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Joel Mathew Sep 2019
Before I realised anything, an hourglass stood before me
It stood before me, majestic and strong, sand sizzling down its top
Golden sand so beautiful, like crystals of light stolen from the sun
Encased in glass so clear, like diamond, void of everything but itself

What was it trying to tell me? I didn't know.
My gaze was lost in it, awestricken by curiosity
I crawled around the glass floor inspecting the peculiar object
For it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

As grains of sand hit the bottom, I grew closer to the top
Intimacy led to trust, trust led to kinship, kinship led to family
As grains of sand hit the bottom, I found myself wanting to protect each grain
I found myself wanting to cherish for eternity, each fleeting grain.

As grains of sand hit the bottom, I grew closer to the top. But not close enough.
Close enough to see what secrets the top held
Close enough to understand what this hourglass meant
As grains of sand hit the bottom, I found myself wishing they'd fall faster.

Eventually I stopped growing and the sand slowed down.
My gaze was lost in it, numbed by boredom
What waited at the dreary end? What was the point of any of this?
Filled with questions and no answers, I started clawing at the glass.

It felt wrong. It felt like I was betraying something important.
I had reached a miserable point where I couldn't care less.
Right and wrong were like glass and sand. I kept clawing until the horrendous screeching ceased with a cold cold crack.
The squalid sand poured out onto the glass floor.

The sand scrunched against my feet, it felt... different.
I knew I should fix the ominous crack, but I didn't
My sinful hands felt heavy, it was almost like I didn’t care anymore.
Bitter tears streamed down my face and were soaked into the acrid sand.

Tears for the hourglass it could've been
Tears for the man who felt nothing when he broke it
Tears for the man who'd given up on fixing it.
Tears for the child who was lost in the blissful dunes of oblivion

The sand stopped pouring out, where the crack once was now the glass lay welded
Beside my pathetic hourglass stood hers, the most beautiful hourglass I'd ever seen
Golden sand so beautiful, like crystals of light stolen from the sun
Encased in glass so clear, like diamond, void of everything but itself.

Beauty in simply existing, ambition in each sizzling grain
Audacity to dream dreams for a tomorrow
I knew none of those so I copied her hoping
Someday I'd be able to stand beside her as her equal

In her I saw myself, a fascinated child beside his hourglass
Her existence rekindled a flame within, sparked by determination
Lost in my hourglass I realised the unfathomable potential in each grain
Conceiving the myriad of grains coursing through the glass... a latent being awakened

With that the gears of the cosmos were clanked into motion
And for the first time, I heard winds howl in this windless plane
Winds of fate, winds of time, winds from the birth of continuum
Propelling me towards the point where the sun melts sand to glass

Propelling me towards the singularity where a God is born.

And thus the saga began and the timeless grains of sand fell
As the final grain fell my entire life flashed before my eyes, and by far
the  most important grains were: the first that birthed my existence, and the other, when I found out why
As the final grain fell, I closed my weary eyes, smiling, seeing the most beautiful hourglass I'd ever seen.
I tried to express what my life was like the past year and my journey in discovering my purpose. I still haven't but when I do I think it'll be something like this.
Sophia Granada Nov 2012
Sweet-lipped Psyche's pale white skin
All the men in Greece dragged in.
And the poor girl's dark brown eyes
Led Aphrodite her to despise.
For Psyche truly was a beauty,
Reputed as brighter than Aphrodite.
If Aphrodite was a dark red rose,
Of which we've written poetry and prose,
Psyche was a pure-white Aganisia
For which they wrote a deep-sea saga.
But she knew it was sore unwise
To find herself level with a Goddess' eyes.
The only proof needed for Psyche
Was the sad fate of the maiden Arachne,
Who challenged Athena to a weaving contest,
And though her tapestry was judged the best,
It was she that ended as the melancholy loser,
For Athena punished her with the life of a spider.
And so it was that Psyche knew
Aphrodite wold claim her life too.
So Aphrodite sent her son,
The lovely, winged, holy one,
Whose golden arrows fly at night
And relieve bored lovers of their plights.
She sent Eros to shoot his arrow
And pierce it through to Psyche's marrow,
Then set before her a crocodile,
The scaly terror of the Nile,
With which she'd fall in love straightway,
And then she'd come to rue the day.
For crocodiles have no love to give,
So it would eat her, and she'd cease to live.
On the sleeping Psyche Eros descended,
Long before the night had ended,
In whose dainty breast to shove
A golden arrow poisoned with love.
He prepared to bury it to the hilt,
But a drop of love on him was spilt,
At the moment he saw her eyes, dark brown,
Look to him and stare him down.
Then Eros went back to his mother
And told her he could not wed another
Who did not shine quite so brightly
As his sweet-lipped brown-eyed Psyche.
So spiteful Aphrodite cursed
Psyche through her red lips pursed,
That the girl would find no husband
Among God, animal, or man.
And Eros this so greatly angered
He could no more with arrows linger
At the foot of lovers' beds
To foster love in their young heads.
The entire world then ceased to love
Whether it walked on foot or hoof.
Whether it swam or flew on wing
It could not love nor gain others' loving.
When love no longer circulated,
Aphrodite it aggravated
To see her temple lying bare
And to feel the gray growing in her hair.
She told Eros he'd have what he desired
If only he would kindle love's fires.
So at the mountain, Psyche's family offered her
And she was borne away on the back of Zephyr
To Eros' golden gay abode
That he and his ghostly servants called home.
In the golden rooms she wandered by daylight,
But she lay with Eros in the dark when came night.
She knew not who her darling was,
But called her ignorance a test of trust.
Never to look upon him by day,
She continued in this way,
Until she longed to visit her family,
Which her husband granted her gladly.
But he held her, and he warned her
Not to let her sisters persuade her.
"They may try to tear you away
By telling you gruesome stories." he'd say.
Then, trippingly, from Olympus she jumped down
To walk the streets of her hometown.
She told her sisters her whole story
And they turned it into something gory.
"He could be a serpent," they'd say,
"Fattening you up for the day
When he can pop you in his mouth and eat you"
Unfortunately, she took their words as true.
"So, when he comes to you at night,
Just gaze on him by candlelight!
If he's a serpent, use this knife,
And you'll no longer be his wife.
But make sure not to spill the oil,
Or his waking will cause great turmoil!
We'll find out about that young buck!
Use the candle, the knife, don't spill, and good luck!"
She walked back to the palace at their behest,
Butterflies banging within her chest.
Could the faceless man with whom she'd spent her nights
Be revealed as a serpent by candlelight?
She did not have to wait for long
To prove her treacherous sisters wrong.
As she lay in the great soft bed,
The instructions tangled inside her head,
And lighting the candle, she almost fumbled,
But when she saw his face, she truly stumbled!
Eros' beauty knocked her senseless,
Leaving mortal Psyche defenseless,
And causing her to spill the oil, which smoldered
On Eros' godly golden shoulder.
He, awaking with a start
Was disappointed to his heart
That Psyche cold be so unfaithful
And make a decision so egregiously fatal.
Then, jumping from the casing, he flew
Out of Psyche's lustful view.
And she, for her part, suddenly found
That from the palace she'd been cast down
To a field of which she had no memory,
Or very dim, if she had any.
In despair, she began to flounder,
Then resigned herself to wander
Until she came to a temple edifice,
Which was, on Earth, Aphrodite's face,
And begged the unseen Goddess hear her out,
Trying her patience with childish whining shouts.
Aphrodite, trying only to divert,
Cast a basket of grains down to the dirt,
And told the weeping lovely malcontent
That if she sorted the grains 'fore day was spent,
She just may see her sweetheart once again.
All she had to do was sort the grain.
But Psyche, though her fingers were dainty and thin,
To separate the grains could not begin,
And sobbing, lay upon the stony floor
That was as cold as the Goddess had acted before.
The ants, which had been drawn to the golden grain,
Bore her load and relieved her of her pain.
In their famously sure and straight black line,
They each picked up a piece of grain so fine
That it might with ease pass through a needle,
And into order they the sweet grain wheedled.
Then at the very setting of the sun,
Aphrodite found the task was done,
And though she praised the poor girl outwardly,
Inside she felt the bloom of hate for Psyche.
So she set her down on one side of a stream,
Where on the other was a field of green,
In which lived Helios' golden sheep
From which she was to obtain some shining fleece.
Then Aphrodite left her there to play,
And flew to Mount Olympus far away.
But Flumen, God of Rivers, raised his head
To warn sweet Psyche from his riverbed
That the sheep were so fierce, if she but pulled one hair,
They'd all turn on her and eat her then and there.
It was better if she waited 'til midday
When the sheep lay down to sleep the heat away.
Then she could cross where the river rushes,
And pick the wool that had got caught in the bushes.
So Psyche followed Flumen's good advice,
And for Aphrodite's cruelty she paid no price.
Aphrodite's blood boiled when she saw
That Psyche had survived it after all.
Again, she tried to send her to her death
And charged her to collect water from a cleft
Which mortal humans could not enter,
And in which serpents would surely spend her.
But now it was an eagle came to her aid,
Who stormed inside and flew between the snakes,
Then picked a pouch of water in its beak,
And back out of the cleft to Psyche it sneaked.
Aphrodite, at her dastardly wit's end,
Devised a horrible place for her to Psyche send.
"Psyche, caring for my ailing son
Has drained each drop of beauty, every one,
From my former glory of a face.
Therefore, I command you to that place
Where Persephone dwells. Then you must beg
For some of her beauty, just a tiny dreg.
Then you may have my son, I give my promise,
As holding him from you has marred my face."
Then Psyche, with tears streaming from her eyes,
Decided the only way there was to die.
In what she had appointed her fatal hour,
She climbed up to the top of a high tower,
But her melancholy was so disturbingly great,
All the Universe moved to it abate,
So that the very tower she climbed upon,
Awoke and spoke to her as if a person.
"Psyche, there is a way to the Underworld alive,
So that you need not from my roofing dive."
And to the Underworld the tower gave her
A route and some directions just to save her,
Then it sternly warned her that not of meat,
Nor of anything but bread in Hades could she eat.
So she followed the Tower's path back down
And disappeared into the heaving ground.
And when she found herself before Persephone's throne
She asked to take a parcel of her beauty home,
Which the emotionless Queen of the Screaming ******
Without word placed in Psyche's quivering hand.
The hardest part of the impossible task being done,
Psyche headed back up toward the sun,
And, reasoning that she was to see her beloved before nightfall,
Decided to use some beauty from the parcel.
Inside she found not beauty, but a stifling sleep,
Which forever in its clutches would she keep
If Eros had not chancely happened by,
And wiped Persephone's sleep from Psyche's eye.
Then, carrying her on his back, he barged
Into the Hall of the Olympian Gods.
He bade them let him wed himself and Psyche
And disregard the protests of Aphrodite.
Then Jupiter, indeed, allowed it obligingly,
For he was a man who greatly enjoyed a party.
Ambrosia she was given so to seal
Her immortality and place her among the surreal.
Then after many years of love and laughter,
Psyche bore Hedone, their lovely daughter.
This is how the beauty of the Human Soul,
Triumphed over the beauty of lust and gold.
All this Eros and Psyche had to take.
All this they endured for their love's sake.
They demonstrate the purity of love,
That is admired by Gods above.
In the end, it is the pure Mariposa
Who is more deserving of ambrosia.
There were some Mountains.
Storms raged.
Stone split.
Time wore on.
And there great heights,
were reduced to tiny Grains.
Millions of tiny Grains.
Heat and air.
And then Glass.
So much beauty.
From such beauty as before it.
And in reflection of the beauty it is gifted to.
You.
The Good Pussy Oct 2014
.
                                  Dairy
                       ­      Grains Meat
                           **** Fruit and
                         Vegetables Dairy
                             Grains Meat
                             ****    Fruit
                             an d    V ege
                             tables  Dairy
                             Grains Meat
                             ****    Fruit
                             and   V e g e
                             tables Dairy
                             Grains Meat
                             ****     Fruit
                             a n  d    Vege
                             tables  Dairy
                  Grains Meat **** Fruit and
                Vegetables Dai  ry Grains Meat
                  ****  Fruit  an  d   Vegetables
                     Dairy Grains    Meat ****
xx Mar 2015
Tiny grains of love
I always pick them up
Left-overs of their past
For me they're a must

Tiny grains of love
You're what I'll ever have
You're my golden dust
Something mine that'll last

Tiny grains of love
You're what I must have
Yet a precious sand
That kept slipping through my hands

Tiny grains of love
When will my glass be filled
When will I ever be drunk
When will I ever get to taste

A cup full of love
Carsyn Smith Oct 2015
If we are but grains of sand,
he is a warm embrace and soft kisses as
she is the single pearl ring given to a blushing date.
If we are but grains of sand,
he is the oyster that works like a factory and
she is now part of the bracelet given to the new bride.
If we are but grains of sand,
he is the hands that pries her free but
she is already in the long necklace hanging from the neck of a grieving widow.
If we are but grains of sand,
he is the greatest lie and
she is the most lovely tragedy.
Vicki Kralapp Aug 2012
Grains of sand along love’s shores
has called me back to life once more,
Ignited by the memory
of palm trees that float back to me.

