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"inequities" poems
☮ ☮ ☮ **Society needs more Social Justice. Humanity needs peaceworkers.** Peace and Social Justice must be promoted aggressively. There are inequities that must be addressed. Power is not equally distributed. Neither are resources or wealth. Neither are poetic gifts or vision equitably distributed. Unearned privilege is rampant. Poetry must confront this global crisis of capitalist exploitation and manipulation. Poetry must speak to the masses. Poetry must radicalize and inform consciousness to new levels of social change. Marginalized citizens must be empowered. All ****** gender-based, racial, religious, age-based, homophobic, xenophobic, and gynophobic bigots must be brought to see in a new way through our poetry. Community building and local empowerment are of the order. Our poetry must be global in scope – yet rooted and grounded in local community empowerment. Selfless acts of service to promote and increase Social Justice are needed. Lives selflessly devoted to establishing social justice are called for. Our poetic lives must be laid on the altar of the dis-enfranchised and unrepresented. We, as consciously aware poets, must advocate and speak out for those who have no voice. We, as poets, must, through stirring words of Social Justice, embody through our radical verses the burning hope of a just and sustainable future. This future must become increasingly collective as formerly marginalized consumers become empowered community-builders  –  through our poetry. As poets of the sustainable future we will empower and inform. Our poetry must collectivize, entitle and enslave. We must speak with ONE VOICE: the voice of change and social justice. Our words will rise with healing in their wings and lift whole communities from despair to radicalized self-awareness in communities filled with strident, intolerant and maniacal practitioners of PEACE & SOCIAL JUSTICE. All poets who do not lay their entire creative and lyrical selves on the altar of struggle to bring CHANGE and SOCIAL JUSTICE will be LIQUIDATED by our own EMPOWERED POETRY. IN THE END WE WILL WRITE A PURE POETRY OF SOCIAL CHANGE, ALL IN CAPS, AND THIS POETRY OF SOCIAL JUSTICE AND EMPOWERMENT WILL BE READ OVER THE GRAVES OF ALL SELL-OUT, CORPORATE, FASCIST, SNITCHING, SELFISH, UNEMPOWERED AND UNEMPOWERING TRAITORS AND ENEMIES OF SOCIAL JUSTICE.  IN THE END THERE WILL BE NO PUNCTUATION OR EVEN WORDS ONLY PURE IMAGES OF CHANGE + VISIONARY COLLABORATION IN SOCIAL TRANSFORMATION/MAYBE SLASH MARKS/OKAY MAYBE EXCLAMATION POINTS TOO BUT ONLY THOSE ! WHY? BECAUSE THE ONLY GOOD POET IS A LIVING POET WHO HAS LIQUIDATED EVERY FALSE POET NOT COMMITTED TO THE STRUGGLE FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE ! LONG LIVE POETRY IN ACTION THROUGH CHANGE! WRITE/SPEAK/AGITATE FOR  SOCIAL JUSTICE  & EMPOWERMENT ! **POETRY IS STRUGGLE☻ STRUGGLE IS CHANGE☻ CHANGE REQUIRES SOCIAL JUSTICE☻ SOCIAL JUSTICE BRINGS PEACE☻ PEACE BRINGS WAR☻ WAR BRINGS CONFUSION & DEATH☻** (SO DON’T BE CONFUSED)
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Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 9:03 PM UTC
Agitating the Spin Cycle
☮ ☮ ☮ **Society needs more Social Justice. Humanity needs peaceworkers.