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"horoscope" poems
ever since i was young, my gaze was drawn skyward. i could tell you the story of orion, and how to brush bernice's hair, before i could tell you that two plus two equals four. i know more about our vast universe, than i know about many of my friends. if you are not well acquainted with a pisces, let me give you a bit of an introduction: we are compassionate, imaginative, we adapt to whatever is thrown at us, and my personal favourite, we are unfalteringly loyal. however... we are full of self-hate, prone to laziness, we are escapists and horrendously easy to manipulate. i believe my horoscope today is complete ******** i do not feel utterly lovely, i know i will not score a date because no one feels for me romantically. i've nothing to flaunt. the horoscopes are saccharine lies, but, those traits? those are me. my soul is ancient, i feel the pain of struggles i have not faced, or rather, have not YET faced; i will split my soul in two i will break my bones i will give every drop of my blood i will breathe my last breath for those that i love. i spent two years of my life giving my heart and soul to a sagittarius. philosophical, adventurous. i admired him so. but his negatives-- inconsistent. overconfident. careless. he was a burning house. my mother, also a pisces, when all was said and done, told me to stay away from those sagittarius boys. they're dangerous for wary, fretful fish like us, who ask 'from what bridge?' when we are told to jump.
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Aug 17, 2014
Aug 17, 2014 at 11:02 PM UTC
pisces (don't trust a sagittarius)
let it not be confused let no one else's name ring throughout these sentences let this be a hatchet let me put this to rest this is not a test i don't want to think about shipwrecks anymore i am tired of folding apologies into origami birds and placing them at the headstones to your tantrums this is not is not geology class these are promises written on razorblades     *& if you are getting choked up      then maybe you should be* maybe we should be buried with our telescopes face down my mouth is full of sorry all for being honest we are falling out of orbit we are burning bystanders so cast away your callous condolences because no one is clapping in this waist deep water this is not a baptism so do not tell strangers that this was a chance to drown any differently i am not a catalogue of constellations you cannot name this is not mythology so stop believing your horoscope i am not a wishing well i am just a wall for you to paint post nuclear fallout & antonyms for catharsis on we destroy the things that are not ours- the wanton ways we embody wrecking ***** and then cry over the rubble this is not a heap or a mosaic this is leaping off a thousand story building with no one to catch you at the bottom & maybe that's why some quiet moments are so fragile, maybe that's why butterflies have mimicry your words are black powder and poetry is your musketry i guess that makes me your blindfold
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Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 11:21 PM UTC
hands on fire
I admit I am a dark, exhausted beast-- a memory no one summons. But you rise at dawn with raven hair-- a child of soldier and sun. Although you've gone, I covet your crescent grin. and the sun within the lining of your skin.
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Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 5:14 PM UTC
horoscope
your horoscope compared you to the sunrise it may seem dumb, but i think it's true you are the most beautiful thing that I could aspire to wake up to
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Aug 20, 2015
Aug 20, 2015 at 10:32 AM UTC
sunrise
All she wanted her horoscope to give her was a sock-foot cozy kind of relationship. One that wore SPF 30 and smelled of sugar candy. That would have been just fine. Instead she got a surprise pancakes kind of beast. Bear hugs, dog kisses, *********** sumptuous battles, book aisles, 2am feast and little silver spoon in the middle night.   We never made it to the papers, so we built a patch-quilt nest. The quirky loving is alright, you dress me in my Sunday best.
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Dec 5, 2012
Dec 5, 2012 at 9:22 PM UTC
Quirky Loving
Daily I open my e-mail Check my inbox and search  horoscope. There  I found new horoscope daily I read my love horoscope there which  Described Your and My love relation status. But today when I open  my e-mail,check my inbox,search horoscope. there is no mail related to horoscope. I become worried about you,little bit despondent for you,disquiet After waiting for long time. when I press refresh button I received a new mail It is my Horoscope ,I become a happy once again.
