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"interfering" poems
Beyond the boundaries of our restricted life, Lies a world of pure fantasy, majestic and venurable in size, You don't have to die in a dream, were the words pushed into me, Because I was weak, such was a limited set of mind, bound to earth, "Oh heavens, oh earth" I said, " take me in, let me enjoy the beauty and joy of what's beyond my fragile body once more, just for this moment, I would like to lose myself in the melody of life and death" The boundary of day and night, determined by the worlds spin gifts us fascinating sunrises, and a starlit nightsky filled with great glory, Seen and unseen, fantasy and reality all kept from interfering with one another by complex mechanisms and borders, orderly stuctured! The boundary to another's heart however is crossed by emotions, Emotions which are to be kind, pure and sweet, ah, phantoms! Phantoms of the past conveyed by memories long gone corrupt judgement; when I knew the meaning of eternity you were no longer there, such the serenity of silence rules over this deserted border. The border of conciousness. ~ Umi
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May 7, 2018
May 7, 2018 at 2:43 PM UTC
Boundary
Go follow your dreams they say, Well, how can i follow them if people can’t stop putting boarders, If they can’t stop interfering with your life, Pushing you too hard Making you want to quit in times when you were fine all by yourself, Why can’t everyone focus on their path in life? Is it too hard? Does that sound impossible to you? Just leave me and my life alone I will carve my path as beautiful as i can And with some bumps along the way, I will create the most compelling work of art.
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Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 6:11 PM UTC
Intermeddle hurts
Father could reprogram all six billion of us if He felt the  need, anytime In fact that's exactly what He did at Babel when our dodgy one-accord threatened to bring the end nearer than the six millenniums of earthtime He'd allocated for us to seek His truth He even re-wired Balak for a minute to hear his donkey speak and think of the Assyrians that fled when He caused four lepers to sound like a mighty mercenary army coming to rescue Jerusalem YHWH is omnipotent, like it not The reason He's not 'interfering' right now is simply because His plan is dead on time He intends to blow the chaff from  His wheat The true wheat, His remnant that stays faithful (through Revelations and the mark) will form a new constitution when Yeshua returns for a thousand years of peace on earth You may think "Oh I'll wait and see if it's true, like, if the two witnesses really die and then rise again in three days" Problem with that approach is simple You could be brainwashed before then The neurophone is widely used today Think of 911, why Bush isn't impeached and read surveillanceissues.com Those of us who really care will continue to bug you and **** your spirit Hopefully you'll make the right choice and refuse the mark of the beast Consider these things while there's time 'After me the storm' won't cut it There are less than three short years to go * Gen 6:3 And Jehovah said, My spirit shall not always strive with man, in his erring; he is flesh. Yet his days shall be a hundred and twenty years. The 120 years referred to here in fact represent 120 jubilees, or 6000 years (2000 from Adam to the flood, 2000 from the flood to Yeshua and 2000 from Yeshua till 2017)
0
Jun 3, 2010
Jun 3, 2010 at 2:37 AM UTC
Who's in charge here ?
Father could reprogram all six billion of us if He felt the  need, anytime In fact that's exactly what He did at Babel when our dodgy one-accord threatened to bring the end nearer than the six millenniums of earthtime He'd allocated for us to seek His truth He even re-wired Balak for a minute to hear his donkey speak and think of the Assyrians that fled when He caused four lepers to sound like a mighty mercenary army coming to rescue Jerusalem YHWH is omnipotent, like it not The reason He's not 'interfering' right now is simply because His plan is dead on time He intends to blow the chaff from  His wheat The true wheat, His remnant that stays faithful (through Revelations and the mark) will form a new constitution when Yeshua returns for a thousand years of peace on earth You may think "Oh I'll wait and see if it's true, like, if the two witnesses really die and then rise again in three days" Problem with that approach is simple You could be brainwashed before then The neurophone is widely used today Think of 911, why Bush isn't impeached and read surveillanceissues.com Those of us who really care will continue to bug you and **** your spirit Hopefully you'll make the right choice and refuse the mark of the beast Consider these things while there's time 'After me the storm' won't cut it There are less than three short years to go * Gen 6:3 And Jehovah said, My spirit shall not always strive with man, in his erring; he is flesh. Yet his days shall be a hundred and twenty years. The 120 years referred to here in fact represent 120 jubilees, or 6000 years (2000 from Adam to the flood, 2000 from the flood to Yeshua and 2000 from Yeshua till 2017)
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38
