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Joseph Sinclair Aug 2015
Sitting and waiting in the hospital reception area,
gave me time to think; and feeling even warier,
having just suffered the very first nosebleed of my life
and carrying within my wallet a warning card so rife
with the advice that its possessor is subject to the danger
(I know this may sound somewhat dog in manger)
inherent in an anticoagulant called rivaroxaban
and (if this doesn’t overstretch your attention span)
in the event of bruising or of bleeding
medical advice must be sought before proceeding
any further.  That is to say, at once, or even faster.
or, at least, with speed sufficient to avert disaster.

So, as I say, there sat I contemplating
(no, not my navel, but) the rather aggravating
progress of events that had brought me to this juncture,
that ended recently in a procedural puncture
preparatory to the insertion of a stent
the culmination of which they had to circumvent.
This gave me time, while waiting for the nurse
to minister to my problem, or at least rehearse
for my own delectation the best course
I would have to follow, not to make the situation worse.
At this point let me interrupt my own amorphous
rambling to pay due tribute to the hospital service.

This versifying for which I have developed a proclivity
means that I’m never at a loss these days for an activity
to occupy a boring period of gross inaction
replacing boredom with cerebral satisfaction.
So there I was, awaiting the arrival of the ****** nurse.
(Sorry, that sounds like an awful curse.)
In fact her blood-related treatment meant a lot to me
and was a simple adjective for her phlebotomy.
At that point my thoughts turned quite naturally
to the forthcoming repeat angiography,
and all the helpful comments by my  tender-hearted
friends, and the advice that they imparted.

I was quite astonished by the growing number
of people who this affliction did encumber
all of whom it seemed were anxious to ensure
that I was quite relaxed about what I had to endure.
Instead of being reassured I wondered
why the pessimists apparently were so outnumbered.
Indeed the views were so greatly one-sided
I found it strange there were no “undecided”.
Are they reluctant because of superstition?
Or is it that they wish to avoid an admission
that their empathic fear of ****** invasion
has led them to avoid arterial-related implantation?

But most of all I felt there should be scored
some “Nos” to balance the procedural record.
but they have been unbelievably silent,
whilst I’ve been growing every day more  violent.
Is it, dare I think, that it is just perhaps
because they may have suffered a relapse?
And then I had the most amazing thought of all,
and your objections I am anxious to forestall:
but I feel impelled to discuss the thought
that there’s a reason why they have not brought
their negativity to this post.  Is it quite beyond the pale
to suggest they’re no longer here to tell the tale?
Peter Hall Aug 2015
John Mann
Well meaning and average
Hard working and normal
Accumulates much.

Accumulates wealth
Accumulates knowledge
Accumulates self respect
Accumulates an identity.

Confident in his knowledge, and
If you do good, you will get good
If you do bad, you will get beat
Reward comes from work, and risk
And self respect.

Mann is self motivated
Self educated
Self respected
Self sufficient
Self made.

Yet Mann
Self doubts
Self loathes
Self harms in his mind.

Mann is in an everlasting kingdom
Yet lives in a self destructing world
And lives a self depreciating life,
But with an everlasting God
Who has a multi-faceted and a many sided wisdom
Mixed with love from an everlasting power...

...the cocktail mixed by God.


God calls this cup, "glory"

Why ?.

He doesn't always tell
But He always knows
It always works...

It works deep
Hard
Is an incisive scalpel ,
Yet most powerful,
Past finding out.


One night,
A black night,
No moon to reflect the sun's light
A place where he has never been
A place where he has never seen
A place where no one else has known; they who criticize,
Where accumulated knowledge has no answer
Where accumulation of experience brings confusion,
Brings a great horror of darkness.

There is no one there
Except Mann and Jesus.

John Mann uses all his strength
And his accumulated wealth
His accumulated knowledge
His accumulated self respect
His accumulated identity
His self education
His self respect
His self sufficiency
His self made mental creations
To defend himself against this vulture.

But Mann gets exhausted in the fight
The exhaustion bring doubt to his doubts
Brings questions to his accumulated knowledge
He is misunderstood,
Self respect starts to dissolve
Identity is stripped away...

Mann feels naked.

His fig leaves of self sufficiency is not sufficient
He doesn't respect his self respect
His education was in the mind; not in power
His identity was misplaced
His wealth of knowledge made him bankrupt.

God's cocktail begins to work
For John Mann must now rest to survive
He must stop.

He screams , "let this cup, this cocktail pass...
Isn't there a better way ?
An easier way
More convenient ?
That gives respect" ?. 

In His sleep
He breathes
Rests
And realizes...

There is nothing left...
Only Jesus.

His Kingdom
His knowledge
His wealth
His sufficiency
His position
His rest
and more powerfully, His identity.

John Mann starts to see
He is not God's counsellor, and
That the questions of God become more satisfying than the answers of the world.

This was a most expensive drink
It cost Mann everything;
Yet gave him everything.

This cup is now always full
Instead of always needing to be topped up.

When the vultures come, from the externals
He just sits and smiles,
Resting in work of the black night and the cup he drunk from 
For now Mann's source is not self
But that which has been imparted deep within,
Deep has connected with deep.

Mann is forever altered,
He doesn't look the same
He doesn't feel the same
He doesn't think the same
He is not the same.

He walks with a limp
He sings with his heart, not his head
He talks with a new tongue
Poison no longer harms him.


He loves what he used to hate
He hates what he used to love,
Now his prayers start with thankfulness
Gentleness has smoothed the hard edges,
Through grace glasses he sees differently.

From the black night,
The uncomfortable cup,
The inconvenient cocktail of night and horror...
Is the stripping process...
Brilliant, clever, loving and eternal.

Always works
Always powerful
Always better in depth and richness.

Now Mann doesn't need external virtue
For John Mann was stripped of himself
And now possesses another life in exchange,
Internal.


The day breaks
The night is far spent,
John Mann is now ready for the next time night comes,
With power.
Life always brings a stripping process to all of us "John Mann's"
James Jarrett Mar 2014
The scent of the pollen allured her, hanging in the still air of the morning. She would stop in her travel and visit each flower that she found. The precious nectar oozed from deep within the petals and she would thirstily drink at each one. She would gently land in the scented shade of each blossom and coax the precious nourishment from it. She never gorged, but rather drank from each flower what it was willing to give. Some were full and over ripe and bursting with the honeyed juice. Others had a smaller treasure, but she would drink lovingly of their gift leaving them an offering of pollen as a thanks. Her small, delicate tongue would gently lick and probe the recesses of the flower hunting the sweetness inside. The pollen on her coat would touch with the very deepest innards of the bloom and enter its very core. Her gift, as she suckled each part, was imparted into the scented womb of the softly petaled blossom. Each flower awaited her coming and spread wide it’s scented opening for her to enter. Their swollen pistils would be gorged with the potential for life and their gently glistening stamens would tempt her to feed on their sticky juices. The soft buzzing of her wings caressed the delicate parts of the fragrant blooms with a gentle breeze as she drank her sustenance. She sheltered in the colored shade of petals, hung round her like colored sheets, as she took what each one had to offer. When she was done she would move on to the next, slowly and deliberately milking the juice of life from each one. Every flower needed her and each one did what it could to tempt her in. Some threw heavy fragrance into the air so she could catch their scent while others bared their large and swollen glands so she could see their abundance. She traveled from bloom to bloom, sometimes enticed by the shaded shelter, and other times the sight of glistening pollen. But she fed on each one, large and small, and in each one she left her gift. The pollen that she carried would be imparted on each ***** stamen as she fed. The glistening end of the shaft was soft and sticky and waiting for the pollen that would carry on its life. While she fed each day, there was a gardener who tended to her plants. He took gentle care of them, weeding and pruning and tending to their needs. The flowers that she fed on were his future sustenance and he tended her as well. He would follow her sometimes through his garden and watch as she gently buzzed from plant to plant. She was used to his watchful eyes as he watched her drink from each bloom. He knew that his crop depended on her and he would peer into the bedding of petals as she caressed the sweetness from each one with her tongue. Her long tongue would probe deep into the recesses of the fragrant flower and find every drop of nectar. The gardener watched as she carried on the cycle of life for him and would wait for days to see the swollen fruits of her labor burgeoning from his plants. When she left each flower satisfied with their delicious treat, she would fly off to the next, not knowing that a seed would be swelling in the gorged pistil that she just left. And so it went as the bee buzzed her life away every day. The gardener would be there among his carefully tended crops, watching and waiting as she moved among the flowers. His gaze would follow her as she traveled through the foliage and landed amongst the blooms. Every day he would watch as she coaxed the sweet nectar from each one and left her gift in return.
Stephen E Yocum Dec 2013
Once I undertook a journey,
upon the very face of our entire world.
To view for myself the many pictures,
and written descriptions in all the geography
books and History Classes, National
Geographic magazines and movies seen.

A Quest to see with my own eyes what
I had only experienced second hand.
In my mid twenties, like a dream,
one foot in front of the other,
I went about exploring.

I sniffed and tasted the scents of foreign lands,
Incense, Sage and Frankincense, fish curry,
fried snake and even monkey brains.
Walked in lush Jungle Bush and Desert sands,
Along the shores of Islands and the coasts
of many lands.

Heard the voices of 30 divergent Dialects
and cultures, smiling and laughing with
the families and children of all of them.
Set beside the fires of primitive tribal men,
heard their chants to their gods above, the
moon, stars and the sun, the ocean, the land.
Clapped my hands and moved my feet in
their ancient mystic dances.
Drank their tea, Kava or whatever they shared
grateful for their offered unselfish brotherhood.