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May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 1:52 AM UTC
Waiting
pisces: stop claiming you are weak. it doesn't come down to strength, it comes down to self-discipline.it comes down to there should've been something there (love),, every time he looked at you, every time he needed you to hold him. you scorned him, when you were both on the floor but it showed on his face more. it comes down to you left his body wracked with sobs, gasping for breath because he didn't think you would. everyone believes you when you say you love them except after a while they don't. he was spellbound and starstruck and delusional. everyone thinks you are kind. but there are five people who might be able to tell how you are cruel and self-absorbed when you are bored. you tire of your toys and the people who fell for you first got the worst of it. when you know you;ve got it you don;t want it anymore. so you pretend to cry, tell everyone youve never been loved back. but get a grip on your head and your heart, pisces, if you really want everything to stop falling apart. surrender that cruel magic of yours, have more truth; puke out the pain you've enjoyed, [give up] the shallow joys for profound ones. pick your soul up off the floor. beat some sense into it. go out there with everything in the right place and when you know want to do, go do it.
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Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 4:21 PM UTC
horoscope (#1): pisces
My horoscope told me that I should think creatively today. It told me that I should write and so here I am, attempting to write a poem. Little does my horoscope know that my mind is unable to function. "Write something clever! You will create something great!" My horoscope instructs me but unfortunately that task is easier said than done, but I try because I want to fit in. All the cool kids are doing it. However, nothing but loud noises come out and the writing police come to get things under control. My brain has been arrested for causing a public disturbance. Writers block has taken over. It is a cell block in my mind where all of my creative ideas have been cuffed, thrown into a corner, and forced to *** with rusted metal bars offering no privacy. It's humiliating. As I sit in my little jail cell I think about what I've done and how I could never come back here again. "Next time," my brain tells me, "Don't listen to your horoscope."
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May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 6:39 PM UTC
Horoscope
Unto whose use the pregnant suns are poised, With idiot moons and stars retracting stars? Creep thou between—thy coming’s all unnoised. Heaven hath her high, as Earth her baser, wars. Heir to these tumults, this affright, that fray (By Adam’s, fathers’, own, sin bound alway); Peer up, draw out thy horoscope and say Which planet mends thy threadbare fate, or mars.
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2.8k
Kim
you better hide the fuel you used to burn down all those houses
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May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 2:39 PM UTC
capricorn horoscope of the day
As I gazed at the starry night sky, The stars whispered: We are your horoscope, and your fortune tellers! We bring your loved ones together, so you share and bask in our beauty.   We shine so bright to illuminate and guide you through even your darkest of nights! The moon whispered: I am your loyal companion, and your secret keeper. I provide you with light; I am the symbol of transition and progression! I am the master of infinite beauty that inspires you with creativity and poetry! The sun whispered: Every day when I rise, I heal your old wounds. With my shining face, I shower you with joy and smiles.   I provide you a life full of hope, growth, and empowerment. I am your eternal song of rebirth, inspiration, and a new promise for a better day!   The earth whispered: I have made myself a home for you and decorated it with trees, flowers, and rivers. Do you remember when you had taken your first baby steps? You stumbled and fell; I lifted you up with my gentle heart, And provided you with everything that I have, to watch you grow and blossom. When you are ready to depart, I promise to hold you like a baby in my gentle arms, And bury your fragile body, along with your precious secrets, deep inside my heart. I will embrace your soul with infinite love since I am your mother nature! Hussein Dekmak
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May 8, 2021
May 8, 2021 at 9:42 AM UTC
Whispers
It’s not much, I mean, but uh, nothing, sorry, man I got butterfingers slippery as my tongue, here did you drop something, are you sure? cause my thump-thumping heart dropped so hard to the floor when it knew you were near that it bounced right back up right where it goes, then straight out my crown chakra, only to dissipate and erupt into Truth the literal and the metaphorical allegorical nebulas that resonate in full high-definition colour the way all Nine symphonies played simultaneously would look sedimentary, like a cheesecake when I first saw you, something shifted in my horoscope with the same scope and scale of a modern Greek myth – Prometheus rising, fire in the eyes of one woman, that’s all all Aphrodite could gather up—fix it to the mainstay, Odysseus let’s get to it, in siren seas, eating weeds to survive if there’s nothing left when Cthulu comes alive, I hope at least I’ll get to talk to you at a party like, once, where we’ll mix some more mythologies Once Inana birthed the world, and Spider Woman showed her how I could show you how Saraswati makes music, and old Bacchus stays on his feet Care to play my Isis? If that makes me Osiris then drown me, chop me up. Throw my body to Mr. Lucifer; the Morrigan will come to inspect your **** and finding it satisfactory will whisk you away somewhere better How’s that last part sound to you, eh? there’s not much left to waste in the techno age of “nothing in moderation,” with all our degradation, defamation, discrimination, and mild inflammation caused by nonspecific anxiety medications in our nation of constant false elation, so my point is time the one thing we got left to waste is time, and I’m a dedicated pacifist, but I wouldn’t mind killing some of that, with you Let’s blow this pop stand and go hunting.