I breathe in this silence that is not Silenced, Air alive with heartbeats and Clocks ticking too slow, Eyes meeting over Sticky plastic tables, Snapping away like an awkward blind date, Fingertips drumming impatiently. Wait. Calm. Be patient. Tick...tock........tick...............tock I can't, I won't, my son laying One floor, 3 hallways, 12 rooms away, But we are relegated to the hospital cafeteria as if my husband and I are naughty schoolchildren, Interfering. My red shirt crumples beneath Nervous fingers, The same shade as the blood given To my son, not knowing it contained Death. Why can't I fight with my son, My son, Shining brightly and boldly as the sun, Infected with a blood-borne killer we were never warned about. Hemophilia is a tough diagnosis, But my careful worrying wasn't enough to save him from a Diagnosis of ostracism and certain death. AIDS. Oh God. Breathe. Can't breathe. Time moves too fast, my son racing towards eternity Alone. White sheets and sterile beds rob My son of all his sunshine, Lips blue and pale like my husband's jacket, Nothing but incessant beeping and bustling nurses who can't fix him, Clock going tick, tock, tick, tock. I see red. Red dripping into and out of his arms through silver needles, How do I know that this is safe, No one knows if this is safe, This is our only hope. Tick..tock.....tick........tock. White coat of the doctor moving too quickly towards us, We run. My heart thumping red and my stomach yellow bile and my eyes leaking blue. Hospital room not room enough for all my emotions, All of my tears, All of my grief, All his last breaths. My son. No longer my sunshine, Just a pale winter afternoon, No sun beneath cold sheets of snow. My son. Time moves too slow when everyone wears black, Like molasses dripping from a jar into Metallic air and earthy graves. Like ash clouding out the sun. My son. No more my sun.
0
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 1:16 PM UTC
Yellow Boat
I breathe in this silence that is not Silenced, Air alive with heartbeats and Clocks ticking too slow, Eyes meeting over Sticky plastic tables, Snapping away like an awkward blind date, Fingertips drumming impatiently. Wait. Calm. Be patient. Tick...tock........tick...............tock I can't, I won't, my son laying One floor, 3 hallways, 12 rooms away, But we are relegated to the hospital cafeteria as if my husband and I are naughty schoolchildren, Interfering. My red shirt crumples beneath Nervous fingers, The same shade as the blood given To my son, not knowing it contained Death. Why can't I fight with my son, My son, Shining brightly and boldly as the sun, Infected with a blood-borne killer we were never warned about. Hemophilia is a tough diagnosis, But my careful worrying wasn't enough to save him from a Diagnosis of ostracism and certain death. AIDS. Oh God. Breathe. Can't breathe. Time moves too fast, my son racing towards eternity Alone. White sheets and sterile beds rob My son of all his sunshine, Lips blue and pale like my husband's jacket, Nothing but incessant beeping and bustling nurses who can't fix him, Clock going tick, tock, tick, tock. I see red. Red dripping into and out of his arms through silver needles, How do I know that this is safe, No one knows if this is safe, This is our only hope. Tick..tock.....tick........tock. White coat of the doctor moving too quickly towards us, We run. My heart thumping red and my stomach yellow bile and my eyes leaking blue. Hospital room not room enough for all my emotions, All of my tears, All of my grief, All his last breaths. My son. No longer my sunshine, Just a pale winter afternoon, No sun beneath cold sheets of snow. My son. Time moves too slow when everyone wears black, Like molasses dripping from a jar into Metallic air and earthy graves. Like ash clouding out the sun. My son. No more my sun.
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63
The friendship we had is something i wish i had cherish from the start I never knew the impact you made on my life until the day you left You were there with me for everything We would pull all nighters until 5 am And play PC games and sleep over skype You mend my soul when i was hurting And i was able to cope countless heartbreaks because of you You made me feel wanted, loved and happy I wish you didn't let me go I wish i could prevent what i did that made you not want me in your life anymore As much as i want you in my life again As much as i want to talk to you again so i don't have to think about you all the time I know that you're happy without me And i wouldn't want anyone or anything interfering with your happiness You deserve the best for after all you have done for me And I will never forget you for that
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Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 10:52 AM UTC
Dear Ex Best Friend
People communicate too much. Their arms, their feet, their eyes, their hands. Each one tells a story. Each one differs, interfering and weighing the air down. Then the mouth opens and words fly out, A whirlwind of ideas, opinions, tumbling, spinning, whipping out. So much noise. A message here, a message there. The noise is blinding. Outside the garden is buzzing. Not the droning buzz of conversation, But the peaceful hum and sigh of nature. The leaves wave as you walk. Flower petals whisper to you, succinct words that don't rattle. Ladybirds, bumblebees, humming birds hurtle and whisk around, And best of all, the garden listens.