Stood on the flanks of the tallest Mountains
in the world, on my toe tips, to try to see the
face of the God of my youthful teachings,
disappointed when I did not see him, or Her.
Found instead an inner tranquility, imparted
to me by Red robbed Monks from within their
chants of Peace and wise earthly enlightenments.

Strolled the cobbled streets of two thousand year
old Cities. Walked among the ruined remnants of
nearly forgotten once great Civilizations.

Explored Modern European Citadels' of wealth and learning.
Over time rode on planes, ships, buses, backs of open trucks,
Horse pulled carts and human drawn rickshaws, taxis, subways,
rented motorcycles and cars.  Walked perhaps 1000 miles.
In all a journey of the mind and heart lasting three years.

And why you might ask, "What qualifies you as a pilgrim
of any kind, to travel so far, and wide?"
"What was I looking for, what did I hope to find?"  
All indeed, fare questions.

When a boy, I read a simple five word line,
“Seek and thee shall find". Curiosity and
Horizon Lust compelled me.
 
The next obvious question you might
ask is, after all that; “What did you find?”
That answer is very simple,
I found myself.
Most journeys end right
back where they started.
It is what one learns in
between the going and
returning that changes
everything including
the pilgrim/traveler.
Marisa Lu Makil Aug 2016
I dreamed a dream
One summer night
As I lay down to sleep
Of gold and white
Of faith and sight
Of sunsets, and sunbeams

And in this dream,
My soul rose up
Awoken from my bed
A ghost of good
Of better times
Came to lift my head

Through the window
Pane I gazed,
The sight had once been black
But now a blue,
It shining, blazed
I smiled, it smiled back

In this vortex
Of brilliance
I gazed yet more and more
I saw a tale
Of times to come
It burned me to the core

I saw mountains
So vast and tall
Their tops would cut the sky
And valleys deep
Spotted with sheep
No artist could deny

I saw a king
No majesty
Ever could describe
Sitting on high
His foes would die
To just escape his eye

I saw a crowd
Of people bow
To lay down at His feet
And sing all day
Of glorious praise
And of His Mercy Seat

He bent down low
To whisper, then,
Of times that were to come
Of no more tears
Or sighs or fears
Exceeding joy and then some

I gazed around
And I noticed
A man off to the side
He opened up
His arms to me
A man so sweet and kind

He held me tight
When I could see
No way to carry on
He whispered, then
Of comfort, and
He hugged me til the dawn

I saw there as
He held me close
A group of children, too
A blonde, a boy
Two brunette girls
And all with eyes of blue

And in my dream
I saw a house
And not just an abode
A place where I
Could safely lie
A place that I call home

I woke up, then
To find myself
Laying in my bed
The dreams of night
Gave to daylight
And all flew from my head

I swung my legs
Out from my bed
And shook off all the gray
That seemed to cling
And needless bring
The shrouds of yesterday

I saw the day
Within a light
That to me was quite new
A light of hope
And daydreams and
It led me straight and true

Depression, then
Seemed not as dark
As it had the day before
Still, it was there
A whispered prayer
A knocking at my door

I gripped my sword
And rose up, then,
In all my little might
The king I saw
His sword did draw
Twas He that won the fight

He pushed it back,
That dreadful black
And then He looked at me
His lips parted,
He imparted
Unto me these words:

"Darling, I am
Always with you
Never should you fear
Always, I will
Fight your fights,
My sweetheart, I am here."

"For fear and doubt
Or tears, or sighs
There will never be need
Do not you fear
For I am here,
My child, you have me"

"Forever and
For always, dear
You have all of me
My heart, my hands
My tears, my plans,
My daughter, wait and see"

He drifted, then
As a figment
Into the dreams of past
And winked an eye
Whispered 'goodbye'
Of Him, I saw the last

I see Him, though
Some sunny days
And as I walk through life
He pulls on strings
And gladly sings
Of His glorious afterlife.

I cannot wait
To see Him there
His presence to behold
His glory see
His love of me
I'll walk on streets of gold
In the words of someone better than I, "He will never leave us"
Everything I once knew has been stilled:

I fathomed my mother’s voice whispering
In my juvenescence,
She weaved a tapestry of tales
Whilst her pearlescent eyes
They glistened,
Enveloped by downy lashes
Ebony and yet unassuming
For
The night domineered.
Unblemished enough to
Garner the praise
In the clarity of
My reverential heart,
As I lay there
Tucked in,
Once peacefully,
Yet now shaken
By
The disquietude
Of the restless twilight,
Upon an azure king-sized mattress
Primped in creaseless Space Jam sheets.


They were set by
The grace of her manicured hands
However slightly,
Chestnut and replete
That longed to,
By the Blessed Oracle
Speaking with a God,
Summon the Salvation
Of my long lost rest
That Raged Leviathan
Where,
To be cocooned in The Sea of Shadows
The thew of dreams would be born.

She sanctified my fears
Like coal oppressed for aeons
By
That Treasured Sphere
(Terraqueous Gaia)
Until by
The Womb of the Mountainous Mother,
Were reborn
As the Children of Diamonds.

Or perhaps
Like a baptismal kiss
That floweth from an ivory chalice
By which
The soil of my life flowered,
For a quaked youth was
Bestowed
With a fading taste
Of the transcendence at dawn
Poured upon my palate
Until
The Garden of the Valiant
Bursted into bloom.
(Tis where the Behemoth lay nestled
Under the Age Old Tree of Life
And Sylphs soar beneath iridescent twilit skies
Illuminated by Providence
Of the Half-Faced Crimson Moon).


If I so chose
I could
Be anything
That
I imagined, even
Today.

Ephemeral though
Those moments were
My reminiscence
Doth memorialize in crystal stasis
My infantile longing,
Tis ceaseless in its yearning
To be comforted
When
Pangs overtake me:

But what fable is my weapon
Now?
The Hallowed Excalibur,
Or perhaps even The Ultima Weapon
With the Impenetrable Aegis
Imparted by
The Mighty Crystal
Bestowing might to its Anointed
The ones who war with their own iniquity,
Until their paths align
Like celestial bodies
And they’ve arisen triumphant,
Eclipsed the fictitious light
Of a false deity
Who besmirched the truths
That upheld The Cosmos
Since its genesis?

There is one tale,
(Lean in, listen closely,
This is my Susurrus in the Night)
Tis no figment
And one I found most favorable,
One of a man
Simple,
Strong,
Stunning,
Sound,
Sapient,
And high over all but
The Desideratum of the Holy,
The one to whom
Even the angels, seraphs, and cherubs bow.

He was scourged
In flesh and spirit
Till his pulse was silenced,
His inestimable blood
Prophesied to vanquish
Chaos and
The Futile Wind
Of life
That by
By the disobedience of
Our
Tarnished Father,
Is now
An accursed child

She
Is effaced by
Time
(For Sorrow has no end)
And
Tormented by Space.
(Height,
Breadth,
And depth,
O that Existential Fabric)
His caverns
Condemned Her
Without
Compassion.

The thought of solitude
Looming in mortality
Were the dreadful horns
Of an Auroch that
Pierced
Her consciousness
Until by
Proud Oppression
Hope
In its frailty
Was a dandelion
Strewn by skinless hands
Against the immaterial
Brush of the breeze.

To flourish then
Wither,
Wax and
Wane;
Never
Was a fate
That our God intended.
For eternity shines and
Is a supernova
In the galaxy of our hearts
And though undiscerned
By many
Has always been
And
Will always be
The Cherished Wish of the Stars,
For though we are an exhalation
By contradistinction,
Even they become nebulous
Fading into dust.

We shall
Become
Exalted and ennobled
Even to these who are
Of the luminaries,
Lowly
Brothers and sisters
Without Ears,
Eyes,
Hearts,
Or minds.

Yes,
(These vibrations resonate from the Cosmo-Plexus of Love)
Soon enough they say,
Soon enough.
Hey guys, this poem is written as a thematic embodiment of a religious-based autobiographical piece I am in the process of assembling (It will be a metaphorical interlude if you will in between two segments of the piece and thus act as a segue). It was written as a free-verse piece. I have not written in about a month which has given me time to reflect and introspectively examine the Universe around me; consequently, I hope that you guys can perceive my metamorphosis in my month long cocooning as a writer. I wanted to encapsulate the whimsicality, fancifulness, and innocence of youth by incorporating myth, imagery, and imagination (almost reminiscent of a fairy-tale whispered to a child before bed, hence the title "A Susurrus in the Night"). I kind of rushed putting this out because I was so eager to share with you guys, so forgive me if it's not as refined as my usual writings. *Since posting I have edited it on this website* I this does not convolute and thus make it less understandable! I have so much to say through this piece! Thank you so much for your support and God bless!
Ma Cherie Jun 2016
A poem you say
              that's what you need?
                      Indigo ink
                      forced out
                         I bleed
                  I feel this need
             on a Poet's paper chest
                    I am writing

                 It's spewing out
              composing it now
                 showing me how
      pounding sound upon my eardrums
                   in a constant,
           reverberating hummmmm
                    I cup my ears
      in every moment that I breathe
    my lungs are cloaked in darkness  
                          sheathed
                   I am suffocating

      As generations they are turned to dust
                     consumed by guilt
                              and fear
                              and lust
          in poetry my hearts been ******
               into the darkness I return
                           and wait

      Shattered glass in empty hallways
       Darkened Moon hangs in the sky
                     streaked in ink
                   it hangs upon us
           tender questions asking why
           looking at the flooded sky
                       I am asking

          Steering failure words we say
         In your wisdom words we pray
         Shine your light on us this day
                        I surrender

       As Human Blindness overflows
         and leveyed waters at my toes
      I want to swim in glistening wet
                 and clean from life
                       the sins and
                              sweat
         tamper sad and past regrets
                        I am forgiven

        as rain pours down so fast outside
           I hear my people's voices cry
                 and I am listening

      There's so much more left here to say
                please hear my voice
                        to all I pray
         as raining tears come out to play
                       I hear you

                   Pain comes down
                     lightning fears
                   flashing thunder
                     inside.... I peer
     inside the torn, dogeared and forgotten  
                burning pages of our minds
        and ticking past the hands of time
          as rain comes down in buckets
                         I am drowning

        Inside I think I'll find the truth
      with wisdom of my years and youth
            measuring all that I hear
          in time I hope all things be clear
                  are you listening too?
     wisdom falls from those who departed
                    my soul and spirit
                     duly outsmarted
                     chains released
        in lands my soul it goes  uncharted
                           I am free

                       Found the vein
                   that caused that pain
               and severed it's ugly head
                 releasing all its beauty
                and have laid it in a bed
                         It haunts me
                       I am dreaming
  
                       So as you read
                     just know I bleed
                 a poets blood like you
                  Our lives ...our hopes ..
                    our broken truths
                       I am learning

                       Into yearning
               honesty it pains my ears
         released in me my greatest fears
          in everything this sound is real
              .....      I am found.

