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Patricia Arches Sep 2013
Choices

This ever blotting simple thing that makes up things

as small as a mouse but also as deadly as sin itself

A simple formula of cause and effect

An effect

A result

A consequence

No pretences

Or fences that guard our decisions

Keeps it safe for being just a choice

For it is no longer just a choice

It is not that simple, see there is a formula to remember

An economic study to this choice where c=e

because

For every cause there is an effect

For every cause there is an effect

For every cause there is an effect

Let it dwell in your mind and affect you

Because that is where it all begins

Let us open up your mind and there we will find that

Alongside that implanted thought are a plethora

Of more thoughts that are placed beside your dreams

Nestled in between your hopes, skilfully intertwined with your visions

There they all lay

Our mind is our drive that takes us down

A road that is long and winding

A highway down to our hands

Which eventually become steered by, picked up with strings ever so delicately like a puppet

Held by that one thought

Your actions are birthed from your thoughts

We see these to be choices

To study these choices would be economics, to understand them would be sympathy

To take a leader who steals from his country

Or a mom who abandons her child to keep herself alive

And view this as sad, as a cry for help?

How and why?

Oh no! We do not stop at just those two ghastly choices

For this is a study of many

Choices

Of things that have happened to determine what will and to save us from what has been

Let us open up this book

And flip each page to see what decrees and laws

Revolutions and words put down on paper

Have anything to do with where we stand today

For the choices of the past still linger here

Mixed in with the choices of the present

Creating this air that we breathe in and out every single day

We would be infuriated with rage as we scan through the pages of this book of choices

A chapter of injustice

A paragraph of cruelty

A statement of selfishness

A line of adultery

But, wait! Oh, let us stop on this

One

story

For this I do not even understand

See I have studied choices, and put them into many formulas

To see the effects and the causes of each

but this story is different

For it is not just one chapter

One statement

One line

It is the whole story and each is intricately woven within it

In fact, the book is titled for this one story

And to begin it would be to start off with a choice

By a God

To send his son

To die for men

Men whose choices we see throughout the whole book

Men whose choices are vile and selfish and ruthless

Sinful men

*****

And yet a God so Holy and pure still sends down his son in His likeness for these grimy men??

See, if we picture it. It is a white cloth, pure and clean not just dipped but completely submerged in dirt

Now that is not a choice that I would make

But it was made

A man so untainted and holy

Came down

To die for the sinner

Who stole from the helpless woman in the ally

Who murdered an innocent child in the womb

Who told a tiny white lie to his mom and dad and gave himself away to drugs and peer pressure

Who lusted after the world and what seemed good but really was death covered in make up whispering

in the promises lie after lie

To die for the sinner who is you

You

Jesus chose to die for you

On that cross, with his hands bound by nails and his feet the same

And with every last breath, last drop of blood and whip of the chain

he thought of you

and that is a choice that no study, no analyzation could ever make sense of

but it was done

it is done

is what he said for you as his arms were spread out wide

and all your choices

he negated the effects, and ultimately the effect of death

and formulated a solution of eternal life instead

for this one choice

changed all the rest

Now, think, think it through

Every choice you make

and every choice that was made is made brand new, infused with grace

Remember this for when there is a test the formula of cause and effect

Still stand true

but also remember Jesus who did what you had to do

for you may make many more flawed choices without a thought

Therefore go down on bended knees gaze at the cross

where stood the Father’s son

never a doubt that this choice for you was a wrong one

that any effect wouldn’t be worth it

you are worth any effect

you are an effect

of that one choice made on the hills of calvary

look up at the cross when your lewd effects force out the mistakes of your personal choices

then resurface that one choice made 2000 years before

bring it up amongst all the confusion and chaos

study it’s economic worth

hold it dear

smile at it even for

that senseless,

unexplainable,

brilliant,

grand,

intricate,

lovel­y,

merciful,

gracious,

holy,

divine,

choice

is all for you
Jeff Raheb Aug 2014
Dal Lake

I float on Dal Lake
Suspended
between the thick soupy crisp air of soldiers
water lilies, Kashmiri bread
and the Muslim prayers
that penetrate the hardness of war
chanting Allah Bismallah
Floating Islam
Holy words drenching the air
Drenching the green cloth of Hindu soldiers
Sliding down the cool metal of a rifle
9 years of war
1,000 houseboats lie empty
in the Himalayan fog
Intricately carved furniture
Thick with dust
and the powder of blood and bullets

Himalayan silhouette etched black
against the song of lotus gatherers
Foggy voices like cloud of moon
Lotus lake
Gray of war and desperation
Children beg
1 rupee
1 rupee
1 rupee
Endless monologue
Parched like lotus shaped paddle
They throw flowers to me
endlessly
I throw them back
endlessly

Time passes slowly
like smoke on a lizard’s tail
trailing in the thick, rancid air
of burning meat and maple leaves
Like a shikara
moving over the glass of Kashmir

The sound of a dozen Bangees
floating over the water
Hollow, solemn and mournful
Echoing against the hardness
of the surrounding mountains
The circle of Himalayas
Like a womb
around the prayers of Pachin

In the middle of the lake
I hear the call to prayer
Azan Nemarz Suba
Azan Nemarz Pashin
Azan Nemarz Degar
Azan Nemarz Sham
Azan Nemarz Koftan
From dawn till dusk

Azan
4 mosques
4 singers
4 directions
staggered by a breath
like an imperfect echo

Azan slips into the pockets of island soldiers
Waters the impatience of soldiers on the shore
Steals into the vacant eyes of soldiers in the Mosque
They want to go home to their wives and children
They want to leave the place of prayer, which is not theirs
The place of prayer, which has seen death
The place where God was pushed out
In order to not see the killing
To **** what they don’t see
The place, which was no longer a refuge

Outside

Dal Lake turns to the color of red lentils
cooking in a dented metal ***
In the Shikara boat we eat dal and rice
and throw scraps into the silver water
where it washes up
onto the ***** boots of a soldier
I hear the dull gray click, click of his rifle
as it touches the ground

The prayers have ended
Tyler Loeslein Nov 2012
My Dearest Ross,
Or whatever you may prefer to be called,
Countless names that countless people have for you balled,
Up and then thrown back down, sprawled out.
They all mean you…
You, whose beauty beats waterfalls in the most secluded paradise.
You, who’s back after a year, and maybe that distance helped me realize,
That despite all that time without you in my life,
No feeling I felt for you met their demise.
You’re still my best friend,
And you still give me butterflies.
I’m feel like I’m dying yet I feel so alive,
My head and heart are in the skies,
They’re talking to God who smiles,
At his creation of love that goes beyond love,
And while he symbolizes peace with a dove,
He uses our image to represent this emotion that people can only dream of.
And with Him smiling down, we’re blessed from above.
And more important than your delicate yet safe,
Electrifying, yet comforting embrace,
Are God’s hands surrounding our existence. His Grace
Makes it so the world can’t touch us, we’re alone in this race.
And I can see it, the finish line,
At the top of the hill, ascending, I’m on cloud nine,
Because baby, God sent his word down through the grape vine,
Any little bird would say that he had heard that you’re divine,
And I don’t just mean physically, but mentally, metaphorically and literally,
Simply, intricately, but most importantly…just…completely divine.
I half expect to see cops stop you and write you a fine,
For how crazy you make me feel inside.
And I told you before about those butterflies,
But do you realize, that I can feel them just by looking into your eyes,
By wanting to discover all those secrets behind your smile,
Just give me a while, no…more than a while,
To explore all the possibilities of what lies,
Beneath the soft and, for me, untouched skin of your thighs.
You make me burn so fierce its like fire and Ice.
Darling you make my head spin,
Every time you walk into my life, but especially when,
You close the cursed distance between our skin,
Leaving me to wonder if when describing you, Best Friend,
Is only where our story would begin.
and this day it was Spring….us
drew lewdly the murmurous minute clumsy
smelloftheworld.    We intricately
alive,cleaving the luminous stammer of bodies
(eagerly just not each other touch)seeking,some
street which easily tickles a brittle fuss
of fragile huge humanity….
                                        Numb
thoughts,kicking in the rivers of our blood,miss
by how terrible inches speech—it
made you a little dizzy did the world’s smell
(but i was thinking why the girl-and-bird
of you move….moves….and also,i’ll admit—)

till,at the corner of Nothing and Something,we heard
a handorgan in twilight playing like hell
Self worth. The sense of ones own value or worth as  a person. So how much do you have? Shes thinks if I fit in and change the agenda then I'll be much happier then, than with what I already have. If they don't say I'm pretty or the crowds aren't pleased then do I have value? Like I can't be happy with myself but I need to hear it too. My life is more than what I can just make do. They have to tell my worth then it'll be true. If he doesn't tell me my value then is my self worth through. If I'm not cool today, famous tomorrow, then all my efforts right now have been in vein. I had a girl once who told me that she was happier being in a relationship, but every one ended up with no real valuing shift. She said if I just have a guy then I'll be more than just a petty thrift. If I have ***, and get wasted, ill be more than a girl in her parents basement. Not realizing her logic to that situation was misled and outdated. There is no question that your uniqueness is the greatest. Don't let the world make your self esteem so prostrated. Because I'll tell you that your worth more than the world and it should bask in your greatness. It was about that time she butted back in and said but I'm wretched and filthy a guy won't love me, will he? And I said that's what's amazing about self worth. As long you keep your head up then it doesn't matter what he thinks your worth. You were intricately made, a masterpiece of work. God made you perfect and righteous so how dare you say your worthless when he says you're priceless. Women are degraded but yet they are the very essence of our being. They are the seed of the earth that holds all its meaning. So don't be demeaning of how valued you are no matter if crowd doesn't find you worth seeing. You know that saying about giving credit, where credit is due? Well if that's true then I think it's about time to give women their rightful credit too. Because your the worlds greatest and wonderful masterpiece made in you.
Ayad Gharbawi Dec 2009
THE STORY OF SARA

