can anyone tell me
why East and West are fighting?
in an indisputably Round world
going West far enough
will put you in the East
and vice versa

in a round view of things
people of the east
need the same things
as people of the west
and what about the middle people?
what do they need?
roundly the same I'd say

so roundly I also say
otherness is to be avoided
otherness to be voided
replaced by roundness
roundness is to be embraced
all around the world

so I'll start
and put my arms around you
like a circle around the sun
for I am
as round as you

T'is silence leaps from one self to another. Betrayal, o betrayal, doth greet it-so violently and startlingly, along th' entirety of its journey! Undelightful as 'tis, but made worse by t'at hostile dubiousness. Another fact aside from its ambivalent hatefulness: recognisable to every questioning eye-is t'is downright scary on its own, with unmolested quietude, and ******, but involuntary, unspokenness. Resolutions made within undesirable ambiences! Sacrifice t'at outwardly suggests th' presence of glam profuse in rich elaboration-but bland enough! And on top of all, t'is brimming immovability, and 'tis pool of doubts is causing me but to commence feeling weary about 'tis raising thorn. How didst I send myself into ferocious wanders-about t'is airless rooms, heated like sunflowers bathing themselves to death on th' giggling surface of raging snow. Battle of nature-and war of its childlike beings! Like a stoical plant in th' midst of 'tis glittering forest; vacant and idyllic-passive and unquestioning towards th' blades of farmers t'at come to exploit 'em: with morbid and futile, savage desires for rebellious treasures-unbecoming in t'eir temporariness, and unavoidability of sincere devotion as t'ey wilt soon leave t'eir offspring bereft of t'eir provisions once more. Yet look, look how red t'eir eyes are in t'eir hunger-eccentric vivacity gloweth in t'eir eyes, but mockery governs 'em-as ruptured t'eir weak souls are, by loathsome uncertainty and severe senses of greed. How t'is consideration made aggravated; agitated my soul is-o, seriously agitated! Yes, indeed! No longer doth vanity boast away about being my pride, but th' sultry pointlessness of my power of self-esteem. How melancholy t'is life is! O, and th' raising thorn itself, th' one aforementioned so discreetly within my fourth phrase up t'ere-growing dominantly and selfishly-aye! every day, is unlikely to be abashed by any remorseful incarceration, or stony suicidal attempts hurled by t'ose disgraceful beings out t'ere; but in t'is case, yon disgracefulness is comprised of grateful swarms of exquisite laughter, divine in its own roots, like th' sacred nook of a moonlit river. And how t'ere, on its most godlike slice of rock-so dearly scented by nature and innocent greenness-a sight be so dear to my longing eyes, shalt thou dwell with thy poems, and heart trembling with thy fullness of passion. For me, yes, for me, selfishly! O, my love! Cannot help I uttering thy name-thy very name, whom I am undeniably besotted with, like a feverish storm mooning over its lifelike sea, and whose eager cruelty so invincibly blanched by 'tis romantic tides-gone as it is, in just a seeming couple of cordial seconds! My love, whose name is so unmistakably dear to my heart, and indisputably belongs to 'tis greedy layers-ambitious, my love, desirous of,  and bland to solely th' dormant rains of thy love! O, t'ose pristine tears of blessings t'at are volatile but decorative to my half life-for thou art unarguably th' other half of me! And splendid in t'is very breath, t'at recognition t'en beats furiously along with t'is frail voyage of my humanness-grounded inevitably by unremarkable velocity are my wheels, and sometimes imprisoned in helplessness amidst th' pursuit of my fierce dreaming. But I admire 'tis core-as it is but thy warm, genial slumber; and 'tis skin is but th' very depths wherein I conceal my very whole love for thee. My love, my darling! If only thou wert here-yes, here, querida, to indulge t'is pr'saic quietude, shalt I shrink into nothing but a piece of thy fallen star; and t'ese feeble hands shalt t'en thou own, just as thy heart I should'th won.

things that hurt

you drive to his house feeling like you are driving to your death. you make a decision not to cry, and then make a decision to cry like hell. you sit in your car for a long time. you pull one card from your tarot deck.
it says zen garden.
you say, **** that and walk to his door.

he hugs you and you can tell that he knows. his kiss feels small and guarded.
walk the dog, make painful small talk, try to avoid the ocean of unsaid things drowning us both
i should say something but instead i put my tongue in his mouth like it's never been there before
or like it never will be again
my fire hands touch every centimeter of his skinny body
fierce, quiet ***.