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Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 1:32 AM UTC
Noise
Funny how the one you don't long for, Can cling to you like a guilt ridden curse. And yet the one that you do desire, Seems to run from you like fire. So please feel free to explain The reasoning behind this wasted pain? Why must one always want what they can't have? When there are so many other options up for grabs And why is this vicious circle so often repeated? Can't our interfering emotions see that they're not needed?! Or wanted, I must add.. Because what follows in every case, is all too heartwrenching and sad..
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Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 4:00 PM UTC
Attraction
Sixteen sweet years Of pink promises kept "I dos" and tender, gentle vows Wedding rings of gold A wedlock between two lovers Trailing wedding veils of sheer lace Love within a burning flame Kept alive throughout the years Hard times seen through together Quarrels and misunderstandings Even tiny little differences of opinions settled Never interfering with the love you share Your days of love will never end You kept your promise ever since that day When you both held hands and said fervently And wholeheartedly "I do" Then two hearts joined and became one ~Marian~
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Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 11:38 PM UTC
Happy Sweet Sixteen!
To live is to research happiness and homes for the pleasure of ending. People, through illusions, can shape happy possibilities from speech and position. Don't write it out. A life more useful than tragic is original in a moment, can transcend as well as fall into mistakes and experiences. To get your body to lean as far forward over the insurmountable bubble as possible, Is to create magic that consists of gateways and actions -- the outcome of which can place a thinker with only few leaps stranger than your enemies. Always forgive. Magic sometimes longer than a pause between morality and naked minds influences the two ways a relapse synapse will run. The true temptation of safety can be carpeted by play dough and play grounds. It's better to not sustain interfering manufactors, to not pirate the lies a man historically risks on quality of thoughts, But instead depend the nature of your virture on exploration at the heart of echoes. Why should you quit? A human's greatest obstacle is finding the principles we don't discover with the jailer listening and men afraid to rock the boat. Give better than you dare have. Reset the age of the mind and give parallel truths at the point of sweeping tides. To understand the laws of popular drifting, compromise the art of part establishing, occupy an ambitious ideal; You will lose an elevation over not being, not remembering. Sometimes treading water becomes a nuisance, and you'll lose a choice in the dungeon. Don't abandon your force. Don't regret the pursuit of circumstances. Don't delude a reputation of bridges and evidence. Empathy is traveling the world for imagination and salvation. We are here for a spell; one equality shreds the ears ready to get you in trouble.
0
Apr 25, 2012
Apr 25, 2012 at 10:21 AM UTC
Ya dig?
To live is to research happiness and homes for the pleasure of ending. People, through illusions, can shape happy possibilities from speech and position. Don't write it out. A life more useful than tragic is original in a moment, can transcend as well as fall into mistakes and experiences. To get your body to lean as far forward over the insurmountable bubble as possible, Is to create magic that consists of gateways and actions -- the outcome of which can place a thinker with only few leaps stranger than your enemies. Always forgive. Magic sometimes longer than a pause between morality and naked minds influences the two ways a relapse synapse will run. The true temptation of safety can be carpeted by play dough and play grounds. It's better to not sustain interfering manufactors, to not pirate the lies a man historically risks on quality of thoughts, But instead depend the nature of your virture on exploration at the heart of echoes. Why should you quit? A human's greatest obstacle is finding the principles we don't discover with the jailer listening and men afraid to rock the boat. Give better than you dare have. Reset the age of the mind and give parallel truths at the point of sweeping tides. To understand the laws of popular drifting, compromise the art of part establishing, occupy an ambitious ideal; You will lose an elevation over not being, not remembering. Sometimes treading water becomes a nuisance, and you'll lose a choice in the dungeon. Don't abandon your force. Don't regret the pursuit of circumstances. Don't delude a reputation of bridges and evidence. Empathy is traveling the world for imagination and salvation. We are here for a spell; one equality shreds the ears ready to get you in trouble.