** Peace and Social Justice must be promoted aggressively. There are inequities that must be addressed. Power is not equally distributed. Neither are resources or wealth. Neither are poetic gifts or vision equitably distributed. Unearned privilege is rampant. Poetry must confront this global crisis of capitalist exploitation and manipulation. Poetry must speak to the masses. Poetry must radicalize and inform consciousness to new levels of social change. Marginalized citizens must be empowered. All ****** gender-based, racial, religious, age-based, homophobic, xenophobic, and gynophobic bigots must be brought to see in a new way through our poetry. Community building and local empowerment are of the order. Our poetry must be global in scope – yet rooted and grounded in local community empowerment. Selfless acts of service to promote and increase Social Justice are needed. Lives selflessly devoted to establishing social justice are called for. Our poetic lives must be laid on the altar of the dis-enfranchised and unrepresented. We, as consciously aware poets, must advocate and speak out for those who have no voice. We, as poets, must, through stirring words of Social Justice, embody through our radical verses the burning hope of a just and sustainable future. This future must become increasingly collective as formerly marginalized consumers become empowered community-builders  –  through our poetry. As poets of the sustainable future we will empower and inform. Our poetry must collectivize, entitle and enslave. We must speak with ONE VOICE: the voice of change and social justice. Our words will rise with healing in their wings and lift whole communities from despair to radicalized self-awareness in communities filled with strident, intolerant and maniacal practitioners of PEACE & SOCIAL JUSTICE. All poets who do not lay their entire creative and lyrical selves on the altar of struggle to bring CHANGE and SOCIAL JUSTICE will be LIQUIDATED by our own EMPOWERED POETRY. IN THE END WE WILL WRITE A PURE POETRY OF SOCIAL CHANGE, ALL IN CAPS, AND THIS POETRY OF SOCIAL JUSTICE AND EMPOWERMENT WILL BE READ OVER THE GRAVES OF ALL SELL-OUT, CORPORATE, FASCIST, SNITCHING, SELFISH, UNEMPOWERED AND UNEMPOWERING TRAITORS AND ENEMIES OF SOCIAL JUSTICE.  IN THE END THERE WILL BE NO PUNCTUATION OR EVEN WORDS ONLY PURE IMAGES OF CHANGE + VISIONARY COLLABORATION IN SOCIAL TRANSFORMATION/MAYBE SLASH MARKS/OKAY MAYBE EXCLAMATION POINTS TOO BUT ONLY THOSE ! WHY? BECAUSE THE ONLY GOOD POET IS A LIVING POET WHO HAS LIQUIDATED EVERY FALSE POET NOT COMMITTED TO THE STRUGGLE FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE ! LONG LIVE POETRY IN ACTION THROUGH CHANGE! WRITE/SPEAK/AGITATE FOR  SOCIAL JUSTICE  & EMPOWERMENT ! **POETRY IS STRUGGLE☻ STRUGGLE IS CHANGE☻ CHANGE REQUIRES SOCIAL JUSTICE☻ SOCIAL JUSTICE BRINGS PEACE☻ PEACE BRINGS WAR☻ WAR BRINGS CONFUSION & DEATH☻** (SO DON’T BE CONFUSED)
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16
Take away my pain and leave me in a state of pure ecstasy. Make numb or make me *** I'll vibrate to the enticements. I'll learn from these exuberant dispensations and try to configure our despicable conversations and discover the inequities of our relations.
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Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 5:37 PM UTC
Lust
To elaborate on what Chris Hedges (the liberal who loves to play radical during uprisings) wrote in the Occupied Wall Street Journal concerning the goal of the Occupy Wall Street movement: “The goal to us is very, very clear. It can be articulated in one word—REBELLION. … What the elites fail to realize is that rebellion will not stop until the corporate state is extinguished.” To that, I say this: If you are sick and tired of living in the land of the 'free', in the land of plenty, while you see injustice and poverty and suffering, then stand up. Join a local chapter of Occupy, join any progressive group. If you don't see these things, PLEASE WAKE UP. READ, look and listen, to the world around you, rather than a TV, an Iphone, or some talking head. The deep inequities in life exist for a reason. Capitalism, that oh so familiar 'greed is good' mentality. We have to transform it totally, beginning with a plea for rebellion.
