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Cynthia Jean Sep 2016
Poetry
takes on
a life
of its own
and has the inherent
unseen
connection
with all those
willing
to receive it.

To all those
wonderful
kindred spirits
out there
who take the time
to receive
what's in our hearts
and minds

who make us feel
so not
alone
.....

and though
what we say
may not be
profound
we are treated
with value

that we
belong.

Blessings

cj 2016
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2015
why doesn’t english phoneticism diacritic the non-trill r, or why doesn’t it diacritic the non-harking h? i wonder... where’s all the nation’s intelligence gone to... investing 650 billion in the ant mound that’s london? the politics blame it on the eastern european... ‘never blame it on the chinese or the arabs... they have the investments to come with boom & bust coordinates of new york’s 1920s hopes... followed up with depression.’ but oddly enough no recession in poland... perhaps because the poles have all the salt and lost all the dollars’ worth of edible mince pie (while the irish only lost ***** in hazelnut hangover forgetfulness on the titanic minding the class system of who got the lifeboats) - **** me, i’ve turned into a welsh longbows’ man with the famous V of agincourt... i’m not even welsh... but i’m assuredly an abacus: count to two sheep flights of suicide and towing two snorkel sneezes worth of bubbles before dozing off; ah... the celebrated humanity.*

that’s how it works... the r that lost the wheel and the ballerina twirl,
and the rolling-on requirements of a diacritic mark,
since all the available ones are inadequate,
and the h needs surgery to be honest...
it’s hardly a hay stack... as is the gnome eager to learn
about gnosticism and u-boats...
but did i tell you this one story that might
make you laugh?
in my post brain haemorrhage psychosis
i bought a martin & co. acoustic guitar for £600
while trading in a mandolin i bought cleaning toilets
in an edinburgh nightclub getting more than i expected
from a **** groper... sold for £25 second hand which i didn’t take
and just left it there due to honour
(who'd empty ****** in beer bottles from a toilet
getting harassed by a gay
in order to buy a £70 mandolin to play
only one song and then sell it for £25 and take the money?!)...
no, really, the english r needs diacritic markings
to distinguish it from the other european arms and arses
fidgety.
so this martin & co.’s guitar i bought
and took to my ex-girlfriends house...
which i left outside... and... oddly enough
in a guitar sheath the guitar suddenly spontaneously
decided to itch and break up...
my ex-girlfriend’s father said the cold did it...
he was always the handyman to break things...
then i started to head-**** the guitar until i managed
to weave a hole in it to sound more hollow...
so i fixed it in the end... a blind man could play it...
my ex-girlfriend’s father ended up as a nutcracker in
the mental health unit for a month while
england rejoiced when the pantomime season came along
in the local theatres - plates were thrown and dogs were walked...
like tonight... me in cognitive conversation:
‘hey stranger’s dog across the street, why you pausing
tail waggling and pavlov ready for a treat
and trying to imbue a french revolution’s cause off the leash?’
religiously you're reversing the due pundit of prayer
for the thing suffering... christianity almost feeds
the notion of prayer unto the continually suffering...
you wouldn't see prayer so easily given to
zeus ******* hera on the chair... would you?
pathetic, even morbid perverts of poverty
******* out the blood from the man...
if he deserved it he deserved it... it's not so easily
grecian polished into the realm of the undeserved...
the classical philosopher inquired: the gods exist...
but why are you sacrificing animals for their existence?
the modern philosophers inquired: the god exists...
but why are you sacrificing your emotions for their existence?
i will not sacrifice a goat on the altar...
but that was easier given the fact you're feeling
such sibyl s & m with that thing dangling on two planks of wood;
didn't i write of the malachi heresy...
the heresy that invaded monotheism and said
john smith postcode *** *** from the 21st century
will always be john smith from london from the 16th century?
malachi's heresy concerning the reincarnation of elijah
decisively spoke of the fractioned hebrew god... it spoke of 1
as 1/2, 1/3, 1/4, 1/5, 1/6, 1/7, 1/8, 1/9 etc.
i can't believe that... like hegel equated in
the book marx digested and rebelled against, i = i,
malachi you propagator & instigator of christianity and islam!
malachi! to the greeks & romans with you tied to st. paul!
(even allen ginsberg mentions this equation
in one of his poems: i am i, old father fisheye that
begat the ocean, the worm at my own ear,
the serpent turning around a tree;
kant and 0 as negation, hegel and the equals sign as being,
naturally ≠ has to imply non-being);
not building idols of forearm and knee for worship is what islam
got away with replacing them with the worship of words...
i'd hate to worship that night idol dictated by a man
who couldn't read... it's almost like a crow hunching
next to a statue of ramses ii about
where r a m s e s trivialised the six pack of the abdomen
there were the letters r a m s e s without definite form
to concern the suckling of favourite idol mantras...
idol holy word hum hum ham ahead of you...
thou shalt knot the casual reference of muhammad
in the corner shop for thou shalt not offend
the goosebumps sensation i feel when i hear the sounds...
MAKE THEE **** A HOLY **** WORDED & WORSHIPPED!
ARSES IN THE AIR GENTS... WE'RE GOING TO HAVANAH!
and so it was... the only fear of death i have
is to have lived to being aged 72... and then died;
death sooner... death... sooner!
my parents die i'm moving to the true england, up north,
to liverpool or manchester... **** the southern fairies
from dubai... i rather move to the faroe islands to be honest...
and **** a dozen orcas for a fry-up and the digestion of winter...
i rather **** time occupying the space in greenland
among the icy chinese known as eskimos;
i'd fit in among the føroyar kindreds... i love the doom & gloom
and hate the sun & tan of globalisation's adventures
with advertisements and juggling tourism
among terrorism's fictive narratives.
Diane Feb 2014
The sun was shining and I was free and warm,
chasing little yellow butterflies
alongside the garden where my mother was working,
a source of food for our family
along with factory pay and Saturday night band gigs
with bare feet and lilacs I rose above it,
watching myself, a small child caught up in her world,
thoughts and music floating with purpose
uninterrupted wondering if there was another
version of me doing the exact same thing
at that exact same moment,
in China, in India, in Africa,
although I did not know the names of such places,
I knew the pictures of dark skin and brightly colored
clothing, from the Encyclopedia Britannica's
prominently positioned in the
bookshelf, center of our living room
and it seemed that I could feel the other “me’s”
that we knew each other and spoke via the
sound tunnels created by earth worms
and the encyclopedia girls seemed happy too,
simply to be alive, dancing to their songs  
yet there seemed to me another, quasi Diane,
this one not so different, nor so far away,
but she was beyond my grasp, and unable to hear me,
and I felt a vivid, deep longing for her,
eventually, after minutes of chasing, the butterflies
could no longer be found, remembering reality
I was sad for a moment, but I imagined that
one must have fluttered off
to that other little girl
through the hole in the air that I could not see
and I smiled, hoping she would be able to catch it.
It occurred to me only after writing and then reading this poem, that this experience occurred (around age 5), before some childhood trauma and it reads back to me that I had sent a yellow butterfly to my future self as a reminder of innocence and happiness. This is both chilling and comforting.
1.