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46
Children of Gallifrey, the children of gods Who were destined for greatness Fate laid out in the stars Lords and Ladies of Time Hands in the fabric of reality Theirs to push and pull Change and preserve Life and death, mere trifle and whim Immortality Insanity Minds warped with power Who were fearful of change Pompous and arrogant patrollers of time Making laws of fear and oppression Jealous and Bitter They would rather **** than share No interfering, no helping, no hurting All the time in the Universe But no time at all Betrayal and Pain Secrets and lies Starving Souls, robbing trust Storm Clouds are breaking Time is at an end The world will burn Though it died long ago When ambition And lies Strangled the children of Gallifrey Sealing their demise in the books of time
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Apr 22, 2013
Apr 22, 2013 at 6:32 PM UTC
Children of Gallifrey
I don't know how To get her home, Or if she has one... Does 𝘴𝘩𝘦 even know? If I reached out my hand, Would she even pull? She's been making herself larger. I can feel her reappearance. She gets brighter, I get darker. Interfering with my impulse, And it happened again... I forgot how I got here, Don't where I began. ▪︎ mica light ▪︎
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Mar 14, 2023
Mar 14, 2023 at 10:51 PM UTC
hailstorm
Breathe in the freshness of the arduously picked commodity, That you hold between your lacquered fingers. Don’t let synthetic ingredients dissolve your thoughts and obscure your vision. The liquid remedy we sip is drenched, With pain and protracted nurturing Carefully fostered through inclement weather drink in the story that comes with it That fuels caffeinated conversations. Refined and defined leaving us blind to the painted secrets of lives that were once lead different lives intersect, different thoughts and opinions interject. Leaving lipstick kisses on the porcelain skin Sipping away worries and pain. Inhaling the smell of impelling advice, fragments of sugar coated anecdotes melt, integrating within, interfering with the raw, strong, sharp taste that can pierce through. the rare intense, earthy aftertaste is tainted with artificial garnishing, suffocating the fresh natural essence neatly contained in the teacup ready to serve and ready to present taking shape of the porcelain guise Don’t sprinkle it with processed collaborations of sugared doubt, Contaminating your imagination Manipulated by dainty voices Resonating in your head Like the delicate teacup You anchor with your soft hands Weighed down by the overly sweetened tea. No longer holding significance of the vast fresh fields it sprouted from Forgotten and drowned in the voices of someone else’s drum beat. cloudy vision reflected in the saturated tonic you sip elegantly, pasting a smile suppressing your own desires, under someone else's acceptance.
0
Jul 16, 2012
Jul 16, 2012 at 12:20 PM UTC
No Sugar Please
Breathe in the freshness of the arduously picked commodity, That you hold between your lacquered fingers. Don’t let synthetic ingredients dissolve your thoughts and obscure your vision. The liquid remedy we sip is drenched, With pain and protracted nurturing Carefully fostered through inclement weather drink in the story that comes with it That fuels caffeinated conversations. Refined and defined leaving us blind to the painted secrets of lives that were once lead different lives intersect, different thoughts and opinions interject. Leaving lipstick kisses on the porcelain skin Sipping away worries and pain. Inhaling the smell of impelling advice, fragments of sugar coated anecdotes melt, integrating within, interfering with the raw, strong, sharp taste that can pierce through. the rare intense, earthy aftertaste is tainted with artificial garnishing, suffocating the fresh natural essence neatly contained in the teacup ready to serve and ready to present taking shape of the porcelain guise Don’t sprinkle it with processed collaborations of sugared doubt, Contaminating your imagination Manipulated by dainty voices Resonating in your head Like the delicate teacup You anchor with your soft hands Weighed down by the overly sweetened tea. No longer holding significance of the vast fresh fields it sprouted from Forgotten and drowned in the voices of someone else’s drum beat. cloudy vision reflected in the saturated tonic you sip elegantly, pasting a smile suppressing your own desires, under someone else's acceptance.
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45
I was too immature and innocent to recognize the constant pain I was in. I ignored it; I thought it natural and normal. It was something you just didn't discuss. But you can't hold it in forever. I grew up and so did my pain. I remember the first time I felt a ridiculous amount of it. Anger, resentment, confusion, sorrow, guilt. Especially guilt. When you disregard something like that for so long... how are you supposed to react when it hits you? It changed close to everything I had decided about myself. All my plans and dreams and ideas and opinions, I questioned it all. I realized what I had done and who others really were. I realized how alone I was and why I had always felt that way. Once I stopped ignoring it I began to learn to deal with it. Some days I found it harder than others. Pain is an odd thing. You know it's bad and you don't always initially like it. But it's addictive and eventually you don't want anything else interfering. You get used to it. Sad people think sad thoughts and listen to sad music and read sad books and love sad people. Pain loves pain.