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Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 12:52 AM UTC
hunting for myths
It’s not much, I mean, but uh, nothing, sorry, man I got butterfingers slippery as my tongue, here did you drop something, are you sure? cause my thump-thumping heart dropped so hard to the floor when it knew you were near that it bounced right back up right where it goes, then straight out my crown chakra, only to dissipate and erupt into Truth the literal and the metaphorical allegorical nebulas that resonate in full high-definition colour the way all Nine symphonies played simultaneously would look sedimentary, like a cheesecake when I first saw you, something shifted in my horoscope with the same scope and scale of a modern Greek myth – Prometheus rising, fire in the eyes of one woman, that’s all all Aphrodite could gather up—fix it to the mainstay, Odysseus let’s get to it, in siren seas, eating weeds to survive if there’s nothing left when Cthulu comes alive, I hope at least I’ll get to talk to you at a party like, once, where we’ll mix some more mythologies Once Inana birthed the world, and Spider Woman showed her how I could show you how Saraswati makes music, and old Bacchus stays on his feet Care to play my Isis? If that makes me Osiris then drown me, chop me up. Throw my body to Mr. Lucifer; the Morrigan will come to inspect your **** and finding it satisfactory will whisk you away somewhere better How’s that last part sound to you, eh? there’s not much left to waste in the techno age of “nothing in moderation,” with all our degradation, defamation, discrimination, and mild inflammation caused by nonspecific anxiety medications in our nation of constant false elation, so my point is time the one thing we got left to waste is time, and I’m a dedicated pacifist, but I wouldn’t mind killing some of that, with you Let’s blow this pop stand and go hunting.
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51
A pregnant lass with eyes of glass has never learned to cope. Once set adrift her fall was swift, she slid a slipp’ry slope - She casts the Curse, the Holy Verse, and shoots a shot of dope, And stalks discreet Asylum Street her daily horoscope - The stray was struck by random truck which was her only hope. Well, Banjo Boy, with little joy, he strums her life entire: “The wayward waif was never safe; her stars were dark and dire. Born midst the rues and avenues where lack and want aspire Where no one heeds the childish needs that little ones require; Where faith survives in tempest lives, a swirl within the briar, Infinity grinds as time unwinds, until the winds expire. Her last caprice? The final peace that no one could deny her - Whipped by the flood, stray beads of blood are spattered on the spire; Though beads of sweat are cool and wet, cold clotted blood is dryer.” Though broken there, she’s fled the snare with dying thoughts serene. And now she’s dead, the rumours spread:  “her age? a sweet 16, With child, ***** her soul dyed red, her body so unclean.” A place is sought where she can rot, avoiding churchyard scenes, In limey pits, as well befits, behind forbidding screens; And all the while a dirge is styled on tattered tambourines Which echo through the human zoo in valleys of the Queens. Without rejoice, in hissing voice, near soil that’s seldom trod “In pious role, God bless my soul”, was mouthed with mitred nod, Neath scarlet trim with black, and grim, behind a robed facade - “She’ll burn in hell and sulphur smell”, spat Priest and man of god. Well, angels sweet with cloven feet, they sing in girl’s attire, But Banjo Boy, he’s playing coy while chanting in the choir: “The clueless search within the church to find what they desire - Beyond the nave, a gravelled grave, the final Rectifier” And when he’s through, without ado, he stacks some stones nearby her.