he plays a song and says, this is sad and i don't know why
i say, read this please and i put my hand on his foot and watch my own tears fall slowly and land on his toes
he reads
i probe his face for the answers to the questions i never asked

seconds seconds seconds.

he flops on his back and opens his mouth wordlessly
i say, Adam
he says, Kia
i burrow on top of him and try to say i love you but it mostly sounds like hurt
he says, everything you wrote just makes me love you more
and all i can do is cry
his eyes say everything and nothing

this girl, Adam, i dream about her
she needs you
she is better for you than i am
a piece of me is with someone else
there is nothing you could have done differently
you are incredible,
i love you
i love you
i love you.

he says, i wish i was strong enough to hold you.
Adam, i say, Adam.
you are strong
how are you so strong?

it's a survival tactic, he said

i'm having a moral crisis because i'm doing this on your birthday
and he says,
birthdays don't mean ****.

i can't imagine another woman, his eyes his eyes his eyes
i try to pull my heart out of the blackhole it has fallen into
and say, she's lucky

that's when he starts crying
and i feel as though pain does indeed exist.
and then he says, i'll miss you so ******* much
and i can't take it.

there comes a point where we are quiet again, almost calm
slipping into the familiarity of laying together on his bed
he starts laughing
what? what's so funny?
he laughs from the soul
he says, its just that this is the weirdest breakup ever
and i have to agree

he puts his hands down my pants and says morosely, i guess this is my last chance
i start crying
he says i didn't mean to make you cry
i say nothing but i grab him
and this time the *** is loud and desperate

that was the best ever, he says
indisputably, i say
and cry again but it's in the shower so he might not notice

i decide to spend the night with this person as i have countless other nights
but suddenly it's not that person and things are different
i wear a shirt and when he cups his hand on my breast i ache

let's sleep on this.

we wake up and i call work and tell them i'm not coming because of a death in the family
it's not a lie
we wake up and forget for a second what happened
then his face changes and he says, Kia

i cry
he says,

don't.

he says, silly Libra, you are scared of your own choices and i'll miss you

he says, do you want a backrub?
i cry for the millionth time and say, yes

i say, what does it feel like
he says, like i'm losing something i never had

i watch him eat breakfast
i put on my socks
i watch him take all of my books off of his shelf
i put on my shoes
i watch his pull out his guitar and sing a broken hearted song written for another girl, turned into a song for me
he adds new words at the end,
i fell in love with a gypsy girl.

i put on my coat.
he says, maybe i want a guitar tuner for my birthday.
i say, Adam
and kiss him.

i say, this is the hardest thing i have ever done
it is out of love
you deserve the best

he says, what do i deserve?
i say, the best
he pulls me in tight and says,
you are the best

i say, i am not the best for you.

he says, i don't believe you but i have to respect you
you are the most powerful woman i have ever met
and every step, every choice i make from here on out is changed.

i say, i will be there if you need me
he says, Kia, i will never grow up unless i learn to not need you


i say, i love you
and walk to the door.

he closes it on me as he says a simple, bye

i wail.

I seldom indulge in letter writing
Because I consider it
To be a cold and illusory
Means of communication.
I will only send someone a letter
If I'm certain it's going to serve
A definite functional purpose,
Such as that which I'm
Scrupulously concocting at present
Indisputably does.
It's not that I incline
Towards excessive premeditation;
Its rather that I have to subject
My thoughts and emotions
To quasi-military discipline,
As pandemonium is the sole alternative.
I'm the compensatory man par excellence.
                                                              
Deliberation, in my case,
Is a means to an end,
But scarcely by any means,
An end in itself.
This letter possesses not one,
But two, designs.
On one hand, its aim is edification.
Besides that, I plan to include it
In the literary project upon which
I'm presently engaged,
With your permission of course.
Contrary to what you have suspected
In the past,
I never intend to trivialise intimacy
By distilling it into art.
On the contrary, I seek
To apotheosise the same.
                                                              
You see...I lack the necessary
Emotional vitality to do justice
To people and events
That are precious to me;
I am forced, therefore,
To at a later date call
On emotive reserves
Contained within my unconscious
In order to transform
The aforesaid into literary monuments.
You once said that my feelings
Had been interred under six feet
Of lifeless abstractions;
As true as this might be,
The abstractions in question
Come from without
Rather than within me:
                                                              