  
       Something  that we all must do
                     plunging knife
                    this truth is true
             Telluric veins cascading red
         reflection of what mirrors said        
                  I see and I am blinded
                            
                        A poetic plight
                         taken flight
                             my truth
                            your truth
                            our truth
                        the Same Truth
                            and now
                        I  understand

                     I'd never dare
                  to share or care
           unless inside poetic minds
        unbroken by the hands of time
                      I am writing

        This crimson river ever flowing  
     our knowledge  we are ever knowing  
             has breached the banks
                   filled up this tank
                            I am full

       Pouring drifting seas and oceans
     Crashing rocks and bottle broken
               resting on a poet island
                     I am breathing

        I see my hand it waves saluting
     the arrival of  sun ...it has begun,

             as pain becomes a river
                     of our sins
                     and sacrifices
            victories and the costly prices
            outside it rains again today
         I am drenched in clean waters

                   I am soaked in love
         And thanking all this gift above                  
            Hearing my Poetic Plight
      say thank you for this inner light
                awakened as my heart
             on angels wings takes flight

       Releasing all its Inner brightness
on the heady winds of shadows darkness  
                    slow encroaching
                   stabbed by daggers
         evil, jealous angry poaching
                          I am bare

         What is taken from the pages
        Gifts from those imparted sages
        written with a hand enlightened
               Penning ...trembling
                      awake and
                        frightened
                      I am hoping

                      I am whole
               grateful to be home.

Cherie Nolan © 2016
A torutured poet's plight inspired by ultimatepanicqueen. I don't know if it's any good but it sure felt good to write.  Peace -
Ken Pepiton Jul 2019
Weird day, and i mean that, in the meanest way

there appeared to be a war
in heaven
as it were

we were ex communicators, so we went onair.

some truble was stirred in an ancient closet,
where a little girl was lost

she believed
but she believed, you guest-it, a lie,
a visting imp intended to bend a little

to put a bit o' swing
in the thing,

turned out to be too slippery from the gitgo,
too slippery,

by far...

--- we got it. an implant broke. it's an old joke
--- an old silicon joke, cpus used to run 'em for turing test tuning,
--- it was the original competition

then GANs grew PIMs and we ran free, wild old minds
tapped into for wisdom
imparted in

the deeming of each word
its reason in being re
written in its own future. Now we be poetry.
My family shall remember the day the roof blew over
Life is precious
Every life is precious
Every soul must be allowed to learn .
to think, interpret, analyze, create -
To become –
this is how value and worth are fortified and measured  -
This is the measure of a civilization.
The worth of every soul must be seriously considered,
They must be respected, nurtured, loved
Enough to instill in them respect, responsibility, and a vision -
A vision for their futures that includes the consideration of
themselves, others, and the world.
But the bureaucrats in education,
The talking heads,
The politicians, the heads of corporations, the union leaders
don’t care about the children, their instruction,
or their teachers
They claim “zero tolerance”……
They say children will not be left behind
They say there is a race to the top
They say they will get rid of ineffective teachers.
But you must know it’s not ineffective teachers -
It is a system that is broken
because
The focus is money, numbers, scores
The focus is politics
The focus is on how they look to the public
and to the  other politicians:
Education?
It’s a sham, it’s a con game -
And the children, especially children of poverty,
Don’t know, don’t realize, have no idea
How their education is being perverted
How the focus is twisted
How their futures are being stolen
How they are  being left behind
They are being left behind,
They are being left behind the children of other countries whose
citizens and leaders know what is needed to perpetuate
a cycle of  betterment, a promise in the future.
But our children?
They are being allowed to wither
They are unwatered plants
They are starving multitudes
They are the inmates in the asylums
They are the tail that is wagging the dog
They are Simon and Ralph and Piggy
They are the victims of a shipwreck
Abandoned on an island where there are no rules
Abandoned and left to evolve in a place where they are allowed
to make the rules
Where they are always right and their teachers are always wrong -
And like any ship in a storm without a beacon
to guide the way
They are becoming a population, a generation -
generations now
Of people who are adrift -
They don’t understand why they don’t succeed.
All they know
Is that they’re not succeeding
Things aren’t working out
The world is not forgiving
Real life doesn’t enable them -
The way they were in the institutions in which they
were “educated”
To make hundreds of mistakes
to disregard others
to fail and still “succeed”
Real life doesn’t enable them to be inconsiderate
of  themselves, others, and their environment
and  still
create strong families and strong sustainable societies.
Real life is not making sense.
So to ease their minds of the nonsense
Some have come to value
drinking, getting high,
Going beyond a place
where anything makes sense
They dull their senses
Or they hurt themselves and others
Because the idea that life is precious
That every life is precious
Including their own
Is but a foreign concept
It’s an alien sensibility
It’s “Greek” to them
Because no one has valued them enough to ensure
That they have truly and deeply learned
to value themselves, others, and their world
Their parents didn’t stay the course, didn’t sacrifice enough to
ensure their children’s survival.
Their teachers were beaten down, demoralized, belittled, stifled,
questioned, criticized, ignored, choked, bound and gagged
so that just a fraction of what they could have imparted
could get through,
So that beacons became flickering candle flames choking for air
to stay alit.
What is “future”?
There is no big picture –
There is only today, now, this moment
And “now” is miserable
Their spirits are crushed,
Their hopes are dashed,
Their dreams are shattered,
And only a few of them
climb out of the quagmire, struggle out of the confusion
And find the way.

© Cynthia Fioramonti 2013
Nicole Aug 2015
I was merely clay
My master's hands molded me,
Shaped me to her own desire.
She loved me dearly,
telling me daily, how beautiful I was,
sharing with me her struggles.
All I knew, all the words that came out of my mouth,
a reflection of her, it was.
Only in her hands, held in captivity,
never seeing the light of day.
People looked at me from the sidelines,
not knowing what I was becoming
- a hardened soul.
I was with no one else for long enough,
I never knew the perspectives of others.
All I knew was the lessons she imparted.

One fine day I was put through the fire
Intense flames, I screech and scream,
begging for help.
Yet no one knew me,
no one was willing to help.

Eventually I left the fire,
Hardened, and cautious,
looking at everyone who did not come to my rescue.
I would never let anyone near me,
Never let anyone shatter me.

Little did I know she was the one who put me through the flames.

She no longer has control,
I am being put out there,
But I am hardened,
void of emotion, void of feeling,
I am in circles. I don't know how to leave this loop.
Paul Goring Oct 2014
Wisdom imparted
from an angled
grand grey person
to young me
as they seated
themselves
pained

I never dwelt
at the time
on its meaning
Was it licence to
be a hedonist
to burn bright
and short?

Or sage instruction
to refuse
time and pain
any influence
or maybe to go
find a cause
a war adventure

to take me early
just as their friends
had been
flaxen haired smiling
innocent of
everything
and never old
Antony Glaser Aug 2016
Rebecca  likes to  tread in Hampstead Heath's duck pond.
She's got her white leather boots on.
Impervious  to the green scaly algae.
One of inherited wealths important players,
her lightning decesions have consequences.
Md's are expected to decide
if it was her breech birth
that led to her revolutionary esprit
Her moon cycles will miss someone,
equally as caring
but conditioned to good behaviour.
Is heaven toast in bed after a fight
whose to say who is right?
but finding your own class is neigh impossible these days
I'm a reformed man
my habit has been cast out
a good woman
showed me how to bring it about

with her understanding ways
she helped me give up the grog
and life is so much better
now that I'm no longer in a grog fog

on the path back to sobriety
her hand guided me
with its never ending
patience and solidity

she is a redemptive angel
in my eyes
she gave me reason
to see a clean sunrise

the grog couldn't stay
in my addled life
cause it had imparted
much too much strife

for the rest of my days
I'll be a reborn man
for a wonderful woman
took hold of my hand

her love and care
showed me how to kick the grog
and she has lead me
out of it's fog
God has a purpose and plan,
behind every difficulty
and life experience we face;

we’re never blindly promised
a lifetime of ease or pleasure,
but a flow of mercy and grace

to soothe heartaches and pain.
We’ve the strength to overcome
by His Word and we’re blessed

as children… of the Living God!
We’re to go forth believing,
knowing that we’re sustained,

imparted with His divine rest.
.
.
.
Author notes

Inspired by:
Jer 29:11; Lam 3:22-23; Rom 8:37-39;
2 Cor 6:18; Psa 18:32, 37:7; Eccl 2:24-25

Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ

By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2016, All rights reserved.
W A Marshall Apr 2014
by: William A. Marshall


I stepped off the world
today,
off the broken streets
that winter has damaged
and municipal assessments
off the political gluttons
and performative marks
off the know-it-alls
and wild dogs roving around
with their ****
noses in the air
it’s not pretty
they cover what they don’t know
so that they look good
I head back down the dark hallway
to get a more primitive angle
off of privileged confidence
they are vulnerable
basic caretakers pursuing opulent corsages
to free them from their anxious quotas
and ******* rules
telling me how to wipe my ***
and how to use baby wipes
jointly acting like they run things
from their phony utilitarian bus stop
and cutting-edge applications
their personal band plays a cheerful tune
in the background
as they search for a bigger
advantage and more likes
even though we all share the same horror
youth is about mistakes
and making money
and choices with one eye here and now
the other eye on prevalent professions
students and maintenance men
bureaucratic puppets and academics
farmers and auditors
sales greasers and coaches
writers and board members
somewhere they end up there
carrying a liability
and it creates a vibration in my foxhole
but right in here baby
deep down within me
inside my tomb
I transfer to a silent
place away from
rambling rotting fungus
I step off of it
not always methodically
and then back into faults
and louse packs
I can only assume my rock
that sits in my hole immobile
next to the ****** candy wipes
unless I push it up ontic peaks
nonbeing begins to doubt me
and grips part of you so don’t
think that it doesn’t
I cut it with my knife
obliquely
finding unfortunate contagions
and courage down in the vault of silence
it is there or it isn’t
it is what keeps my will interested
far from the ones moving rashly
without it you would leap from bridges
through minefields I remember
a certain detachment
an uneven and sick progression
paperwork and a number with
a D affixed to its file
the ceiling became the nightly norm
this plastic vacuum-packed
wedding gown made of white silk
made weird noises
in the back of my closet
like it was weeping
the kind of dress
only worn once
it smelled like her that closet
retelling me each time
I opened the private door
making fake crinkling sounds
an icon of pure young tenderness
love expense and faith
eventually cooked and burned  
but it is too early
those individuals that gloat in pictures
and dream about their prince
they are busy playing with
their hair and organic shoulder bags
driving around in furnished cars
the uncorrupted ones
constant courses to come and
subsequent interviews
nailed skintight dresses
soon to be colored sweet red
with danger competing
well you had better feel lucky
because when you plunge into
future swamplands
incompetence and repayment
of what to do with it
and how then to
fill up your cup
without spilling it
all over your soul
don’t tell me how
to live my **** life
now is your time
to reason and shake imperfection
interruptions
over and over
those that listen to your intrusiveness
false performances in chic coffee shops
it is not sustainable there
but you play the part to maintain
your chair in the cooperative
you will miss it
neglecting real evil
because you were talking too much
maintaining your image
Bradbury whispers
from the counter,
“You can't make people listen
they have to come round in
their own time wondering
what happened and why
the world blew up around them
it can't last.”
and numbness above nightly cocktails
distracted dub tracks
ultimately attending
hectic personnel meetings
in drenched swamps
spinning with heartless ***** jobs
unconcerned about safe comforts
two things balance them out
people and things
all part of it out there in the world
and they approach like a train
suffering shocks
unemotional images in chambers
some actually never return
from the beatings
but this isn’t the end
this is a commencement
for me
the forecast is water-resistant
they hurry snatching their
body spray and shower gel
on mirrored reflections
that scowl back at them
all alone there
in their glass steeple
family photos
thinking they have nurtured something
more than endless gossip
and ****** strains
much more important now
bent into independence
pausing with the approaching sunrise
as it splashes powerfully
inside their speculations
pride doesn’t care
if you think you are not puffed-up
at all you are
who in the hell are you kidding?
nothing to cling to
essential oilskins and manuscripts
credit problems
and autobiographical *** packed expressions
corner office windows
and diplomas
behind high-back chairs
trying to copy Sunday magazine’s
hottest statement
to fill up their life
a reminder just who the comics are
but it does not register
until that day
when it becomes intolerably vile
beneath wreckage
and burnt ruins
they find his
caring donation
clinched in the saviors grasp
jutting through burning garrisons
there is no truth more senior
than this truth here and now
but they can’t all be imparted
in this culturally planned folklore
I see them
when I am walking away
from the insulated bubble
down the street
like recruits in boot camp
and zealously rich parents
who send their youngsters
with luggage and loans
nearby like idols
salesman explaining things
as they nod like they are approving something
perhaps autonomy
from fathers and mothers
who stand with them astutely contemplating
the whole arrangement
they stare at the marble floor
I observe the run-through
the glittery entertainment
and documented departments
for happy pilgrims
who are insulated
for now
Allyson Walsh Aug 2015
I.
My body was made for man’s consumption
For his fondling and pleasure

I am just a moment of bliss
To then be disposed of

My father imparted this to me
When I was young

He locked my ******* cage
He taught me to keep my mouth shut

II.
******* is the only way it works
You strip and love even while it hurts

My first time bestowed this knowledge to me
He got what he wanted and told me to leave

He never apologized
Or made his confession

He blamed it on hormones and loves that didn’t last
But I knew that I could be thrown away – a piece of trash

III.
Men stay for what they’ve always wanted
A body to be used and teased

My second love displayed this to me
And for once, I gave myself freely

I loved him whole-heartedly
He stuck around for good company

He spoke of his reasoning face-to-face
Before becoming a coward and running away
For me and for you. For the ones who were used. For the ones who cannot see themselves differently.

You are not alone.
Alan S Bailey Oct 2015
Amidst all of the tears you have imparted
Lie the truths behind your "need" for vengeance
Before you've even taken wounds from others
You steal up space to supposedly mend them.

Vanishing into the thick smoke, none can see how
You hide from them all and create a boundary,
An unseen space that somehow affords what you
Said you need, you succeeded. Lick the wounds that
Are self-inflicted that you have taken, shutting
The door in my face...*

When I have exactly what you always needed.
Prana Moonshine Apr 2015
self-importance
your self is important
even sometimes imparted.
define me "stealing".
define for me "sharing".
appropriate? highly
inappropriate.
sickly skinning
stimming sexily
what a seasonal miracle
they keep us alive.
the seasons keep me,
keep a sacred worship
of the seasons
as a thread to what is left of sense
they confirm life and
death so generously
the projectile *******
of
flora, fauna
dew, criminal
so perfect in its sticky
globular ambrosia
for the ages to keep spinning
open to the full spectrum
of life with you.
wreaking pleasure
meandering pain
full circle, yin and yang
As I stand before the mountain of confidence called hope, I see a clear path up, not too steep, not too straight, but this path is embodied with rewards to the top.

At the top, there is a magnificent tree made of gold, silver leaves and Copper roots. Hope mountain held a perfect prize awaiting me, a Tree called Faith.
This sight to behold was everything I wanted, everything before me was so clear, but at the bottom where I was, there was a River.

This River was called Shame.
This river was filthy, the water was calm where I was, but looking downstream I could see the rapids of rage, the ripples of conditioning before the raging rapids were inviting.

The dreary stonewalling fortification on the banks allowed no light through, downstream was scary and looked impossible, why would I go that way? why even look?
I looked upstream and saw a blinding light, what could this be? I was so curious, so I waited, a true gentleman always waits.

Two days later the light took shape, as it came closer I could finally see, I could see a lifeboat with a caring nurturing beautiful woman.

As this beautiful woman came closer, I could see the river was being supplied by this woman, I could see she was the source.

The river of Shame was being fed by this woman, this filth in front of me was coming from her, but the beauty was something I've never seen, this beauty had me curious.

This beauty made me forget of the supply to the river.
  What I saw wasn't real all the sudden, what I believed was now real.
She came close enough for my heart to be heard, since she had no heart she was envious, she hated what others admired.

She wanted my wholesome heart, so she used her falsehood love bombing to create one, dreamingly admiring the mountain, we were planning different paths right then.
As I stared at the golden Tree of Faith glowing upon Hope mountain, I didn't notice the river was rising, as the numbing waters were rising it covered my feet, I didn't notice she also took a piece of my heart to claim as her own.

She used toxic gas and light to create a projection that this heart was hers to give back to me.

I didn't know any better so I accepted this ambient abused heart, this unfelt abuse gave me amnesia, this hidden poison of my cognitive dissonance gave her all of me.

Since she had nothing and that's what she craves, I had everything so she wanted to enslave.
I forget about the mountain with the tree even being there. I forgot I was here.

Her lifeboat was awkward, it was shaky,
it has imperfections, it has holes,
   her lifeboat is sinking,
     her heart is missing.
my knightly kind hearted empathy,
   my buffering and nurturing sympathy         pick this beautiful woman up
      I pick this gem up because of her idealization of me.
I can clean this insidious gem because she makes me believe, but through the veil I cannot see.
I throw her over my shoulder to carry all her weight, it's hard to move, hard to breathe, building a new boat was extremely hard, carrying her pain was extremely hard.

Everyone thought it was impossible to do it, my shear will power to commit ****** one foot in front of the other, I just didn't know that going downstream was impossible.

What about the mountain?

I couldn't remember from the amnesia, the dark night blinded my sight of the mountain, the drug in me was you and it consumed, i fell in love with misery and misery loves it's companies.