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Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 2:51 AM UTC
Narcissistic Pain had a Tale
In his head A small factory Producing Packages of wisdom Personnel Cooperating With unprecedented brilliance The observers The processors The creators All contributing To a brand new theory Unfortunately The packages Won’t be sent The fear Of incompleteness Interfering with development Oh logician If the world could only Feel Your passion Behold Your creativity Your theories Would dominate the world
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May 14, 2020
May 14, 2020 at 4:55 PM UTC
Logician
The streets are empty. Stars are shy. I am accompanied by Streetlights and Overcast sky. Just me and my constant Melancholy being fritted. Remembering old days And the dreams we knitted I stare at the skyline Spread ahead, then disappearing. It's just my fear of infinite That is interfering. ~ Sayan Sen
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Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 9:42 AM UTC
12 O'clock
I never really felt as if my mother had it all together.   Her torch was a brittle twig she couldn’t keep lit, never enough stick to burn bright, but just enough tip for random flare-ups violently fueled by nobody knew what. Her lack of light meant she could not be trusted, and her strained attempts at love and affection felt like a dream where everyone’s speaking Japanese. Her marriage to my father was the modern day equivalent of an interracial same *** marriage, Catholics and Protestants weren't supposed to mix, and a toothless trumpet player with an alcoholic bent shouldn’t have lasted the honeymoon with a spoiled, sheltered oldest child. But father made it seem as if they had it all together, at least in public. At home it was different, he passed through our lives like the winter wind, everybody scrambling for cover when he showed up. He slept at odd hours and worked and drank and drank and worked, blowing quickly from one to the other,  never standing still long enough to notice the demons at his heals, the demons that took forever to catch him, but not mother. They caught her when I was quite young. I could see them in her eyes from a very early age and father could see them too, but he did nothing to protect her. They’ve been together over 60 years now, overrun by what I would call a thick purple nothingness – an eerie, detached existence within the smothering cadence of monotony, yet somehow, unbelievably, they still have hope. Hope for God knows what all they have is their unspoken hatred of each wrapped up in a make believe so strong and lived so long that their demons are now a huge white elephant lounging about the house loosening their bed screws, pounding on the bed springs, moving through the vents and interfering with the reception of Catholic radio. You might call it insanity, I say everything that once mattered to them is lost, yet again, they still have hope. Meanwhile we overachieving children suffer our own maladies, a misfit bunch of dysfunctional lovers running so fast we’ll be 80 before the demons catch us. But who am I kidding? From father to mother to me, their demons have been my closest friends as long as I can remember, ever since the first day I saw them in her eyes.
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Jan 7, 2017
Jan 7, 2017 at 1:47 PM UTC
Somehow They Still Have Hope
I never really felt as if my mother had it all together.   Her torch was a brittle twig she couldn’t keep lit, never enough stick to burn bright, but just enough tip for random flare-ups violently fueled by nobody knew what. Her lack of light meant she could not be trusted, and her strained attempts at love and affection felt like a dream where everyone’s speaking Japanese. Her marriage to my father was the modern day equivalent of an interracial same *** marriage, Catholics and Protestants weren't supposed to mix, and a toothless trumpet player with an alcoholic bent shouldn’t have lasted the honeymoon with a spoiled, sheltered oldest child. But father made it seem as if they had it all together, at least in public. At home it was different, he passed through our lives like the winter wind, everybody scrambling for cover when he showed up. He slept at odd hours and worked and drank and drank and worked, blowing quickly from one to the other,  never standing still long enough to notice the demons at his heals, the demons that took forever to catch him, but not mother. They caught her when I was quite young. I could see them in her eyes from a very early age and father could see them too, but he did nothing to protect her. They’ve been together over 60 years now, overrun by what I would call a thick purple nothingness – an eerie, detached existence within the smothering cadence of monotony, yet somehow, unbelievably, they still have hope. Hope for God knows what all they have is their unspoken hatred of each wrapped up in a make believe so strong and lived so long that their demons are now a huge white elephant lounging about the house loosening their bed screws, pounding on the bed springs, moving through the vents and interfering with the reception of Catholic radio. You might call it insanity, I say everything that once mattered to them is lost, yet again, they still have hope. Meanwhile we overachieving children suffer our own maladies, a misfit bunch of dysfunctional lovers running so fast we’ll be 80 before the demons catch us. But who am I kidding? From father to mother to me, their demons have been my closest friends as long as I can remember, ever since the first day I saw them in her eyes.