My youthful spontaneity
Many mistrustfully identified
With self-satisfied inconsiderateness
(A standard case of fallacious reasoning),
And I was consequently
The frequent victim
Of somewhat draconic cerebrations.
I tremble now
In the face of hyperconsciousness.
I've manufactured a mentality,
Riddled with deliberation,
Cankerous with irony;
Still, in its fragility,
Not to say, artificiality,
It can, with supreme facility,
Be wrenched aside to expose
The touch-paper tenderness within.
                                                              
With characteristic extremism,
I've taken ratiocination
To its very limits,
But I've acquainted myself with,
Nay, embraced my antagonist
Only in order to more effectively throttle him.
Being a survivor of the protracted passage
Through the morass of nihilism,
Found deep within
"the hell of my inner being,"
I am more than qualified to say this:
There is no way out
Of the prison of ceaseless sophistry.
There are many things I have left to say,
But I shall only have begun to exist in earnest
When these are far behind me,
In fact, so far as to be all but imperceptible.
                                                              
I long for the time
When I shall have compensated to my satisfaction.
I never desired intellectuality; it was ****** upon me.
Everything I ever dreaded being, I've become
Everything I ever desired to be, I've become.
I'm the sum total of a lifetime's
Fears and fantasies,
Both wish-fulfillment
And dread-consummation incarnate.
I long for the time
When I shall have compensated to my satisfaction.
I never desired intellectuality; it was ****** upon me.  
I'm the sum total of a lifetime's
Fears and fantasies,
Both wish-fulfillment
And dread-consummation incarnate.
I'm the compensatory man par excellence.

deep in the night,
tranquility never looked more beautiful.
with the sea calm and unwavering,
the wind that seems to be singing;
you are the calming light.

deep in the night,
chaos never looked more beautiful.
to the waves playing push and pull,
and the merciless wind that's resounding;
you in the midst, indisputably astounding.

deep in the night,
and everything in between,
the waves that crashes with its might,
and the wind faintly in tune,
in contrast to the chaos and the serene;
you are still here, my moon.

—a.c.

There is a great glow on Jesus’ face
He was born to rescue the entire human race
Blessed are the people who believe in Christ
He is undoubtedly the divine priest
Him we should continuously pray
And keep the Satan at bay
If we don’t love our fellow human
We will never reach heaven
We should do our duty
The holy Bible exhorts us to take pity
Jerusalem is the Jesus’ birth city
Mother Mary has great piety
Jesus blossomed in the west
His teachings are the best
Our life on earth is a myth
Man forgets this eternal truth
Man incessantly hankers after riches
Doesn’t hesitate to delve deep into ditches
He tells spurious lies
And falls an easy prey to vice
He forgets the purpose of his life
And lives in perpetual strife
Jealousy and hatred are real hell
Only good things we should tell
We should never spread horror or terror
It is an inexcusable error
We should not fight for religion
Man should be peaceful in every region
God is indisputably one
Fighting for Him is real sin
We should be ready for the Doomsday
Christianity shows us the right way
The Bible leads us to the holy path
I think we will have the purification bath
We should get ready for the Sabbath
Jesus will give us his holy cloth

Vibrant yellow back
Defiant black streaks
Deceptively cute

Solid almost artificial blue unlike the sky or ocean
Speckled with the night
Assuming an artificial rainbow

Small eyes that radiate innocence
And an equally built body

Your diet is of alkaloids
Psychotropic substances
You use them to protect yourself
Psychedelics have brought you questions you'd rather not answer

I've indulged in the natural poisons
I can see beauty in harm, purpose, necessity
But if I let you be, I know you're no danger to me
Though, I'm a little too late

You're delicate and I am clumsy
You've warned me not to get to close, I’m bound to get hurt
I yield to what yearns to cradle your amphibious nature,
so unique to a monochrome world

Physicality is your weapon
An open wound lets your corrosive membrane transfuse my blood
You flood me
And oh, I moan. Action potential discharged, the sensory impulses to my brain.
You stop feeling slippery in my hand as I begin to rust

Little one, you escape my hands  
But I am paralyzed

Thickened blood, what went so wrong
Tender in touch, I didn't hurt you
But your defensive, corrosive skin reflected your inner malintent