Ayad Gharbawi


CHAPTER 2: UNIVERSITY

  
  Well, I did study and, I did pass my exams, and I did succeed in ending up in a decent, upper class school!
  How did I pay for it? I hear you ask me?
  I didn't: I got a scholarship!
  And, what a new world I faced!
  What a totally different society I saw!
  I felt that I was in another country, for I never knew that there existed, from my own people, men and women such as those I encountered!
  My studies in psychiatry really excited me: I thought that I would be able to 'solve' anyone's mental problems.
  All I had to do, was to study and study as feverishly as I could.
Studying furiously, and with love and passion, was the key to success.
  Study, and then you pass your examinations, and then you become a doctor in psychiatry - and I would thereby become successful.
  I would then be someone important.
  I would be respected by everyone.
  My life would have a purpose and a meaning because I would be going in the correct path.
It was simple as that!
  And what was the alternative?
  Not to study?
  And what would I do then?
  Go do a menial, low paying job?
  That was anathema to me!
  It made me sick, to even think about that!
  Why?
  Because, I came from a poor background, and I lived in poverty, and I saw the culture and the people who lived in poverty, and by God, I don’t want to ever live in those circumstances ever again in my life.
  What was poverty to me?
  Your house is ugly; your neighbourhood is ugly; your neighbours are the most indecent people you can imagine.
  The area you live in, swarms with people who live their lives in ‘anti-social behaviour’!
  And what’s ‘anti-social behaviour’?
  That means your community is one, where most people are drunks in  public, where fights, with guns and knives, are an everyday occurrence; where the most filthy language is the norm in public; where ******* covers large parts of the town; where vandalism and damage to cars and property is another daily occurrence; where people play ear-deafening music in the streets and there’s nothing you can do – because, if you call the police, they’ll obey, but then they’ll come back and make hell out of your life – in other words, the gangs rule the community.
  Aren’t those enough reasons to get out of poverty?!
  And, then for me, there are other things that are really important to me.
  For example:
  I mean, who is going to respect you, if you have a menial job? Who is going to look up at you?
  Who is going to listen to your words, when you speak?
  And, most importantly, are you yourself going to be happy with your self and with your life, if you had a menial job?
  Of course not!
  To be a fully satisfied human, you need to live in respectable surroundings with a respectable job.
  Otherwise, there cannot be happiness for you.

  Once I joined my university, I encountered mostly upper class students.
  That’s why, I say it was like ‘another world’ for me, because I had never encountered people like that before!
  Their dress was different; their accent and they way they spoke was different; but what interested me the most, was the fact, that their intellectual interests were extremely varied, as opposed to the people that I had grown up with and knew – those people whose only interests, were getting drunk, practicing promiscuity, crime and drugs!
  Now outside classes, I got began to get involved with different groups of academic students – each group held differing ideas about the world, politics, economics, philosophy of life - and any other subject you can imagine.
  I was never interested in what I called the other 'superficial' groups; that is, those who discussed what I considered to be the stupidities of life, such as fashion, make up, cars, sports and so on. No way; not for me, were people like that!
  For I was far too serious for such mind-wasting people, and, frankly life-wasting people.
  No, I wanted to learn; my God how utterly hungry and thirsty and deadly serious about acquiring more and more knowledge on every 'serious' subject I was - so that, one day, I would be a useful and productive human to society!
  If I was not in my classes, and if I was not listening to those intellectuals, I would sit on any desk and search the internet and read endlessly, on any and every 'serious' subject.

With respect to my classes, as the months rolled over, I began to feel, and think, that my professors were not all that smart at all. I began to feel that they were, in fact, quite ordinary, dull people. But then, I grappled with next obvious question: if they were 'ordinary' and 'dull' people, then how come they were professors – and by 'professors', I mean that they must be far from 'ordinary'? Surely, any person, who is able to be a professor, must be intelligent?
  And yet, the more I listened and took down notes from these professors, and the more I analyzed their words and ideas, the more I became convinced at their emptiness and stupidity!
  My God, you must believe me, for they were talking utter *******!
  Well, who exactly, 'made' them professors?
  I began to dislike them.
  Then, the obvious consequences took place in my mind: the more I disliked them, the less I paid attention to their words and that, in turn, increased my boredom in class!
  No, this was a complete and utter waste of time for me. Yes, I would still need to read the text books given to us by the university, and I would need to understand these books in order to pass the examinations.
  But, I was also determined to do my own independent psychiatry studies, in order to find the ways and means of solving people's emotional problems.

I found it really thrilling to see so many students having so many ideas about the world, because, for me it was so utterly unusual to see young people actually caring about so many issues in our lives!
  You had the conservatives; socialists; Dadaists, existentialists, communists of every shade you can imagine; fascists, socialists, liberals, Nazis, monarchists, Hare Krishnas, Hindus, Budhists, yoga-followers, animal rights campaigners, environmentalists, religious fundamentalists, anarchists  - the list was quite endless to the point of absurdity for, within each group, there were sub-groups, that ranged from the so-called 'left' to the so-called 'right'.
  However, in all this confusion and chaos, there were, at least two things, that you knew for certain: and that was, firstly; that no group agreed with any other group, whilst secondly; every 'leader' of any group sincerely and passionately believed that, yes they, and only they, had all the answers to all the questions that faced our dear Humanity!

But with time, it dawned on me that that most of these intellectual students were not quite what I expected of them.
They would passionately discuss any subject and in excruciating detail!
  To me not every subject was worthy of being discussed!
  Everything was criticized in university.
  Everything was questionable.
  Nothing was certain.
  On the opposite these students believed that they had a duty to deeply philosophise and intricately analyse and scrutinize from every angle every subject and issue in our planet!
  Nothing was accepted and nothing was taken for granted.
  And it was exhausting to listen to them!
  I say ‘exhausting’ because after every meeting, I would actually feel emptier!
  I simply did not learn or gain anything from all these endless discussions!
  So they would analyse issues like: what is the soul?
  What is the difference between the soul and the spirit?
  Where is the soul located?
  Where is the mind located?
  What is the difference between bravery and foolishness?
  Are mathematical facts like 1+1=2 discovered or created by mathematicians?
  What does the word ‘the’ mean?
  What does the word ‘a’ mean?
  Who has a right to create rules and laws?
  How much taxes should each adult pay?
  Is the universe finite or infinite?

  And so it went on and on until your brain became numb with the deafening boredom and pointlessness of it all.
  What irritated me the most was that with these groups of students, was that nothing was sacred.
  Nothing was certain.
On the opposite, everything was completely uncertain.


  As for myself, I gradually gravitated to the leftists – that mixture of socialists, communists, anarchists and other such-like groups.
  Why?
  Because to me their philosophy was more or less simple.
  There wasn’t all that endless series of critiques and analysis that so nearly damaged my brains!
  Their idea was simple: we had to removed the oppressors.
And the oppressors was anyone who had power and influence.
  And what kind of society did we want?
  A purely egalitarian one where there would be neither master nor slave.
  Simple!
  Here I found that much needed sense of certainty!
  Here was an ideal, a philosophy that had strict rules that we were meant to follow in order to achieve our sacred aims!
  

  I was immediately attracted to one student leader, Tony, who passionately urged his listeners to use any means necessary – except violence –in order to achieve our goals of total equality within our society.
  He was a tall man of average weight, with short hair – actually, let me immediately stop myself here - because actually there was absolutely and totally nothing remarkable about the way he looked; but what really made him so attractive was in his personal charm, and the way he spoke, with such a theatrical ability, that made you unable to move as long as he talked.
  I can still see him, as he gracefully gesticulated in such an animated manner, giving further power and reason, to every word and idea he uttered:
  "Can't you see and feel what is going all around you? My friends, listen to my words, because we are living in a society that is dominated by greed and ultimately misery and death on an everyday scale. Why is the dustman paid any less than a doctor? Aren't we all human beings, born free and equal? And, so, if you, my friends, agree with me that all men, women and children, are equal, then it should make obvious sense to you that we should all live equally. Do you feel what I am saying to your hearts, or not?!" he would thunder at us, with his face contorting from the passion, and with his ability to be so majestic and, yet, so utterly humble at the same moment!
  Yes, I began to think more and more about what Tony had to say.    Why was there poverty in the first place?
  Where was Humanity?