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Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 8:48 PM UTC
A Plea for Rebellion
My unseen, poetic collaborator, talent extraordinaire. She writes of the homeless man we pass on the street, to which I add a word, a line or two, for who among us has never once wondered, there but for the grace of god, go you or I.... a tin cup, a beat up guitar memories, all sepia colored, little of his older life, the few days left, close by, not far, the remains of the day, he calls them, his ha ha, happily ever after. once he thought maybe after the next song, he'll belong, for his melody sung in the key of despair, but the refrain, sung with flair, après la guerre, ever hopeful, ever after no passerby fails to stop, penny or dollar, each produces, his voice, so sad, seduces each fearful of the sound, but comforted by his last words, that stick to them, ever after. yet, he's happy, he has a voice, cold concrete beneath his extremities reminds him of his lost choices, a life begun, flowing with expectancies, soon expected to conclude, yet, he does not complain of life's inequities. no matter what the tune, no matter what the key, no matter what the rhythm, no matter what the beat, his every song always ends with words of no mean feat. He sings: **tho bad luck, poor choices have brought me to a life upon the ground, yet I wake each morn, kiss my stony bed, for I am happy for, just to be alive, always happy, ever after.**
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Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 5:09 AM UTC
Helen's Poem - The Homeless One
My professor tells me- "You have to be a strong individual." I arm myself, I fight my demons, I strive for the dignity and worth of individuals, I can stand strong Because I draw my strength from you. Weighed down by social realities and unjust inequities, Angered at the politics of life, I lie in anguish and sorrow And in my sense of incapability and numbness, I think of you. You, who cries with me and makes me smile, You raise me back to living Because you believe in me. When I choose to talk philosophy, And struggle to articulate my confusions, I can stand Because I know you don't judge me. I see a little girl, bathed in dirt, Her only toy a stick picked from the gutter, And I break a little inside At what is, and what ought to be. When I'll eventually be convinced to take up a role In such games of power, I know you will be there to keep me tied to sanity. When I lose my faith in human goodness, Eclipsed by the hunger of men and women, You take my hand and make me believe In the beauty of art, of language, Of music that punctures the soul and soothes the hurt. In a world that understands only violence and ********** You show me friendship and compassion. You could say it’s impossible to isolate oneself from the world. You’re right. But let not the whole annihilate the part, Let not the universe overcome the soul. When I begin to feel small and insignificant before the magnitude of life’s challenges and wonders, You remind me of who I am. We, who must share our lives with millions of others, Let’s make our lives our own. Why should the world bind us? Why should life find us Waiting for the world to change? Let’s not sit through as the movie of our lives plays in the background. With you by my side, I can say loud and clear: Come, let us stand strong together.
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Sep 29, 2013
Sep 29, 2013 at 1:11 PM UTC
I stand strong
My professor tells me- "You have to be a strong individual." I arm myself, I fight my demons, I strive for the dignity and worth of individuals, I can stand strong Because I draw my strength from you. Weighed down by social realities and unjust inequities, Angered at the politics of life, I lie in anguish and sorrow And in my sense of incapability and numbness, I think of you. You, who cries with me and makes me smile, You raise me back to living Because you believe in me. When I choose to talk philosophy, And struggle to articulate my confusions, I can stand Because I know you don't judge me. I see a little girl, bathed in dirt, Her only toy a stick picked from the gutter, And I break a little inside At what is, and what ought to be. When I'll eventually be convinced to take up a role In such games of power, I know you will be there to keep me tied to sanity. When I lose my faith in human goodness, Eclipsed by the hunger of men and women, You take my hand and make me believe In the beauty of art, of language, Of music that punctures the soul and soothes the hurt. In a world that understands only violence and ********** You show me friendship and compassion. You could say it’s impossible to isolate oneself from the world. You’re right. But let not the whole annihilate the part, Let not the universe overcome the soul. When I begin to feel small and insignificant before the magnitude of life’s challenges and wonders, You remind me of who I am. We, who must share our lives with millions of others, Let’s make our lives our own. Why should the world bind us? Why should life find us Waiting for the world to change? Let’s not sit through as the movie of our lives plays in the background. With you by my side, I can say loud and clear: Come, let us stand strong together.