Black mamba venom indisputably pierces the skin
Harsh betrayal of curious wonder
Black widow toxin, an unblunted destruction of the dermis
But you came in celebrated color

How am I to trust visual credibility of sinlessness
You're a poison dart frog
When the beauty that once enticed me
Has hardened the sanguine essence that filled me with vitality and awe

Online you can find courses that accomplish any kind of activities. Plans could control many processes, collect files and accomplish just about any type of work for you. On the other hand, many programs usually are not practical, however desperately seeking to mimic them. A range of malware along with spyware making the effort to cover up within ordinary look, pretending being beneficial ammenities. On this page, we shall share with you the type of software this numbed a huge number of desktops in the last two weeks, as well as it known as SafeSurf.

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I’ve seen innocence playing, and then learning, and then growing till it is no more;
Babies sleeping on undeserving laps of cataleptic and lifeless parents that can’t see an inch beyond themselves;
Souls crippled and mutilated by an almost perpetual chain of senseless, co-dependent and self-seeking conduct.
However, in all honestly, I must absolve them all: man only wounds when wounded.
Man is perfectly imperfect.

I’ve seen youth squandered and consumed, as if it were perpetual and worthless;
Girls and boys, and boys, then girls, willingly falling into wells, and running madly into brick walls,
As if a florid garden awaited them, unaware that an abyss of emptiness and sadness lies ahead.
Fresh souls and drugged-up bodies will always wander, bemused and helpless, in a maze of their own making.
This youth is endless and quite probably already dead.

I’ve seen men that believe in themselves transform into giants and soar,
Just to turn my face the other way and find the exact opposite motion -
Fear and doubt pounding down with infinite weight our brittle existence,
Leaving behind a trail of things undone, loves unloved, and unrealized dreams.
Will we never understand that the script we write is the play that follows?

I’ve seen man pitted against man, against nature and against himself, in a never-ending cycle of sheer stupidity and sadism;
Enraged faces and frantic hands repeatedly stabbing their own child, their own brother, and their own flesh,
In an utterly comical and pointless attempt to soothe our inbuilt suffering.
Man is his biggest foe, his only foe:  the deepest scars are indisputably self-inflicted.
Pain is, consequently, inescapable.

I’ve seen a humanity that is not human: man’s wanting turned rotten, then dead;
Greed uninhibited and hysterical, pushing man to his lowest denominator;
Blood filling the gaps of understanding, and as a sorry excuse to a twisted and self-serving morality,
Whilst peace lies agonizing, tortured, and *****.
Human tragedy is simply the making of our collective human un-conscience.

I’ve seen into the souls of Buddhists, Christians, Hindus, Muslims, and Jews;
I reached deep into their chests, and with my bear hands ripped their bloodied, beating hearts out,
And I tell you – my brother, my sister – that they all look exactly the same.
We are all human, animal, chemical, and mineral alike.
Distinction is mental, psychological, and naught.

I’ve seen God Himself, compassionate and commanding, visibly invisible,
Yelling at me in languages I could not comprehend (certainly enraged at His own creation),
While I, on my knees, completely obedient, docile, and innocent, regurgitated endless mantras of fear, vain love, and inanity.
Fortunately, His yelling awakened me, and as I peeked into His eyes, caught a fleeting glance of my own Self.
We were not made in his image, he was made in Ours.

I’ve seen love, and the hope of love, give birth to a new life, to a new dream, and to a new meaning.
A love that conquers pain, past, and present is everything and holy.
This love is infinite.
Love, certainly illusory, is truly all, and more than all:
In the end, all things considered, love is our only escape.

Now, having seen all, I close my eyes and see no more -
I am love, pure love.

TSUNAMI

When the sea stood up
there was no malevolence in it
only certainty

it was not distracted
from its singleminded purpose

it rolled toward the land
inexorable
heedless of walls
the feeble defences erected(intended) to stop it

unmoved by the screams of people
the groaning and smashing of timbers
cars becoming boats and floating
making a mockery of roads

it swept across fields
into towns
up streets
through buildings-picked some up
onward

its speed never varied
it was stopped only
where the land rose  sharply
becoming hills