With sweetened kisses in the sand
and dances to the Marley band.
Along with gracious friends to share
the best that life could ever bear.

Although now life is not the same
as that I’d known before the pain,
of love tossed out by carelessness
and friendship lost with all the rest

But life will not keep this one down,
I’m ready for another round
of fighting for a love to stay
and hold on for another day.

Now love can play its hand again
and take me to that other land.
Where love is all to which I cling
and with this love the dream it brings.

Of happiness and hearts made whole
created for someone to hold.
I have this promise made to be,
a secret made and kept for me.

So when that music calls to me
at last for freedom just to be.
With grains of sand between my toes
I have at last found me at home.
All poems are copy written and sole property of Vicki Kralapp.
Bri Neves Aug 2012
Sand grains
Caught in my pores
Contain the outdoors
And maintain my glow
Where the water pours.
They shall wash only
With salt water—
More grains to replace
Whatever remains.
I want to capture every joyous life
And sink it into memory.
Let me breathe soon after I think I’m drowning
And explore these waters I seize.
Sand grains—collecting inside me
And each is important
For each one has movement.
One may walk along the beach, make footprints, then leave
Or count and carry every footprint they see.
They’re always crying,
“Do you remember me?”
Yes, I remember you
For you are what makes
The surface of the shore
More complex,
The concave holes that make experience
More convex.
Chapter XXVII
Mashiach of Judah V part
Miracle VI - Gethsemane / Maasefa


Preface

In this chapter in particular I want to clarify the revelation of three fundamental phases of the outcome of this chapter of Judah.

a) The subsequent phase after the Stable in Bethelem (Kafersuseh) will lead to the neurochemical conformation of the energies subtracted from the visions in the stable, exclusively from the roof before the intervention of the Cherubs with their four wings, just like the Lepidoptera ( butterflies), incurring in an original messianic nexus provided with pheromone sensitivity and chemical activation in the pollinations of bumblebees, bees, and wasps, to regenerate the species of Olivo Barnea, to consolidate the language and perpetuate it as a dialect of Messiah.

b) From this phase itself, the phylogeny is subtracted as kinship between species or taxa in general from tree species and wild plants. Although the term also appears in historical linguistics to refer to the classification of human languages according to their common origin, the term is used mainly in its biological sense. The symbiosis of both interactions will intervene in the juxtaposition of "Joshua is born and dies in the instant" when he is born in the stable "but his analogy Gethsemane and Golgotha, the two" G ", will recreate the salvific miracle and anticipation of the Scourge that it will suffer, but that the Hexagonal Progeny (Men and animal species and insects) will intervene with the salvific action from the caverns to gather the dry bones of humanity. It also makes us the exception of Shibboleth, comparative of Gaaladitas and Efraitas, to standardize the language as a probity to recompose the intra-social scale (use of the language indicative of social or regional origin, identifying the members of a group, in a kind of password), which appeals to changes in the use of phonetics in terms of difference and to aspire to reorder social disagreements, caused by major conflicts, including the loss of concomitant civilizations and their patrimonial socio-cultural niche, therefore of the Aramaic as a thread of anticipated signal of a beginning of communicative intention and preservation of messianic language)

c) Physical, mental, geophysical and spiritual elemental energies will mutate the adherence of the Aramaic dialect with the pollen duct generated in the Barnea olive species, creating a relationship of chemical change in them deified in favor of a new "Vernarth Berne" , with the interaction of the isotope that will generate the inclusion of a proton that will mutate the chemistry of divination and connectivity with the (Heavenly Father - Abba in the Garden), in such a way that the methodological lines of anticipation will prosper on the night of the rapture by the Sayones before being taken to the Lithostroto to be scourged, to interpret the power of his gospel.

d) And for the consequent emeritus synchronization of the Maasefa dry bone conjunction caves, unleashing the awareness of the awakening of protection before, during and after the events that occurred at the culmination of his death. This will delve into the three chemical sediments interacting with each other, the Aramaic language enchanting the univocal and eternal root to always have it in Gethsemane, the revelation of the phylogeny as a determining entity for the consolidation of the geophysical-animal world and the transcendent soul that intervenes among the stars.  Of the everlasting creation on the crescent Moon eleven days before, and the Sun -Shemesh astonishingly at the degradation of the human species and all its feelings of loss of unconfessed existence.

e) Experiencing and surviving the indecisions and fears of recognition of exposing and externalizing the calls of the antro caverns that have allowed us to escape the threats, but from there towards the reverberation in the same tune of a Calvary, in the basins of a skull , taking refuge to serve and look from the optics of the shining with the gold of the ears of wheat in your dreams. Gethsemane and Golgotha are the set of the "G" that generates endo-trauma in the throat and a global skeletal bone set, that wanting to relive the call of the Messiah, from the Neck of Heaven rising roughly through your throat, forever and through the Centuries of the Centuries.

f) The poetics that led me to write this poetic essay in this chapter (it is the same depressing unconsciousness of having a body already abandoned and without Soul, but in my own without understanding anything), this tends to describe how history us teaches that there are phenomena that are difficult to capture for sure, but that from the extra mediumistic sensibilities, emerge from where our consciousness does not discover what makes the divine exponential canonically intuitive spiritual power, or the external machine of multiple serial spirit systems, that they besiege and show us their Firmament, and that few times we will actually be able to enter them from deep within from the activation date our hyper consciousness, and the level of travel that leads to the abandonment of our intro meditation.


They were all stationed on the northeast *****, Eurydice arrived with her essences full of birds surrounding her, and she could not hold them due to the invasion of these surprising birds. They were all sitting on the stones of the garden; they were all resting with their heads on the Svein Tzora stones.


Vernath says: "The stone of Gethsemane", on grains and crystals are soaked with the spheres of the stone of the Mashiach. She showed them the meekness before the hardness that could be distinguished compared to limestone or clayey, full of sedimentary grains that devastate the igneous ones from where some voices of her holocaust were left over, compared to marrying her corporeal materiality with the aramic syllable embedded in a undressed and silent bustle, of everything and little petulant organic element coexisting in his morpho figure. This graphs the consonance with the demonstrations of passion by his followers embedding themselves in a stone with multiple and sharp cuts, as if taking the grains out of a pomegranate with his law of 613 grains that are enough to stipulate them and to break the lithosphere of the messianic referendum of his sacrificed law on the lithostroto. No barrier will stop us from surpassing this lithosphere, which so coldly separates us from the rebirth of a body that takes root beyond the cracks of Gethsemane, as do olive trees growing on the same stones, pretending to be in a mansard. The will of a destiny under a stone, admits arrogant concerns to startle that “He was there, and his destiny condemned him”, but “My Father, if possible, let this cup pass from me; but that it is not as I want, but as You want ...”, equivalent to relating stones for all the cups, as long as the will is of the Abba”, thus the stones are relieved, and our pride weighs less than the subterranean immortality.

Saint John says: “That it is agony; it is nothing more than supporting in our dreams the heavy shadow of his burden. The stone does not fit through the interstices of dreams, but its image weighing on the symbolism of being part of it, more than all hailstorms, being the scene of a sin near the disciple family and their dejection that runs where a curtain runs towards the resurrection. The thick drops are thick grains of the pomegranate in the Via Dolorosa, being thick stones falling from the universe and rubbing against the Sun and the Moon, falling on Him as well. Today on this day that the tribulation of an eternal night is confessed that never clarified, it will start to rain interrupting for days running backwards, since several syllables were left without catechizing before climbing from where the wind of Elijah called him Mashiach. Venerable Mashiach, always close to you leaping from the red sea, like a pomegranate like the food of a Father among waves of his sea! We are once again celebrating Holy Week and we have thought it appropriate to write this work on the Gethsemane stone, a gifted scene of his arrest, caused by the petty betrayal of all the Judases in the world. Mashiach, lonely in his full youth of thirty-three years in verses of his Aramaic succumbing on the arms of his Abba, He takes him and wraps him with his arms to defend him from the darkness, shedding blood and tears on a cracked stone, beyond the heavens of greater grenades in his hands revealing will that exceeds the levels of being rescued more times. There is a bitter taste of fruit, of course, but it tastes like a red planting of the rock, dry red that is not emanated from anything, but that if it brings us the generous hand that ceases pain and affliction, it produces sweet sleep even with irons. Forged entering through the middle of your carpal hands and tarsal feet. With the pantomime of our morbid, we stretch our arms on your refined cross, but without the conscience of the ******* trial of not experiencing the iron in our questioned soul, without crucified skin that in the epidemic the beast gave the punishment to its skin between screams and uncouth crying that if it occurs towards him, rather under the bitterness of a hammered heartless cup and inert stone that runs westwards seeking the voices of its pious mother. The sip of the sunset was swallowed in the sadness of my life that begins to be reborn every time it was lost and lifeless without feeling it as mine. I sleep in vigil on the flames of the stand of the stones of fire, and I fall asleep because others will not wake me on the edge of the one that cuts my game in flames. What cowardly courage accumulating in a depersonalized spilled heart ... what hours will have to pass without feeling them, to date the entry into her body of burning iron towards the sacrifice and not that of the. "Let it remain here on this stone with a fruitful shape, because it will not burst with impatience, rather with tears from grains of pomegranates." What a stronger bitterness than seven days in a row turning to my usual sweet sin, to end them abandoned without savoring it. For the first time I understand, since I have returned from exile that its Aramaic smells like grains of fruit and the syllables of the hundreds that are… are whipped like mega words that smell like its ***** trunk in solitude and abandonment. Its trunk like mine, stone of tree skin, of vile whips lost in the frieze of its temple breaking its head bark, crying its groans in full reconverted hopes of a crown into a hidden thorn. They are stuck in a grain of purple pomegranate, defeating the ailment of those who dared to martyr him in the pain that runs through his frozen veins ..., which is not sifted even by the brave poor; as it is to say by voice of the wealthy spirit helping you. "Being prepared and not, because I will not be the one who falls more times than falls from a stone rendered as stone dust where I have to go and where I have to be reborn"


Maasefa
Stone dust

"You are made of stone and you will become stone", were the words of communion in Gethsemane, from the stone of the Mashiach prayer, signaling the expression of freedom and the cessation of the oligarchy of belonging to the world doctrine of dimensional physical slavery , and its penetrating solidity of the stones that the priests made in the catacombs in times of consecration of loved ones to a centile universe of the orthodox spirituality. Here are the carved stones, such as those of the Sanhedrin that were gathered in the building known as the Hall of Carved Stones (Lishkat Ha-Gazith), which for this purpose will be the conservation of the ossuaries of the high authorities and common citizens, having the Maasefa's prerogative, which must consist in gathering the bones of all the reduced ones after a year that are completely hermetic in the assigned catacombs. Through this proximity of low spaces and recondite, the vague wandering of prescribing to approach the salvific redemption grows, awaiting the projection of the expired ancestors in the source of eternal life respected for the Mashiach (Messiah), to shelter us in their illusion in beauty brotherhood before being resurrected.