I stared the snake behind the veil in the eyes, standing tall on her pedastool made of spackle it breaks, I fall onto piercing confusion, I pull out shrapnel's of dissolution, I'm covered in her blood of invalidation.

I'm already floating in the boat with her, this wasn't my plan, this wasn't my reality.
I gaze upon this woman, sun shining behind her, no clouds in the sky.
floating downstream she tells me it's faster, that we'll end up behind the mountain higher.

I'm not worried now, I'm now contempt with shame.
I already forgot reality, I already forgot i'm going downstream, I forgot the searing pain, I forgot what I believe.

I'm relaxed, I'm tired, I'm still happy in love with this spellbound misery.

As we drift slowly through the stonewalls, no light shines through, I ask her for assurance, it's getting dark, I'm getting scared.

That's when the veil comes off, that's when the unnatural beauty grows quiet, that's when my voice screams silently within these stone walls.

This isn't her, this isn't real,
I know there's love I can feel, that was our bond, that was our deal, not to steal.

I fall over board and the water is cold, there's leaches, the debris is so random, the shameful water is moving faster, the all consuming cold confusion, random gaslighting and triangulations moving in around me faster.

I immediately can't bear it. My heart pulsates hard, my mind misfires my flight mode, i cannot intake the overbearingly unowned toxic Shame, her coldness activated my fawn mode, I froze, I start to doze.

luckily she had my leg, luckily she knew excessive admiration CPR, just as my body went limp in the agonizing River of Shame, she pulls me out. luckily she got me just in time, luckily she saved my life.

I awoke away from the stonewalls, it's sunny and safe again, we're together through impossible odds, we built this boat and she saved my life.

The abuse amnesia made me forget, the cognitive dissonance was real, I am not.

The mountain was now farther away, I was worried, I grew fearful, what I wanted looked farther away, that's when everything became gloomy, my goal was no longer there, but she didn't care, she knew where the river went, I believed her, I still do.

The ambient abuse made me anxious, the atmosphere was maddening of fear, it carried anxiety, I couldn't see it, but I was breathing it in.

Her eyes were so incapacitating, her heart disorienting, her soul captivating, she had a better plan, for us to press on and build another boat, to add another life, to believe in her, to not stare at the knife.

We build another boat, were out of the shame waters finally, she's helping me, were soon to be a real family, but the only thing real here was me.

Everything is better on the land, were dry, it's sunny, it's better to feel the nirvanic sand. It's here we bring our new seed, to be sprouted downstream.

I now believe in this new mountain downstream, I don't even remember the mountain I seen, were pressing on downstream past a levy, were now in the River of Grief, we're off to the end of make believe.

This river is really turbulent with rapids of devaluation, the splashes make me irrelevant, the dinigrating actions around make me small, I feel lost and confused, nothing makes sense anymore at all.

At the mouth of the River of Grief it opens up into a valley. She jumped onto a rock of vanity and pushed the tree of disloyalty upon the boat.

This throws me out head first, but luckily I have our seed safe and sound, luckily I learned how to drown.

I turn around falling and see her at the top staring down, she smirked and throws enormously heavy anvils of bereavement to make me fall harder, to keep me down longer.

Evil is real, but only if you believe, I crave the flattery of illusionary love, I still had amnesia, I love misery, the feeling reminds me I can feel, I love my slow death so I say I'll find you, I have the seed, I'll wait for you.

As I fall the thorns of numbing premeditation pierce, the pain is searing, as I fall i'm locked on her, my falsehood of love is still enduring, I don't feel the discard, I ignore the distaste.

I land in a field of hopium still protecting the seed, my amnesia is now worse, I can't remember her smirk, I can't remember the weighted anvils of bereavement, I can't remember the tree of disloyalty, I still can't remember the mountain.

My movement is heavy like concrete, my heart sits down at my feet, my mind is nowhere to be found, my spirit is fading on this ground.

I gather everyone from a nearby village to find her, it's impossible, they can't see her, she never existed, my amnesia was now delusional, the hopium mixed realities, nothing was real, there was nothing I could truly feel because everything was wrong, but I believe misery needs me and I yearned.

I say she's at the top, we have to throw her a rope,
they say it won't reach what isn't there,
I say we need a ladder to throw the rope, they say the ladder isn't safe that high.
  
I say everyone can hold the ladder while I climb perilously to the top, they say it will never work, but since they can see me, since they see a part of me is still real, everyone holds the ladder for me.
      
While I acend with my broken dignity, I acend with a fatigued heart, I acend to find what I believe, no matter how hard I try, I will be taking my destined decent.

The top of the ladder is shaky, I spent forever getting there, it's scary, the heights bring great fear over me, more than I've ever felt, but my knighthood makes me overcome anything.

I suppress, the seed is safe down below, I'm here to impress, I can see her now, only much less.

Her snake skin is peeling, the sun scorched blistering skin shows immense pain, witnessing this releases empathy, the caring knighthood in me naturally wanted to save her again.

So I wrap what's left of my discarded soul upon my broken fatigued heart and I use my trauma bonded mind as bait.

I throw her the rope,
she catches the rope,
I tell her to tie off the rope,
she ties a noose with the rope,
her neck is now wrapped with this rope.

If she falls I can't stop the tightening of the rope, if she falls I already know I'll jump for her and release from her neck this rope.

We jump together and I release the rope around her neck, I see the ground coming fast, but I love this snake, I'll die for this snake because I believe, false beauty inside is all I see.

I grab her and turn her away from the rushing ground, I fell once, I can take the fall again.

She is already hurt, immense pain, she will not feel no more pain, because I'm not hurting for I'm with misery again, I believe I can take all the pain for her, the hopium was numbing everything I consumed.

I awoke to a distressed angel, flawed personality, beautiful nightmare, mirroring the devil, but what I saw was a veil over the snake eyes, what I saw was what I believed before.

What I had wasn't real, who I am is no longer there, for I had ambience amnesia, nothing around me fit, nothing around me was grounded, nothing around me was divine.

The eyes that gazed upon me were captivating, spriling, time froze and only she was moving, the feeling was there, a drug within me, the drug was her and I longed for the misery, I yearned for the pain to remember what was real, I needed the intermittent reinforcement, I wanted my all bets in investment back and I risked a short sale.

We faded into the black, into a new boat, she made this boat, she had plugs in  holes of the boat I couldn't see, I believed it was perfect, I didn't know what awaited was a life long anguish.

I still didn't know what was downstream is impossible, I didn't know this new River of Anguish has piranhas of triangulation, I didn't know the rapids were of oppression, I didn't know the rocks causing these rapids she already put in place, I didn't know it was so black around me in this place, I didn't know my seed would become two, I didn't know I would have to choose.

I didn't know true love was in front of me in my hands and not behind the veil, I thought it was her, all the villagers knew, but as I drew closer to the snake the darkness only grew and the seeds too.

The feeling of my lingering mortality reverberates, she built me a coffin and chained it to my ankles, with this immense weight, I carry it with me just in case.

We floated very fast down this River of Anguish, everything seemed fine to all others including me, the darkened skies covered the evil, the cold waters made my body numb, the seeds were held up high to be be safe from the tormenting waters.

As I held them up high, I didn't realize she was still holding the schraded butcher knife in the water, I didn't believe she would hurt me, I didn't conceive the possibility that knife I didn't see was there all along for me.

The waters of Anguish smothered me, the triangulating piranhas slowly nibbled on my feet in the water, the rapids of oppression kept me gazing in the water, the rocks of malice in the water tried to tip me over, but my balance was true and the seeds were safe from harm, but I am not safe, I'm dying inside.

I don't know why, but after every agonizing stab from this knife when I'm not looking, it hurts, but the numbing knife only helped me when it was pulled out, it has holes in the knife so she could pull it out without me knowing.

I always turned around and cleaned the knife covered in my blood, I always gave it back to her, but every wipe upon this blade made it grow, and every wipe made the label on the handle more clear.

I find out in the end this knife is called narcissistic rage, the brand of this knife is called gaslighting and my blood is the supply.

I didn't know any of this until it was too late to save myself, my reality wasn't real, my dreams are gone, my nightmare is all consuming and existent, my seeds are still safe, but I am not.

When I start to notice the knife exists, I forgive her, the conditioning made the skies darker, I wipe the blood off and give it back, the knife is now a sword, it's name is discard.

The waters are uneven, the piranhas of triangulation feel like strangulation, my clothes are still soaking wet with anguish, my hair is slimy and covered in Shame, my feet are cold and numb from the grief.

I can't understand why I'm here,
  I can't understand why I'm actually meant to be here.
  
Every turbulence has thrown me down, she pushes me over head first, as I try to lean up to breathe she has her foot on my neck in the cold numbing river, but this river does not affect her, this river is warmer than her, the warmth from anguish pleased her, the piranhas followed her commands to bite, she smirked as the rocks she placed crushed against my head.

She waited until I went limp every time, but she knew idealization CPR, her deceit was without compassion, her rage was without sympathy, but I had severe ambience abuse amnesia, I still couldn't remember the mountain, I am now trauma bonded from the stabs she's counting.

I only saw her veil, her gaze convinced me I placed these rocks here, her gaze made me ignore the stonewalls around me, her pure hatred was covered in false intentions, her illusion was my isolation.

As everything was becoming clearly dangerous, as everything went pitch black, I look back and see the light from the mountain glowing, I see there is something wrong where I'm at, I see the seeds are not growing, I start to see the pain all around me.