but it was not a victory for the land
the sea had won
indisputably

and was content then
to swirl about and mock the toes of the hills

when it retreated
it took souvenirs


islands of debris
the roofs of houses
would float far off shore
for weeks

How exactly does one find themselves in said situation
you didn't say anything about the situation yet
in description,
indisputably
incredible
incredible?
Not in any sense of tradition
Not in any sense that could bring sparkle and innocence to the surface of a child's eyes
Not in any sense immediately apparent to the unobservant man
cut to it *******
Clouds run think in the room
and with ink head to toe
and horns
and swazzies
and clantag black across the chest
and yellowed smokers teeth
golden oils burst hot in desperate lungs.
Relief.
Relief is what they name her
as her remnants drift from grateful mouths
as pale white and soulful as snow in reverse.
What's going on then?
They play a game.
They call it twenty five for missed medicine.
They say if the bell breathes smoke
on calls break the weak,
They hackle happily in a giggling choke.
But I could never participate in these things.
Is it a lack of courage, an overabundance of cowardice?
Its a lack of many things:
lacking history
or will
or wisdom
or faith
or a gut cold and steely enough to handle regurgitation
of my own lungs.
Not many do handle.
As is seen,
when a queen splatters palaces
with spigukums
liquid lowered expectations
only now could they take her seriously.
Do you?
I knew that fate from the start
and that's why I depart
to a cold blue board box
Roll, lick, pack, and light
delight
then again;
Who's to say I didn't enjoy it just as much as they did?

and we were looking out forever in
opposite directions but there
was nothing behind what we
could see when we turned around.

and what else could tenderness be if not
revealing what you've kept
hidden even
from yourself?

defiance, maybe. resistance against a time
such as ours, for a time coming, if it's coming,
not so callous, our hearts, if they dared
at the edges of nowhere.

of your love nothing is known
but the event happened
therefore you exist.
indisputably.
between a name and
nothing at all.
if you insist, if you can.

you must resist

all the world's temptation to
yield
for the hazard of
something singular.
of your love nothing is known
as it is with all
processes of truth-becoming

traversing

eternity

and back again, in a flash.

Good morning.
Welcome to this holistic Universe
of pumpkin spice lattes
with "organic" soy milk.

In this indisputably beautiful
multiplication homogeneous
to unidentified living growth,
we spawn the dawning
of a new era with our own
Purple Prose.

It's neither here, nor there.

Take a step back.
        Notice It.

Smell the ripe air with both
Sweat & Smoke.
We reciprocate our feelings
      Of  
           u n s u r e n e s s
With a firm handshake
And an
avoiding eye.
Here, we have fabricated
the abundance! of our Knowledge,

while We can't figure it out.
Are We real at all?

Ego
geographically situate
undilutable
concentrate and
indisputably so

ergo

I am it
that the ego injects

**** Erectus,

comes
with
prospects

alas
no prospectus.

But away from all this I
can blow you a kiss and
leave my ego behind.

A Day Of Thinking or
This Is The Way My Brain May Work On Any Given Day

           Breakfast In Bed
No one in this world
Makes thinner toast,
Better toast, winner toast.
You do not boast.
How have you learned to slice
This near-transparent, indisputably crunchy piece of bliss!
What skill!  And modest too!
No one can make such toast as you.

                Going In To Thank
Going into different segments of the brain
I thank for life in any of the synapses.
Is there a gratitude partition
Or a separate, section - special one?
An all-inclusive?
I don’t always feel it – just today.
It probably will go away.
I hope it leaves a record.

          Late Afternoon
Deep, deep inside
I’m feeling tired of society.
It’s like, what I imagine to be
What they call depression.
It’s connected to reality; civilization.
There’s the problem -
It’s not me, it’s them!
I ought to put away the TV (I’ve no phone)
Things electronic, dailies, monthlies,
All things histrionic;
The destructive, scandalous and shocking;
All things not-to-be: illusory.
Noel Coward wrote “World Weary” –
A light, song for something serious.
Perhaps that’s it!
There still exist fall hues phantasmagorical:
Food tastes, sweet music, friends amusing, loyal,
Beauty, animals…and still I feel
Despite the goodness,
Deep, deep sadness at the mess.

A Day Of Thinking 10.28.2016
Circling Round Reality;
Arlene Corwin

Fussily he figures, that’s not good enough for him
Excessively high standards got his best, and then
Contempt for average qualities; things he had abhorred
Became almost everything, as he always needed more

His code of behavior, to one, might seem ideal
Criterion of excellence would show at every meal
Fork, knife and spoon oh-so polished, and set precisely
All a fanciful show, and done so ever nicely

Particular attention to each and every detail
In acquisition of mate, indisputably he’d fail
For who could ever live up to these extreme conventions?
Or be it prissy of me, to mention these intensions?