The Hexagonal Primogeniture, would go for the wading of making the nucleus of the nearby stones of the oratory of the garden towards an honorable mention of elaborating concavities in the geology of the garden, so that from the leftover dust of the carved stonemason the alliance of the Aramaic verb of cloistering is manufactured and the devotion of the members in each stone cell, and the explosion of the Aramaic verb speaking infinitely of the Father-Son analogy. In such a way that the translucent particles will be spread by the rhizomes of the Olivos Barnea species; deriving to Bern for the posthumous tribute of Vernarth, considered a Champion of the conservation and cenacle of living and extinct organic bones, such as the aforementioned case of the Apostle, before gathering as elemental dust of the Maasefa of Joshua before the completion of the retreat of the Garden of Gethsemane .

Shofar, sistrum, harp, and cymbals resound through the wise night and its star sign, before scouring the nearby veins to complete the Maasefa. They all sleep together that night touching heels in matrix phases to start a day with the force of stonework from left to right for allegory of the Menorah that never strays from the magnetized night. They get up at twenty to four at the beginning of the ritual. An hour and a half before sunrise they were in the purple sunrise stratum, on the layers of divinity tinged with the conscious subtlety of the creator in our being levitating. Its consequences rise before their bodies ..., evolving towards the hegemonic process on the layer of the nascent mineralogy that was going to intervene, which was oratory of the synchronic Mashiach or Messiah. Under it, Vernarth would begin to pierce, looking for the dimensional spaces of the search for its physiognomic extension adaptable to that of everyone and the evolving memory that separated the entrance from the Sun and the Moon on glasses waiting to be filled and drunk at noon. Eleven days before the Ekadashi (full moon) began. Thus, in this way they would sculpt the catacomb fanned into twelve simultaneous rocks that were in a perfect limbic diametrical circle, the line of the garden with its physical movements in congruence with the moon and the consciousness that matches it, like that alert of that fateful night in which he was abducted. In perfection with the oscillating vibration that is expanding in front of the cold back of the stone, analogically when the Mashiach vibrated in physical magnitude and in the absence of alert, but emotionally yes, after dialoguing with his Abba. The tremulous line that it covered was widely displaced further since it was transported towards the Edicule isotope, as an element of flight, escape, detonation and resignation, being able to find in the configured nature of fuss of a great variety of different isotopes as mass.  Which to a great extent will exceed in the cumulative gasified reaction,  and in purifying events that will occur at fifteen hours on Good Friday, when the prophetic events and the mischievous changes of evidence of the cataclysm expire on the cross and in the hands. The eclipsed sun, storm with depressed losses and cataclysm for a world that will sleep more than 1,700 years to the right, creating the consciousness of being in more than two conscious places, with the minimum and childish aspect of the remaining second that is divided between the before and after the physical and physiological abandonment, beginning in a final episode and of conclusive torment that precedes a culminating beginning. All this transformation of enclave and of energetic dimension allowed them to synchronously drill the sediment rocks that were thus sustained in the timid energy, generating electromagnetism of the field of the higher will. Thus, in the tunnels, all were drilling; they would be of the same mass category as the isotopes to manifest the energy and its dynamic charge, as a mass of occlusive energy that would explode on the martyrdom day of Golgotha.

Faced with this phenomenon of energy, it underlies the symmetry of the magnetic field created synchronously with the words emitted in the Aramaic word, comparing them with the reminiscences that must be poured in the twelve caverns of the garden, such as conversions and exchanges of the exhalations of the bees , bumblebees and wasps, in the universe of curve that transits the explosiveness of lines that approach the ratio of the dislocation of vibrations and their sound frequencies. Together with pollination as a genetic element of the fresh macerated chlorophyll and as a kinetic in the elytra of the Lepidoptera  with the indications of connecting the clan with the aforementioned electromagnetic energies. The interaction of the fields within the system will be induced between Golgotha and Gethsemane, they will establish electrical charges that will produce the gases and liquids that will intervene in the entire lithosphere, which unites both portions of soils, this created the interaction of particles, establishing the undermining of the rocks with the shapes of the Calota de Calavera basins, due to the geological conformation of the radius that surrounds both predicted areas. From this pattern, the caverns in the garden will be improvised, magnetizing the areas of vibration that depend on each other.

It seeks to interrelate a magnetic and electrical phenomenon between both areas; The impulse is derived to anticipate the forebodings of the Mashiach, and from how he was going to endure such torments towards his illustrious body in such a way as to electromagnetically retransmit it between the transmission bridge of the Garden and the admission bridge to Golgotha. This will trigger all subsequent supernatural and geological phenomena during the day of his crucifixion and the delicacy that will be glimpsed by decree of an execution against humanity and orthodox fanaticism, causing a sensitive correspondence of the transmission of faith and the dogma of attending to the physical work and mystical legacy to safeguard for successive generations in the Berna Olivar species, nodding correlation with the majestic and axiomatic cultivation of preservation under the catacombs, as the unalterable progeny of the concelebrating of the eternal relationship of lineage coalition united with the feeling and consciousness of Christian Eternity. This gravitational potential energy will attach the multi-aramic effect to all attendees, to confer dialogue, assimilate and consent to a dynamic supra-lingual, organic and historical heritage channel, on the basis of a monumental act of consanguinity before all will, "Here are all the alphas, on the Omegas." Creating complex harmonic movements between the caverns of impiety,  but with a perfect and refactioning equation with the rescued Prayer in Aramaic towards the universe in quasi-presence periods, but not verifiable until the salvific prayer ritual is concluded.

The chain reaction of this divine particle will be the opposite charge of the reaction of the active work area of tension consolidation between both columns, Golgotha and Gethsemane, both are started with "G" and if you turn it in any direction around it you make a perfect skull of no more than twelve kilometers, whose distance in direct line would certainly be crossing the eternal vision through the ocular concavities, demonstrating that at the level of analogy and esoteric analysis, the extended reciprocity of the supra value of consciousness is latent divine, from where the emission of the word and the will "the shell or head skeleton" in the sense of reduced material and the antimatter particle that would become where the universes intersect in the elite of direct mercy (one has already occurred , but the other sphere of the difficult concavity still has to go ..., only a Messiah will have to cross it when it returns to us again). This Eclipse of the Messiah of the Sun, is a dark aspect of anemic light, torment and of three maries, vindicating in this superficial love token in the Orchard of antimatter rooted in the anti particle, which evades this great event by lavishing its blessed spiritual figure, charged with ambivalent theological antimatter; of egregious trust and bipartisan univocity but failing for the dark mercy on Golgotha and luminous in the garden of Gethsemane. "His body trembled and the Earth too"

Shibboleth

Incorporating the Shibboleth for distinction of members of a group, such as the tribe of Efraim, whose dialect lacked a sound (S), unlike others, such as the Gileadites, whose dialect did include it? Shibboleth is a spike and also celebrates the fertility of wheat crops and all concomitant species of the natural and endemic species of central Judah. And the Gileadites seized the fords of the Jordan River to Ephraim, and when one of the Ephraim who had fled said, Shall I pass? Those of Gilead asked him: Are you Ephraim? If he answered no, then they said to him: Well, say "shibboleth". And he said sibboleth, because he could not pronounce that luck. Then they seized him and slaughtered him.  And so forty-two thousand of the Ephraim died.

The relevance of this event is to begin the Maasefa ritual, for the reunion of the spiritual roots, bones and genealogical of the beings close to the Messiah, they will have to infuse in these franchises, to be derived to the area of the twelve caverns that are being elaborated for the closing and closing of the ring of the passionate and energetic journey of the Word of the Messiah, its renewal and interaction with the psychic spiritual world and its consciousness, in the coexistence of animal nature, indoctrinating civilizations of coexistence in a state of cyclical normality , but renovating when released by the contending magnetic forces that made the whole ring that surrounds Gethsemane and Golgotha a magnet tunnel of great mystical conversion for the purpose of adaptability and preservation of the renewed pollinations of bumblebees, bees and wasps in view of a commonwealth molding and spreading in all spheres of faith and apotheosis of the pre act of departure of the Messiah to the judgment and punishment of its truth. After defeating their scourge in a stunned journey, they will fall with the great similarity of the verb that "Betrays and Forgives", the Universe in its creation that renews everything, because that is how it has been written since the beginning of the Universe and by the one who dictated it ". Shibboleth, will congenial differences of understanding, without prejudices and differences of vertical geographical, anthropological, cultural and divine linguistic mentions. "Our informal culture is preserved within the village houses by resisting the scourge of victorious death, within the cave that protects us in its infinite goodness and compassion"
                                      

Maasefa and the Valley of Dry Bones

At the appointed time the Svein Tzora, "flint stones", collide to ignite the fire of the Messiah. The thunder was such that it made the seas pour over the rivers and thunder over the roofs of the houses and fire over the banks of each unfulfilled prayer! They all get up, each one leaving each cave of their Calvary; they go to the meeting of the Dry Bones. The tradition of gathering the bone component that has no soul, everything deviates towards the request of the flesh for its soul. Like the account of the Prophet Ezekiel five hundred years B.C. There are many outstanding remains of skeletons, this would be resumed in Gethsemane, for the descendants of the son of the Messiah caste, the Cherubim with the lepidoptera twenty meters from the Svein Tzora will donate the light and heat to start the ritual of the dim light of the moon. It is already a crescent moon, and the dim green lights are shining through the beautiful dim green branches, lighting up the dry earth of the beloved orchard on the face of the Calvary field. The advantageous meats that began to meat the bones, raised the desire to start ultra fast in the oropharyngeal area, to provide solemnity and fulfillment of prophecy of the sacred language of the Aramaic lingual set in tune with the vibrations of waves of sounds of the wind in romance With the blasts of fire towards their faces. In this way the spirit of Jehovah adhered to bring together the primary meeting words of the Bethhelem edicts with the visions of Joshua, so that the stable in their language would issue the immortal edict from the Kafarsuseh stable to Gethsemane. Now everything was holy energy in union of the lands that made fertile compost and the word was fulfilled.

The valley of the olive trees was reconverted, and they prayed for complacency, all tried in the love of clan and shadow in the accident of the event, the new consciousness will not deprive of anointing the past-present of realization of joy of bones with bones, of laughter with laughter, of father with grandparents, of children with their children, with hands bigger than the hand covered with great spirit, over a valley where only hands with candles should fit in each of them
Chapter XXVII
Mashiach of Judah V part
Miracle VI - Gethsemane / Maasefa
Jon York Apr 2012
Sometimes you must
take a stand, even if you are
just a grain of sand
in the ocean of life,
so you can get
inspired.

Inspiration comes
not from memories
or experiences
but from within and know
that there are no
mistakes only
lessons.

Growth is a process
of trial and error
and lessons
are often repeated
until they are
learned.  

What you make
of your life is up to you
and the answers
that you are looking for
can usually be found
within and you just have
to know when
to begin.

Like the Ocean
carries grains of sand
words carry my love
with sounds and syllables
borrowed from foreign
lands.

They errupt from
a broken heart
or unhealed
wounds and shattered dreams
or forgotten memories
and missed
chances.

I can't speak of yesterday
because there are
so many things
that I could say
but there is no good, bad,
malice or virtue,
only time and
circumstance.