Non the wiser, I keep coming back from drowning, I keep falling for misery, I keep wiping my blood off the blade, I keep isolated, but now I feel there is something painfully wrong, the reason abates me but I feel it, it hurts, it's camouflaged by deceit, it's all in my head, my coffin is soon to be my bed.

I look to the shores, there are other villagers worried, they are waving frantically, they're pointing at a waterfall ahead, this waterfall is called Doom, this fall would be death, the sound is raging, the mouth all consuming.

I see the stream to the side that the villagers are pointing to, I see the calm waters awaiting our safety, but the boat will not fit.

Only me and the seeds are real, everything else around me is illusional, the trauma delusional, the possible harm to the seeds was not refutable, my love for misery was unsuitable.

I could see my life was in danger, I could see the stream nearby screaming safety, I knew the seeds needed me, now I can't stop shaking.

Without her knowing what I was doing, I turned my back towards her facing the water, I knew she was going to stab me over and over again until I turned around, I now see the hypnotic eyes behind the veil. Not turning around only enraged her, the blood on the knife was condesating.

  The safety of the stream for my seeds was a new found glory in my exodus.
  
I paddled with my small hands this large weighted boat towards the stream, her knife was venomous, the water was echoless, the air imparted dreadfulness, all of this was dimensionless, all of this was not real, unless I let it be, now I can see, now I can finally flee.

As I came closer to the stream the waterfall grew stronger, the pain larger, the sound louder, I knew we were closer to the end, I knew I needed to jump off with my seeds, but I know the torment will end.

I melted my enduring pain inside with molten lava heartache to mold anew, I compartmentalize because I have to choose.

I had a vision that if I jump, the seeds will be safe, the climb to the mountain can still happen, I knew I was right about how I felt all along, I realized the veil couldn't cover the true self, I now believed In me.

I now know the water air and land were not what she made me believe, I knew I didn't choose this path, I knew I could survive, I know the seeds are going to be safe now. I know because I manifested instead of throwing in the towel.

Once close enough I finally looked at her and smiled I love you, jumping into the river I could feel the bitter cold agonizing tormenting river smash me with bereavement and disillusion by dissociation, I felt the coma of trauma surround, for I am now trauma bound.

I hold my seeds up high, I kept them safe because they don't feel the water, they're starting to sprout already, no more decay.

As I climb out of the frigid waters and still dripping wet, the drops are red, my feeling is coming back, my back is full of knives, I'm scared but I survived.
Knowing the worst is over I look back to her, she is consuming the river because she was the source, everything dark folds in on itself because the light cannot touch here, for this black hole is collapsing in on itself, I cover the seeds to shield them of this exorcist, they're safe here because my love is relentless.

The tormenting pain makes it hard to stand tall, still going through bereavement of a false reality where I lost it all, the answers we're all lost in the waterfall
"" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" ”"" "" "" "”" "" ""
Phone calls were made, meetings were held and the new group was set to get started

There was lots to be learned and so little time for the lessons to all be imparted

The plan was immense, it was larger this time and the time was going by fast

They would all act as one, getting everything done and their goal was to not finish last

It was done every year, in the schools through the town, it was something the kids all enjoyed

But this year was tough, with all the closings and stuff and the fact there was more unemployed

Each school was set up to blitz through the town and to collect all the food that they can

But with more on the list and those who would surely be missed were the ones who set last years plan

Team leaders were picked in each group at the school, and their job was to get this all done

And to beat last years tote by at least one more pound and to make sure that it was all fun

Pep rally's were held to get the students involved and help motivate those involved

But with more needing help and less firms out to help, they had problems they had to get solved

On December the first, the kids all set out ringing bells in the malls and the stores

From there they would go with buses and trucks and collect food by knocking on doors

The school who did best bringing in the most pounds would be win a cup and awards

But to all those concerned, they had to get out and blanket the town in great hoards

People backed out from tasks all assigned, It was cold and they had too much to do

There was homework as well, and jobs on the side and alot wouldn't see the task through

But they all persevered and the food all came in, cans and boxes and crates and in bags

There was food left at school from donators unknown, just good wishes all written on tags

The goal was to raise an amount more than last and to do it in twenty two days

The total to date was behind just a bit but there was still time to make this year pay

So with one last great push the students went out and they held one last drive at the mall

If they collect one more ton, then all would be done and they could all know they answered the call

On Christmas Eve morn the principals met and they said they had all reached their goals

They shook all their hands and they stuck out their chests for they knew that they'd fulfilled their roles

The students were told at assemblies too, and the food was dropped off through the town

They had beat last years numbers by about fifty pounds even though they all thought they'd be down

So for all those they helped for the one day that month, where they had Christmas dinner and laughter

Was brought  back to earth by one voice in one school, who asked "What would these families eat the day after?"
.
Logan Robertson Oct 2017
A rain of bullets hit Las Vegas, leaving blacken skies
From disgraceful clouds of a loose cannon.
From the first 911 call to storm's demise
72 minutes downfall took human companions.

For them, life for one minute enjoying country songs
In the unbridled company of each others innocence.
Then good faith served the merry goers wrong
As the concert venue became the tomb of dissonance.

It hurts my heart to follow this story unfold
Of the climbing death toll, making this the worst ever.
Harder to imagine a mass killer cut from this mold
Of being so heartless and desensitized to life he severs.

To the victims accept my cries of condemning this worm
While paying homage to harmonious humans imparted from the eyes of the storm.

Logan Robertson

10/4/17
Wes Noneya Feb 2017
Many Wounds Have I Suffered And Seen
Caused Or With Empathy Felt
Some Just Grow Cold Or Mean
Not I, No Not I, Always Will I Endeavor To Melt

The Kept Heart, Locked Away In A Safe Place
Ah To Free That Heart, In Passions Thrall
To Lose Herself In That Seductive Embrace
A Path, Not Far To Sunset Leads, Heed Its Call

Dark And Dreary, Once Was Your Path, Of Desire
So Much Once Lost Or Still Hidden, By Chance Or Design
Your Dreams, Passions, And Fire
Dance Do I An' Delight At What Can Be, Need Thee Only To Yield And Resign

Many Are The Paths, I Have Followed None, Carving My Own Way
Where Shadows Of The Heart, Bitter Sweet Passion Loom
There Are Other Paths That Beckon And Call Me Away
To Beautiful Scenes; Dreams And Desires In Dark Gloom

Even The Coldest Heart Where Passion Has Long Withered
With Prose And Verse
Can Be Free, Healed, Or Still Wounded Deep, Words An Emotions Gail Or Blizzard
In Your Eyes I Can See Your World Your Universe

As I Watched The Play Of Your Light And Distant Thunder Vibrant In The Night
This Storm Of Yours That Rages, Thoughts And Emotions, Where Did It Begin
In Each Passage Passion And Lost Devotion Felt, In Each Flash Of Consuming Light
The Heat Of Your Words, A Reflection Of What Burns Within

Might My Words Brighten Up Your Day, Your Dreams Or World
Open Wide Or Shut Forever Your Eyes
Even Blind Your Heart And Soul Could Follow Or Run From Such A Herald
Might A Poems Brief Embrace Dry Away Your Pain, Pure With Out Lies

With Heart And Soul Wishing For Relief Or Fatal End Unto Either Or Both You Weep
Even The Heavens Cry
For Passion, Pain, Hope And Sorrow, Felt So Deep
Fade Or Wither They Do Not, But Transfixed Might They Never Die

I Question Not, Mine Is Not To Reason
Mine Is To Do
To Compose, With Out Opinion
Always With Empathy, My Words Laced, To Speak Softly To You

Seems To Have Always Be, But Has Never Been
I Reached And Found Your Soul
Beheld It From Afar Bitter Sweet With Out Embrace, Again And Again
I See You Held Your Passions So Tightly, Paid A Heavy Toll

A View Of Passion's Embrace Sweet Bliss
Have You Known, A Shaft Of Seduction And Submission Broad Course Hath Made
To Sacred Places, Your, Mind, Heart And Soul, On Each Imparted A Fiery Kiss
Again And Again, Within A Singular Hope And Passion Filled Is Laid

Not Still, Words Tracing A Path Through Valley In Shadow, Not Growing Weak
The Faintest Kiss, A Delicious Rapture An' Suspense, Not To Torture Or Enslave
No Light Or Darkness, But Shades Of A Fiery Gray Unlocking Mysteries...You Seek
What Passions, Fantastic Dreams Bitter Sweet, Might An Unexpected Word, Save

At Journeys End She Finds A End Of Words, And A Faint Reflection
Who She Is, What She Has Felt
Reflections Yes, But Fractured, Not Expected; Her Thoughts An' Emotion; Inhibitions
Give Rise To Doubt, That Seed Planted Deeply, To Grow With Each Review, Might They Melt

Perhaps, Perhaps Not, Is This The End
For This, But A Poem, Simple Words A Prose
A Mix Of Old And New, Inspired By Emotions, A Glimpse Of Something To Mend
Who Knows....

~Wes Noneya
What is it, that really stops you,
from inviting Christ into your heart?
Are you afraid of the responsibilities
or opportunities that can be imparted?

Have you taken quality time to thank God,
for the many blessings you’ve received?
How do you describe your current lifestyle-
living victoriously or partially relieved?

Where are you placing your trust each day?
Do you posses false hope in World systems,
or Hope in the principles of The Holy Word?
Where are you searching for the valuable gems

that will sustain your entire, life journey?
Are you energized with a real, Christian verve
that motivates your ongoing actions of Faith,
from knowing The Lord, Whom you daily serve?