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The very walls I built To keep the clutter out Suffocate me daily Shutting me in with my thoughts Questioning my decisions testing my patience. Was I wrong? Or right? Have I added to my mistakes? Will I wake up tomorrow? The burden overwhelms me I fear that I will give in To the heartwrenching fear Of the unknown. A weight settles on me Bearing down on my chest I heave breath after troubled breath who knows if it's my last? I prepare myself for death Sink into nothingness below For there are no worries nothing but stillness. No,I will not let the reaper close But how to deal with my pain That is anew everyday I find fault with the sun and moon No one to distract me From these savage insecurities hounding at my door am I pretty enough? Strong? can I do it? Will I succeed? it seems I am doomed to doubt Trapped by inequities and someday I just hope These walls will be solace And not my jailer.
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Jan 16, 2013
Jan 16, 2013 at 1:28 PM UTC
Jailer by default
There's a lady in the morning fog who feeds on porcelain thoughts, And she haunts the edges March. There are no five point dancers With their evening red and gold. Ready and willing to tumble and fall. Just her, alone; In the bog listening to us all. The beasts only swim, crawl, and fly By the Sycamore, rotten and petrified. In Death there is life And all ears are amplified.      "Testify." **"Are you the soul that brings fear? The Specter of my own Heresy? Get off the wind and answer me. Will you light the wild and chant the Lord's Prayer?"**          *"Through all my inequities I'll never       know sin like you.       Whip the poor and condemn the youth.       Blame the ******       Clergymen tend to always do.* "We are justified! **To do what we do Is the work of the lord! Truth will always bend To the ambassadors' works."** The feast is for the thin, chalked with divine And those on shore: honest and rectified. Breath is man's plight, And all eyes lie. There's a man waiting at the edge of dawn Who purges a man of his own thoughts He owns his defiled marsh. There are no five point answers Without their threaded holes Steadily fulfilling to us all. Just him, enthroned; on a rock Judging us as we fall.
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Feb 14, 2017
Feb 14, 2017 at 2:39 PM UTC
The Feast is for the Thin
By Elizabeth & Arcassin **by the gurgling stream he fell into a deep dream of a beautiful girl who had eyes so pretty of gleam how she did make his heart sang with delight as her image reflected in the stream's bright crystal light,** What's darkest may come to light, Fly from graduation or tutors, Hurricanes ruin cities, Mixed with high jackers, Free loaders, But in the dark, Run to the light, Trauma stricken, In the foreseeable future we need to fight, **the dreamer's perception of beauty is wiped out in the environs so broken and torn horribly about the shadowed lamp of fantasy which offers unto us the mired mirror of malcontent which is in this our abysmal society,** If you come to a conclusion, And have sense to maintain the illusion, You can make it a reality, Also to institutions, Beautiful stages of goals to be made, Grow a flower, Open a door, Influence the shade, **we are capable of making change our purpose is to bringing into existence the mind of the dreamer his purpose is to see that by all humans working together they can solve the ills and inequities which plague our earth,** Success runs through the heart of people that are determined, Trial and tribulations are sold separately, Achieve, Believe, And don't a servant, To people that don't wanna see you, Give and succeed, Your dreams.
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Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 3:51 PM UTC
"Dream" (Elizabeth Squires & Arcassin B)
The Path of the Righteous Man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the Selfish and the Tyranny of Evil Men. Blessed is he, who in the name of charity and good will shepherds the Weak through the Valley of Darkness, for he is truly his Brother's keeper, and the finder of lost Children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger, those who attempt to poison and destroy my Brothers! And you will know my name is the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon thee!
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Jul 19, 2013
Jul 19, 2013 at 9:06 AM UTC
Ezekial 25:17
Let’s scrabble to rouse the rabble, The massive blithering and blathering, Make protests ring above the babble And set foaming mouths lathering, When our country and its youth, Newly awakened and newly wise, Stand up and demand the truth Instead of the usual pack of lies. The rich get the wheat And we get the chaff Then the rich sit back In their palaces and laugh. What has served as intelligence Has put this country in a bind By people with no common sense. Supposed adults just voting blind Based on ideas without merit. Those with money get a pass And let the taxpayers bear it. Then the rest take it in the *** The ‘haves” drink wine And we drink water Maybe sometime soon They’ll come for your daughter. The people we have elected Saw a shaky foundation laid Have left us mostly unprotected And massive bribes were paid. The wealthy among us got a pass So now just the rich have a voice And the poor and working class Have no effective voice. The wealthy get shoes And we get bare feet. We learn to live our lives In postures of defeat. This is the age of communication; We have to look at what we are doing. We still can save our weakened nation. And maybe start some careful suing. Let’s vote out the Couriers of Hate; Hold these ******** to their vows. To stand up to their inequities We need to start right now. The rich get the wheat And we get the chaff Then the rich sit back In their palaces and laugh.