  Indeed, aren't we all equal human beings; so why this discrimination? It seemed so sensible to me; and yet, what was I, Sara the Nobody, doing about this problem?
  Nothing, of course.
  Yes, I was just a student – but I was not actively working against the dark forces, as Tony was always talking about.
  Tony would mesmerize his listeners, which were usually held in the evenings, at around eight o'clock.
  He always managed to talk to you directly – or so it felt, despite the large number of listeners.
  "There are people who make millions in minutes – did you people know that?  While most people in our society struggle and sweat not only tears, but, I tell you, they sweat blood – yes blood" he would scream at this point, "day in and day out, and getting paid next to nothing, you also have a minority who make millions in minutes!   How can you, yes you, tell me that that is fair? Why do you, my listeners, why do you lamely accept, that we live in a society that allows conditions, whereby the majority, and I say the vast majority of human beings, men and women, have to bleed to death just, to pay their never ending bills, while a minority lead an easy life overflowing with money, glamour, power and luxuries that are indescribable? I ask you again and again to answer my questions: is that fair? And if it is not fair, then what should be done about this sick situation? Well, clearly, we must use violence to take our rights, because no democracy will allow our party to succeed in any election and obviously the rich will never voluntarily give up their oceans of wealth; therefore, if you ask me, what is to be done, I firmly tell you as my response, that we must fight for our eternal rights, and by using the verb 'fight', I mean we 'fight' with every weapon at our disposal – be they words or bullets!"
  I was simply exhilarated by his symphony of words!
  And yet, I couldn’t help but feel that there was something ‘missing’ in Tony’s personality.  
  He just didn’t have that supreme self assurance that others had.
  I guess that was what was ‘missing’.
  I couldn’t understand why he did have that degree of insecurity – because, it seemed to be a contradiction when you are living your life for an ideal, and at the same time, you have insecurities within your heart!

  It was also at university, that I first met Sanji.
  He was a tall, dark wavy haired man with a dark complexion.  His beautifully oval eyes had a deeply pensive look, and at the same time, they were always somehow mired within a sorrowful gaze.
  Even when he would talk to you, Sanji's eyes seemed to be far away, deep in thought, about God knows what subject!
  Gracing his eyes, were beautifully arched eyebrows and the longest, thickest eyelashes I have ever seen, that beautifully complimented those seemingly lonely eyebrows in perfect harmony.
  He was a quiet, soft spoken gentleman, who was the most polite and sincere man I had ever met – I would forever ask myself, how can this man, be so gentle and compassionate, and without seeming to get distressed, angry or anxious?!
  He had such a depth of serenity in his personality – and that trait was something that made so utterly envious of him; I was constantly wishing and trying to have a millionth of that serenity of his.
  He was utterly sure of himself – and not in any arrogant way. He was completely happy and secure with the ideas and principles which guided him throughout his life.
  He had a complete knowledge as to what the purpose of his life was. As a result he knew exactly where he was going with his life.
  There was no sense of being lost with Sanji; for he knew the endless, twisted, meandering number of Paths of Life ahead of him - and more importantly he knew which path he wanted to tread on in his life’s journey.
  He would never use foul language; and would always listen to you with interest as you talked – which is rare in our world.
  And he had that most beautiful ability and talent to be so extra careful in choosing his words when he spoke, for he always wanted to get his thoughts and ideas properly across to you, so that people would understand him well, and so that there would be no confusion as to what he stood for.
  That's why he was so pensive and why he spoke so deliberately; there was never any impulsiveness on his part; he intended exactly every word, and exactly every phrase, and every sentence he used; there never was any carelessness on his part when he would interact with you.


  I never met a man who was so wholly and totally considerate for the feeling
of this wilting wall the colour drub
souring sunbeams,of a foetal fragrance
to rickety unclosed blinds inslants
peregrinate,a cigar-stub
disintegrates,above,underdrawers club
the faintly sweating air with pinkness,
one pale dog behind a slopcaked shrub
painstakingly utters a slippery mess,
a star sleepily,feebly,scratches the sore
of morning.  But i am interested more
intricately in the delicate scorn
with which in a putrid window every day
almost leans a lady whose still-born
smile involves the comedy of decay,
Jed Oct 2012
Nina pranced about
the lush green grove.
The pitter patter of her footsteps
like raindrops on the ground,
and her movements,
like a fog rolled through a valley.  
A white satin leotard
decorated with flowery lace patterns
A tutu that blossomed
from her slender waist.  
Hair elegantly tied back into a bun.
Face, filled with symmetry, lightly made up with powder.
Her cheeks flushed with a pinkish red blush,
but natural like her lips of pomegranate red.  

The grove,
short deep green ryegrass that rolls over the lumpy ground like moss.
Trees shade like many arms shielding many eyes.
The pure white light of the sun shone through the canopy in beams.
Nina danced furiously intent and
music box intricately
in and out of the beacons of light
as a ballerina should following a lifetime of training.
Mimi Nov 2011
I’m knitting something new,
it feels good.
The new ball of yarn unraveling like time
but I’ve still got plenty left.
There’s potential in this dark teal wool
and satisfaction when I decide
the way I want to weave it.
I make mistakes, I change them
to become part of the pattern.
The stitches are like a song in my head,
I sing them, I tap them out with my foot
and whistle along to the tune I’ve made up.
I thought it might be a hat when I saw the skein
but now I know it will be an
infinity scarf.
My six inches of beaded rib is a metaphor for my worries.
Working my hands intricately help me forget them.
I have time.
Yes, I am a nerd.
In my hour of childhood
I was simple-hearted and free.
The notion of existence
Intricately confounded me.

The true nature of my essence
Was not of my discerning.
To be—right here and now
I did not find such concerning,

If existence is a concept
Then I am the spawn of chaos.
Truly, those of lack of truth
Cannot bear what is definitively best

Existence is brief, and life is a flower
Prepossessing and free, but gone in an hour.
This was my cognition set
In a world consumed with children's life bets

There is nothing in my trials,
Nought in my sentimental thought
Nothing in my possession, not at all within pure dreams
That has the strength to restore my blessed, beloved simplicity...
Palpating the empty cavernous realm of intellect and morality,
I find a restricting noose constructed of the finest strands of insecurity, but it's more proportionally comprised of self-doubt. Each fiber's soaked in a vat of social restraint, the ineffective capability of people to deny injustice. Choosing instead the intoxicating mirage that hereditary lies has handed down throughout the centuries.

Helping the constructors of irrationalism build their platform upon supports of popular opinion.
Equipping it with the ingenious trap door many a potential scholar of entropy and fatalism has fallen through. Snapped necks they suffocate on the breath of pseudo-liberty; as the French have, and Americans still do.

Hands bound behind their backs by indecision, latent anger, the belief in a system far from progressive. Where morals and codes of conduct are tempered, and deliberately shaped into devices of torture sugar coated, and worn pridefully without knowing the restrictions nor the pain, any form of progressive thought is absent. The mass majority select intellectual stagnance over the enlightening evolution of attempting to understand the human condition.

They are not to blame.
For shame and resentment are left for frugal debates over each new candidate, sheered from the same wormwood poisoning the stream of consciousness ****** by a nationalistic fervor full of flavor, no long lasting integrity, only iron clad walls of discretion and misrepresentation.

Traveling great distances, shoulders encumbered with regret, apathy, and triviality; the phantom that is a patriot has left his burden laden tracks for the next poor sap to find his way far from freedom, closer to slavery. The yoke fits loosely but unlike the bumbling oxen his purpose is indiscernable, his capacity to think of a way to escape is neutralized by the bag of oats and blinders he himself accepts; by abhorring what he’ll call disrespect and irreverence toward a slave driving body masked by the right to live fruitfully, albeit sedentary.

The joy of complacency is not holding responsibility, not feeling accountable for any choice where the dangers of rational thinking may awaken the bitter, savage realization that he is merely a by-product, a cog in a larger scheme to keep freedom a longer journey than it is according to the whip holder’s theory. The excruciating knot is pulled tightly together by hunger, so the worker satisfies this hunger with more intricately designed knots. His concentration isn’t in untying it, it’s merely compounding it with greater enigmas he’ll leave for the omniscient to decipher, and untangle.

He’ll wash his hands of the assignment and swallow what he deems nourishment, but the hole is never plugged. The hole grows and the abyss growls, the sounds of thousands of souls in constant traction, but this man of many fantasies can have no distractions. His focus remains selectively aimed upon projects the future will later ruin, yet without foresight the ambition has no name so the cycle remains the same.

His lifeless body now swings to and fro above gallows where the omnipotent applaud the writhing spirit of free will convulsing violently; gyrating while the sedated world of the executed continues being recreated to disguise the sincerest, deepest pain he’ll never know, because knowledge is will and the power struggle is one of isolation and possible destitution. So only when he wakes after his fate has been sealed will free spirit, and free will assault his no longer inebriated body, showing no mercy and reminding him of every time they tried to save him.

He’ll scream in utter agony placing his voiceless soul amongst those bellowing from the abyss he never tried to close. What’s more, choosing to ignore such an enormous expanse of nothing, makes the punishment perfectly sufficient, and succinct with every bit of skepticism he had that such a void of expression, virility, and endless suffering even existed. The twisting twine that holds this wretched, still body of reason securely above the wastelands of awareness makes the most insidious noise. It’s like rubbing famine and pestilent ridden bodies together; the crunching sound of bones absent of mass, riddled with brittle chip marks where the consciously aware soldiers of misfortune have attempted to shape spearheads of vindication, but are then left where they were found because even the potential tools of warfare are less sturdy and strong than the flesh bound mind of sterility from whence they came.

So there is nothing this heap of biological ingenuity and imagination can offer, but to swing in each gusting breeze like a sign posted “No Loitering,” “No Trespassing” would when pushed by the conglomerate gales of assembled hundreds. Ignorance prevails, those who fight are made to accept this evil mantra not out of doubt, but hope that once one awakes before his/her spirit and will has been completely removed, they’ll feel the refreshing irony of those who prayed silently that their army of insolent rewriters of justice has grown by one more.