So many loves have
come and gone
that I just let
slip through my hands
like grains of
sand.                        Jon York                                   2012
almat011 Mar 2019
Me pulls to you ..... so strongly attracted to you
color of your skin so ****, ******, and very attractive and beautiful
In my opinion you are the most beautiful in the all universe space, measurement, worlds
My compliments, the truth, and no there is no flattery. In my opinion, this is how looks the most beautiful girl in the world. You are a very beautiful girl. You're a very **** girl. You are perfect. You are a masterpiece. You phenomenon of beauty that can not be repeated. So juicy, so exotic. It seems to me that you have an amazing beauty. You are the most beautiful in the universe all the dimensions of all worlds, you are a supreme being supreme creation, the crown of evolution. You're beautiful melody of love. You are so beautiful, just magic.
You to the point attractive ****. What you want to do countless times having ***.
I only dream if only one your kisses that blossom my soul. And from the touch of your hands on my body, and your lustful-touch for my private parts. I only dream to merge with you forever, body and soul, I only dream of an eternal, continuous *** only with you alone. I only know one thing, that I will forever love only you
Only at your most beautiful, stripped the body, you want to watch and view forever.

Every cell and molecule of my body and my soul is overwhelmed with love only for you. I long to be your beloved husband for all eternity and all lives, and even after death

Do you desire, you are perfect. Soup-navel **** genius. Do you like the sound of "the sound of a roaring engine ****** smart cars": VUM) VUM) vuuuuuuuuoooooooooooooooooooooooooommmmmm) You paradise, you're mens happinesse. Easy, clean, gentle, heavenly delight. You dream of a lifetime. You're pretty unrealistic. On even to the extent to which she can be beautiful, it's just unbelievable. You are the best gift of fate. Before your powerful ****** charm simply irresistible. You're the most beautiful girl in the whole universe. It's a great, great. You luxurious gem. This delicate pearl skin, you sample the true human beauty and femininity. All the other girls compared to you quite simply uy) uy) uy) uy) uy), believe me you are very vip **** girl. Most also come up on the throne of honor honored the goddess, the great pedestal. Majestic music sounds, so subtly and sensitively praising your beauty for you. In your arms a man feels in the higher realms of pleasure. **** regal lioness. Graceful affectionately snarling tigress. Puff) bang) bang) bang) bang) mega glue your beauty kills all competitors by felling. Amazingly beautiful. Sultry, cool and ****-Mego. You are elite, you're a lux, you extra class Your beauty captivates the hearts of men. The queen of all men, divinely beautiful, majestic lady. **** kitten. Mens ******* myself in the pants, with excitement at the sight of you. My heart you certainly won. Imagine that you are on the sandy planet, and every speck of gold pure gold, these grains of sand, the golden thoughts about you and only about you. You stunned, and I from you noodle. You just incredible girl, unbelievable. You're a *** symbol. You is Brand, (dreaming about you) cool, greattbl, superebl. You're like a beautiful peacock, revealing to the people the infinite perfection of their external and internal beauty. Words gently kiss and hug. The outline playful. Queen of ardent passion, so a bit awe velvet body. You idol of femininity and nature ... anywhere in the world to find such a beautiful sight as yours, which is just crazy, captivating with their enchantments of love, and you can not escape from the past and it is impossible to pass, look pierces the tenderness of their feelings.
you thermonuclear *** bomb you lux extra class.
Your passionate gaze iceberg melt. A look of love, perfect beauty. You are an incredibly beautiful girl, you're a mega-explosion of a nuclear bomb.  Boooooooooooooooooooommmmmmmmm), a brain explosion, demolition of all its rivals mega wave. Sweet, sweet as honey. You're sweeter than any candy. You have the talent to charm the guys for their beauty. Your beautiful image of a gentle heart overflows with love for you. Goddess of all men. You are the most gentle in the world. You are wonderful. You as a model in these photos. Original and stylish. Pretty number one in the world. You like to radiate special energy of love and pulling for you. With you all the time you want to be, always and forever. With no one way can not be as good as you. You are infinitely deep and beautiful as the universe itself. Because it is simply not possible. After all, you're stylish, cool, cool. As you have all that is in the ideal image of a woman. Fantastically beautiful. Moon Flower, gently shimmering in the sunlight. How beautiful are your eyes, like a mermaid I want to plunge back to see you sitting on his throne, beautiful creature mermaid her voice beckons you, only your arms, I shall find eternal rest. Awesome adhesive modest. I can not believe my own eyes, how beautiful you are.  you like cream with chocolate .... same tender .... sweet ...... "Your charm charms as analgesia. Do you use it perfectly. Beautiful eyes look like hypnosis. Such a nice warm look. Concealing in itself a treasure of delicate beauty. Infinite height. from that soars from the love of you soul. I like your figure beautiful nymph ... I conquered your soft intriguing, mysterious look ... marvelous sweet charm tempts and drags a.
You are my sweet dream.
I give myself to you forever.
Your loyalty and sincere love.
That's all I want.
You only one I ever want.
You are my love, my fondest wish.
Your photo makes me so *****
I wait from you of reciprocity and understanding.
My word is my tongue that gently caresses your skin and soul.
Gentle and sweet flesh of thy nothing in this universe is not.
Hot passion of your reality in this I do not find.
My words and my eyes tell you only one thing.
The best you never find.
In) during) during) during) during) during) during) during) during) during) Check it out, acclaimed, reviewed, look. Composed for you, about you, tenderly loving s) a) a). **** Barbie, Babe attractive, graceful lady, tender crumb, kitty) kitty) charming cat, sweet baby. One only your smile, this is a great victory and the men feat. Rather Go up to the throne of the goddess honored the great pedestal. Lyrical music sounds just as sensitively and subtly praising your infinite beauty for you. You're a real beauty icon. Designed for real mens, and gentlemen. Vuuuuuuuufffffffffff) tuff) tutuf) tutuf) speak very gently and quietly) tshshshshshshshsh) sounds quiet hypnotic music of love) I'm fascinated by your sensual, delicate charms, leads to you inexplicable wonderful attraction, about how beautiful your magic your charms so vague and so beautiful like brave a charming dope) of your charismatic charm my calls so subtly, subtly and clearly, so sensuously and easily, fervently and passionately, and so ****, ****, cute and appetizing, attractive, beauty, beckoning your temptation, seduction, you're tempting, seductive life you my call, just you alone all the time waiting and call about how much obsession, just the warmth of your feelings gently warms and the confluence of feelings showers my thy soul seizes you soft velvet and silk, you're hot sweet gentle sweetness) only happiness) happiness) and serenity) verily, thou great priceless personality, being at the mercy of your hot emotions and sweet emotion, want to be in them always and forever), I gain peace and paradise on earth, the gentle heat of your mouth, and the warmth of your tender eyes , takes in the wonderful world of your bliss, perfect minute clock, and second only to you, and I want to be just with you, because you have life, you're my only reality, you are my world and the whole universe, keep true allegiance to you, and I just

quietly and timidly say that the only one you love. Without you, life is impossible. You're perfect, you're Suite) glossy, glamorous cute Moore) Moore) Cutie) Ya) ya) dastish fantastish) perfecto) shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiik) You just mmmmmmmmmmm). This sweeeet) beautifuuuuuuuuul) well just aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhh) pass out of love for you. Being with you is the continuous buzz, yummy relish) you so photo-film ****-genic photogenic, for movie movie-genic, urrrrrr). We humbly bow to your greatness, great, beautiful goddess, you are perfection. You cool muse, you're cool motif gives your beautiful image of a mega positive, you're a real Kulnev neo) neo) creative, "you're a real jackpot, juicy freshshshshshshsh)" you're the main leitmotif of this world, you're center of the world, a great Bagheera, the pearl of the world. Yes it's true because I think you only one I admire. The idol of all idols, the goddess of all goddesses. Take my word, because it's all true, and I sincerely hope that you give me at least not much pleased. Chorus: "You're **** Bugatti, Maserati best, fastest Ferrari, Pagani elegant. You stylish Bentley, luxury lambordizhni, royal Rolls Royce, wonderful noise voice, only for a cool boys ", voo tyzh) bad, whip. Your extraterrestrial beauty in a nutshell is this: "beautiful and saucily". And I long to see your gentle green light. abruptly, clearly, accurately, rarely smooth, sweet, stylish, strong, powerful, precise, transcripts, honorable. When you're near everything it is not important, so slow and so pointless. Great, great, grand girl yooo) Great, great, grand girl yooo) Great, great, grand girl yooo) ...... Yop) Thank you exist, let sit next to you, take my word for all this is not flattery, be your this is such a great honor, but this is a boon to any man, veeeest) Because you are the most cherished love and the dream of every man. Oooo) Olya-la-la **** figure in this world only you. All attention is focused only on you, everything pales in comparison around with you, and I want to be next only to you, but you pridnalezhat one. You are luxuriously best bust, sweet with sweet lips and mega **** predatory gaze from his amorous feelings rage, my wash only about you say, look what they do to me from the love of you are doing, your beautiful image on forever in itself charms shining, inspires, subordinates, intoxicating. **** goddess. Number one in the world. My low bow only to you) worship only you) Uffffffff) When you're around, getting hot, bright, nice, snip) snip) Vuoks) as a flamethrower let go the flame of his fine feelings, heart pounding more often you zhzhosh not for children, I want to see often, so sultry, beautiful, navel-soup finally, uhhhhhhhhhhh) love is so strong that even begins to hurt the heart. Luxury queen of all parties and catwalks, you unattainable pinnacle, all societies, beeeem) cupid shot of powerful magnum, oooo) complete demolition of all reason, can not hear anything except for you, and now can be seen, only you feel now just you and I I think that I was created just for you. Thank you, thank you, that drew on this as I am. For you, this is only for you, but it's all for you, all for you. I suffer, expect all the time I love you. You're the most desirable woman in the world. Epic, lyric, simpotichnaya) You're beautiful in everything in this world, only you're beautiful. You are endowed with charismatic energy inexplicably beautiful charm ... .ihi) ...... Mochi-mochi-mochi, manenko, manenko, manenko such mainka, mainka, krasotulechka, slyadkaya-slyadkaya girl Lapushka, adorable, cutie, baby, cute flower, candy, umnichka, bird, swallow, Rybonka, kitten, sun-golden-favorite-of-the-most-expensive, good-natured as fluffy hare .................. PSA) PSA) Oooh yeaaah) PSA-PSA) honor) worship, revere, and boundless respect, PSA-PSA) is the only real girl in this PSA, PSA world) you're the most epic, lyrical, lovely) PSA-PSA) you are best of the best, but you have no equal, PSA-PSA) you're the most endowed the title of the most beautiful in the history of mankind, PSA-PSA) you are the most important, the most glorious hero, the only one worthy of a goddess. PSA-PSA) is any place adorn, and instantly all the guys for their beauty by felling you fought, PSA, PSA) and all competitors envy into a deep depression makin PSA-PSA). Because you from herself beauty and eroticism idea tirelessly all its beauty and all are striking. Poetic, exotic, ****** lyrically. Living next to you harmony, grace, take my word, words can not convey, and I want to give you his heart. The sweetest voice only you, the skin so tender and pure, like a beautiful flower, on the face of my delight. So serene, so peaceful and quiet, static, nice and smooth, their places of origin is not in the universe, the soul like a light cloud in the sky hovering, always remembers you, you my love gives. The rays of your love life shines gently nurtures and warms, under your angel wings minds gradually falls asleep. A truly happy life does not happen without you. Next to you, my soul is in heaven remains, and only you, only one truly trusts. Your personality is loud, cool, beautiful, unique. Loud) loud) loud) You're a valuable copy of human beauty tadts-tadts-tadts) tadts-tat) tadts-tat) tadts-tat) uooo) uooo) uooo) tadts-tadts-tadts) tadts-tat) tadts-tat) tadts -tat) uooo) uooo) uooo) oooooo) you higher hooooootest bella mamasita, so moschnobl) with you all the time you want to be srochnobl) tochnobl) you're so cute, I love devotedly, furiously and fanatically. All zabyvaetsya around when you're around, captivated by your unique gentle gaze. Diamond beautiful, deep sapphire, stratsno rubirno, amazing emerald, pearl cute, I was very hooked, very surprised, so beautiful that a tear struck, and tenaciously for his soul took in your deep beautiful distance afield, was happily and easily, and suddenly the shower glittered and blossomed. One only makes your **** look and feel embarrassed blush. See how I want to enjoy it. It makes harder and harder to fall in love with you, I want to again and again appear near you, and never to say goodbye to you, and do not give up when you're around wants to smile with happiness, and you always stay on. Soft) soft) soft) How marvelous your gentle eyes, a beautiful shine, so deep beautiful color, hi) and the lips gifted hot, passionate force, like a sweet juicy berry, shine sweet tender crumb precious shine temptation, fantasy) romantic) ****** ) to you so goes the lipstick) gentle, spectacular pretty perfect) yes) so accurately) not lying, exactly) so refined, so perfect it all, only you, you can safely say all envious yeeeah) baa) baa) beeeee) each part of your body, is true, unattainable, infinitely ****, perfectly gospodstvennoe, divine perfection, which is the business card of your wonderful personality, a genuine sample of the sweet candy, delight, joy. You are an ideal model for the most famous, the channels, magazines, you have the sweetest voice in the world, so it is ideal in television and radio broadcast, a perfect icon of the media, the beautiful goddess of the VIP, I think so. And only love and honor. You are the most precious value in this universe. Heart and love is boundless open and so clean and perfect for you, all I say is not in vain, my love for you is a whole universe dedicated to you. You are beautiful in every way, so different, so special, your presence, gives a special feeling of harmony and peace, you are like a hot flaming fire of love and creation. Bright spark your feelings enliven, inspire. You are like a breath of life, fresh, cold water, your nature is so beautiful, so deep. Your acts as the earth itself give rise to life. You merry wind of freedom, infinitely great, free, you are giving hope and life, really need you like the air. Ooty) Ooty) Ooty) multi-billion-dollar celebrity babe, baby on triliard. I give you a well-deserved medals: for the record for the beauty of the world, a record for the entire beauty of the universe, the medal: in the beauty of a well-deserved
Author: Musin Almat Zhumabekovich
Out here there are no hearthstones,
Hot grains, simply.  It is dry, dry.
And the air dangerous.  Noonday acts queerly
On the mind's eye erecting a line
Of poplars in the middle distance, the only
Object beside the mad, straight road
One can remember men and houses by.
A cool wind should inhabit these leaves
And a dew collect on them, dearer than money,
In the blue hour before sunup.
Yet they recede, untouchable as tomorrow,
Or those glittery fictions of spilt water
That glide ahead of the very thirsty.