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Dec 7, 2015
Dec 7, 2015 at 12:45 AM UTC
CLARION CALL
Who knew our spirits would be so easily broke? Who knew our past loves would come crawling up our legs to meet us for dinner? who knew the joys of rhythm and melody would stand and stare us down for hours and never lead with the first move. Who knew the catacombs of my fearing mind would desecrate the innards of my only wantings. Who knows why the big ones reel in after dusk. Why did things turn out in the season of so much anger? How can one overcome any proportion of ill intention to an honest living. Where are the street-grit-fighting-fearless godsends of our time. Where are the nights of comfort among the towering plagiarisms of sonic inequities. Why am I stone in my own mirror? And how often shall I have to shave off the transgressive anachronisms of the jesting majority-unjust. Will I ever see a cannon with a name other than "jesus the king" around the barracks of quen anne burrows? I am cold and engrossed with my feelings. I am the youth's catch-all phrase for re-new-all and desperate tendencies. I am the unconscious objection to that censure of my own old crowning. The way i was held like an infant again. I mustered and mangled and derived that only in my free gliding could i roll down the soft hills of my fervent dreams. I can smell and sense the rays of jubilation i reach when drifting in tangent with the innocuous verbiage of my unbridled soul. Bringing the bleak toned honesty I once and always devote my sincerity towards. and alas my mind begins burrowed in the melting tin of bleeding doves. Not to be confused with other obscurities We Speak Wandering. Pleasant by night,
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May 20, 2013
May 20, 2013 at 5:08 AM UTC
5-2-13
Who knew our spirits would be so easily broke? Who knew our past loves would come crawling up our legs to meet us for dinner? who knew the joys of rhythm and melody would stand and stare us down for hours and never lead with the first move. Who knew the catacombs of my fearing mind would desecrate the innards of my only wantings. Who knows why the big ones reel in after dusk. Why did things turn out in the season of so much anger? How can one overcome any proportion of ill intention to an honest living. Where are the street-grit-fighting-fearless godsends of our time. Where are the nights of comfort among the towering plagiarisms of sonic inequities. Why am I stone in my own mirror? And how often shall I have to shave off the transgressive anachronisms of the jesting majority-unjust. Will I ever see a cannon with a name other than "jesus the king" around the barracks of quen anne burrows? I am cold and engrossed with my feelings. I am the youth's catch-all phrase for re-new-all and desperate tendencies. I am the unconscious objection to that censure of my own old crowning. The way i was held like an infant again. I mustered and mangled and derived that only in my free gliding could i roll down the soft hills of my fervent dreams. I can smell and sense the rays of jubilation i reach when drifting in tangent with the innocuous verbiage of my unbridled soul. Bringing the bleak toned honesty I once and always devote my sincerity towards. and alas my mind begins burrowed in the melting tin of bleeding doves. Not to be confused with other obscurities We Speak Wandering. Pleasant by night,
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1
This is for the most supreme The almighty Jehova The creator and mover of earth. I have sin and not once have i insulted you Not by word of mouth but through my actions. I humble myself to seek for forgiveness. I have trespassed dear almighty I have used my body sinfully I haven't been good at all, I followed the worldly desires out ot my consent God,I need a chance of reciprocating I need change and be clean once more No one,shall confirm me apart from you My inequities are far much worse I'm no longer fit for your house at all Lord Jesus,take me I wipe your floors, Because it is my only time I will be save It is my single chance of life that remains I now have known life though by chance Thank you God for your eye opening. I supplicate my prayer to my friends Save their souls from danger Jehova God,Father of us See those in hospitals and heal them See those in planes,cars,motorbikes ,bikes and pedestrians Give them save journeys You know the orphans father , Guide them and lead them to prosperity . The old too Father ,grand them peace. Lord give me power ,that I curse the demons away Those that bring confusion I rebuke you in Jesus name You have no power to thriumph over us I chase you away in the mighty name of God You have no power to stand near the people of God Go to where you belong . Lord ,Jesus we thank you We bring praise and honor All belong to you I pray this short prayer Believing and trusting in your name Amen
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Mar 24, 2015
Mar 24, 2015 at 11:35 PM UTC
my prayer today
My reflection is tattered with these strings of insecurities, and I'm bound to the walls of my constant inequities. And my eyes, as if rotting, are stuck in their quivering, for the beauty I once knew and loved is now withering.