Still breathing, within a masked struggle fought on separate planes of reality, behind curtains weaved of Kevlar, lead, and iron, many perverts of theory co-opt covertly in absolute anonymity fashioning plans: the plans of liberty, freedom, and prosperity.

They’re his only means of acquittal. Slashing the ropes and allowing those long since dead to die in peace, and those whose breath still has a bit of resistance to fight; the chance to view in full honesty and tragedy the gallows where weary travelers of theory are beaten by conviction and moral restrictions.
Pretty (adj):
1. pleasing or attractive to the eye, as by delicacy or gracefulness;
"Pretty" is a word that's been spewed at you since the day you were born,
A social standard set upon you that you had yet to even hear, but it was being used to describe you instantly;
A "pretty little girl", a "pretty face", "pretty eyes", "pretty smile", "pretty outfit",
Did anyone ever stop to wonder if you'd have a pretty soul?
What about the way you could be brought to tears at the thought of shaming homeless people or victims of abuse, how your heart felt like it was ripping out of your chest when you heard about someone who was struggling,
They didn't seem to care that you tested highest in compassion, they just wanted to know where you got your dress from.
As you grew older the adjective turned from an innocent compliment to what seemed like a snide remark,
The word "pretty" began to eat you from the inside out every time it was said
like you should measure your worth in how delicate others find you;
You stopped accepting "pretty" as a compliment when it turned into an adjective that was only associated with girls that were more than average but less than beautiful,
You stopped accepting "pretty" as a compliment when it became an antonym of strong,
like "pretty" girls were things that would break if you talked too loud, as if loving a "pretty" thing could never be synonymous with loving a durable or sturdy or resilient thing.
D.A. Sharp once said
"You weren't meant to be pretty; you were meant to burn down the earth and graffiti the sky. Don't let anyone ever simplify you to just "pretty"."
And so when someone kindly placed the word in a sentence referring to you you learned to automatically put it into quotations because they were just trying to be nice,
They didn't know they were reducing you to outer beauty, that "pretty" seemed less like a compliment the more it was said, like people couldn't figure out another way to describe you,
As if God hadn't already intricately woven the threads of your DNA, as if he hadn't perfectly tinted every hair on your head to be its crisp burnt color or hand painted the irises of your eyes,
No, "pretty" could no longer cut it.
Because you had been made for bigger and better things,
Those "pretty" eyes of yours will one day see things that God hadn't originally intended anyone to have to see, and those "pretty" hands of yours will have to pick up the pieces of a heartache that God had never wanted you to know and put them back together, and those "pretty" lips of yours are the same lips that will stand in front of sin and tell it that you have chosen Jesus.
Because "pretty" is fine,
but you have been fearfully and wonderfully made, a masterpiece of the Creator.
this won me first place in a spoken word performance!
Monica Mourad Mar 2015
A tangled web weaved
intricately designed, by patient time.
Three unfortunate victims of untold lies
Glances misinterpreted, signs and all now cease.

The truth will set them all free …
She thought his eyes only held hers that way
It will set you free they say
The signs were all there… promising

Braver he got… more confident he thought
“Hey I like you” found its’ way out one afternoon
Everything seemed to be right she thought ….
Truth is those words were not meant for her ears.

They fell on the ears of a close friend.
A friend who doesn't see those brown eyes the way she does.
Tangled and weaved the web becomes once again…
Only time will tell how this one ends....
Kara Jean Jun 2016
Desires feeding our souls

Gnawing and eating our flesh, until we're a vulnerable flush red

Our pores exude the confident strife

A conflict that should have never arrived

To resurface our skin, bring back the childhood mind

I still see the eight-year-old awkwardness,
holding a staple makeshift poetry book and pen

The young struggling mind, when dying was simple to find

Daily I walk into the aroma of the sunlight

Intricately snipping roses off their vines, soaking in their beauty as my fingers sting and bleed

A decade incomplete

She never stopped being a victim long enough to realize her heart was revitalized, made into an equal whole

A rose petals thirst satisfied

No insignificant being

She was now a family
There is a busy spider weaving webs,
Hanging my understanding with
Impenetrable mysteries—
Intricately woven.
Threatening all men, is
This busy weaver in its labor
Befogging man's reassuring.
There is a busy spider which threads the day,
Trailing its silver from wisdom to wisdom,
Enwrapping one with the other—
Until Wisdom is lost!
Oh, there is a busy spider—
Called Doubt!
Alyssa Nena Jul 2015
Waiting for the 217 metro bus
Sunny side of la
My head bowed
Staring at small crack
Lying beneath my feet
With intricate detail
Leaving me
Wondering
How has this come
To be
This crack lying
Beneath my feet..
Head still down
Bowed
Looking under my feet
I seeped my way through
This intricate detail
Of what was
Under the soles of my feet.
In a new space
In a new time
I am
Time warped
Perplexed
Undermined
I hit a new place
I entered a new realm
Something between
Heaven
And
What I remember as a
lost town
A town filled with souls
After all but one thing
A town filled with souls just a group of lost human beings
Trying new drugs
Experimenting new things
A town
Lost with several human beings
The souls there latch
Bind
Imprint on pure things
Take the soul and turn it into something
Never seen
They transform this soul
From pure to
To well tainted
painted
They say welcome
Here is a gift from the lost souls of our town
The souls forgotten but somehow found
We have imprinted on you….
You now can have access
to anything saved
yes yes yes yes and…..
We give you the key to that gate
Yes, look a little harder
It’s a bit chromatic
because you see
We live in this town of lost souls
And few human beings

Yes I know its all so…
confusing
We have no guide
We live not with food
Just an insurmountable
Supply of whatever drug you must use
Right over there is the green goddess
Now give a wave and show your gratitude to what
She provides us with here everyday
Because you see
If she stops growing
We are faced with this thing
This thing …
lost souls don’t ever want to see
This thing this lost town has no recelection
in some millions of years.
Now listen closely as I tell you what it may be
We are all scared of corporeality
Something we never want to be
Now that you understand the entity
of lost souls
Come with me
We embrace you with open arms
We give you the title
The crown
Of our new majesty
Our queen
You are the queen of this lost
Malefic town
So come take step with me
Walk through this door with me
I have imprinted on you
No that means
YOU my queen
That means me +you
Eternity

So try leaving these lost souls
Try leaving this lost town
Try reaching heaven now
Try looking up into the clouds
And thinking back to when you entered
Entered this lost town
Seeped through
To our town
Entered our world
You did just one thing
You left your voice at the door
You left your values on the floor
Now Johnny over there
Johnny hey Johnny
Ya
Ya
Did you find what she left at the door?

Ok great and one more thing
Did you pick up what she forgot on the floor?
Ok great
Because now heaven only exists for you my queen in some foggy grey cloud.
Between heaven and this lost town
And so it is written
Engraved
Imprinted
Once again
Welcome
Welcome to our lost town
Weve named it
And called it
Hell
There is a seat saved for you
Right there next to…
Guess who.

Click
Click
Tick
Tick
Tick
Why thank you kind sir for showing me
This town
This awfully forsaken forgotten lost town
I bring a warm gift
From a place found deep in my heart
A gift you will take
A gift you will pick apart
And examine
Might never figure out the meaning
Oh my very lost soul
My forgotten human being
This lost town is a town I have entered
But as I bid you farewell
Remember that  my body and soul
Belongs to this beautiful place
Not found behind a door
With no objects lying on the floor
A  place a lost soul
May never find.
Has not found..
As I walked through the door
Ground passing beneath my sole
I picked up saved items
And returned with
my soul
and with Every fiber
My whole
Takes root
Back to time
Reality
Corporeality.
“Mam hey mam
Are you waiting for the 217?
Its here”
Before standing up
My eyes hit this crack
They stared at this dark ominous
Intricately placed crack
Now understanding
The  true meaning for its  being
I wrote this on my journey through life in LA..
Quinn Apr 2013
music becomes mucus, leftover remnants
of bacterial infections that refuse to vacate
my brain no matter how many decongestants
i consume, those sound waves reverberate back
and forth and back and forth within my thick
*** skull and i am driven mad by memories

how to cut tender wires intricately woven into
the most simple mass of a mess you will ever see

i find myself muttering solutions in my sleep and
when i reach conclusions i'm already half awake
pen in hand, paper on chest, but ahh, it's gone, it's gone

my dream world holds more clarity than my walking
daze and i can only find the words for poetry, my
tongue and throat are revolting, refusing to take part
in walks down memory lane, fingers soon to follow suit
Diane May 2015
pain demands to be felt..
that is why you let break ups feel like shards of glass piercing through your skin,
"i was using you" feel like acid being pumped through your heart ventricles spewing liquid anguish through your veins
you let the memories consume your very existance so all that is left is the skin he once touched, the lips he once kissed and the emotions he still controls..
yes, pain does demand to be felt

but you see, i am pain.
i embody every syllable of that painful word..pain
i am every lie woven intricately into the seams of the pillow used to cushion the blows i inflict.
i leave you trapped in the very depths of  your mind, made easy by your naive attempt of grasping onto the words used to lure you in, i love you

i am the whispers of motivation urging you to sniff sniff sniff your way deeper into my domain where you are nothing but a chess piece in a battle not easily won.
i am the deep seated hunger that devours any sign of "happy"..the breaking, smashing, burning of hope
i am a master of deceit, carefully manipulating your thoughts through the simple tug of a string, i am your master.