I think of the lizards airing their tongues
In the crevice of an extremely small shadow
And the toad guarding his heart's droplet.
The desert is white as a blind man's eye,
Comfortless as salt.  Snake and bird
Doze behind the old maskss of fury.
We swelter like firedogs in the wind.
The sun puts its cinder out.  Where we lie
The heat-cracked crickets congregate
In their black armorplate and cry.
The day-moon lights up like a sorry mother,
And the crickets come creeping into our hair
To fiddle the short night away.
r Oct 2015
If I look long enough I'll see
mammoth bones with butcher marks,
a broken flint blade between the ribs
- an empty crib, Madonna's face, a swan
on a snake with two heads - instead
of lightly stained pine grains
on the back of a dusty shelf half-
full of myself, old books and odd things
with lost words waiting in the wings.
Emily Dec 2013
I bend to scoop the sand into my palm,
clutching tightly,
the tiny grains warm within my grasp.
The ocean is calm,
gently nudging my toes as though reminding me of its presence,
begging to be noticed.
It is persistent.

I look back to my fist,
prompted by the renewed emptiness inside,
capturing a glimpse of the last grains of sand
as they trickle from between my fingers.
They lay to rest at my feet;
before, behind, or beside me - I could not be sure.
I never did find out, nor did I care.
They were never mine to hold.
Sincerely Em Jun 2017
I am a sand clock in this passing life;
With every fallen sand grain is a drop of my heart beat

My breaths cease with yours as your grain passes through my hourglass

Yes, we are made of dust ..
And your grains of sand make me whole ..
A galactic dusty soul I am ..  carrying a universe that in a way is finitely endless

We fight as we unawarely head towards that narrow neck of a death bed
Grain, we seep through and fall onto the deathly base of the hourglass
It's where time sits still, frozen, looking up onto other falling sand grains in the repetition movements of hatred, anger and destruct

And my soul fails to stay awake as my organs of dust fall away ...

A breath of me dies with you
A blink of my sight grows weaker
A tear from eyes drops heavily into a mud puddle of my endless cries ..

As each one of you fades .. so do I
In light of the recent increasing rates of violent acts, my heart goes out to the precious souls that have left us.


Sincerely, Em
Sally A Bayan Jun 2018
* * *
* *
*

Faces of friends, of people i met earlier
are  glittering stars on this late evening's
dark blue sky...their smiles are tattooed
in my mind...they're  hunched, going
lower by the days...slowed down by years.
it must be hard and painful...the arching,
the drooping of the neck, the curving spine,
they endure all, 'til each day's end...they rise
each new dawn...do what they still can do,
lest they stagnate in their aging ponds,
diminish to a state, where food, pills, or
forgotten information are forced on them,
......like drugs, injected into the veins

........................
these wee hours bring back the years...
they  have been good...never mind the
hard times...there were, there are good ones
life is a long, wide stream of changing hues,
flowing on and on....my water bears the
colors each new day brings...gray, at times
with sadness and gloom....other days,
blacked by despair...some summers, red,
roseate with glee, or green with life and
hope...blue, when trust is spilling, and
the tranquil sea and sky overwhelm,
with a promise of stability..........white,
when accepting......the unacceptable...
........................
the amber grains and i, are alike
ripened enough to be plucked
be pulled out from an existence...the
signs are known...shown...yet, i wait
for when it is due to happen...and while
waiting, the stalks sway, play and dance  
and enjoy the sun and wind...and i,
while i still can...walk, jump, climb hills
and valleys in this mammoth space
of land and water.............called life
...................
the sounds of my days, i still hear,
i am a lute, a harp, a cello...playing
off-key.....out of tune at times,
my strings are my graying hair,
i still can't stop dying the gray
i still want to highlight the dark,
but, one day, all these will cease...
............
one night, my face will be in one of those
many stars...glittering on a dark blue sky
sending a smile, to my loved ones...
...................
there is no other way, but forward
all are headed....towards an end...


Sally



© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
      June 26, 2018
...ahhh, the rains...do make us reflect longer on life...
Yara Jul 2014
Dark drapes fall on both sides

Heavy with the drought of sleepless nights

When the moon shone but did not shine

Through the windows that are stained to this day

I'd try rubbing the grit away

But the grains of sand have found their home

As have the lead in my heavy heart.
The windows are eyes
The drapes are the lids.
Figure out the rest.
Tyler Sep 2013
Along the city’s second longest street
At the end of its second longest month
Walked a woman, in plaid,
Lugging an incongruous antique lamp
Toward the sun.

In the desert, the dunes,
The piles of grains of sand,
Are constantly rearranged,
Redistributed, reconciled by the winds--
Are, in short, in flux--
Are never what they once were,
And never will be again.

When the wind’s favor, for a while,
Aggrandizes a particular pile,
Does it look down upon its fellows?
Does it call itself a king, and proclaim,
“Bow before me, for I am the mightiest,
The grainiest, the sandiest
Of all possible piles of grains of sand;
For I have, I am more of nothing
Than you will ever understand”?
Carlos Molina Feb 2014
It started with a strident and clamorous shout
that squandered like fish in murky waters.

In this desert of truths,
many live with personal oases
that with time, like life dictates,
disappear before their owner.

The ample slopes of virtue and wisdom
have turned into mere streams,
striving for survival through a few.

When will we turn this desert
into a fruitful valley, abundant
with rivers and lakes?

It is said that
You reap what you sow
alas, we sow only sand.

Grains of sand
Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow—
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream:
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand—
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep
While I weep—while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
sabrina paesler May 2015
love is the ups and downs
of natural geography,
the only two feelings
when standing in the shadow of a mountain:  

1. your iris is the northern lights to me;

2. my freckles are grains of sand to you.

let's be realistic,
dear.

I guess we were never
in the same place
after all.
Overnight, very
Whitely, discreetly,
Very quietly

Our toes, our noses
Take hold on the loam,
Acquire the air.

Nobody sees us,
Stops us, betrays us;
The small grains make room.

Soft fists insist on
Heaving the needles,
The leafy bedding,

Even the paving.
Our hammers, our rams,
Earless and eyeless,

Perfectly voiceless,
Widen the crannies,
Shoulder through holes. We

Diet on water,
On crumbs of shadow,
Bland-mannered, asking

Little or nothing.
So many of us!
So many of us!

We are shelves, we are
Tables, we are meek,
We are edible,

Nudgers and shovers
In spite of ourselves.
Our kind multiplies:

We shall by morning
Inherit the earth.
Our foot's in the door.
Seth Keplinger Jul 2018
I keep pretending I'm alone.
Even after losing my seat
to her new prince.

it's spellbinding,  
enough to make the ole' dog wince.

I still love the sad songs
her puppy dog eyes dispense.
it was never her truth, per usual;
per his glimpse,
into the future of my demise.
I pretend to appreciate the gent in the white coat.
A self diagnosis wouldn't compromise
my vulnerability.  
Don't, she won't, undermine my competency
it lends itself to my daily routine,
I self prescribe- a precisely perplexing potency
abide, at least you tried
an unprecedented golden rule.
This wasn't premeditated,
nor an act of repetition.
We've been classically conditioned, so
I implore and drool.  

I keep pretending it's a new found happiness.
it's for the canaries,
the relievers
and deveivers.
I believe it's for the ignorant
the boring
those of you chasing an
American Dream-
the people with white picket fences
and golden retrievers.
Beware of the conformist
they who did well on geometry tests
their smile so luminous  
like diamonds between her *******.


I'm a brittle leaf in autumns first frost
hanging on the edge of winters righteous freeze.
the shackled, the .22,
let it be me.  
I'm a warning sign, Cuba 1963;

I can barely sleep as it is
from this dusty room
I garner for clues inauspiciously
the obtuse path back to the life i once lived,
obstructed by the 4 seasons, the 4 reasons, the 4 walls,
the 4 grains in this whiskey.

Life outside of her box is a bargain.
Before the flies, where my heart lies;
her highfalutin jargon.
Coping with this void gives me nightmares.
joe shakes my daydreams
they fall from my dilated pupils
and anxiously I begin to slur.
I wish he'd stop cutting his pen through the air,
reminds me of my geometry teacher,
lecturing vicariously through a sorcerer
maybe the boring one's preacher?
everyone in this coffee house likes to stare.
Nat Lipstadt Oct 2015
be ever gentle to thy words
treat them, your tools, well,
cleansing and protecting,
wrapping them in cloths of chamois and moleskin
that they may be well conditioned and
pour forth with a temperament clear and viscous,
reflecting their high honors and a noble lineage,
they are well-intentioned to exist far longer
than your meager temporal life,
upon this ever hasty, ever perpetual, orbit

give them all respect, their fair due,
they are treasure immeasurable,
for which you have been granted guardianship,
custody received from others to be gifted onwards,
yours, but for the duration

so oft we trifle words,
expel them from the country of our body,
without passport and earnestness,
as if they were the cheapest of footnote filler,
day tourists, to be treated as leavings,
refuse for daily discardation,
barely noting their fast comings and faster disappearance,
but leaving not, a mark of distinction

more truffle than trifle,
find them in the dark forest of your life,
use them sparingly, just for soaring,
take them from the roots of your trees,
shave them with a paring knife,
counts them in bites and measure them in grams,
even in grains,
for words are the seasoning of our lives,
agent provacateurs that can modify the moment,
bringing out to the fore
the flavor of the underlying

speak them slow and distinct,
for they arrive slow to you,
a trickling of refugees for your sheltering,
harbor them as full companions,
protected by natural law,
provision them well,
prepared and ever ready for a quick departure,
moor them at the embarcadero,
for the next restless leg of endlessness,
which they themselves will inform you
will last longer than eternity,
long after there are no humans to speak them
Oct. 6, 2015
4:30am
Manhattan Island
Janelle Tanguin Jun 2018
I knew I loved you
since the fourth feather light forehead kiss.
In your presence
I am isolated in utopian bliss.