Mr. Fastidious to some, might seem the status quo
A state in which display, is an always-complex show
Fail not to follow all rules, as they are set to be
Or you might dine alone, a wordy one like me

Rain.. everywhere..
Breath like tiny vapors in the air
Just like escaping the arc of sleep
To end up where dreams and pathways meet
And just before I plunge, I leave
to the deepest delusions ever perceived
But so indisputably real
That it makes sense of the way I feel
Floating, median minded reality stretches out
to hinder time and point every heartbeat out
the numb sensation of doubt
until it echoes out loud
mimic the atmosphere of your air
and splashing everywhere,
rain everywhere
-soaking socks-
And dripping hair!
It just keeps pouring at me!
but you are nowhere,
you are not seen,
nor are you heard
you are felt, which is awfully absurd
seeing as all that lives here breathe
the phantom of your memories
it’s like you are behind me
It’s like you are in the trees
It’s like you are the wind
Inside of me…
You are the melody

A brain chemically imbalanced.

How could taking two little white pills every morning
slowly but surely resolve eight years of major depression
ameliorate symptoms that strangle the mind and spirit,
destroying self-worth, competency, basic functionality.

Despite a set-back of a month of unstable, barely restrained
suicidal thoughts, whole-heartedly consuming every minute
of conscious thought and shattering already severely fragmented
sleep, the only repose from the onslaught of endless thoughts
each one affirming deservance and supplying means to an end.

The vile depression, mind-warping, heart-marring, shape-shifting,
perspective-rearranging, adapting to every new environment,
clawing its nightmare-grip further into my chest day after day,
haunting me even in its remission: the depression was sinister.

Body and brain scarred and healing, starved synapses react,
a regiment of medicine, taxing-thought, and long-scarce love,
but indisputably vital: taking two little white pills every morning
slowly but surely resolves eight years of major depression.

A brain chemically balanced.

He peeled away time, like dead skin on fingertips
An irritant needing of disposal like all wasted things
Each layer increasingly painful to touch, but demanding an attention too strong to protest
Not knowing what exactly lies at the end, but tightly grasping the edges of his mind’s ferry as it lurched deeper in
Scraping into the recesses of inferno, past showy flames
Stopping only at the bottom, hitting solid ground, still and cold
A modest ghost land, non-boasting
Completely justified by its own barrenness
Indisputably, the first instance
There he laid himself to rest a while
Coddled in the dirt
A sense of security reminiscent of the womb where it started, back to the beginning
And while lying there, seeking comfort through this fever chill of a journey, looking up he saw it
What it must have been all along
A childhood memory, living only in the mind, but living all the same
A defining moment
Something simple, whose significance couldn’t be challenged, but whose existence was something uncertain
A mystery only partially figured out
But enough to know when to stop
Just a reverie, he reassured himself
And with that piled on each layer again and again until he reached the surface once more
Back to a familiar setting, cool and breathable
Maybe suggestive of a lower level
But probably not.

I am small
But I'm eons away
From being insignificant
And trivial
I am tiny
But my mind possesses
Fathomless proportions
Indisputably
I am willowy
But my bones are ripe
With a strength
of the oldest living tree
My voice is faint
But I roar like a lion
With my actions
So think
Not only twice
But a million times
Before you decide
To sweep me off
Like an atom of dust perhaps
Beware
Of my imperceptible
Yet piercing brilliance

Fussily he figures, that’s not good enough for him
Excessively high standards got his best, and then
Contempt for average qualities; things he had abhorred
Became almost everything, as he always needed more

His code of behavior, to one, might seem ideal
Criterion of excellence would show at every meal
Fork, knife and spoon oh-so polished, and set precisely
All a fanciful show, and done so ever nicely

Particular attention to each and every detail
In acquisition of mate, indisputably he’d fail
For who could ever live up to these extreme conventions?
Or be it prissy of me, to mention these intensions?

Mr. Fastidious to some, might seem the status quo
A state in which display, is an always-complex show
Fail not to follow all rules, as they are set to be
Or you might dine alone, a wordy one like me

noun

1. i will always be afraid.'bold, heroic, daring...' these are words to describe another. despite this, i will never shy away from myself. i may not be brave, but i am honest.