but I was not born like this,
I became it..so if you really think about it,
I am love, because love was the reason I became pain.
this may be confusing, but once again think about it..

love demands to be felt...
that is why you sit smiling awkwardly at your phone,
why you get butterflies..I mean the whole **** zoo in your stomach when he looks your way,
you let your feelings consume your very existence until all that is left of you is the hand he holds so tight, the hair he moves away from your face and the heart you laid right out for him...
yes, love demands to be felt..

but you see, I once was love..
I embodied every syllable of that beautiful word love
I was the roof over-head when the storms of life came thundering by,
I was anything you needed me to be because at the end of the day I didn't want to be anything if I didn't have you.
So I let myself go, I became my own foe
just so you could have that shoulder, I mean that extra soul to lean on

you kept taking and never giving,
this one sided love became toxic
I took one look at myself and realised that I didn't know who was staring back at me..
much like how a caterpillar becomes a butterfly,
but the reverse, I began to shrink.
the butterflies turned to moths, the smiles to tears and soon enough,
love became pain,
and they both demand to be felt.
I like to poison myself. It gives me health. Sheds strength onto my day. Makes the long boring times flutter away. I'll flutter away, into thin space. In my head, I begin again, waking for the evening. Hungry, foolish, eventful. Full of ***** and surprise. Dizzy, dainty, laughing, tourists go by, blinking their eyes into the distance. Do you ever zone so deep into your thoughts; fear you might get lost? Losing yourself into the day break. All costs for namesake. If I shall die, tell everyone goodbye for me. I've never truly hated anyone. I've been lost, I lose my socks, dreamed of making love on a boat-dock. We'll evolve into something greater, see to it that it goes as planned. Build yourself, create your world, environment is a whirlwind of emotion, challenge, and occasionally suicidal games of the awkward, outcast, *******. Fatherless is quite a strange sort of happiness, no one there to guide me, sister's fail almost entirely. Didn't help much, putting forth the wrong effort into focusing on all the wrong things, tragedies, thrills, scares, chills. Seems unreal. Looking back, wishing I'd been more tactful, nonetheless I love who I am, without those dreadful thoughts, situations, spot of no control and memorizing rebellious on my part, wasn't sure where to start. I have a heavy, dense, intricate heart. Complications make yourself. Take them, make them, break them, start from scratch, scratch your eye patch. Successful endeavors beat you, overcome them. You win again with that awful sly grin.
Dahlia May 2019
I have been here before, and with this same pen, I express myself through words.
To better understand myself, and to avoid being misunderstood.

Some call it bewitched, but I call it love.
There is an emptiness in the freedom of being alone,
And liberty in being caught in that divine spell.

The day that I stop writing love poetry is the day that my pen's ink will run out,
Along with my sense of connection to humanity.

Love is hard, and so difficult to describe,
Too complex to express simply by stringing words together.
Yet here I am, trying over and over,  
Always feeling limited, unfulfilled, unsatisfied.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

I have been here before, I am comforted by love's familiarity,
Its pleasant tenderness, shining like rays of sun, enveloping me in warmth and sincerity.
Its floral fragrance in the form of beautiful golden sunflowers,
Bundled with red ribbon at the stems, followed by conversations that go on for hours.
Its sweet taste in the form of kisses, followed by more and more and more, all over my cheeks and face,
Until there is not a spot that his lips have not touched, and then I point lower, to a different space.
I want more but I am too timid to say,
But my flushed cheeks and smile gives it away anyway.

But, I've also been here before, reminiscing on this familiarity,
I am then reminded of the heartache that follows, and I get a sense of polarity.
The shattered promises of forever, and the final goodbyes,
The returning of sweaters that smell like him while holding back desperate cries.
The empty and cold interactions as he shuts the door behind him,
The sinking loneliness as I stand in the room that is now increasingly dim.
The racking sobs as my heart begs me to stop doing this to myself,
So, I take the thought of love, lock it in a box, and put it high on a shelf.


But, I have been here before, knowing that I cannot stop,
Love is embedded deep inside of me, it is not something I can just drop.
My heart knows how capable I am to feel such raw emotions,
It flows gracefully through me, and soars with plummeting waves like the ocean.
My heart demands to spark a flame in the one who ignited such feelings inside of me,
It longs and yearns to douse them with love and unwavering loyalty.
It demands to be expressed, through every form of self-expression that I use,
Whether that is poetry, painting, music, whatever outlet I choose to let loose.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

I have been here before, trying to express my feeling of love.
It is difficult and frustrating, and most attempts are ripped apart and disposed of.
I have been trying to describe love for years, and still feel unsatisfied,
The countless filled notebooks are evidence of all the times that I have tried.
I cannot find how to put it simply but in a beautiful way,
I write about it for hours and hours, from night until day.
I want to be cherished for not only who I am, but who I was, and how I came to be,
So instead of writing about love, I will write about how to better love me.

I have not been here before, so I will take it slow,
If it helps you better understand me, please let me know.
This is for you, if you want to love me,
It is complex and it may not come immediately.
Please understand that it will take time,
For you to love me the way that I need, this is not just a rhyme.
This is new to me, I have not been here before,
If it makes you see the real me, for you I will write more.
I have not been here before, but I am still using the same pen,
If you follow my trail of disorganized thinking, please nod every now and then.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

I am honest, and I will never lie.
I want you to be my best friend before being my guy.
I want to build a sense of familiarity -- to know about you and your life.
I want consistency, continuous communication, so we can avoid all strife.
I want passion and longing, the magnetic pull between our lips and bodies until they unify.
I want "I love you"s to be meaningful, not fillers to be thrown in when our conversation dies.

He must know that the "he" in this story, could also be a she.
My ability to love isn't limited by appearances that fade with time, life’s bittersweet guarantee.
He must know my personality, my strengths, goals, hopes, and dreams,
And when we fight, he must remember that we are not on opposing teams.
He must know how to support me and my life goals, how to motivate me,
When the coldness of the world frightens me, and I search for ways to escape reality.
He must want the best for me, for me to be happy, even if that is not by his side,
If we realize that we are not compatible, or our relationship makes us feel unsatisfied.
He must know my weaknesses, my flaws.
My tendency to push away when I am overwhelmed, and how to find the probable cause.
He must know that though I love to care for others, I am not great at caring for my own body.
My self-destructive nature has a story of its own, and it is not shared with everybody.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

I have been here before, and with the same pen, I try to help him understand me,
I have been fighting my demons for a long time, and I can't remove the shackles that would set me free.
He feels a need to fix me, as if I were a broken wine glass,
I tell him to mind his footing, bringing attention to the pieces he should avoid and overpass.
He thinks that sweet words could be the glue to adhere my shards together,
And praises the curvature of my body, accentuated by a jacket made of leather.
He believes that he could love me more than anyone else has, and by doing so, he would mend me,
I quietly sigh, close my eyes, and slowly count to three.

I have been here before, and with the same pen, I try to make him see,
My broken pieces are not mean to be picked up by fragile hands, nor by anybody.
He learns this when the sharp sting of glass runs along the tips of his digits,
He realizes that the scars on my fingers were from all the attempts I made when I felt brave and ambitious.
Trust me, I have been there before -- I know how much it hurts, I do not want you to share my pain,
I know that I am a sad girl, but still some happiness remains.
I want to embrace this darkness, my ability to feel emotions so immense,
My dear, there is no need to put your fists up in defense.

I have been here before, and I watch him try to fit the pieces together,
But they are sharp, merciless, and weigh much more than a feather.
They are not a puzzle, they do not even fit me anymore,
But he becomes increasingly frustrated, exclaiming that this is more than he asked for.
I try to make him understand that they do not define me,
I only want them to be a visual for my story, I do not need them to be complete, nor to feel free.
I want him to see my past and my struggles, laid on the table,
Only then he will know how intricately strong the roots are that ground me and keep me stable.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

I have been here before, and I don't feel like rhyming anymore,
It took me a long time to understand myself and what I stand for.

The shattered pieces that lay before him are all of the times I've lost a piece of myself;
The innocence that I clung to for so long and had to drop in order to survive and adapt.
The ideologies of supportive families, shattered by abusive alcoholics that no one questioned.
The expectations of loving and supportive friends, broken by betrayal and abandonment.
The life that I once knew, had to leave behind, and the shock that crackled my perspective and forever changed me.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

I have been here before, and with the same pen, I try to reassure him,
But he is drowning in my sorrows and has forgotten how to swim.
He feels a need to scare away my demons, and cure what plagues my mind,
He becomes frightened by my pain and wants to protect me, so he covers my eyes.
But my self-destructive nature was never his job to correct,
I try to help him understand that I am grateful, I never meant any disrespect.

I have been here before, and with the same pen, I try prove that I am his equal and that we are the same,
I am not expecting him to be anything more than he is, I am not a helpless dame.
But he feels that it is his duty as a man to complete me, to support me, to give me a reason to smile.
I put down my pen, and and stare into his eyes for a while.

