguish throbbing,
With the loathsome Furies robbing
Night and noon of peace and rest.
But beyond the groans and grating
Of abhorrent Life, is waiting
Sweet Oblivion, culminating
All the years of fruitless quest.
Sam Aug 2016
her
100m;
Flowing down the street like a 2.30am moonlit beam
on still waters, I mistook her for the sky.
The way the dress caressed her body
like the clouds that hold the moon

50m;
a falling meteor
a dawning sun in the red radiance of her lips
as its rose blush rushing across her cheeks

1m;
Everything.
A supernova girl engulfing its solar system - its light to be seen a thousand years later in another galaxy before continuing on past, universe to universe, till the end of time or the edge of existence (whichever comes first)

The edge of existence;
A cool breeze
A burn on my retina
The sky was gone

— The End —