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Feb 6, 2012
Feb 6, 2012 at 3:10 AM UTC
Acceptance Road meets Bitter Avenue
The ineffaceable stain Allegorical refrain Dictates the wily antidotes for a newfound sane They hector from a distance Muted but militant resistance magical hobgoblins the lifeblood of their persistence Heterodoxy enters the stage Cognizant of ignominy, a potent repressed rage Succor sought, corporate media bought A pyrrhic limelight is certainly not what was sought I defer to dignified exemplars I confer with callous company at vapid bars Concluding thereby the inverse proportionality of authenticity to success The articulations of divinity imply rigidity sweltering soul burgeoning with light sweating an evanescent humidity If blind before, partial and total sight reconstitute the core omnipresent paparazzi deplores Past pities insuperable even with pithy witty Future pieties irrelevant to ineradicable ignominy and purported dignity Cupid and cupidity must be related because gold-diggers alerted to my fair share would be elated Begrudged at every tick, tantalized by a slow torture lurid flit I cast my ambitions into the fathomless depths I amass provisions for a restive hibernation, enduring schlep Redemptive powers yet articulated Should ease the prospects of being matriculated But is cloistered suffering an inexcusable plight When the deep coffers derelict a modest gesture of making grievous inequities once again right? Must I swim to distant shores Past the barnacles beneath and the urchins on submerged sand, very sore Landmines at the beach, pantomimes and their garbled preach Past scattershot invective fortified by intransigent misers of conscience, the balmy resort out of reach. Bleak bleats, meek feats, good eats I think it is about time for a tyrannical psychology to let me off the incapacitating leash, letting me focus on actions rather than on incomprehensible speech
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Jan 4, 2016
Jan 4, 2016 at 7:49 PM UTC
Begrudged at Every Tick
The ineffaceable stain Allegorical refrain Dictates the wily antidotes for a newfound sane They hector from a distance Muted but militant resistance magical hobgoblins the lifeblood of their persistence Heterodoxy enters the stage Cognizant of ignominy, a potent repressed rage Succor sought, corporate media bought A pyrrhic limelight is certainly not what was sought I defer to dignified exemplars I confer with callous company at vapid bars Concluding thereby the inverse proportionality of authenticity to success The articulations of divinity imply rigidity sweltering soul burgeoning with light sweating an evanescent humidity If blind before, partial and total sight reconstitute the core omnipresent paparazzi deplores Past pities insuperable even with pithy witty Future pieties irrelevant to ineradicable ignominy and purported dignity Cupid and cupidity must be related because gold-diggers alerted to my fair share would be elated Begrudged at every tick, tantalized by a slow torture lurid flit I cast my ambitions into the fathomless depths I amass provisions for a restive hibernation, enduring schlep Redemptive powers yet articulated Should ease the prospects of being matriculated But is cloistered suffering an inexcusable plight When the deep coffers derelict a modest gesture of making grievous inequities once again right? Must I swim to distant shores Past the barnacles beneath and the urchins on submerged sand, very sore Landmines at the beach, pantomimes and their garbled preach Past scattershot invective fortified by intransigent misers of conscience, the balmy resort out of reach. Bleak bleats, meek feats, good eats I think it is about time for a tyrannical psychology to let me off the incapacitating leash, letting me focus on actions rather than on incomprehensible speech
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It's essentially the same science that religion refers to as God. What is left then? What will save humanity from itself? Thought is dangerous when left to its own creation. Some are safer following instructions. Life is much easier when we have someone or something to blame. Without that we find no "right" or "wrong" that fits the world universally. So... If it isn't the fault of this or that, it may be a fault of my own. Now, there is no savior to pick your inequities above the rest. It's up to you. Can you live without self-hatred? Is it possible to love yourself enough to be worthy? Can you trust yourself with the outcome of your own life?
