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I encourage you to abandon your faith
imagine the uncondonable
do the unpardonable
and rest in the arms of father mountain

I encourage you to go beyond your thoughts
appeal to your animalistic self
let go of your inhibitions
and tear me up in bed

I encourage you to try the impossible
reach the corners of your body
where pleasure is indigenous
where there will never be colonization

I encourage you to learn a new language
to not be patriotic
and worship your own flesh
resist majoritarian temptation
and dig an altar to yourself

I encourage you to love me
without strings, with no chains,
corral me, make me struggle,
and deep your soul within my veins

love me whole
sin fragmentations
love me across borders
without concessions
with negotiations
and complications

I encourage you to love.
Joliver May 2018
I am a bittersweet smile
One that hides hurt
And shame
Like they were easter eggs
That are the shape
Of the fragmentations of
A shattered heart
Each filled
With sweet cyanide
And truthful tears

I am a bittersweet smile
One that never quite believes
That it deserves any love
Any praise, any friendship
Anymore
Because everything in this life
Is too good for a bittersweet smile

I am a bittersweet smile
The kind that knows it will be alone
In the end
And tries to reassure itself
That it's okay
You like being alone

I am a bittersweet smile
One that knows it has no right
To complain about what
Made it so crooked
One that hides from the past
One that hurts
As if the stretching of flesh was unnatural
And cruel

I am a bittersweet smile
One that everyone says they love
But I wonder if they ever
Look at my eyes
Because they hold the truth
The one my grin disguises
Breaking down the barriers of exaltation after passion due to the fragmentations of the pointed Sarissas that rose from the dome of the monastery in an unknown vertical direction on the, as advocacy of propositional logic, to surpass the truth values on the crawling positions of the annelids and the alabaster elementals reformulating when detaching themselves from the monastery of Tsambika, as they engender contracted truth from the false truth that had been anticipated. Making from the tautological truth, going back all the memory and physics actions of the Hexagonal Progeny, deriving to atomic spaces, which are known to lock in the absolute truth of combinations of accessibility of exit and entered Patmos, as resulting from Omeganimias or links of spiritual polynomials that were dissipating to complement the departure to Patmos from Mandraki up to Skala, and on the other hand simultaneous Etréstles from Dekas; Kimolos for the remission of the Duoverse communion in the width of the celestial space. The tassels of the Vexillum of Vernarth and Saint John the Apostle, Eurydice, flamed, forming the triangle of the shape of Tsambika, with the triangle of the hexagonal that parliamentary of the stays, before heading to the navigation towards Patmos.
The Vexillum, carried by the wind itself Anemoi, was only carried by these golden gusts of earthworks towards the border of Rhodes, which until now was ancient Greece with its landmarks that the loyal spirits of Alexander the Great resisted accepting his death. Dazzling himself with this noble personification of the Anemoi, he re-establishes himself as part of Vernarth's prophetic and company to the island of the Apocalypse, which after the journey of Saint John the Apostle in Judah, the Cyclades, and the Dodecanese, would begin to relive the apocalypse. written under the mandate of the trinity, as a theological Tautology, running through the same originality and devotion of the heavenly mandate, but reencausing with the Hexagonal Progeny, as if it were rewriting it for the second Time, but from the Omega Point the completion of the Omega Temple on Patmos, to the areas of settlement of democracy and establishment of the Cycle of the Duoverse, as a transition to the rank of Hegemon of Patmos, to lead the spiritual military forces that raged, from the last vestiges from Pentecontecia in the Second Medical War in Plataea in 480 a. C., until the beginning of the Peloponnesian War in 433 a. C. towards the Athenian polis as a thread of their leadership of the nation, retracted by the reinforcement of their military supremacy, by the dominion of Spiritual Judaic, coming from the Hellenic existential inspiration, which spread with total expansion with the confederation of Alexander the Great, Vernarth and San Juan Apostle, as exclusivities that would increase the conclusive campaign of Tautological Omeganymy, shadow after shadow of the naval journey that awaited them with the Tracontero Eurydice, emerging from losses of democratic pacification, conventionally finite with the division and absolutist denial of Alexander the Great, reinstating itself in the Hexagonal Progeny, in accordance with the physiognomic materiality of the restructured Map of Cinnabar bound for Patmos.

The classicism of this operation will rise to the re-establishment of its Commander Hetairoi as the bearer of the Vexillum, under the acronym of IAV, meaning the Trinitarian Hellenistic-Vernarthian existentialism, for all Macedonian Christian children, servants of Jesus Christ, like the Mashiach. The reigns will rise to the last step and then they will fall into the crisis of entropic existentialism, with launching new languages beyond all known vocabulary, with speculative and adaptive pearls of wisdom of Hellenism that is reborn on Patmos, in the elaboration of the Temple of Omeganimia and the academicism of San Juan Apostle. Alexander the Great carries with him the upstart lines of the peripatetic school, walking through Phrygana, almost stepping on the low thicket and soft leaves and that, to the rhythm of the invaders' footsteps, reverberate them towards the dreaded ears of Vernarth, imaginary plant community in the Mediterranean forests, forests and shrubs that exist, but are lacking on Patmos, are only part of the creative imaginary, which are successful in limestone soils around the Mediterranean Basin, generally near the coast, where the climate is improved, but where the conditions annual drought in summer, suggestive of the resinous flavors of a scrub becoming a dressing for transplanted trees before they arrive to meet the Katapausis, the emblem of the Parables of Procorus.