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May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 8:07 AM UTC
A Pregnant Lass
A pregnant lass with eyes of glass has never learned to cope. Once set adrift her fall was swift, she slid a slipp’ry slope - She casts the Curse, the Holy Verse, and shoots a shot of dope, And stalks discreet Asylum Street her daily horoscope - The stray was struck by random truck which was her only hope. Well, Banjo Boy, with little joy, he strums her life entire: “The wayward waif was never safe; her stars were dark and dire. Born midst the rues and avenues where lack and want aspire Where no one heeds the childish needs that little ones require; Where faith survives in tempest lives, a swirl within the briar, Infinity grinds as time unwinds, until the winds expire. Her last caprice? The final peace that no one could deny her - Whipped by the flood, stray beads of blood are spattered on the spire; Though beads of sweat are cool and wet, cold clotted blood is dryer.” Though broken there, she’s fled the snare with dying thoughts serene. And now she’s dead, the rumours spread:  “her age? a sweet 16, With child, ***** her soul dyed red, her body so unclean.” A place is sought where she can rot, avoiding churchyard scenes, In limey pits, as well befits, behind forbidding screens; And all the while a dirge is styled on tattered tambourines Which echo through the human zoo in valleys of the Queens. Without rejoice, in hissing voice, near soil that’s seldom trod “In pious role, God bless my soul”, was mouthed with mitred nod, Neath scarlet trim with black, and grim, behind a robed facade - “She’ll burn in hell and sulphur smell”, spat Priest and man of god. Well, angels sweet with cloven feet, they sing in girl’s attire, But Banjo Boy, he’s playing coy while chanting in the choir: “The clueless search within the church to find what they desire - Beyond the nave, a gravelled grave, the final Rectifier” And when he’s through, without ado, he stacks some stones nearby her.
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i don't know why i still look at your horoscope get out of my head get out of my head GET OUT OF MY HEAD please
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Nov 18, 2018
Nov 18, 2018 at 1:20 PM UTC
please
I was on the way to pick her up, was just about to cross a slippery slope on the front yard of my in-laws’ home. Forget how long it took me to cross, Huh, I had to solve a riddle. A Moon pops up halfway through, right in my way, it just won’t move. I said I don’t need any horoscope, already married, I am not a groom! She goes, I too don’t fancy fussing about. The riddle I got is only an easy-peasy one. Just tell me your W duo—Where and When did you take your first breath? I laugh, isn't it the mum who can tell best, who saw it first when I was born but I can't go back and ask her, she won’t show up unless I return home, picking her up. I said to the moon, o dear, never did I say you got a scar, that a spot on your face is cute, fair, is only a cool shadow of one’s deep-rooted fine lock of hair! I then ran to the expert scientist. He said it’s all vibrating but knows not where the heck, if ever the spin might stop. Again I ran to knock on the Sufi’s door. He seemed to know why I went there, And said in a deep voice, “as far as I know, you don’t have a sister-in-law!” Again the moon asks, in a heavy tone “Tell me the truth,” before it's too long, I said you’re in my way, “I am not asking for an acre of moon. Spare me a digit gap if you could.” Unlike how the lands on earth, she tells, keep changing the hands, owning the ultimate plot is still one’s dream. But no space is left unmeasured in space. You miss by a hairbreadth, no matter how tiny, and you might as well miss it by the eternity. So zero space can I spare says the moon This is it, the dead end, no more room to move. Still, even a closed circle can’t be close, the smallest atom is not the smallest to be closed. The constant spin inside it constantly finds ever more space to move on, because the root pi is cracked open, spills out a new decimal, though none can pinpoint, in this finest loophole the sky can sway and earth finds a mouth to jingle!