An island overlooking
glowing hydrogen masses
of what looks like Pacific fires,
or Polaris,
or just you.

Small suns floating in nautical blue,
showered in Pearl Harbor reds
and paper kamikaze sunset hues.

My high sandcastle walls fall
a million grains all over the beach
and I am defenseless against the tide
that is about to swallow me.

I melt away,
let my demons burn,
open the gates,
and let the little girl escape.

I look at you
and everything
is made out of light.

You make every day
worth waking up to.
Ayad Gharbawi Jan 2010
PASSION PLAY

Ayad Gharbawi




Location: Desert Shore, Bitterly Cold Night, next to strong waves from the ocean.
Characters: Man ((M) and his Lover, a Woman (W).

----------------------------------------


W: “Search as I forever do, in manifold ways unknown, I seek but to love thee, and the meagre goodness from Life, with steely ardour - my armour faithful.”
M: “Alone I may be, and still, yes I love thee; these days heavy are and beset I am by burdensome trivialities, but I remain trusting, though my corner so narrow remain.”
W: “My Love! Your speech I hear aloud and thine lips I live within and yet, my Love, all Solitude I am. Man! I am unaided! In this journey of sinful thorns, my love, in this unforgiving journey, this blurred odyssey, I stand alone”.
M: “This trial you speak of, but I do know of it well; so, listen then: within the strength of trusted togetherness we can plough on, though everlasting harm shall do its spiteful tricks, warm to our united truth shall we remain.”
W: (Surprised) “O! My love! This thought I cannot hear! My life, my destiny, is but mine. And all have their own solitary roads of jagged rocks to embrace, like it we or not. We heartbreaking earthly sad beasts, either fiercely clutch at integrity, or we do let it go to perish away.”
M: (Confused) “My Love! I do hear, I do hear. But when Times decide on burdening us, what then can we achieve? To face Reality within the frail arms of solitude is to ignore, to refuse the severe threats of repulsive grins.”
(Silence)
M: (Passionately) “O! My sweet! Only in us, can we envelope, through joined, clasped warmth can we be as one united! The screams that so truly are meant to slice us off, only we, our Unity, can destroy. For mine eyes can only find sleep in your ears, and it is so - for otherwise nothing and no one can be.”
W: (Angry) “My Passion too is bubbling for thine bewildered ears. Am I not your soul? Do we not suffer as one? Do we not reflect as one? Am I not your lover true? Is not our warmth not weighty to our fickle bones?”
(Silence)
W: (Passionate) “But, Lover, this much ought I to formally declare unto thee: For our eyes, and all eyes, envision unequally at one another. Till eternity, in its casual, indifferent flicker, snatches at us all wretched mortals, the gazes from lords to paupers remain veritably mismatched. O my passion! My woeful heart! These words I thunder forth defines love unfeigned, and what mine eyes do pour out unto thine ears is authenticity true.
(Silence)
W: (Passionately) “What joined mem’ries you choose to caress may possess thee, but your exactness for what love is to you, doth not dwell in mine mind. What tears, what weepings you do, fall stormily upon thine own soul’s wildernesses. You choose to be chained by changing visions and indefinite sentiments of light weight – though so poignant at the moment they veritably are?”
M: (Inquiring) “My love! I cherish thee; where hast thou been in thine mind, for now ye talk of that truth you relate to in your heart. Your pronouncements, what depths I do feel! Can it perchance be that my passion has strayed our winds far from me?”
W: “No, my love! Why is anger, I feel, lush on thine tongue?”
M: (Surprised and Frightened) “Anger! I am too distant from that affliction! But yes, I feel my words make only for unstable murmurs in my breath.”
W: (Quietly) “Then, do tell me, lover, who do your murmurs betray - myself or yourself then?”
M: (Quietly) “Perhaps so, perhaps so. But my anxiety wilfully demands of me to eradicate your vision.”
W: (Firmly) “You answer naught from my undemanding question. Or, are mine meanings too violent for you? What aches thee?”
M: (Passionately) “My sweet! In so many moments, I created mysterious planets for thee! Bizarre worlds of contrasts and opposites and musical words of antiquity and sensual ravines. My love! I, my soul, my life, my inner deepest breath, tempted as I am by Fates’ inscrutable cruelties to ashamedly yield, I have yet always expressed to mine eyes’ heart, though they be in bleak darkness, to faithfully fight without pause all shades of vice and still yet - with loving integrity; I have stood with arms of righteousness and love for thee up and never down! Yes, sincere good and venal ill remain joined in life for all to feel, but you knew it was not for me to disentangle them. And so, I pronounce unto thee, still, and yet ever and ever more, my love for thee, though still beholding a thousand mountains before me, I remain sturdy for thee; I remain undisturbed by burly laws, and by exotic dictums, I stand fierce and unhurt, save in your absence.”
W: (With Sadness) “My beloved, your vivid voice stabs the falsehoods for thee, and I say unto thee, unto thee your excessive and unreasonable chains, and for myself my unreasonable and extreme chains remain.”
M: (Shocked) “But I burden thee with no steely chains, nor verbal fetters! For naught I produce for thee save grace, passion and freedom to love for us both to be in Unity Sacred! Dost thou embrace my visions as ‘shackles’, then ‘tis better we agree to class that which we are as but madness! Hear me, for my tears now must truly change their colours!”
W: (Determined) “Your feverish hands clutch only upon mine erratic wings!”
M: (Anger) “Never! Never! For I clutch only to destroy all malevolence; as for thee, Lady of the purest, untouched, guarded, secluded Ponds, I seek to unshackle for you the scattered, scared shadows that yearn for thine sovereignty. And what is this ‘sovereignty’ but our Sacred Union? What curse deemest you I impose? Do you equal my purest passions with atrocities? Murmur unto mine ears, your clearest love for me.”
W: “Ah! You enquire of me my ‘sincerity’ for thee? What demands!”
(Silence)
M: “I see naught but heaving forests of love betwixt us, and yet, you discover my words being ‘demanding’?”
W: (Drily) “Perchance, your visions are indistinct and ever more blurred, through these years cannot be ignored.”
M: (Begging) “My love! All mine life, though it be lengthy, I fought most venal tyranny, and for this moment, you question my righteousness?”
W: (Indignantly) “I have been plunged into seas hostile and I have plunged in a thousand miles of inert minds troubled beyond conceivable comprehension and I have yet to have my Right for my own greedy, ravenous flesh to be vigorously and forcefully embraced by sensuality and serenity. Yes, I do love thee, and yet in our union, as in all unions, I have been adorned with naught, save snickering, gossiping scenes of festive *****, games, chatter and farewells, themselves festooned within silly and sincerely stupid smiles and frowns, and shallow tears and never ending ludicrous chatter unworthy of monkeys conversing. I have met programmed rows of pats, respect and all other so-called decent intents and gestures, but, where, lover that you are of mine, where does my personal heart, throb and manically vibrate, save in your heavenly imaginations?”
(Silence)
W: (Quietly but Determinedly) “My love! I truly thee love and with passions, I tell you, of proportions of precise exactitudes; in your eyes I have witnessed symphonies of exquisiteness; and, I of thee ask: where dwelleth your own love for myself in thine body?”
(Silence)
W: (Passionate) “Do you recognise the changing structures that form this, that I name ‘My Love’? In my solitude eternal, I do evermore and always do pause, and be pensive, and be thinking of questions, such as ‘where’, ‘why’, ‘when’ ‘how’, and ‘which’ should be my path; I am forever and ever more searching, seeking the heavens of every corner, and the irritable tempests, within my changing self as they themselves do try to seek me, and we forever, through inconceivable murkiness, do try to assemble the everlasting entirety of these disorganized puzzles into some measure of comprehensible cohesion that ‘I’ am. That is how the ‘I’ you love is forever changing and thereby formulating itself, and within all these meandering passions, and endless errors, where am I to feel thee? Where? And where do you seek me? In which land? In which forest? You trivialise my beingness as you focus upon my lands as being that which so effortless to find, and yet, you are much too distant from an understanding of my conflicting, emerging civilisations.”
(Silence)
W: (Passionate) If the utterance ‘Never’ is pathetic for thee, then allow me to introduce you to my latest heart: for it screams out that single, protracted utterance! Never! My love, these winds of raging wraths, both within and outside by flesh, must and can only be annihilated by mine own sincerities – were I not to play against my own self. My uncontrolled desires and, yes, thirsty manic passions can only be tempered and thoroughly satiated to the utter brim, by mine own loving, sources of pleasure, my own uncontrollable ecstasies. As for the rest of ****** pleasures, my own erroneous words, speeches and utterances can only be severed and sliced by my tranquillity.”
M: (Resigned) “I hear thine words. Do not abandon me. Do not destroy our civilisation of justice.”
W: “What we share, the bonds, are enjoyment. Listen though to mine lips: enjoyment is what - when it is to be compared with convulsive ecstatic quivers of satisfaction?”
M: (Puzzled) “And what of all our journeys to attain that unity? For all that, is it to be of mere insignificance? And if that be your truth, for what then did we toil and labour for unity of minds and bodies?”
W: (Laughing) “Did you understand from Life itself, that here it was, grandly to proclaim its furtive faces unto thine own awaiting face?! “
M: (Baffled) “It was so far too plain and vastly clear unto me these sceneries we faced before our loving bodies.”
W: “Yes, and I too, did see them with thee. Our four eyes, did see unity for that flicker of time. How true you speak! But, time clocked on, I saw you as you stood there, moving nowhere, unawares that it was your duty to squash onwards whatever vile breaths faced us.”
M: (Desperate) “And did I not? Did I abandon thee in these crushing paths?”
W: (Accusing) “No, you did not. Never, once did you abandon me. I ask of thee; for what sense do we feel a need for a continuation of these gruelling marches? For unity? For love? Or, is love unity? Was that and is this our reason for us to carry on with these shackles?”
M: “For assuredly, yes, and more yes, I tell thee! Toil and gruelling dawns, and unbearable evenings and the whitest of nights are all for the sacred attainment of that heavenly summit of joy I name as blessed ‘Love’.”
W: (Assured) “And, Sire, what if my nerves, blood and ****** hunger tell thee in truth that we, all of us, need no longer, and need never in truth, to undertake these paths, for we find naught that nourishes us at the blessed summit of your definition of what ‘Love’ is?”
M: (Confused & Sad) “So, I falter here and now upon understanding your speech; do I reason from thee that our loving days in unity are frivolously bygone now?”
W: (Calmly & Gracefully) “Do the wandering birds, and do the blind bats, and do the reckless storms, and do the blindly, raging waves and do the supremely arrogant oceans eternally march on in but one direction only with the savage passage of time within their particular lives? You did pronounce that you built planets for our unity; well then, did you not view how planets endlessly revolve along the same path?”
(Pause)
W: (Calmly & with Dignity) “For, Sire, I am not as a Planet - could you not feel that throughout our journeys? You endlessly query and question ‘who’ it is that ‘I’ am? Well, I speak this much on myself; I am as the birds, and the bats, and the storms and the waves and the oceans.”  
M: (Angry) “Woman! I can only then tell of thee that you are naught but feuding clutter and violent disarray!”
W: (Unconcerned) “Those are your words. Not mine. Speak for what you wish, Sire.”
M: (Angry) “And I stand here, before thee, in anger – nay, more, more! In fury!”
W: (Laughing) “For what? For the deeds that created but sticky, and grimy grains of sand for the undoubted pleasure our eyes?”
M: “And so you label our truths, our love so much! Fair indeed, you speak, Woman of Justice.”
W: (Arrogantly) “Man! Express your delights for your own delights. And, alas, there the circle and reality ends – and it ends only for you. That is one morsel of truth for you to ponder. What we ‘created’ and what we ‘loved’ was never and never, ever be the same for you as it is for me. Are you a sincere believer that your personal vision is the same sight all other seeing creatures envision?”
M: (Angry) “Woman, you enrage me! Your arrogance is drenching thine rags.”
W: (Sarcastic) “Tis the Man with no reason who allows his breath and words to be a veritable cesspool of fuming stenches!”
M: “But I, that I am, no longer can define your contours?”
W: (Pointedly) “Precisely, Man, precisely. Perhaps, now you have come closer to the vulnerable shores of reality!”
M: (Confused) “Do you express that you are ever varying and so for that reason there is not a one unified you?”
W: (Calmly) “For we are all ‘varying’, to borrow your word – if you do so allow me, Sire. There was never ‘unity’ of soul, nor mind, nor self, nor of any one personality. This, I desire, that you may understand.”
M: (Aghast) “Then if that be your truth and then, are we naught but multitudes of ever changing confusions, Lady of the Desert?”
W: (Calmly) “Yes and no! For those who are muscular and full of fertile vigour in their flesh, and in their intellects, and those that are severely and strictly scholastic, then they do need and they can succeed in time, in their never ending struggle to bring together the mutually antagonistic factions of that which constitutes our beingness. And, as for the dense brained soulless beings, then, it is equally veritably true that, a descent into madness can be rapidly produced, since from their erratic constituents, they cannot attract together these antagonistic and mutually-hating emotions in some vision of cohesion, and thus mayhem can be fashioned.”
(Silence)
M: (Calmly) “So, pray do tell me, where does Love and Justice and Truth and Morality stand in your universe?”
W: (Serenely) “That has been mine desire to hear the words being produced from your lips, Man!”
(Pause)
W: “So, now perhaps, your sight may be getting clearer, for your question is certainly apt. Foremost, we pathetic mortals, we the be are forever slimy specks of sand that  crumbles, must necessarily seek to survive and flourish within whatever forest, desert, meadow we find ourselves cast upon.”
M: (Startled) “At what cost, Woman? At the expense of Morality?”
W: (Rapidly) “Yes and no.”
M: (Shocked) “Horrendous! How can you spout out such filth?”
W: (Quietly) “Restrain your stupidities, and give more room to your intelligence, Sire.”
(Silence)
W: (Gracefully) “In times of trouble, what can Man do when he be forced to embrace evil, even though he finds the act of the embrace loathsome, but he does what he does for the truth of his vital existence to continue. Only when he need never embrace vile, and then allows himself to commit the act, then he is for certainty to incur the everlasting wrath of God. Evil is thus never one truth to be utterly rejected, perchance you may now see. ”
M: (Calm but Tired) “I follow your words and their ideas therein.”
W: (Gracefully) “When you talk to me on Man and everlasting, conflicting changes within that self-same creature, I tell you with all the earnestness that I possess, of what God has scattered and endowed upon me; for this beast, we all call in unity Man, this creature has far too many a numberless number of mutually self-contradicting, distrusting, loving, hating, inspiring and a never ending number of feelings and emotions that are in constant flow and change – as in any rapid river descending unto its eventual destination, which in its case, is the sea, while in our case, it is Death itself for sure.”
M: (Despair) “And how can this beast ‘love’ anyone within this welter of confusion?”
W: (Rapidly) “He cannot!”
M: (Rapidly, Begging) “But Man and Woman do love with bristling passions! Do you deny that, Woman?!”
W: (Calmly, eyes downwards looking) “Yes, and no. Since the beast has needs, based on his vastly intricate constituents, to ‘love’ his fellow beast, he imagines and believes
We were grains of rice in a sack,
By a hand we were pulled out,
Cast upon the earth,
That we may bear more grains

