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Such falacious thread
is pulling tight
from no Holy Book
I know.

For those, self considered
right, allocating this
self seething show.
Creed or colour
should not divide.

Derogatory agitating collectors
paid off with sheer synthetic pride,
sponsering religion as their own
connector as they twist and they
tear at its written word.
Packaged to a self corrected tone,
fantasy provides absurd images
directed at the degected zone.

In anothers name they do their worst,
projecting miss-shaped Holy vows,
they drain sacred trust
for evil's thirst and so that
impieties seed should sow.

If you do aim to speak this way,
then have the courage and take that
leap on your own head.

Leave pious scriptures from
any religious source and form
well alone whatever faith or race.

For it is true that people will
for their own self enhancement
treat religion with disgrace
and thus, try to
demenaor such elegance.
19th September 2014
The grave thunders were of great coexistence in the mystical legions that turned around the nocturnal advance since the kingdom of the Subclavia and the Macedonian Psiloi began to raise the active groups that had to continue above the dusty silica, speaking no more than another doctrine that the tree of life in the geographical diameter of the town of Sapsila and Grikos on the war route to Skalá, but rather of epigraphy that was kept anonymous until they really saw each other face to face, fading from everything that will remain of the body that lies steep from the specters that will fight in the roadstead of Skalá.

Azrael "the help of God" began to be characterized with thousands of crowds that began to settle to witness this phenomenon of the military forces that had been annihilated in Arbela, and now revived were taking compensation for a credible epigraphy, more than people who were also crowds of souls that competed when contemplating the axon between Grikos and Skalá, attributing shared contemplation with the visions of the fragmentaries and the surplus epidermis, which were abandoned by both sides with the complexions of the same Angels that they left to reside and renew after the splendorous light that was dissimilar to their interests, and escorted them to define the strength of Baal prostrated to the Primordial Ether between all the opposing explosions that obviously divided the Mashiach, which was weighted with the gear of Light that was mediated in infinitives colors, between the banners to the source of Light of the Lights of the Kassotide as the o mphalo of aspiration in the Awir Qadmon of the Zohar, or explosional source of Light from where the Sybillas would descend from their vortex of admission that electromagnetically surpassed them from Hyperborea, and from where it looked like a millennial bleached that was reinserted in the ultraviolet, until degrading even in the pale celestial light from where the infinite playful colors of Raeder and Petrobus are divided, once again characterizing the families in their oikos, giving them holy water on the peaks of the Pelicans to be scattered in all the spectral figures of the Hoplite military forces that are they made upright and humble pro-courtiers who augured the strong influences of their eschatological, which would bring water and bread to all the regions of the Dodecanese after the Mega Seismic of Agios Andreas, from an orthodox rationalism instituted with super munificence withdrawn by the oppressor. The inclinations of both sides were different, those of the Persians were adverse to contemplations of greater emphasis and in the repairs of the medical battles of the past, since Bessos after the flight of Darío and his subsequent crime, he assumed as his Satrap car proclaiming himself as Xerxes' successor.
Fundamentalism brought the anxious troops in the Kabbalah of the Emotional Subclavian since it raises a colossal anthropological remnant of the spectral silica that unites Grikos and Skalá, arguing that from there in this subclavian the hormones of corpse mummies roar, with the greater flow than those that They are destined to die several times without having compassion for their ancestors, turning to the dust brooms that leads them to impieties that contradict the pietism that still did not lie in treasuring them, but wrapped themselves in their own syncretic sarcophagi, to praise the revolutions of woodworm. of dust with the hyper kinetics of Kabbalah that will bring light in meadows, and waters in streams that will be visible by the human eye towards the ecstatic, leaving them uncertain in the reality of joining the Merkaba as a coalition that has consonance, quality, and evidence with all the currents of thought and scholarship of irrational imperialism not adhered to the holiest and most generous to the action of service of Saint John the Apostle.

The strings were seen from great height like chains of Prometheus adding more links for those who made the syntax of Jakob when he came back from the lands of Laban leaving behind the cornered voices of the desert that clarifies everything, and leaves them in the spaces of the graphemes that make up the phylogeny of those who have walked day and night in the desert, at the expense of consonants such as Alpha and Aleph to develop the tracheo-laryngeal voices of Aramaic that were pronounced by all parts of the flint, and of deproposited inclinations of those who are paired by the coveted desire of the virulent result of the temptations by wanting to take all the material gains beyond the grave with Asmodeus or Lilith, if it is very broad to capitulate to the theories of the mysterious becoming, and how this colossal image will rise among all where the figure of the anthropological being rests that was flat in the subclavian, throbbing with so much flow of red blood cells, and Letters of Light where the Eagles and Oxen of Apollo will have the same inspirational wings of one who becomes divine after having been a mythological prototype, prostrated in all the powers of the Lion and the Gerakis as a master of the air and of the lion like the Cherub who he is jealous of the syntax and coordination so that the world began to speak of the common language with a language and its vibrations that rehabilitate the cosmos that had been twisted cabalistically since the Kassotide pit had been sealed. The communities made their souls cultured and genuine, allowing these militia networks to collide, claiming to sustain possible escapes before a body without a soul, being only specters that decomposed as time passed in the heliacal rise that made the pseudepigraphic alerts, to re-contribute to a literary reality that can be incorporated into the elite of anthropological literary works where spectral rooms can themselves contribute and build foundations, that are diligent succumbed parties having to go in the Zohar Light exhibition who stands indoctrinated to rise in these spectral posthumous Battle of Patmia.
Psiloi
Reyn Moico Jan 2017
The Sun rises, it's a new day.
But nothing's new.
Different date but same atmosphere.
I had to wake up, not because the **** started to crow or the clock started to rang— never set an alarm either... But because of morning sunlight entering the room hits my eye, and I had to get up to close the curtain and to continue to sleep again; which I started for about an hour ago.

I get out of bed at 2:00pm.
Having a sip of coffee nor a slice of bread and cheese is out of my thought. Who would have had a breakfast at afternoon anyway?
I already misses lunch.
Because I'm dead asleep when my brother came into my room and tried to wake me for food.
All of them have already eaten, and the dishes are waiting for me.
Am I hungry? Perhaps... Maybe I'm too lazy to prepare my own food, or maybe I'm too exhausted... Too exhausted to live.

Nothing excites me anymore.
It felt like I'm a dead soul inside a living flesh.
I do often ask myself, why do these things happen?
Why do I continue living this sort?
Why am I still breathing?
Why I always fail to end it in my own hand for many times for which I cannot comprehend?
Is this the wrath they are saying?
And the Gods and Goddesses wants me to suffer for all the impieties I have made.
Maybe I was lucky.
A lucky ******* indeed.
Too lucky to live, too unfortunate to have this ****.

Else I was just exaggerating words out of things.
Yeah, I'm not the only one who's in this boat.
Others suffer in their boot.
Tomorrow's another day, but surely it's not new to me.
Life's a wonderful adversary in a tough battle.
And I will surely lose— no one have ever won anyway. Maybe successful. But they all had their tombs.
It's a tough battle in which nobody wins.
But I will never let my guard down.
Death is not for me at this time.
But will surely come to me.
No... It will come for us.
They're just hiding in silence waiting for the right time to bite.
Live

— The End —