Though I may be broken, I am complete on my own.
The only support I want is holding hands as we walk side by side, not in the form of you carrying me.
Our world is beautiful enough to make me smile, I only want to enjoy it alongside you.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

But, I have been here before, and I have been through all that.
For 24 years actually, so that makes me stronger than you.
I am better equipped and more than capable to deal with certain things on my own,
These pieces are not even a part of me anymore.
My demons do not need to be slain by a knight in shining armor, because they are more afraid of me.
They know what I've overcome, and know that I will not take **** from anybody.

I've been here before, and with the same pen, I acknowledge my strength,
I've rebuilt the walls of my wine glass exterior with precise width and length.
I designed them using the knowledge that I have gained from my hardships and where I went wrong,
I shaped and molded them with the experiences that have taught me how to be strong.
And I placed seeds that blossomed when nourished by my own self-determination,
I spent many years adding to my durable and unbreakable flooring and foundation.
I painted the walls crimson red, and hung golden accents on the ceiling,
And laid mats to meditate on when I am hurting and need healing.

I have been here before, and I've created this for myself,
I will invite you in, if you'd like to see it for yourself.
I am strong, I am intelligent, and I hope to be more brave,
But I am a lover and a fighter, so please don't think that I need to be saved.
I want to share this beautiful experience of life with you,
But it is not a journey that you have to carry me through.
We will put on comfortable shoes and make our way together,
And we'll prepare for obstacles, challenges, and unpleasant weather.

I have been here before, and I see that look in his eyes,
The corners of his lips curl down and he feels the need to apologize.
I don't need an apology, or for you to change who you are,
Let's enjoy our time together and have a cigar.
The universe granted us to exist alongside each other, and we have crossed paths for a reason,
So please enjoy the warm weather with me this season.
There are so many beautiful sights out there,
I don't care what we do, or where we go, we can go to Times Square!
As long as I'm by your side, and you love me,
In the most pure, raw, and passionate form, it would make me so happy.
Put on the other headphone in and listen to this song,
I think now that you understand how to better love me, you can do no wrong.
I put my pen down as we listen along,
I dedicate a playlist to him, filled with love songs.

I have been here before, and even though my pen is down,
It seems that I cannot and will not stop expressing love.
You hide in plain sight as does day when engulfed by night
For darkness is simply…. The absence of light
You claim to have special enlightenment
And that your knowledge is for the better good of the people
Pledge your allegiance and your success will be imminent
Break your pledge and your death will be discrete
So why would you become part of something so “elite”?
With only one thing in mind; to see the human race in defeat.
An interminable amount of subliminal messages
Hinting at events that are destructive, demoralizing, and deceptive.
9/11… was it really an act of terrorism?
Or was it just an evil plot… something you guys expected?
Al-quaeda and the Taliban… roaming around in the lands of Iran
But on the land I walk some say it’s a misperception
Just a façade in our brain so the government secrets are protected.
Michael Jackson… and the Kennedy assassination
Were they both untimely events in American history?
Ghandi, The King,  Malcolm X,  Princess Diana, Shakur,
Paul, Marley, the Kennedys’, Lennon, Fredinand, Lincoln!!
All of  whom were either at your feet or tried to make your secret secrete
These deaths… from assassination to suicide… were all… “unfortunate” to the human eye?
Or were they “fortunate” for the Eye of the Beholder?
But why go to such great extent to have these powerful and influential people wiped from the human race?
To keep a secret that has been soooo well kept for hundreds of years?
A secret society that is not so discrete… anymore
Hidden in plain sight and away from the human eye…..
Trying to keep a disguise that will lead to our eventual demise
You aren’t doing the world any favors
By keeping an explicitly intricate order in store
You’re favoring your own world under one order
By intricately deceiving the minds of innocent citizens
So, you hide in plain sight, the light of the earth
A light you hope one day becomes permanently dark
Cause once again, darkness is only the absence of light.
With no light, we will be forced at the feet of your might
Despite a fight, with no light and your might, we’re all just mites stuck on your flight of new world order.
Well let me just end on this… **** THE ILLUMINATI!
This is my first slam poem which I performed a couple of weeks ago on an odd topic of the Illuminati.
Lyn-Purcell Aug 2018
✿⊰✲⊱✿
"She's finally here!" Sue claps as we all rise
from our seats and walk to the Ballroom.
There they are, atop the marble steps!
Queen Donna and Dean of proud Vesian,
both dressed in bright red. The couple faces
each other with loving smiles as the cacophony
of cheers and claps echoes through the great
Luciuscemi Palace.

✿⊰✲⊱✿
From afar, I study Donna's beautiful gown;
the shade of wine, made of velvet, her sleeves
long and puffed. Her bodice embrodiery is
extraordinary; patterned with red Rose of Vesian,
but since her marriage, she added a white
one. The embrodiery comes alive under the
light of chandelier; glittering with intricately
cut rubies and agates and sunstones for
Donna's red roses, emeralds and peridots
for the coiling stems and thorns, quartz
and white opals and moonstones for
the white roses.

✿⊰✲⊱✿
Her hair in a curly updo, ringlets framing
her wise and kind face with a simple white
diamond tiara resting upon her head; a simple
rose chain and earrings to complete her look.
In contrast, King Dean wears a deep crimson
coat of red and white roses brocade that falls
past his knees and above his ankles;
slits on the sides  and on the back as well,
I imagine. I can see the black lining
underneath that fine coat.
Part 9 is done! ^-^
Enjoy!
Lyn ***
1058

Bloom—is Result—to meet a Flower
And casually glance
Would scarcely cause one to suspect
The minor Circumstance

Assisting in the Bright Affair
So intricately done
Then offered as a Butterfly
To the Meridian—

To pack the Bud—oppose the Worm—
Obtain its right of Dew—
Adjust the Heat—elude the Wind—
Escape the prowling Bee

Great Nature not to disappoint
Awaiting Her that Day—
To be a Flower, is profound
Responsibility—
SexySloth Mar 2013
I slept and dreamt one night,
What if I travelled back in time?
All the mysteries, all those historical moments
Can all be solved and relived.
How special wouldn’t that be?
What if I travelled back in time,
And met Shakespeare, Leonardo,
Galileo Galilei and the Emperor of China?
They’d teach me a lot of things.
What if I travelled back in time
And get to play with dinosaurs,
Climb the brachiosaurus, play tag with the T-Rex
And take a ‘magic carpet ride’ with Pterosaurs?
I could also follow Christopher Columbus on his trips
And come home with some souvenirs for my friends.
I could live in every dynasty of every country,
And see the world so many years ago
The sands of time slowly carried away by the wind
Once they’ve left, it’s just a memory, etched into our minds.
What if I travelled back in time,
And change all my test answers? I’ll be the smartest boy on Earth!
It’s all too simple, because I know what’s to happen.
But all these things will happen only in my wildest dreams. They couldn’t possibly come true right?
And I just fall back asleep and wonder,
What if I could REALLY travel back in time?

I amble onto bed, so tired, so sleepy
And fall into a deep slumber.
I hear a sound, something’s moving in my room.
My back just springs upright and time seems to stop still
As my ears strain to hear the slightest,
Littlest, clue
To find who’s that,
In that blue hat,
Moving around my room?
He moves closer and closer and I **** in my breath
And shut tight my eyes, not wanting to see the rest
I feel a tug on my blankets and they’re finally pulled away,
So I am about to scream before I realise,
I hear a soft, ringing bell…
“So I hear you’ve been dreaming about travelling back in time lately. Would you like to try?”
I’m a little bit afraid,
Anxious to go time travelling at this time of night.
What if all this is just a dream?
But the blue hat man reaches out to me and touches my cold hand.
It’s real, I think.
He winks at me and tells me to get ready because we’re going
Going, going, going, going, going, going, going,
To time travel!
I shut my eyes, a little more tight
And take a deep breath
And I feel we’ve landed somewhere,
I open my eyes slowly, anxious to see
And I discover sand dunes, all around me
But that wasn’t the main attraction
I sought for.
There were Pyramids and Egyptians being treated
Like dogs by other Egyptians, smug and arrogant
And cold-hearted, in this simmering heat.
They work to bring brick by brick
To the great structures
And that’s why they stand
To this very day.
Then the blue hat guy brings me to Ancient China,
All the guys had long hair,
Braided and shiny, beautiful and neat, with so much grace and poise
In their firm steps.
The Emperor stands tall and mighty
But he’s a little strange.
He doesn’t seem to blink at all, or talk.
The only thing he does is stand there. And breathe.
Yet I feel an air of supremacy when I gaze upon his
Yellow robes, intricately embroidered with dragons,
A sign that a mastery hand, skilled with needles and threads,
Made its mark across the yellow silk
And left two intertwined dragons in a jovial dance.
The blue hat guys holds my hands again
And squeeze them hard, to tell me
We’re jumping through time, how wondrous
This act, jumping through places
Through time and space
But we’re all the same, because all these
Things, can be found on Earth
And in our hearts and memories, which will last
Through the waves of time, even if the waves always crash on the shores.

I prepared myself,
The Final Jump,
After going jumping through the time of all civilisation, also
Back to the time of the dinosaurs.
I’m going back home, my own time,
The present, where here is now and now is here.
The blue hat guy lets go of my hand and
Gives me one last wink,
“Keep on dreaming and never forget
This magical adventure that we had!”
And he just disappears.
I’m back in my own bed and comfy and warm,
Blanket pulled up to my chin and I smile
As I close my eyes, I ponder once more,
Did I just travel through time and space
With a guy in a blue hat?
Or was that just another dream I had?
I can't believe this got so many views, I thought it was one of the most ******* poems ever (I actually rushed this because I had to submit it for something)!
CeilingStar Jul 2018
24 July 2018
2:32 PM

Sometimes.