And now, we grow differently,
On soft soils and hard rocks,
During warm days and cold nights
A dawning harvest we wait
Robert Ronnow Aug 2015
What is appropriate to say about the changes
in your life. That at 23 I was confused
about a girl, under the sculpted pines.

Quietly, my friends and I contemplate death.
A subject, until recently, unknown
to us in such a variety of forms. Nuclear flash
to exploding blood vessel in the brain, control
eludes us. Heirs to a society adept with numbers,
we run in the park and eat whole grains,
increasing survival odds.

The city and the mountain are two hard anvils
against which our hot lives are shaped. Love
is the fire, and the need for love. To be shaped
by the lover's warm hands, like clay.
Alive, almost sure of it.
www.ronnowpoetry.com
The roaring alongside he takes for granted,
and that every so often the world is bound to shake.
He runs, he runs to the south, finical, awkward,
in a state of controlled panic, a student of Blake.

The beach hisses like fat. On his left, a sheet
of interrupting water comes and goes
and glazes over his dark and brittle feet.
He runs, he runs straight through it, watching his toes.

--Watching, rather, the spaces of sand between them
where (no detail too small) the Atlantic drains
rapidly backwards and downwards. As he runs,
he stares at the dragging grains.

The world is a mist. And then the world is
minute and vast and clear. The tide
is higher or lower. He couldn't tell you which.
His beak is focussed; he is preoccupied,

looking for something, something, something.
Poor bird, he is obsessed!
The millions of grains are black, white, tan, and gray
mixed with quartz grains, rose and amethyst.
Shannon Jeffery Apr 2014
I have a message
For you haters
You're the wreckage
Your words like razors

No longer shall I keel
To your decimating attitude
I have an intransigent zeal
Of undeniable magnitude

Your reign of terror
Now a speck in the past
Your puppet strings I sever
Now free I feel, at last

I dare you, I dare you
Try to cut me down
But be warned, I will strew
Your face all over the ground

No longer am i afraid.
All the hated, it's time to stand
All the haters, it's time to be repaid
No more worries, just grains of sand

The tides now change
Deny them their satisfaction
Their power has no range
Haters, this is your termination
Sick of all the people who think they are better and put others down. Time to stand up.
Jackie B Dec 2014
Like all the wind that moves the seas
As time floats down
Like leaves off trees
And all the colour of black and white
The fades of eyes as dark as light

Like all the things I choose to see
So thick the air that i once breathed
With soft the touch and light as sand
As all the grains fall through my hands

But as you stare into my eyes
And reach your soul into my mind
The opposites appear and then subtract
As time starts still and white is black

You speak your voice and make it clear
To follow the truths that now appear
To make the most of what i have
Embrace the start do not look back

My blue eyed friend for now I see
The voice you speak can calm the seas
And grow the leaves back on the trees
While all the colours stay the same
The grains of sand remain in my hands

And most of all for what has changed
The fades of eyes as dark as light
The brightness subsides so I can see
The blue eyed girl in front of me

And all the words she has to speak
So thick the air that I once breathed
Is now a whisper is now a stream
Is now a smile within my dream
Neath Nov 2014
Truth will forever be like grains of sand

seeping through the cracks of your hand
Sometimes the answers are always meant to be out of your reach...
Dreams of Sepia Nov 2015
Her nervous laugh
is the ***** of a champagne glass
he does not care she has no brains
he worries about his tie
asks her to confess
she never loved Tom
showing off his wealth
built on the sand grains
of dodgy business & deceit
& brick of bravado
a siren, she has called his heart
to sail to her across the years
all to end in a gunshot
by a pool
Have been watching the various movie versions of The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald & hope to re-read the book soon. I think the 1974 movie version with Robert Redford is the best movie version there is. Btw, if you've not read the book/seen the film & don't know what happens, she doesn't shoot him & he does not shoot her, he gets shot by someone because of something she does by accident.
Ayad Gharbawi Jan 2010
PASSION PLAY

Ayad Gharbawi




Location: Desert Shore, Bitterly Cold Night, next to strong waves from the ocean.
Characters: Man ((M) and his Lover, a Woman (W).