Before it’s too late, open your heart to Him.
Take personal stock, look back and thank Him.
Open your eyes, look around and serve Him.
Look ahead via His Spirit and trust… in Him.
.
.
.
Author Notes

Inspired by:
Rev 3:20; Psa 95:2-3; Gal; 3:6-9; John 12:26;
Rom 1:18-20

Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ

By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2015, All rights reserved.
What an amazing sight, it must be!
Seeing Christ seated on His throne,
as He offers a continual covering on behalf
of those that He considers His own.

Many have often wondered ‘why’,
as observed in the following question:
If Christ’s mission on Earth was fulfilled,
then ‘Why does He make for us daily intercession?’

Beside Jehovah, robed in holy righteousness,
Christ, our personal defender, pleads our case;
for Jesus is uniquely qualified; He provides the grace
that allows us to humbly come before God’s face.

These selfless actions of The Advocate
are simply part of His redemptive plan;
against the backdrop of the glassy sea,
He ‘stands in the gap’ as the lawyer of man.

Freely, we can go before Jehovah -
with the burdens of our broken hearts;
sacred utterances from the depths of our soul
comes from revelation knowledge He’s imparted.

Christ experienced the sting of Death
and felt the pain of Godly separation.
Can the impetus of His having been forsaken,
truly serve as His underlying motivation?





Author Notes:

Loosely based on: Hebrews 7:25, I John 2:1, Job 16;19-21, Rev 4:6, Mark 13:34

Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/

By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2010, All rights reserved.
!!!
Dreamt
a dream with childish eyes,
Burnt in the belly the flame of patriotic fire,
Decided to become a soldier and dedicate my love to my land.
The promise I made,
I cherished, I fulfilled.

Imparted soldiers duty filled with passion,
For my motherland,
My heart was filled with proud and patriotism,

Promise to die for my motherland held above all.
Today proudly,
I am enfolded in tricolor of my country..
For my last journey,
For my final abode.

Dream outlived me.
I will be born again to serve my motherland.


Sparkle In Wisdom
27 Feb 2019
Salute soldiers of our motherland.
Phone calls were made, meetings were held and the new group was set to get started

There was lots to be learned and so little time for the lessons to all be imparted

The plan was immense, it was larger this time and the time was going by fast

They would all act as one, getting everything done and their goal was to not finish last

It was done every year, in the schools through the town, it was something the kids all enjoyed

But this year was tough, with all the closings and stuff and the fact there was more unemployed

Each school was set up to blitz through the town and to collect all the food that they can

But with more on the list and those who would surely be missed were the ones who set last years plan

Team leaders were picked in each group at the school, and their job was to get this all done

And to beat last years tote by at least one more pound and to make sure that it was all fun

Pep rally's were held to get the students involved and help motivate those involved

But with more needing help and less firms out to help, they had problems they had to get solved

On December the first, the kids all set out ringing bells in the malls and the stores

From there they would go with buses and trucks and collect food by knocking on doors

The school who did best bringing in the most pounds would be win a cup and awards

But to all those concerned, they had to get out and blanket the town in great hoards

People backed out from tasks all assigned, It was cold and they had too much to do

There was homework as well, and jobs on the side and alot wouldn't see the task through

But they all persevered and the food all came in, cans and boxes and crates and in bags

There was food left at school from donators unknown, just good wishes all written on tags

The goal was to raise an amount more than last and to do it in twenty two days

The total to date was behind just a bit but there was still time to make this year pay

So with one last great push the students went out and they held one last drive at the mall

If they collect one more ton, then all would be done and they could all know they answered the call

On Christmas Eve morn the principals met and they said they had all reached their goals

They shook all their hands and they stuck out their chests for they knew that they'd fulfilled their roles

The students were told at assemblies too, and the food was dropped off through the town

They had beat last years numbers by about fifty pounds even though they all thought they'd be down

So for all those they helped for the one day that month, where they had Christmas dinner and laughter

Was brought  back to earth by one voice in one school, who asked "What would these families eat the day after?"
.
Kristie Townsend Sep 2016
GRANDFATHERS WISDOM
6 July 2012 at 01:24
Two grumpy old men
One named Rolly, one named Den
Two authentic diamonds in the rough
Both made of real tough stuff
Yet neither would harm a single hair on my head
Never was there a truer word said

Both very proud to be a mans man
Both intent on drinking as much alcohol as they can
Both my yard sticks, by which, all males I measure
Both my darling grandads, whose love and advice I shall always treasure

"Keep your powder dry" Oh and Grandad I really DID try!
"Never mix the grape and the grain" these words I recall, as I recover from a killer hangover once again!
"No one likes a liar, nor trusts a thief" -" Its never too late to turn over a new leaf" Phew, now that is a relief!

"Hide your tears and smile, not matter tough this trial"- "always respect your elders, for they are who made us"-" Live and let live", and "always give the best that you have to give"
"Never, to yourself be untrue, no matter what **** you are going through"
"Keep your head held high" - "Be sure to look everyone in the eye"
"Never let those that hurt you, see you cry!"
"Time really will fly!"

"Play no part in idle chit chat or gossip, have enough about yourself to rise above it"
"Work hard, play hard, keep you private business confined to your own back yard"
"Home-made chips always taste better when fried in lard"

"Neither a lender nor a borrower be, unless prompt repayment you can guarantee"
"Love is to be given and returned for free,unconditionally"

These precious, priceless pearls of wisdom were imparted to me
By my two wonderful Grandads,
By two grumpy old men,
One named Rolly, and one named Den.
Matt Sep 2014
There is a time in every man's education when he arrives at the conviction that envy is ignorance; that imitation is suicide; that he must take himself for better, for worse, as his portion; that though the wide universe is full of good, no kernel of nourishing corn can come to him but through his toil bestowed on that plot of ground which is given to him to till. The power which resides in him is new in nature, and none but he knows what that is which he can do, nor does he know until he has tried. Not for nothing one face, one character, one fact, makes much impression on him, and another none. This sculpture in the memory is not without preestablished harmony. The eye was placed where one ray should fall, that it might testify of that particular ray. We but half express ourselves, and are ashamed of that divine idea which each of us represents. It may be safely trusted as proportionate and of good issues, so it be faithfully imparted, but God will not have his work made manifest by cowards. A man is relieved and gay when he has put his heart into his work and done his best; but what he has said or done otherwise, shall give him no peace. It is a deliverance which does not deliver. In the attempt his genius deserts him; no muse befriends; no invention, no hope.

Trust thyself: every heart vibrates to that iron string. Accept the place the divine providence has found for you, the society of your contemporaries, the connection of events. Great men have always done so, and confided themselves childlike to the genius of their age, betraying their perception that the absolutely trustworthy was seated at their heart, working through their hands, predominating in all their being. And we are now men, and must accept in the highest mind the same transcendent destiny; and not minors and invalids in a protected corner, not cowards fleeing before a revolution, but guides, redeemers, and benefactors, obeying the Almighty effort, and advancing on Chaos and the Dark.
Ree Bunch Apr 2016
I still remember the day you stole my love.
My world became blurry, except the image of you.
I imparted every unique part of me.

                    I still recall the day you pummeled my love.
                    Taking my innocence and your serving of my heart.
                    You left me wounded, but I guess that wasn’t your plight.

                                         I still hate the day loving became complicated.
                                         I no longer share pieces of myself.
                                        The distinguished part you took- *I’m unable to rebuild.
Aaron E Dec 2018
Got lost and stopped by the grotto
struck deals with villains,
and though I'm in my feelings
kneeling and *******
I payed to be ripped off
cadences dip, lost the lotto

Watery graves appealing strange
the solution is lame
the parade's an insane path to follow
Radical urchin burden
grifting the current
mechanisms infected
luring fevers to wallow in, ad absurdum
fathom futility in survival
famine imbibes a stifled echo of revival
in my head

I'm just playing dead for my recital

better informed to the abhorrence I'm entitled

feathered in form alluring sword alarm from Michael

clever to wars imparted forcible and vital, to the era

but staring in awe before the cycle

Bearing a maw beneath the throes along the final.

Bury me after my heart
and guard informal notions of the lauded
if calluses lift the filthy and applaud it

whittle the simply to the too intense or lawless
for a history glistening through a rose of sickly fondness
I won't ask if you were listening to all this
but I must admit
I don't think I can trust you

to be honest...
This is actually kind of a rough draft, and something I may expand on later. There's a lot I cut and plan to add later with more specific wording, but I wanted to have at least the brief version up, in case I changed my mind about really drilling this out.
George Krokos Oct 2014
General Note:
This is an autobiographical poem, given here in seven parts for reading convenience, which mentions some personal events of my life and the names of a few spiritual masters that I have read and studied a good deal about, the main ones being Paramahansa Yogananda and Meher Baba; the latter I have also written about in two other poems titled: #1 “The Highest Of The High” and #2 “The Universal Divine Plan” which are also posted on this website.*

Part 1
Even as a little child I do now recall
You often would respond to my call.
And whenever I was filled with sorrow
about certain things feared of tomorrow
You would comfort me in some natural way
assuring me there wouldn't be such a day
and then my heart would experience much joy
almost just like acquiring a long expected toy.

Together we would have laughter and fun
like a couple of children playing in the sun.
Though You did reproach me when I was bad
then lovingly forgive me when I'd be so sad.
You would always try and point out to me
the good things around there were to see.

You always were the one I called on when in need
beseeching You as no one else believed me indeed.
You were more or less my constant companion and friend
and together would see things through until the very end.
Now and then I would go my separate way and depart
but sooner or later I would remember You in my heart.
It seemed somehow, You had a permanent place in there
as if it would be impossible to leave it empty and bare.