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84
this silence of love is flawless no interfering words necessary deemed, sound without sound, no entry crack visible, a great plain, a continental ocean, no horizon given, this then the perfect diamond of humankind, the glance cross a room, the grazing ********* upon a cheek, the succinct serenity of perfect, this I grant you
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Feb 6, 2020
Feb 6, 2020 at 6:48 AM UTC
the silence of love is flawless
The garden grows in all directions Amidst the influence of interfering hands The waterfall in motion is ceaseless, Whether asked kindly or implored Made powerless by that which cannot be changed Yet, made powerful by knowing that which cannot be changed The garden grows in all directions Gardened by our hands The water falls around us In the spaces that we created
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Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 6:20 AM UTC
Interrupting Certainty
"Oh, murmur, murmur me again to peace!" (from the libretto of Handel's Semele - opera.stanford.edu/iu/libretti/semele.htm) think of your ears as an ever alert, high pitched, sensory tuning fork, an aural radar, searching for that acute, oblique, perforating and poking phrase, that lost airplane of solace buried and too well hid in the vastness of empty, characterless searchable seas that rarely yield up their comforting finery when discovered, tripped upon, instant recognition pleads "write me down, write me up, delve me, determine me, make me more!" t'is a thrumming vibrato interfering with mind, that phrase, that phrase, that phrase "Oh, murmur, murmur me again to peace!" content coursing through the eyes, piercing veils of hum drum dumbing down, a life spying drone eliciting excitedly a high value target, an unexpected mission, camouflaged amidst the chit chat droning of the choking ordinary and commonplace *murmur me, with soft downy charms, these words discovered recoursed and intended well to pointedly offset and contradict their very own tumultuous discovery uncovering, tear tongue me with calming, lapping word wages, hymns harmonious and fine homilies, a call, a request, a bequest to sedate my shrill life, You murmur me again to peace* even the words be prepared to sacrifice, surrender, but promise me that the Justice of -just- thy tone, thy inflections, will gentle the infecting turbulence of being a plain, tried and trialed human let me not catalogue the onerous, the burdening barbell weights, we carry for no purpose Give us our daily bread of a singular phrase~prayer~poem, our verbal bond, modest sequest, honey oatmeal, cut up strawberried jewel, give it, me this day, my daily soothing "Oh, murmur, murmur me again to peace!"
0
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 8:24 AM UTC
"Oh, murmur, murmur me again to peace!
"Oh, murmur, murmur me again to peace!" (from the libretto of Handel's Semele - opera.stanford.edu/iu/libretti/semele.htm) think of your ears as an ever alert, high pitched, sensory tuning fork, an aural radar, searching for that acute, oblique, perforating and poking phrase, that lost airplane of solace buried and too well hid in the vastness of empty, characterless searchable seas that rarely yield up their comforting finery when discovered, tripped upon, instant recognition pleads "write me down, write me up, delve me, determine me, make me more!" t'is a thrumming vibrato interfering with mind, that phrase, that phrase, that phrase "Oh, murmur, murmur me again to peace!" content coursing through the eyes, piercing veils of hum drum dumbing down, a life spying drone eliciting excitedly a high value target, an unexpected mission, camouflaged amidst the chit chat droning of the choking ordinary and commonplace *murmur me, with soft downy charms, these words discovered recoursed and intended well to pointedly offset and contradict their very own tumultuous discovery uncovering, tear tongue me with calming, lapping word wages, hymns harmonious and fine homilies, a call, a request, a bequest to sedate my shrill life, You murmur me again to peace* even the words be prepared to sacrifice, surrender, but promise me that the Justice of -just- thy tone, thy inflections, will gentle the infecting turbulence of being a plain, tried and trialed human let me not catalogue the onerous, the burdening barbell weights, we carry for no purpose Give us our daily bread of a singular phrase~prayer~poem, our verbal bond, modest sequest, honey oatmeal, cut up strawberried jewel, give it, me this day, my daily soothing "Oh, murmur, murmur me again to peace!"