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Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 11:33 AM UTC
Spare Me A Digit Gap
I was on the way to pick her up, was just about to cross a slippery slope on the front yard of my in-laws’ home. Forget how long it took me to cross, Huh, I had to solve a riddle. A Moon pops up halfway through, right in my way, it just won’t move. I said I don’t need any horoscope, already married, I am not a groom! She goes, I too don’t fancy fussing about. The riddle I got is only an easy-peasy one. Just tell me your W duo—Where and When did you take your first breath? I laugh, isn't it the mum who can tell best, who saw it first when I was born but I can't go back and ask her, she won’t show up unless I return home, picking her up. I said to the moon, o dear, never did I say you got a scar, that a spot on your face is cute, fair, is only a cool shadow of one’s deep-rooted fine lock of hair! I then ran to the expert scientist. He said it’s all vibrating but knows not where the heck, if ever the spin might stop. Again I ran to knock on the Sufi’s door. He seemed to know why I went there, And said in a deep voice, “as far as I know, you don’t have a sister-in-law!” Again the moon asks, in a heavy tone “Tell me the truth,” before it's too long, I said you’re in my way, “I am not asking for an acre of moon. Spare me a digit gap if you could.” Unlike how the lands on earth, she tells, keep changing the hands, owning the ultimate plot is still one’s dream. But no space is left unmeasured in space. You miss by a hairbreadth, no matter how tiny, and you might as well miss it by the eternity. So zero space can I spare says the moon This is it, the dead end, no more room to move. Still, even a closed circle can’t be close, the smallest atom is not the smallest to be closed. The constant spin inside it constantly finds ever more space to move on, because the root pi is cracked open, spills out a new decimal, though none can pinpoint, in this finest loophole the sky can sway and earth finds a mouth to jingle!
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50
a sylvan safety doomed to die so left alone it wonders why corrupted carcass melts to mush as choking chains burn the brush fearsome flames lick at lies and rotten roots fend off flies blackened bark torn in two by scent of smoke of beastly brew sinful scandal heinous hate cause worlds to wander and face their fate
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Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 11:26 PM UTC
Hideous Horoscope
3:15 AM And I'm searching for meaning I'm ******* searching for meaning Drained exhausted But I still got 'bout 3 more chapters to study And I don't want to study Cause I'm searching for meaning It would be easier if this meant more for me I secretly wish I didn't have these blessings Cause I'm searching for meaning I'm not convinced .. How lame is that I'm not convinced . I hate that girl in the movie that keeps falling The emotionally ****** up Keeps ******** up Wants attention Wants help dependant She keeps falling And I keep falling I hope I'm not that character want to be the badass that grew cold and strong But it seems like I'm growing weak The future is soo bleak It's like I'm playing hide and seek with myself I keep disappearing on myself Like where did I go I used to be so strong So hopefull My horoscope says im the most optimistic sign     They must be lyin' Cause you know that feeling When you just wanna stay sad You don't want to get over it cause it's hurting you that bad Now where's the optimisim in that ?     Feels like I'm a crumbling soul    0 I've grown so bitter and so old I'm creating drama That's what my mom says My sign says I hate drama Lol They must've mistaken my birth date Let's just hope tomorrow I find me again Cause I'm starting to enjoy the pain and I don't even seem to be good at writing poems anymore Must be goin insane ..