Being with you
Is like handing you the vastly wonderful universe
And you obsess so intricately
Over one dim, long burnt out, star
That you forget to admire
The rest of the sprawling beauty
Of the sea of sparkles
That I ripped out my heart
To give to you

KG
Breathe.
Petals weaved and laced for limbs,
   Infinity intricately at his feet,
Arrows of lobster clawed feathers,
   Shooting lanterns up the street.

Four corners in black,
   Multiplied with moving tints,
Grey flowing into the endless drift,
   Scissors slicing ribbons,
The final trick played by twins.

Redly lit and pink warmth of a bird's statue,
   Emitting frozen tones,
Evermore catering his fortitude,
   Fleetly plucking each leaf,
Each one falling and bending,
   Into smokey cat-eyed gleam.
© Teri Darlene Basallote Yeo
Our souls are patterns
Intricately  woven  and  styled
Uni­que in their colour  blends and hues
Each  soul telling it's incredible tale
In the sharp  curves  and  soft  dips
Imprinted­ on their thin  vibrant  canvas.

Carefully  detailed  without a stroke amiss
These delicate fabricated masterpieces
Could  rip in hands too  careless to admire
The aesthetic beauty of the canvas
In areas magnificently  simple  or  blank.
Jordan Frances Nov 2014
Anxiety is not a feeling
As some of you may believe
You wouldn't be alone
Because plenty of people place it in the same category as
Sad, angry, elated
But one of these things is not like the others.

You see, anxiety is everything and nothing
All at the same time.
Anxiety is when no matter how spacious the room is
It seems to be getting smaller
Until you can see every intricate detail on every wall
Each corner touches your skin
And flattens your chest
As it rises and falls
Your breath is getting short until it stops
And then you become as functional as a corpse
After all, isn't that what you are?

Anxiety is
When your love stands over top of you
Watching your diaphragm as it rapidly pulsates
Wishing he could hold your hands as they sweat profusely
Wanting to breathe life into your convulsing body
But instead, he cannot even grasp the concept
Of why you are not alright.

Anxiety is
Accepting that your reality is not truly real at all
And deciding to realize that people wish they could fix you
But understanding that they don't know what to do
And you don't either.

Anxiety is
Learning from all the
You're blowing things out of proportion's
And
You put to much pressure on yourself's
When you begin to have these panic attacks
In which you feel like death in imminent
Over trivial things.

Anxiety is
Being with people who love you
And still getting bursts of loneliness
That ignite and explode inside your pores and underneath your skin
The blood flowing silently through your veins reminds you
That you are all alone.

Anxiety is
Relating each and every thing you do
To how you are not adequate
And how you must take charge of everything.
It influences the things that tell you
"Make yourself throw up"
And
"Skip that meal today."
Most times, you shoe it away with every particle of strength that you have
Other times, you are not so lucky.

Anxiety is hard to personify
But it is.
And as I muster up the courage in my soul
And the hope in my being
I realize that those things need not be stored
Because I use them every day as I fight this battle.
We are all waging wars
Mine just happens to be against
This thing that is so intricately woven into the chemistry of who I am.
It is a part of me
But it is not all of me
And my voice is louder than this sickness.
Bad Luck Sep 2018
I've been trying to see the in-between;
The overlap in separation...
                            I want to see what can't be seen.
                            I want to embody imagination.

"That's a tough way to go." They say,
                    "You shouldn't try so hard to know."
But a river is a tough thing to stop,
                                   So I just let the water flow.

Because you don't come upon an idea...
You always start from within it,
Both springing forth and unfolding,
From their inception, until it's finished.

Your ideas, as you are, are intricately connected
To a place where no thing exists without a purpose...
No answer without a question.

The question and answer, you see, exist in simultaneity...
Born from the same concept; they are stuck together, forever, genetically.
"Bad Luck: In a Wakeful Contradiction" is now available on Amazon in paperback!

Link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1691941182
Caroline Grace Jul 2014
Winters can be tedious.
Sun dips into early dusk.
A dead fire refuses to ignite.

There's a quick repetition
of opening and closing blinds
over a barred window.

In need of reflection
I search a familiar face
in an unfamiliar landscape.

I have her in my grasp,
half illusion, half real,
a symbolic mask denies
her true face,

her glittering crown
divides us by its radiance.

Groping in darkness,
I stumble over objects
of wood and stone,
my unsteady tread tripping
over their contours.

I light a candle.

Bathed in amber light,
our shadows merge.

A new door opens,
stretching the perspective.
No formal borders here,
they wouldn't survive
the present climate.

In their place,
intricately carved
figureheads and totems-
a vision of the past.

My eye is a camera,
retinas branded with imagery
for the photographer's delight-
coloured pebbles, carved wooden animals,
tin cans, bones.....

....A Glass Sentinel
(though she isn't visible)
I can see right through her-
a vision of smokescreens
and subterfuge.

Past stumps of driftwood,
past the uncut grass,
a few flowers...

...to the fabricated backdrop
of a burning house, black smoke
rising
in
a
thin
stream.

At the open door -
The Guardian,
(I know her inside out)
unmoved,
(she didn't bat an eye)
defiant in a new skin,
a softer version-
The Mother protecting her children,
arms splayed, prepared
for fight or flight.

A russet flame
Licking her spine exhales
'Get out of my way!'
but she wasn't listening.

Smile fixed,
eyes of a phoenix,
a lion,
a raptor,
protector.
We all need feeding,
but not this way!

Throw me a cloth,
a napkin,
a man-size tissue
a lifeline!

She wanted this,
no, wished it-
this symbolism,
this burning of ironic portraits,
to clear the deck,
make way for new.

It shook the house,
its fate sealed behind closed doors.

I compose myself,
pull her back from the perilous edge,
gather her in my arms.

Fragments of shattered words
flutter in the ether.

What is real?
What is fiction?
A carbon copy of thousands?
A charred corner?

A forgotten candle?