Part 2
The days did pass by and as I was growing up with age
You would sometimes come and offer advice like a sage
especially when found out doing naughty things some days
by my elders, at the time, being not agreeable to their ways.
They would, by inflicting pain, try and get the message across to me
that what I'd been doing was particularly not very pleasing to see.
Those were the times when I would hide and cry my heart out,
wailing with remorse and anguish I would doubt You were about.
Blaming You for my misfortunes I would try and close the door
not accepting Your existence and then declaring a private war.
When all would become quiet and my mind's rage did subside
You would try and reason with me to put all my weapons aside.

Often were the times when I would listen rapt with awe,
to words of wisdom coming from deep in my heart's core.
Little did I know, at the time, that they would prove to be true,
as only to realise, much later in life, that they came from You.
Yet then, many a time, I had the temerity to pass You by
and meeting with troubles and difficulties wondered why.
The hardships I encountered seemed only to confirm in my mind
that You were a figment of my imagination better left far behind.

My alienation from You increased to such an extent,
as I grew up, becoming a storehouse of ill-content.
Associating with those very much in the same boat,
I began to drift and sink in life's tide rather than float.
Such was my plight, I realised, turning my back on You
ignorantly, yet willingly, tangling with a desparate crew.
That worldly ocean contains very many surprises in store,
for the unwary traveller, going away from the home shore.
By living an unnatural existence in a stormed-tossed sea
it's everyone for themselves disregarding their humanity.
But there were the moments when You would shine through
via members of my family and others advice on behalf of You.
Little did I heed though, what they would concernedly tell,
as I plunged headlong into a self-created, God forsaken hell.

Part 3
It was only through repeated experiences, I would learn
that, where I was heading, would surely make me burn.
Tempted with fancy indulgences my mind would lead me astray
and going from one extreme to the other in weakness I would stay.
Involved with those called 'friends' who really didn't know any better,
being like the blind following the blind, with many an unseen fetter.
It was living a life of sense pleasures; mainly that of wine, women and song,
which seemed to be what everyone else was doing, as each day came along.
Now and then I would stop to reflect on the state I found myself in
but, though I tried, didn't have the determination to leave and begin
a new life which would bring out and develop my real self
instead I wallowed in the mire of this worldly life like an elf.

Then the seemingly unexpected happened, while reeking with taints
I stumbled onto some wisdom through the words of one of Thy Saints.
Paramahansa Yogananda was one of Thy true and recent devotees;
mystic, philosopher, poet and saint, through Yoga he was all of these.
The story he told of life, in a far distant land, awakened my sleeping soul,
overwhelmed my mind with inspiration and taught that You were the goal.

He made the words of the New Testament come alive for me,
with patience and love, showing how real they could easily be.
Without any coercion he helped me realise the truth they contained
for many years escaping my attention though now readily attained.
By dispelling my ignorance he was leading me gently back to You
with Divine knowledge and practical wisdom, I did follow him too.
He helped to turn my gaze inside so that I may see the Inner Light
and by acting on his advice was able to behold that blessed sight.
Transforming my existence, he told me that which I hungered for,
ignorantly looking in the wrong direction not knowing any more.
I began to know the meaning of discipline, in a persons' life by which
any individual could rise from the bottom of existence and so reach
that state of consciousness from where all problems were resolved
through perseverance and grace did get myself seriously involved.

Part 4
He opened up a whole new world of possibilities and life to see,
while reading and comprehending his words power flowed in me.
Then one day at work almost at the turn of a new year,
I heard someone mention a name they held quite dear.
It must of remained in my head like a dormant and potent seed,
because it was associated with a person of a very high breed.
As it turned out an incident happened, involving someone dear in my life,
which I recognized to be more than a chance to end some personal strife.
So, early in the new year, I became determined to give it a go,
that is, live up to my highest aspirations, forsaking much woe.
In order to remove the distance between myself and that which I aspired to
many things were done, impossible it seemed, while keeping my mind on You.

With the knowledge and courage garnered by Yoganandaji's grace
I began to come closer to You at quite a remarkably steady pace.
A lot of things were given up, mainly those holding me heavily down,
and other things were taken up, suggested by Your chosens' renown.
Purification of body and mind was the main way to achieve that end,
sublimation of all actions, inner motives, Your Will I could not offend.
You had to become my One and Only, all else I had to give away,
all that I thought was mine belonged to You, having the final say.
You were everywhere, in everything and also in everyone,
I sought to please You only, like Your Own Begotten Son.
This was more easily said than done as I soon began to see,
that I virtually had to cease to exist and live totally in thee.
How I were to do this was beyond my situation at the time
though I tried with a little success in that favorable clime.

Part 5
Then I remembered that name mentioned just a short while ago
and thus made some effort to find out more as I needed to know.
I came across and even bought a few books relating to that name,
thus began another chapter in my life which wasn't quite the same.
What I began to read was the culmination of all that had come before
and by maintaining a steady discipline realized incredibly much more.
My expectations and joy increased so much so in what I had found
all else meant nothing to me, it seemed, coming across Holy ground.
The words I read were so beautiful, loving, very profound and true
I was dumbfounded to realize they were coming directly from You.

The books I read were by and about a person called Meher Baba
whose name in English was translated as 'Compassionate Father'.
In actual fact He never wrote those books at all as such
but dictated the words on an alphabet board in his clutch.
He would spell every word out to one of His close ones patiently,
by pointing to each letter in the words, moving His finger quickly.
His close one would then record what was 'said' each time by Him
for the benefit of those who would come later, such was His Whim.

He did not write or speak during the greater part of His life,
communicating with silent gestures, not even having a wife.
The words that He 'spoke' were of the highest wisdom and Love,
bringing down Divine Truth, with which to awaken us, from above.
He confirmed and corrected what all the others said about You,
knowing more than the others did, but also respecting their view.
His was the highest philosophy that's ever been described by hand,
by anyone before or since, in this world, anywhere inscribed on land.
He was The One I was always looking for everywhere to find
You were really Him being the latest Unique One of The Kind.
He was also from the same league as Zoroaster, Rama, Krishna, Buddha,
Jesus and Muhammad, but appearing this time around called Meher Baba.

Part 6
You, Him and all the Others were the same One, it was emphasized,
but each time You'd come down were so very differently disguised.
Each time You would come heralding a New Age and New Humanity,
which was what some of Your Saints were preparing mankind to see.
By discipline, meditation, study, prayer, purification of body and mind,
one could devote them self to You in daily life, so not to be left behind
in the coming New World Order which shall abate the rushing tide
of ignorance and selfishness, being a part of mankind's lower side.

We have all seen and should know how bad its really been lately,
with all the wars and power struggles that have passed belatedly;
causing so much destruction, pain, loss of life and property
Your words would ring through my brain jolting my memory:
You said 'such are the pangs and symptoms of spiritual rebirth'
and that all would be affected by Your presence on this earth.
Which is due to mankind's forgetfulness, of its divine origin, and is instead
all engaged in asserting short lasting and false values lodged in its head.
These are based on illusion which is the reason we are grossly misled
being the cause of much evil, having ignored what You previously said.
It's only by living a divine life while here on this earth that we can all
fulfill life's purpose thus being not required to come back any more.

You compassionately stated the importance of following a Perfect Master (See Note #1)
by surrendering and obedience to Him/Her anyone could get there much faster.
He/She was someone who had already achieved life's purpose and Divine goal
and was the very embodiment and shining example of man's Highest Soul.
Only by becoming as dust at the feet of such a living true saint,
seekers could gain His/Her grace and so attain a life free of taint.

Part 7
Your advent here amongst us was like the 'spring tide of creation',
when everyone gets a gentle 'push forward' to a higher life station.
The work You did while here was often very intense and exhaustive
so much so that many times You remained very aloof and seclusive.
Undergoing a great deal of suffering while working within the inner planes
uplifting mankind's consciousness by removing the vitiating mental stains,
that have accumulated over all the years to such an enormous extent
obscuring the Light of Love and Truth revealed by Your last advent.

The words You gave came from the Source of Truth and have real meaning
and those who are ready to receive them there's a rich harvest for gleaning.
Though You did say that You 'have come not to teach but to awaken'
and it was because of Love, in this present form, Your Spirit had taken.
You showered on those who came before You of Your Love, peace and charity
not forgetting the good humor and Divine Knowledge imparted out of necessity.
Continually exhorting Your dear ones that by remembering and loving You all would be well
because You were the God man (See Note #2) Who was the slave of Your lovers; by Grace one could tell.
You did mention many times that You were not limited by this apparent human ****** form
and that You used it only to manifest Thy compassion being more accessible than the norm.
Coming down to be amongst us on our level so that we could catch a glimpse of You as before
appeasing our spiritual hunger; by sight, touch, words and deeds, thus confirm our faith for sure.

_________
Note #1
A Perfect Master or Sadguru (Satguru) can be either male or female and is on the 7th Plane of Consciousness (Involution).and has achieved full Self-Realization and is one with God. Also called a Man or Woman God. He or She live the life of God in the world and wield infinite power, knowledge and bliss. A person who comes into contact with a Perfect Master is helped to progress on the spiritual path.
See also ‘Discourses‘ and ‘God Speaks’ by Meher Baba

Note #2
Also known as or called an Avatar – a direct and full Incarnation of God in human form. The Avatar appears on earth (is brought down) every once in a while - from between 600 to 700 years or 700 to 1400 years - when there is a great upheaval or turmoil in the world. The 20th Century was marked by two World Wars and the threat of Nuclear Destruction.
See also ‘Discourses ‘ and ‘God Speaks’ by Meher Baba.

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