2. have you ever found a poem that touched you, brushed your very soul, and sent shivers across your skin? inexplicably, indisputably, a dust-spark alights gently in your lungs. inhale, fire. exhale, smoke.

3. flames on my tongue like a shakespearean sonnet, embers on my lips searing like birdsong. i am too terrified to speak. for you, i would.

4. i am finally doing something right.

h.f.m.

In our lifetime, we have regrets.
Those are the things that we want to forget.
Truth be told, certain damages have been made that nothing in this world can change it,
No one and anything could mend it as if nothing really happened to be honest.
We all know that, we know that very well.
He knows it too well.

Once you have given the chance to live,
Live it out to the fullest more than life could really give.
Cliché as it may seem but never count the days,
Make each day count for real.
We will never know when He’s going to take it back,
So before it’s too late, let’s be sure how to get our knees on track.
Bend it if that will help to endure the pain,
Stretch it if that will ease the pain.
Pain within or beneath,
Death could cause either of both ways.

There could be times that we might think of it as the easiest way to escape,
But in reality, it could only make us suffer as we try to conceal it.
Ironic but as some of us think of it as gateway,
Some are indisputably afraid of what it could bring to one’s stay here.
Lots of people too are finding it hard to accept death as it should be,
But we can always have it the other way around, perchance.
We call it being infinite despite our limits,
In this realm which probably has given us predestined deadlines.

But one should take note that nothing could be really permanent with one’s temperament,
Nevertheless, we could always have the choice to outcast our shadows as we live.
We just have to believe,
And nothing but only believe.
Believe that anyone of us could be infinite,
And we can only do that as long as we recognize its paradoxical relationship with the so called ending, death.

Each and every one would be facing death when it found its impeccable way to end,
But if we believe that we can be more of what we are actually could be and did something that we won’t regret,
Then there is nothing greater than what we have come to be from the very first minute of our life until death.
Despite knowing that nothing in this world would really last,
Infinity is within every one of us and that’s for a fact.

As long as we live disregarding the thought that death could anytime hit us,
We can be and do anything as if death wouldn’t find its way to beat us.
Moreover, overcoming regrets would be seamless,
And nothing or anyone could trip us.
To live as if you will die tomorrow,
And learn as if you will live forever.
This is the paradox of life,
Death and infinite could be both fulfilled once we find our own understanding of serenity.
In peace, our hearts will be pleased,
What is more, He will be glad to witness it.

in praying positions
I realise how looking back
at our conversations
in the same bed
that auctioned my body
to you,
even though my tears,
in the company
of my four walls
indisputably proved
to be the highest bidder...
but listen carefully
as my maleficent words,
escaping just beneath
my breath,
tap into your soul...  
until your lungs
know nothing else
than to breathe
the air of me...
until the insides
of your eyelids
morph themselves
into traces and features
of my face...
maybe then you'll really see
the blessings bestowed
upon you...  
and count them
as often as you blink....  
They say let he who has no sin cast the first stone
so here I am...  
as white as the bedsheets
I've left the old sinful
pieces of my soul in
purely resurrected from
the acts of sin
we executed last night...
young lost king
embodied by nothing more
but a sense
of you needing me
I will name and shame you
within this poem
until the thought of it
hunts down your dreams
until they haunt you
and you can do
nothing more but
pray me into your dreams
just enough for you
to find your way  
back into mine
so I can dream you
into my existence
-thembekile kilay deh'poet Tsaoane

"The knight are riding at dawn". When I was little, naive, I swear I must have wondered some dispatch of the lights around me, she holds me, indisputably, while her mind is breaking, dying of depression. The lights made me feel uncomfortable. They were to too bright and the air was smokey as well.
Just a corner of some distinct place, I saw a man collecting a pile of rubble from a cracked platform. There wasn't time to ponder for a dog just crossed me. I was frightened by volume. In that cold place, while waiting for help to ride by, in the middle of someplace I don't recall, the lights made me lose weight from the ghosts circling around you. The wolves howl and I try to run but I am stuck between skyscrapers. The dog just turned into a knightmare for it lingers around me. I was little. The gravity was posing some relief. It was pulling her soul onto a cradle for sleep.
While I was wondering how to escape the fate of demons around me. I was little and naive.