WARNING:
'Eating fire' is a risky business
but can attract a large audience.
Kate Dempsey Jun 2011
I kneeled on the polished wood floor, panting and sweating. My body was writhing in pain, having been mercilessly beaten two masked men; I knew not who they were or why they had come for me. Nor did I know where I was now. I didn’t know anything anymore; everything was drowned in a rising sea of confusion. There was nothing but my battered body, slowly letting forth blood and the wooden floor, gluttonously sapping the heat from my hands and legs and hoarding it within its cold, polished surface.
My ears perked as I heard a noise outside of my elegant prison. As I strained my ears to their fullest extent, I almost grasped what the sound was. Soon, there were several noises and they were louder than the original one. After an unknown period of time, I recognized the sounds as speech even though I could not understand it. Fear swelled within my heart. I feared that the goons who had battered me and sealed me in this room were among those who conversed in the hallway and what horrific things they would do to me if they returned. I prayed for the voices to stop, for them to leave. I waited for the worst, but prayed for the best. I silently and fervently prayed to a God that I only halfway believed in.
Silence. My prayers had been answered. I let out a sigh of relief. It was the first unrestricted breath I had taken since my troubles began. I savored this breath; I inhaled solace and exhaled fear. I rose to my knees and straightened my weary back, feeling the bones crack several times. How wonderful it felt to be upright again!
The doorknob clicked. My eyes darted toward the door. Almost immediately, five men entered, all of them splendidly dressed. They walked with elegance, like kings. Two of them stood at the back of the small room, their eyes watching me like those of a bird of prey pondering ******* a rat. A large man approached me, slowly but menacingly with his great girth shifting with every step. I felt my body tense as I waited for him to strike me. Even with this, I noticed the other two men standing in the corner, continuing their conversation. I tried desperately to listen in. Perhaps they would mention why I was here? But no understanding was to be gained as I could not understand a single word. I recognized the language, however, was Mandarin. Without a moment’s notice, I felt a shove and my chest and face came into an abrupt and painful contact with the floor. It took me a moment to realize that the fat man had kicked me. He shouted at me, in an unintelligible anger. I rose back to my knees and hands and looked into the face of my assaulter.
He was massive. His body was that of a great pig in an elegant, well-tailored suit. His skin was a very tanned yellow and his hair was combed back. He had an upturned nose and small, accusatory eyes glistening with ire as he looked down upon me. He stood before me with a sinister smile as my eyes wandered to his hands. I watched as he ran a fat, jeweled hand over a gorgeous cane. As he continued to stroke the cane, I wondered how he would abuse me next. He circled me once and stopped at my side, his patent leather shoes shining brightly. I could see nothing else of him but his shoes. At that moment, he shouted something at me, and beat me with the cane.
I could not understand his question. Had he asked me about drugs, embezzling, money? I knew nothing of such matters, for I was a simple person. The second I replied “I don’t know”, he struck me again and again, over and over. He soon began to kick me simultaneously, until I collapsed back onto the floor. My stomach and legs had had about all they could take. I was already bruised and I could feel my bones aching. I began to cry. I thought of my husband and my daughter and wondered if I would ever be able to return home. Surely they would wonder why I had not returned home by now and would worry. I somehow believed that I would not ever see them again. It was a terrifying thought.
The pig man began to giggle hideously, his voice gurgling and unpleasant, sounding simple-minded and unrefined. He then began to **** my shoulder with his magnificent cane as he began to tease me, like a demented child. I thought him to be a savage, uncivilized and impolite. For some reason though, I could not completely fear him; I could only hate him. One of the two men in the corner addressed me, and scuffled to my front. His plain face addressed me with a cool and aloof manner, showing neither disgust nor compassion. His spoke to me with a tone that was calculating and observatory and it made me long to know what he was saying even more. But somehow, I welcomed his presence. He was so much less offensive, not striking me or adding to my confusion. He turned away and addressed his companion, who was now seated at the beautiful mahogany desk at the front of the room. His gestured to me rigidly and spoke smoothly to the man.
I could not see the other man particularly well, as the room was dim and most of his form was hidden from me by shadows. How I wished they could have hidden the pig man as effectively. The cold man then knelt to my level and my eyes rose to meet his. I was afraid of what someone so stoic would do to me. I knew not what he was thinking. His slender lips parted.
“Do not fake ignorance. We know it was you.” he said slowly, the words slipping from his lips like water. I was relieved to discover that one of them spoke English. Perhaps he could help me understand why I was brought here.
“What was me? I have not done anything! I promise you!” I had no earthly idea what he believed I had done. I was completely ignorant. I wracked my mind, hoping to think of any obscure reason as to why they had apprehended me and what I might have done to anger them so. His eyes never left mine. He slowly blinked and reopened his eyes. They were cold and unforgiving, shining brightly like black, polished beads. I felt shivers travel down my spine and into my legs. His blank stare somehow felt like a death sentence. He rose and continued to speak to the man at the desk, who was shuffling through papers, and rummaging through what I believed to be a cash box.
With a quiet emission of speech from the man behind the desk, the room grew silent. He rose from the desk and floated over to my limp body. His feet glided gracefully, always stepping perfectly. With only a short phrase, the cold-eyed man walked away. I panicked. He was the only one who could understand what I was saying. I scrambled after him, grabbing onto his leg, begging him to allow me to accompany him to anywhere but this frightening room. Without so much as a glance at me, he shook his ankle free and departed. I felt my only chance at freedom leave with him. A chill passed through my body as I submitted to silent desperation. I lowered my head and cried.
The man gestured me back to him, calling to me in his exotic language as he switched on the desk lamp, allowing me to see him. I was nervous from having seen the two goons at the back of the room. His appearance alone was a relief. As I crawled toward him, I felt that I was meeting a god.
He wore a red silk jacket, embroidered intricately and elegantly with gold flowers and calligraphy that I wished I could read. His hand bore a simple ring, silver with a round stone in the middle, obviously jade. His face was no less impressive. He had smooth pale yellow skin and pleasing brown eyes, large and misty. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail. His smooth lips were wrapped around a long and slender pipe. I watched him inhale and exhale a dancing little cloud of smoke, admiring how gorgeously his chest rose and fell. He looked somehow lukewarm, neither kind nor cruel, not gracious or threatening. He spoke briefly to the two men standing steadfastly at the back. I immediately knew that the graceful one was the leader of this group.
One of the two men grabbed me by my arms, shocking me while the other proceeded to unbutton my ripped and sullied shirt. Why were they removing my clothing? Were they planning to **** me and dispose of me afterward? I feared the worst as they removed my shirt and bra, revealing my upper torso and proceeded to roughly remove my pants as I struggled to free myself. Once I was completely naked, they released me and I crouched upon the ground and cried. Soon, they would have their way with me. One of the lesser men picked up my clothing and inspected the pockets as if he was searching for something. Whatever he was expecting to find was beyond me. I looked back up at the beautiful man, wondering what horrors he had in store for me. His eyes met mine and we both stared for a long time; our gazes were only interrupted once we heard the crumpling of paper.
The both lesser men were inspecting a sheet of paper that they had found in my pocket. One of them waved it about triumphantly and handed it over to the boss. He too examined the paper as an expression of mild confusion overcame his round face, like a moon as it waxes and wanes. Once he grew frustrated with the paper, he handed it to me speaking in his foreign tongue. I did not need a translation, he wished for me to decipher the paper somehow. I inspected the paper with weary eyes and gasped. It was a shopping list! I tried to explain to the boss that the contents of the paper were merely what I planned to purchase for tonight’s dinner. I could tell that he did not completely believe me. His eyes grew suspicious and uncertain. I felt that somehow, this man’s displeasure would be enough for him to end my earthly life.
He took the paper from me and twirled his pipe in the fingers of his opposite hand. He picked up a piece of paper from his desk, comparing the two papers as he delicately balanced his pipe between his teeth. The look of confusion vanished from his face, looking as if he deciphered my language. Perhaps he would set me free? Surely, he could not draw a valid conclusion from a shopping list. He spoke to his subordinates with resolve and confidence, seeming somehow certain of something. He spoke like he uncovered a key detail that unlocked a great mystery. I knew not what he was speaking of, but I knew that he had decided what to do with me. I was somehow more afraid than ever, thinking that he would somehow ****** me, despite my innocence. He kneeled to my level and took my face into his hand and plunged his hand into one of his pockets. I feared that he would pull out a gun or a knife. I snapped my eyes shut, and was afraid to open them again. He spoke a benign and gentle-sounding word and immediately, I felt something graze my face.
Against my better judgment, I opened my tearful eyes, and saw that he was wiping my face with a handkerchief. He wiped my tears away from face. After my face was clean and dry, he swept my hair from my face. I tried to decipher his eyes, looking for a twinkle of kindness of a glint of malicious intent. He gave no such signal. Instead, he placed the handkerchief into my hand. He rose, looking mighty and fearsome and rose his pipe to his lips, but not taking a puff. Even though he looked non-threatening, his lack of emotion baffled me and I was somehow more afraid than ever, despite his fleeting moment of kindness. He rose an elegant and slender hand and waved dismissively toward me. He gestured to the two men and pointed toward the door. He was completely silent. I was about to be taken away.
The two subordinates grabbed me by the underarms, one on each side of me and stood me up clumsily. I watched as the gorgeous boss began to inhale slowly, savoring the flavor of his tobacco. I somehow felt that his breath was connected with my life, that I was doomed to die the moment that little puff had been expelled. The men began to drag me away with my bare heels dragging along the ground. I watched the boss desperately, praying that he would say something that could save me as the goons dragged me over the threshold of the door. One of them placed a bag over my head just as I saw the boss emit a thick smoke which masked his face, the way that clouds hide the elusive moon. I was blinded, but knowing that I was about to be killed. I did not need any clues to be sure of it. The boss had exhaled and I knew that by the time the smoke had cleared, I had vanished from his view.
I am aware that this is technically prose, but I still wanted to submit it. I wrote it a couple of months ago, believing that it might one day be something of merit. Perhaps I am mistaken, but I hope everyone enjoys it.
I'm back, babies.
~Christi Michaels~

Dark Shadows of My Soul
Memories finally revealed,
Yet always known.

Arches set deep within stone
Labored creake of hinges
Massive wooden doors
My breath, heavy just moments before,
quiets upon the entering.
Dark Shadows of My Soul

Three steps down,
Entering the majestic room.
Domed ceilings. Stucco stained
with colors from long, long ago.
I walk towards windows.
Tall, deep n' narrow overlooking My Realm below.
A knowing. A deep seated
rememberance of a life once lived.
Dark Shadows of My Soul

Secrets, locked away in gilded boxes..
Vessels holding unspoken truths
Trap doors leading to dungeons
concealed beneath intricately woven rugs.
Taste of the air. ****** breads,
roasting meat.
Acrid smoke wafting from Soddy hearths
Dark Shadows of My Soul

Raven ringlets cascading.
A waterfall down my open back.
Pearl woven braids
adorn the crown of my head.
My ******* constrained.  
Rising...cresting  
With each breath.
Brocade and lace lay gently
across my hands, kissing my fingers
My neck long, regal. I hold posture of a Princess.  
My full skirts sweep and polish
these stone floors from time till eternity

Will begin the journey.
Delve into this sordid past.
Facing, long at last  
Deamons. Lies of Old
Embracing now
Dark Shadows of One's Soul



Copyright © 2014 Christi Michaels. All Rights Reserved.
#ilovedoinglines
Quote from Barnabas Collins,
the Motion Picture: Dark Shadows.
Starring: Johnny Depp, 2012 originating from the
T.V. series Dark Shadows (1966-1971)
  Barnabas Collins, a 175-year-old vampire from Collinsport, Maine. Having bridged the centuries, he has been both an adversary and an ally to his extended family members over the course of several generations.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
I loved Ireland. Felt one within the Castles. This peice, though originally a challenge, fulfilled the " Dark Shadows of My Soul"
Nandini Jul 2014
When you read them you said words were dead
Only mausoleums could be created of them
You spoke the same tongue " words"
And yes you were right ! your words
entombed my living heart but in your love

But these same words archived hope
Only the true seeker could find
What if they created mausoleums ?
I marbled them
with the turquoise white of my tears

Intricately chiseled with love's essence
Only sunlight could ride with the breeze
Into its minarets laid around you , my life confined
As now you slumber in the deep of afterlife
Under the canopy of the crescent moon

Yes I created a mausoleum
A mausoleum of undying love
A mausoleum that crowns you
A mausoleum I called "Taj"*


31/7/2014
Few lines I wrote reminiscing the Taj Mahal!
What an example of boundless love ..love beyond life!

— The End —