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Dec 10, 2012
Dec 10, 2012 at 11:02 AM UTC
Casualty of Chance
Conservative make watermark there if he seek not both their inequities in this dissolution close to them both render what in their agreement with antipathy then   might grant with only final adoption his again
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Jan 26, 2017
Jan 26, 2017 at 11:58 AM UTC
A Conservative
i've come to settle debts and unrequited loves upon bar stools and bloodied hatchets up and down used condoms on faces of horror story linens smiley faces and hearts above the grey clouds gleaming sovereignty where the earth bathes she weeps " don't do that, we have a motor" i cry and kneel down and beg forgiveness the waves are crashing at my feet i can see dead fish glistening just above the water bobbing up and down its just like good music hot air winds of desert motion steaming and boiling the life force so it comes out far out make me spill the wine oh great god of **** make my heart contend to the greatest spirit of dying and wake up still drunk i will not spit the light in vain only to enrich the folly that we call life and they call entertainment i can sit here forever spewing out inequities of college kids "learning" i can sit here forever adding to the dying and suffering and coloring of something and it shall remain i will die where you left me like a snake shedding its skin
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Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 11:12 PM UTC
snakes
If supposed possibilities impose impositions that transition into probabilities that break boundaries of inequities ...would you stand moved... If life's low blows could be diluted through finely crafted bitter yet mentally delectable drinks ...would that flood our minds drowning us instead of our worries... If the oh-so rhythmically bewitching drum based tunes we gyrate to dancing in entrancement...oh the escape...enchantment Would we loose footing playing "footsy" around the truth of how we got there and find ourselves lost when the music stops...?
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Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 1:40 AM UTC
Pending notion
I walk in Your way, yet the chains make me stumble and fall. You always catch me, but falling still hurts. You never promised an easy path and though I am but one, I follow. Others walk the same path as I, but I cannot see them through my own darkness. My own pride dims the light, my worries cloud in the shroud of darkness that surrounds me. I hear Your voice calling me, yet I hesitate, too distracted by the false prophets of light, who call me by my desires and my failures who show the path to my own destruction. They bog me in the sea of my own inequities. But no matter how much I stray, by my side You stay. You try to carry me, yet I squirm and resist Your embrace. I close my ears to Your loving words. I complain when I should listen. I hate when I should love. I focus on the pebbles in my way, calling them boulders. I complain about the hills as I stand on top of the mountains You've helped me climb. I grow weary of a battle already won. It is easier to sink into the depths of a pit than to fly with the wings of an eagle. I grow passive to the grappling of smoky tendrils that entomb me in smoldering ash. Forgive me, O Lord, of my ignorance of Your glory. Breathe on me yet again and let me live with the burning desire of existing solely for you. Through my own darkness may Your light shine. May Your light be so bright that it blinds me to anything else. May Your light never waver, never dim within me, but let it grow ever increasingly, consuming all of me. Use me to light the darkness. This I pray to be. Amen.