----------------------------------------



W: “Search as I forever do, in manifold ways unknown, I seek but to love thee, and the meagre goodness from Life, with steely ardour - my armour faithful.”
M: “Alone I may be, and still, yes I love thee; these days heavy are and beset I am by burdensome trivialities, but I remain trusting, though my corner so narrow remain.”
W: “My Love! Your speech I hear aloud and thine lips I live within and yet, my Love, all Solitude I am. Man! I am unaided! In this journey of sinful thorns, my love, in this unforgiving journey, this blurred odyssey, I stand alone”.
M: “This trial you speak of, but I do know of it well; so, listen then: within the strength of trusted togetherness we can plough on, though everlasting harm shall do its spiteful tricks, warm to our united truth shall we remain.”
W: (Surprised) “O! My love! This thought I cannot hear! My life, my destiny, is but mine. And all have their own solitary roads of jagged rocks to embrace, like it we or not. We heartbreaking earthly sad beasts, either fiercely clutch at integrity, or we do let it go to perish away.”
M: (Confused) “My Love! I do hear, I do hear. But when Times decide on burdening us, what then can we achieve? To face Reality within the frail arms of solitude is to ignore, to refuse the severe threats of repulsive grins.”
(Silence)
M: (Passionately) “O! My sweet! Only in us, can we envelope, through joined, clasped warmth can we be as one united! The screams that so truly are meant to slice us off, only we, our Unity, can destroy. For mine eyes can only find sleep in your ears, and it is so - for otherwise nothing and no one can be.”
W: (Angry) “My Passion too is bubbling for thine bewildered ears. Am I not your soul? Do we not suffer as one? Do we not reflect as one? Am I not your lover true? Is not our warmth not weighty to our fickle bones?”
(Silence)
W: (Passionate) “But, Lover, this much ought I to formally declare unto thee: For our eyes, and all eyes, envision unequally at one another. Till eternity, in its casual, indifferent flicker, snatches at us all wretched mortals, the gazes from lords to paupers remain veritably mismatched. O my passion! My woeful heart! These words I thunder forth defines love unfeigned, and what mine eyes do pour out unto thine ears is authenticity true.
(Silence)
W: (Passionately) “What joined mem’ries you choose to caress may possess thee, but your exactness for what love is to you, doth not dwell in mine mind. What tears, what weepings you do, fall stormily upon thine own soul’s wildernesses. You choose to be chained by changing visions and indefinite sentiments of light weight – though so poignant at the moment they veritably are?”
M: (Inquiring) “My love! I cherish thee; where hast thou been in thine mind, for now ye talk of that truth you relate to in your heart. Your pronouncements, what depths I do feel! Can it perchance be that my passion has strayed our winds far from me?”
W: “No, my love! Why is anger, I feel, lush on thine tongue?”
M: (Surprised and Frightened) “Anger! I am too distant from that affliction! But yes, I feel my words make only for unstable murmurs in my breath.”
W: (Quietly) “Then, do tell me, lover, who do your murmurs betray - myself or yourself then?”
M: (Quietly) “Perhaps so, perhaps so. But my anxiety wilfully demands of me to eradicate your vision.”
W: (Firmly) “You answer naught from my undemanding question. Or, are mine meanings too violent for you? What aches thee?”
M: (Passionately) “My sweet! In so many moments, I created mysterious planets for thee! Bizarre worlds of contrasts and opposites and musical words of antiquity and sensual ravines. My love! I, my soul, my life, my inner deepest breath, tempted as I am by Fates’ inscrutable cruelties to ashamedly yield, I have yet always expressed to mine eyes’ heart, though they be in bleak darkness, to faithfully fight without pause all shades of vice and still yet - with loving integrity; I have stood with arms of righteousness and love for thee up and never down! Yes, sincere good and venal ill remain joined in life for all to feel, but you knew it was not for me to disentangle them. And so, I pronounce unto thee, still, and yet ever and ever more, my love for thee, though still beholding a thousand mountains before me, I remain sturdy for thee; I remain undisturbed by burly laws, and by exotic dictums, I stand fierce and unhurt, save in your absence.”
W: (With Sadness) “My beloved, your vivid voice stabs the falsehoods for thee, and I say unto thee, unto thee your excessive and unreasonable chains, and for myself my unreasonable and extreme chains remain.”
M: (Shocked) “But I burden thee with no steely chains, nor verbal fetters! For naught I produce for thee save grace, passion and freedom to love for us both to be in Unity Sacred! Dost thou embrace my visions as ‘shackles’, then ‘tis better we agree to class that which we are as but madness! Hear me, for my tears now must truly change their colours!”
W: (Determined) “Your feverish hands clutch only upon mine erratic wings!”
M: (Anger) “Never! Never! For I clutch only to destroy all malevolence; as for thee, Lady of the purest, untouched, guarded, secluded Ponds, I seek to unshackle for you the scattered, scared shadows that yearn for thine sovereignty. And what is this ‘sovereignty’ but our Sacred Union? What curse deemest you I impose? Do you equal my purest passions with atrocities? Murmur unto mine ears, your clearest love for me.”
W: “Ah! You enquire of me my ‘sincerity’ for thee? What demands!”
(Silence)
M: “I see naught but heaving forests of love betwixt us, and yet, you discover my words being ‘demanding’?”
W: (Drily) “Perchance, your visions are indistinct and ever more blurred, through these years cannot be ignored.”
M: (Begging) “My love! All mine life, though it be lengthy, I fought most venal tyranny, and for this moment, you question my righteousness?”
W: (Indignantly) “I have been plunged into seas hostile and I have plunged in a thousand miles of inert minds troubled beyond conceivable comprehension and I have yet to have my Right for my own greedy, ravenous flesh to be vigorously and forcefully embraced by sensuality and serenity. Yes, I do love thee, and yet in our union, as in all unions, I have been adorned with naught, save snickering, gossiping scenes of festive *****, games, chatter and farewells, themselves festooned within silly and sincerely stupid smiles and frowns, and shallow tears and never ending ludicrous chatter unworthy of monkeys conversing. I have met programmed rows of pats, respect and all other so-called decent intents and gestures, but, where, lover that you are of mine, where does my personal heart, throb and manically vibrate, save in your heavenly imaginations?”
(Silence)
W: (Quietly but Determinedly) “My love! I truly thee love and with passions, I tell you, of proportions of precise exactitudes; in your eyes I have witnessed symphonies of exquisiteness; and, I of thee ask: where dwelleth your own love for myself in thine body?”
(Silence)
W: (Passionate) “Do you recognise the changing structures that form this, that I name ‘My Love’? In my solitude eternal, I do evermore and always do pause, and be pensive, and be thinking of questions, such as ‘where’, ‘why’, ‘when’ ‘how’, and ‘which’ should be my path; I am forever and ever more searching, seeking the heavens of every corner, and the irritable tempests, within my changing self as they themselves do try to seek me, and we forever, through inconceivable murkiness, do try to assemble the everlasting entirety of these disorganized puzzles into some measure of comprehensible cohesion that ‘I’ am. That is how the ‘I’ you love is forever changing and thereby formulating itself, and within all these meandering passions, and endless errors, where am I to feel thee? Where? And where do you seek me? In which land? In which forest? You trivialise my beingness as you focus upon my lands as being that which so effortless to find, and yet, you are much too distant from an understanding of my conflicting, emerging civilisations.”
(Silence)
W: (Passionate) If the utterance ‘Never’ is pathetic for thee, then allow me to introduce you to my latest heart: for it screams out that single, protracted utterance! Never! My love, these winds of raging wraths, both within and outside by flesh, must and can only be annihilated by mine own sincerities – were I not to play against my own self. My uncontrolled desires and, yes, thirsty manic passions can only be tempered and thoroughly satiated to the utter brim, by mine own loving, sources of pleasure, my own uncontrollable ecstasies. As for the rest of ****** pleasures, my own erroneous words, speeches and utterances can only be severed and sliced by my tranquillity.”
M: (Resigned) “I hear thine words. Do not abandon me. Do not destroy our civilisation of justice.”
W: “What we share, the bonds, are enjoyment. Listen though to mine lips: enjoyment is what - when it is to be compared with convulsive ecstatic quivers of satisfaction?”
M: (Puzzled) “And what of all our journeys to attain that unity? For all that, is it to be of mere insignificance? And if that be your truth, for what then did we toil and labour for unity of minds and bodies?”
W: (Laughing) “Did you understand from Life itself, that here it was, grandly to proclaim its furtive faces unto thine own awaiting face?! “
M: (Baffled) “It was so far too plain and vastly clear unto me these sceneries we faced before our loving bodies.”
W: “Yes, and I too, did see them with thee. Our four eyes, did see unity for that flicker of time. How true you speak! But, time clocked on, I saw you as you stood there, moving nowhere, unawares that it was your duty to squash onwards whatever vile breaths faced us.”
M: (Desperate) “And did I not? Did I abandon thee in these crushing paths?”
W: (Accusing) “No, you did not. Never, once did you abandon me. I ask of thee; for what sense do we feel a need for a continuation of these gruelling marches? For unity? For love? Or, is love unity? Was that and is this our reason for us to carry on with these shackles?”
M: “For assuredly, yes, and more yes, I tell thee! Toil and gruelling dawns, and unbearable evenings and the whitest of nights are all for the sacred attainment of that heavenly summit of joy I name as blessed ‘Love’.”
W: (Assured) “And, Sire, what if my nerves, blood and ****** hunger tell thee in truth that we, all of us, need no longer, and need never in truth, to undertake these paths, for we find naught that nourishes us at the blessed summit of your definition of what ‘Love’ is?”
M: (Confused & Sad) “So, I falter here and now upon understanding your speech; do I reason from thee that our loving days in unity are frivolously bygone now?”
W: (Calmly & Gracefully) “Do the wandering birds, and do the blind bats, and do the reckless storms, and do the blindly, raging waves and do the supremely arrogant oceans eternally march on in but one direction only with the savage passage of time within their particular lives? You did pronounce that you built planets for our unity; well then, did you not view how planets endlessly revolve along the same path?”
(Pause)
W: (Calmly & with Dignity) “For, Sire, I am not as a Planet - could you not feel that throughout our journeys? You endlessly query and question ‘who’ it is that ‘I’ am? Well, I speak this much on myself; I am as the birds, and the bats, and the storms and the waves and the oceans.”  
M: (Angry) “Woman! I can only then tell of thee that you are naught but feuding clutter and violent disarray!”
W: (Unconcerned) “Those are your words. Not mine. Speak for what you wish, Sire.”
M: (Angry) “And I stand here, before thee, in anger – nay, more, more! In fury!”
W: (Laughing) “For what? For the deeds that created but sticky, and grimy grains of sand for the undoubted pleasure our eyes?”
M: “And so you label our truths, our love so much! Fair indeed, you speak, Woman of Justice.”
W: (Arrogantly) “Man! Express your delights for your own delights. And, alas, there the circle and reality ends – and it ends only for you. That is one morsel of truth for you to ponder. What we ‘created’ and what we ‘loved’ was never and never, ever be the same for you as it is for me. Are you a sincere believer that your personal vision is the same sight all other seeing creatures envision?”
M: (Angry) “Woman, you enrage me! Your arrogance is drenching thine rags.”
W: (Sarcastic) “Tis the Man with no reason who allows his breath and words to be a veritable cesspool of fuming stenches!”
M: “But I, that I am, no longer can define your contours?”
W: (Pointedly) “Precisely, Man, precisely. Perhaps, now you have come closer to the vulnerable shores of reality!”
M: (Confused) “Do you express that you are ever varying and so for that reason there is not a one unified you?”
W: (Calmly) “For we are all ‘varying’, to borrow your word – if you do so allow me, Sire. There was never ‘unity’ of soul, nor mind, nor self, nor of any one personality. This, I desire, that you may understand.”
M: (Aghast) “Then if that be your truth and then, are we naught but multitudes of ever changing confusions, Lady of the Desert?”
W: (Calmly) “Yes and no! For those who are muscular and full of fertile vigour in their flesh, and in their intellects, and those that are severely and strictly scholastic, then they do need and they can succeed in time, in their never ending struggle to bring together the mutually antagonistic factions of that which constitutes our beingness. And, as for the dense brained soulless beings, then, it is equally veritably true that, a descent into madness can be rapidly produced, since from their erratic constituents, they cannot attract together these antagonistic and mutually-hating emotions in some vision of cohesion, and thus mayhem can be fashioned.”
(Silence)
M: (Calmly) “So, pray do tell me, where does Love and Justice and Truth and Morality stand in your universe?”
W: (Serenely) “That has been mine desire to hear the words being produced from your lips, Man!”
(Pause)
W: “So, now perhaps, your sight may be getting clearer, for your question is certainly apt. Foremost, we pathetic mortals, we the be are forever slimy specks of sand that  crumbles, must necessarily seek to survive and flourish within whatever forest, desert, meadow we find ourselves cast upon.”
M: (Startled) “At what cost, Woman? At the expense of Morality?”
W: (Rapidly) “Yes and no.”
M: (Shocked) “Horrendous! How can you spout out such filth?”
W: (Quietly) “Restrain your stupidities, and give more room to your intelligence, Sire.”
(Silence)
W: (Gracefully) “In times of trouble, what can Man do when he be forced to embrace evil, even though he finds the act of the embrace loathsome, but he does what he does for the truth of his vital existence to continue. Only when he need never embrace vile, and then allows himself to commit the act, then he is for certainty to incur the everlasting wrath of God. Evil is thus never one truth to be utterly rejected, perchance you may now see. ”
M: (Calm but Tired) “I follow your words and their ideas therein.”
W: (Gracefully) “When you talk to me on Man and everlasting, conflicting changes within that self-same creature, I tell you with all the earnestness that I possess, of what God has scattered and endowed upon me; for this beast, we all call in unity Man, this creature has far too many a numberless number of mutually self-contradicting, distrusting, loving, hating, inspiring and a never ending number of feelings and emotions that are in constant flow and change – as in any rapid river descending unto its eventual destination, which in its case, is the sea, while in our case, it is Death itself for sure.”
M: (Despair) “And how can this beast ‘love’ anyone within this welter of confusion?”
W: (Rapidly) “He cannot!”
M: (Rapidly, Begging) “But Man and Woman do love with bristling passions! Do you deny that, Woman?!”
W: (Calmly, eyes downwards looking) “Yes, and no. Since the beast has needs, based on his vastly intricate constituents, to ‘love’ his fellow beast, he imagines and believes
Ady Apr 2014
Life is my current lover.
I swig her ephemeral taste from my cupped hands
worried as the golden, shimmering liquid rushes through
creases and cracks in my jaded hands.
Her mood varies through my stages;
at times she is of doting temper and roseate kisses
but when love evades her, most often than not,
her calloused hands damage the pearly flesh in tender
places,
and discontent paints a surly mood as she digs her crimson
brush against the canvas of my self.
Life is my inconsistent lover,
sometimes doting but most often than not abusive.
So I vowed my eternal devotion to Death.
We escape under the dark canopy of starless wings;
a tryst.
I eat of the forbidden feasts in the Kingdom of Hades,
grains of scarlet pomegranates staining my chapped lips.
Death has promised me perpetuity.
But until Life decides to release me from her capricious temper,
I shall long for the wintry, rainy comfort of my drowsy affair.
SG Holter Aug 2015
Sit with me in silence.
Hold my hand with the hand
Of your mind.

I'll be your shadow; you be mine.  
We'll rest in two dimensions.
Watch ourselves in 3D.

Safe in the warmth of
Our common intentions. A womb,
A room for you and me.

Let's communicate like mountains;
Be like solid, silent giants.
Sit with me in silence.


A river dug into purest stone after
Uncountable years reflecting
Sunlight, moonlight, stars and blue

Skies unrejecting. Dark clouds too,
In some divine alliance.

*And deep within it's deepest deep,
Two single, uncut diamonds.
Until we're ground to grains of sand,
Sit with me in silence.
Stu Harley Apr 2015
stars
are grains of
white gypsum sand
sprinkled upon the night
through God's hand
while
grains of stars
are what
we are

— The End —