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Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 7:43 PM UTC
heart spill
The stars could be flipped inside out and you could read the wrong part of the newspaper and you'd still laugh at your horoscope or cut it out and show it to someone you love And everybody hates country music and everybody is sorta quiet when you first get to know them but opens up and is crazy once they get to know you You might think someone's hot from across the room and if you end up marrying each other it's love at first sight and if he or she is a total **** it's just a coinkeydink And everyone in the ******* world hates the word coinkeydink Drinking coffee or tea and liking books doesn't make you a one of a kind human being any more than being able to hold your breath for a minute does But I still love you because you are special, just like everybody else.
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Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 1:48 PM UTC
Special
Chatting cold conspiracies from across the coffee table. Pangaea on the rocks - sweet, sober, civil silence. When did the degradation become so severe? Time ticks down and friendships fade to acquaintances. Spine tingling tempo of the pitter-patter rain drop percussion. Galloping triplets trickling down from the temples of thunder. Hands of the clock clap in celebration of another hour killed. Two o’ clock Coca-Cola to crown the king of carbonation ***** Naming off artists to impress the drunken temptress. Taunting the room filled with glimmer-eyed, lovestruck libidos. All the kids are struggling to remember the horoscope they skimmed. Brains drained to the point of puking in mouths, poisoning the passion. With whiskey laced erections, this night chants a swansong. Illegal lane changes and tiptoe key turning roustabouts. The Hubble eye can’t detect the silent thoughts left hidden. Dreams within dreams, lost in a cloud of exhaled acceptance. Tonight, you fizzled, and tonight, you sleep alone. These are the danger days. Timber!
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Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 2:43 PM UTC
Intentions (House Warming)
I live under the sea Beauty all around me is all I see I am north I am south One fin up One fin down Marvolous lotrous eyes Always honest so trust and believe At times mood signs occurs Mostly when too much is going on in my mind I care Too much An old soul Who knows Lust Who knows Love -SAMM
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Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 5:35 AM UTC
Horoscope Sign
The horoscope says We’re not meant to be that Good friends is All we ever could be Apparently the air Between us Is highly conducive to Failure in relationships That romance Between a Virgo and an Aquarius Is as likely as getting a suntan In the middle of ******* Winter. Well, you know what? Those astrologers Can go ahead and kiss My *** that you love so much Because clearly they’ve got it All ****** up Like my hair after 8 PM On Saturdays. Why exactly does it matter That I was born in August A year after You were born in January? Is that why we don’t hold hands? Is that why nobody knows Including us Exactly what the **** we are? Is the planetary alignment At the times of our birth To blame for why We could never Have a proper date? You see the reason Why I’m all messed up is Because I downloaded an app And it told me that It was being nice When it said We should just be friends. And really I shouldn’t care. It’s just an app. What does it matter? And yes, it’s true It doesn’t matter, still I couldn’t help but wonder If maybe It’s not the only one Who sees things That way.
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Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 10:54 PM UTC
Daily Horoscope
Mirrors are a powerful medium for returning energy, just like a medieval message in a bottle. Wrap me in your desolate womb, oh barren mistress of death. Do you really need to be sworn in? Sky above and earth below, feel my raging aphrodisiac amidst this eclipse of tantric rites. ***** my horoscope in this zodiac, and grow beyond this medieval heresy. Magick is the science or art of effecting change by the conformity of the will; and you are a sacred star in the night sky. Let us scribe incantations beyond desert horizons where Kali displays her direction of seasons. Spring is in the East, Summer is in the South, Autumn is in the West and Winter is in the North.
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Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 11:57 PM UTC
Mathematical Moonchild
*     Someone who is very close to me                   shared my horoscope of yesterday;    As Taurus is my birth sign; A women who has underestimated  me, Before and belittled my potential, Will prolong to go on for  a revenge; For a mistake, I had never committed. If one door closes in front, another will open either behind or side by; a back-door is always an entry to come inside without any permission, as this represents the start of a new relationship, with that someone , who is really in love with ? * BY WILLIAMSJI MAVELI [email protected] www.williamsji.com www.williamsmaveli.com www.williamsgeorge.com
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Apr 19, 2013
Apr 19, 2013 at 12:10 AM UTC
Who is really in love with ?