Parables of Procorus

Petrobus the Pelican in one of his wanderings was distracted by some colonial migratory birds from Rhodes, while the Cinnabar was energized. He flew exceedingly, reaching the shores of Patmos, saving himself from returning to the ship with the others of the Birthright. Here he himself met Procorus, where after brushing against the Phrygana with his wings, he was inspired in praise of the Skalá sightings. Procorus in the understanding that he was inspired by this magical bird, I narrate to him from his cranial zone, the parables of his company as a servant bird of Raeder, together now with Procorus, to welcome the ship Eurydice that was already sailing to Patmos. This assertion by Petrobus was of the Hellenic existential time, therefore before they occurred it would reach real-time synchronization, after three hundred and sixty-nine oscillations of the Anemoi under its golden wings.

Parable of Phrygana: (says Procorus by vox from Petrobus)

On the banks of, lived some seeds that were admired by the lights of the cell of San Juan, feeling that it can only be a seed if it is not recognized by another that is the same. Knowing that it is not from the Phrygana genome, they will know that they will never be able to choose a larger size. For this reason, if a Kashmar could be a branch Daughter of Zeus and the titanic Metis: Athena (the Olive Tree) (Minerva). Aspiring to greater trees, greater than the skies of comparable to the wings of Petrobus brushing against the allegories of winter when Procorus becomes a seed that flows from the envelope of the thicket, turning from its own shadow into a monumental tree by day, but at night like Phrygana goblin.

Parable of the Alnus:

The consequence of the Alnus took them out of the oratory persistence towards the heights of a tree that begged its minorities. The raceme's inflorescence, with its leaf blades on a leaf blade, invited them to follow reactivation paths due to the axils of its largest branches. When a lost sheep was lost in the Alnus Glutinous, the smallest plants that decrease or expire would approach, ready for the twigs that are carried by the legs of the lost sheep. But not when winter arrived, still very green with the olive tree that is found again in the mountains of other glutinous that co-merge like lights that dazzle the lesser leagues of Alnus, losing itself in its habitat Alder, in mixed forests with green and black sheep, among Phrygana in God's soil with tame sheep and soil with poor nutrients, but full of green shadows.

Before these two parables, Prócoro says: “It must be maintained that each one speaks with its own language, and they never take long to amaze us, first of all, the color change from green to more green, if its shape, color, and corpulence as a species with the same shadow, regardless of the hue of the size of its species”
Tautological Omeganymy on Patmos
M Harris Mar 2017
Serenity Echoing In Reverse,
Stagnant Resolutions Choking Her Universe,
Submerging Her Dreams Into A Sterilized Verse.

Sedated In Perpetual Twilights,
Mechanical Love & ****** Satellites,
She Whispers Essences Of Kryptonite.

Victim To A Perpetual Reaction,
She Transforms Into A Violet Abstraction,
Echoing Prismatic Deflections.

Technician To Her Own Serenades,
She Embraces Her Heartache Blockades,
Overdosing On Intoxicating Escapades.

Evoking Constellations Of His Ionized Memories,
She Overdoses On Comatose Reveries,
And Spectral Illusions Of Synthetic Stories.

Amplifications So Sacred & Profane,
Simulations Raving Into Codependent Stains,  
Fragmentations Entranced In Her Bulletproof Frames.

Cherub Starlight & Everlasting Gaze,
Transitions Fusing Into Astral Maze,
The Essence Of Ecstasy Of His Sentiments Sways.*

- 04:27AM
Julia Brennan Jun 2015
bass palpitations and neon fragmentations
briefly deflect the cruelty of
your perceivable
emptiness

a rainbow of sweat, anonymous
stems encompassing sauntering spirits
a fully elevated identity
identifies the rationale
behind the soul's existence.
THERE IT IS,
dangling before doped surveillance;
can't you taste its sweetness?

and
before you grasp it,
the crescent wanes
pacing shuffled steps
tracing fleeted memories.
nights with beautiful intruders
terminated with sonorous ears,
oscillations of the frame,
and you,
crashed
on pillow-top.

how did you got here?
recollections
excruciating
tattoos of a misleading
reality.
Poetic T Apr 2020
Borderline hues shatter upon the
fragmentations
                        of sullen gullied pools..

Where the refraction of utopia shines,
  the *** is deceitful and tarnished.