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Jan 18, 2012
Jan 18, 2012 at 2:38 AM UTC
A Psalm of Mine Own
I walk in Your way, yet the chains make me stumble and fall. You always catch me, but falling still hurts. You never promised an easy path and though I am but one, I follow. Others walk the same path as I, but I cannot see them through my own darkness. My own pride dims the light, my worries cloud in the shroud of darkness that surrounds me. I hear Your voice calling me, yet I hesitate, too distracted by the false prophets of light, who call me by my desires and my failures who show the path to my own destruction. They bog me in the sea of my own inequities. But no matter how much I stray, by my side You stay. You try to carry me, yet I squirm and resist Your embrace. I close my ears to Your loving words. I complain when I should listen. I hate when I should love. I focus on the pebbles in my way, calling them boulders. I complain about the hills as I stand on top of the mountains You've helped me climb. I grow weary of a battle already won. It is easier to sink into the depths of a pit than to fly with the wings of an eagle. I grow passive to the grappling of smoky tendrils that entomb me in smoldering ash. Forgive me, O Lord, of my ignorance of Your glory. Breathe on me yet again and let me live with the burning desire of existing solely for you. Through my own darkness may Your light shine. May Your light be so bright that it blinds me to anything else. May Your light never waver, never dim within me, but let it grow ever increasingly, consuming all of me. Use me to light the darkness. This I pray to be. Amen.
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Charms present itself as attributes in cloak and dagger, blood still dripping with the last **** envious hate, insidious beasts, burdened by the bronze culture impervious to the shallow golden calf shrouded in the sinister guise of compassion. Why do the radicals look up to the sky praise god for approval on own inequities bolstered by the book of prophets who did not see these acts as sanctity or sacred. The contradictions balance between heaven and hell even as the world turns to watch the anguish of beliefs in agony. Go now seek the desert of doom. to announce meaningless mantras for the wisdom of attention. Burn in the terrible dawn of discovery. © Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago
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Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 2:43 PM UTC
The Lodestar
What if my tongue Parched from its boredom Runs out of ink Or forgets itself And the ways of penning graphite scenes Into the reality of lines to be ? What if my of Has come forth only to be Nothing more than a habitus Or self reflective mirror That worships either everything of self Or of thee ? What if our cause Was already free And found beside a quiet setting Where the Idaho deer Meet, paw, and breed their joys Dispite of inequities ? What if this All the snow in heaven fell And all the heat of hell rose up And all the steam between were trees And you were me And we were these ? What if is all I ask of me ?
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Sep 4, 2022
Sep 4, 2022 at 3:18 PM UTC
A Question
every time our rides, these now separate, unconnected lives, paths... coincide, those amazing features, flawless neck line, my eyes make time for her though their conquests know much more distant, propagate fantasies, memories of what those full lips could do, how the caress of hers set my heart aflame. one way thoughts that end in the present, in this wreck of a life, wasted every day wanting to have died just the day before goodbyes were given. the realization of my inequities, inability to conjure desire as i could and ooh, oh so loved to do when i was what other men currently enjoy. it ***** because she to my eyes is the broken mold post perfection, to this day, it ***** because i want her, because i do, because she's beautiful, and I'm in love with her.
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Oct 11, 2013
Oct 11, 2013 at 4:29 AM UTC
***** Because She Is Still Beautiful"
If supposed possibilities impose impositions that transition into probabilities that break boundaries of inequities ...would you stand moved... If life's low blows could be diluted through finely crafted bitter yet mentally delectable drinks ...would that flood our minds drowning us instead of our worries... If the oh-so rhythmically bewitching drum based and synthesized tunes we gyrate to ,dancing in entrancement...the escape being oh-so pleasurable...enchanting the the torn heart(soul) Would we loose footing playing "footsy" around the truth of how we got there and find ourselves lost... when the music stops.
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Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 2:29 AM UTC
I suppose
To him, she's the calm in the blustering of his mother, a goddess against the devilish charms of the libertine father, a dry land away from the wettest inequities of coitus, a blue violet in the skies of her affection—love and compassion grows of her red lotus, far apart from peers; they shunned her from their groupings, a series of events makes her love home; so unlike, amongst many few, to seem fictional as movies. A queen; diamonded on the silk of her skin, maturity read in her eyes, and red as her passionate lips, fetching to behold—spirit, looks, and within. "He who finds a wife finds what is good and receives favor from the Lord" __(Prov 18:22 NIV)__
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Aug 27, 2022
Aug 27, 2022 at 1:26 PM UTC
To him (Prov 18:22)