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71
Oh universe How you sustain all lives Is so marvellous Mother Nature You constant watcher You are not a quitter The seas know their space The sun sets in the west And never loses that course The trees  cleanse the air Herbs with sweet smelling fragrance And wild honey tastes so sweet Oh universe How do you manage this With so many of us? The hogs eliminate snakes The pests  feed on wastes Vultures take care of  dead carcasses We all look to you when we need food You provide it We eat it Every one of your dependants Know their expectations In  selfregulation The eater and the eaten Life never ceases It only changes form Rotting plants become humus And sustain growing plants Edible animals become part of man man's DNA lives on in their descendants... And then man grew a few beards With his advancements Interfering with all others Breaking laws Creating disaters In the eco thick smokes of toxic chemicals that destroy flora and fauna Massive deforestation and then he turns to you expecting you to produce When he ploughs your soils Looking up to the clouds You used to give a **** But now you feed them back their poison And their lives shorten Retribution for being stubborn And interfering with you Mother nature You heard them talking of space exploration Look for life in another planet as solution You just laughed They think that they can destroy you And leave for another planet You are the only One Blessed among the stars To sustain lives They will come running to you Like the prodigal son And maybe the rebellious Shall have learnt a few lessons Oh Universe Its so fabulous that you sustain all lives
0
Dec 20, 2015
Dec 20, 2015 at 3:21 PM UTC
Oh Universe!
Oh universe How you sustain all lives Is so marvellous Mother Nature You constant watcher You are not a quitter The seas know their space The sun sets in the west And never loses that course The trees  cleanse the air Herbs with sweet smelling fragrance And wild honey tastes so sweet Oh universe How do you manage this With so many of us? The hogs eliminate snakes The pests  feed on wastes Vultures take care of  dead carcasses We all look to you when we need food You provide it We eat it Every one of your dependants Know their expectations In  selfregulation The eater and the eaten Life never ceases It only changes form Rotting plants become humus And sustain growing plants Edible animals become part of man man's DNA lives on in their descendants... And then man grew a few beards With his advancements Interfering with all others Breaking laws Creating disaters In the eco thick smokes of toxic chemicals that destroy flora and fauna Massive deforestation and then he turns to you expecting you to produce When he ploughs your soils Looking up to the clouds You used to give a **** But now you feed them back their poison And their lives shorten Retribution for being stubborn And interfering with you Mother nature You heard them talking of space exploration Look for life in another planet as solution You just laughed They think that they can destroy you And leave for another planet You are the only One Blessed among the stars To sustain lives They will come running to you Like the prodigal son And maybe the rebellious Shall have learnt a few lessons Oh Universe Its so fabulous that you sustain all lives
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65
If we were blind, there would be no crime committed. There would be no jealousy or envy, but instead equality. Love would be easier to find, without looks and ego interfering all the god ****** time. Instead of looking at people's appearance, we'd learn to love their thoughts, their voice; their soft touch against our skin. Life would be simple, if we could not see. We would finally have the chance to be happy.
0
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 2:29 PM UTC
Blind Utopia
Tammy,Tammy,call your mammy daddy's run away. Buildings built of stilton cheese and Wilton rugs,bugs that run round in my head,silver diamond ten gauge thread to tie my eyes up. Tea leaves tell no lies, I've seen them in a broken cup where broken people all look up to watch me fall. I call the Master of Ceremonies,also made of Stilton cheese,eaten slowly by the mice,made from chocolate covered rice cake crisps and baked in ovens,gas mark seven and ask him, where did daddy go? he doesn't know and never did and slowly drops off from the grid, in hidden thoughts behind veiled red eyes where riots run with teddy boys,who ride Italian imported scooter bikes, twenty thousand Facebook likes for what, a **** *** underneath the bed? more bugs that run wild in my head, another silver,sugar coated thread to wrap me in when I am dead, but I'm not there yet I've got to shift the fuzziness,the interfering laziness,be blessed twice by his Holiness,undress the dressings I am wrapped in,bleach my skin and reach inside to clear my mind.
0
Nov 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013 at 5:06 AM UTC
Declutter
*when together, agreed this rule, no devices alighted, no phones incited this is the rule of us lest we let the devices rule us* thus interfering with our own ignition interfering with our own devices
0
Jul 25, 2014
Jul 25, 2014 at 4:52 PM UTC
The Rule of Ignition