As every prism of reverence disperses.
                    Heaven is a shard of falsehood
cutting into the sky...

Perceptions see an aura-borealis.
                 But woven with the beauty
is the curse of fallen angels..

For all who stared upon the glare
         were severed from sight...

Dilating upon the sorrow of
           written words etched in eyelids.

The world was beauty, and you blinded it..
       Now we will scratch every word inward.

See the error of your ways, and walk as before.
Kathryn Irene Oct 2018
Tugging at the empty void,
In hoping there might be something else
Something more to call your own
You keep your eyes open,
As if the more you look the more you see

But the more you see,
All you see is darkness
Your failures and incorrect fragmentations

Oh woe with me,
these scars run oh so deep
What hope is there for me?

Perhaps I can call someone "friend"
hold their hand and
have my first kiss

I dream, I dream, I dream
I dream of something more
Beyond the realm of truth

Tugged this way and that
I'll be stuck in my own discretions
My own damages, my own keys

A singular phrase breaks my wounded mind
As if someone actually cares
About what lies beneath this wickedness

Carry on,
Breathe
Smile.

Carry on,
Breathe
Smile.

and repeat.

Repeat.

Repeat

repeat.

Until the feelings I have lost
The warmth of your embrace
The hope I find once again
View more poems on my instagram
www.instagram.com/SkullsNB0nes
Stevie Ray Jul 2016
I was an empty slate once
And young
Now I am filled with
With what exactly?
With what that makes up
My identity
With fragments that make up
The way I love
With what that attracts
And all those things that I discard
And all those things that I want
But don't have
That I'm worth
But beyond reach
And I sit
Upon dying grass
Selfishly for my own needs
They suffer a little bit more
I sigh
Because the slate that I am
Filled with unknowns and fragmentations
All long for balance and question and doubt
Every step I take
Wondering if it leads me closer or further
From the harmony
I unrealistically, desperately seek
Which I know will inevitably lead to the dead end and void that I still feel everyday
nico papayiannis Feb 2016
God is nature, it is the beauty that shines the grace that surrounds, this the deity that holds the prophecy
The wealth of existence the extremities of life, the obstructions and the constructions, they are the dictators
If wind never blew and sun never shone then how would we be
Without the rain and the snow, day and night, how then could we see
When looking for your creator your master, look no further than the grass outside, the trees that bend and sway
God is nature, it's written in the stars,  the pinnacle of vision can surely be the space that surrounds the space we occupy,.
The sheer magnitude of our existence measured against the seemingly infinite darkness that caresses and toys with us , like a newborn in its mothers clutches,, so greatly misunderstood by such a vast majority, its very presence strikes  to the core of your soul, forcing the mind to question, the mind shall, and does answer with an explanation that will either be satisfactory, enough and will incur no more than an  external  influence dictating to internal workings, or you will dive deeper into the rabbit hole and rest never until truth rhyme and reason homogenize into a vision of perfection that blinds and stuns.
The voice you hear inside is the wind of reason whistling, it is the sound of grass growing , hot lava flowing, the burning crackle of a forest at war , the sound of rain on a concrete floor,
The spirit and your soul, it is the burning glow from the sun and the freezing fragmentations of warmth comfort and hospitality, this is you at large.
M Nov 2019
reaching for the stars
my fingertips grazed the milky way
grasping formless spheres
subtle, undeniable, divine;
luminous flames & shifting
patterns shriveling, expanding,
bursting into brilliant supernovas
surrounding & consuming
me; I’m awash in half-baked light,
wisps of nebula purple, fragmentations
of fantastical celestial cosmos
colliding, collapsing, stumbling;
i'm lost in their luster, their unwitting
instability drenched in calculated recklessness
but the stars seem to elude me
for i come back empty handed
Andie Apr 2018
Kyanized hearts
lusting after tomorrow
maybe these fragmentations,
needing no more than vasopressin,
operate on one simple concept

please keep growing, bigger and fuller
querulous voices expressing their dissent
ridiculous, every last one of them
still, the tree knows, and
tormented, she laments
Part Two
M Mar 2020
Music wafts in static silence as I trace my name in shaky capital letters, wiping away fog clinging to the car window. Night’s darkness envelops us and guitar strums become galactic gore dripping from unnamed heavens, sweeter than honeycomb. Melodies swell and constellations burst like fireworks as owls hoots disturb sleeping children. I’m awash in half-baked light, patterns shriveling, expanding, floating into wisps of purple, fragmentations of fantastical celestial cosmos cool against my fingertips.
Sav Sep 2019
You, frequent writer frequent soul.
******* lover ******* roll.

Gentle as the night touches you,
memories upon memories.

The fragmentations of reality and dreamscape blend.

How do I mend.

What was once scratches on paper, becomes public.

What was once teenage hood infatuation becomes stoic.

There are moments I forget who I am,

and then I remember.

I used to write better poetry.

** took that from me when she took my heart.

— The End —