Man rising to the doom that shall not err,--
  Which hath most dread: the arouse of all or each;
  All kindreds of all nations of all speech,
Or one by one of him and him and her?
While dust reanimate begins to stir
  Here, there, beyond, beyond, reach beyond reach;
  While every wave refashions on the beach
Alive or dead-in-life some seafarer.
Now meeting doth not join or parting part;
  True meeting and true parting wait till then,
    When whoso meet are joined for evermore,
Face answering face and heart at rest in heart:--
    God bring us all rejoicing to the shore
  Of happy Heaven, His sheep home to the pen.

2.

Blessed that flock safe penned in Paradise;
  Blessed this flock which tramps in weary ways;
  All form one flock, God's flock; all yield Him praise
By joy or pain, still tending toward the prize.
Joy speaks in praises there, and sings and flies
  Where no night is, exulting all its days;
  Here, pain finds solace, for, behold, it prays;
In both love lives the life that never dies.
Here life is the beginning of our death,
  And death the starting-point whence life ensues;
    Surely our life is death, our death is life:
    Nor need we lay to heart our peace or strife,
But calm in faith and patience breathe the breath
  God gave, to take again when He shall choose.
Jimmy Hegan May 2016
  When we shall see the ransomed host ,
Oh ! what a joy unspeakable,
All nations gathered,  kindreds , tongues
With God to dwell.

In a twinkling , in a twinkling,
Glory ! Hallelujah !
We'll be raptured  , to His *****,
Shouting  'Maranatha' !
Sweet voices blend with one accord,
To worship God.

The days are fleeting , end is nigh,
A precious thought to every saint,
We've waited long for that bright morn,
And ne'er did faint.

The kingdom cometh , reign of peace,
When God is King , then blissful mirth,
The  saints with him as Kings and priests
Return to earth.

In days of yore the saints foretold,
That God would dwell with mortal men,
The earth restored , as Eden  was,
For  sons of men.

Then as the rose the deserts bloom ,
No maimed are there , no blind, no dumb,
When lamb and wolf with leopard lie,
Thy Kingdom come.  
NARRATED BY JIMMY S HEGAN
Christine Ueri Oct 2013
bitterness of iron:
remove the milk
in bate of oxen blood spills

a bovine scent coagulates --
two membranes,
five and nine in aluminium

warp the boiling point --
two hundred, ninety degrees Celsius,
left standing, half a day:
cardboard instruction sets carbon constriction

imprinting
burnt hair, burnt hooves  --
the taste of not eating
a liver, raw --

Where is the nameless face
carrying cups of coffee, bought
on a journey
somewhere, and nowhere et al . . .
kindreds, wrapped in the smell of decay:
the uncured hide around his hips,
or was it his wrists, never touching?
21.09.2013 - 14.10.2013
ConnectHook Jul 2021
Michael Wigglesworth (1631–1705)

STILL was the night, serene and bright,
  When all men sleeping lay;
Calm was the season, and carnal reason
  Thought so ’t would last for aye.
Soul, take thine ease, let sorrow cease,         5
  Much good thou hast in store:
This was their song, their cups among,
  The evening before.

Wallowing in all kind of sin,
  Vile wretches lay secure:         10
The best of men had scarcely then
  Their lamps kept in good ure.
Virgins unwise, who through disguise
  Amongst the best were number’d,
Had clos’d their eyes; yea, and the wise         15
  Through sloth and frailty slumber’d.

Like as of gold, when men grow bold
  God’s threat’nings to contemn,
Who stop their ear, and would not hear;
  When mercy warned them:         20
But took their course, without remorse,
  Till God began to pour
Destruction the world upon
  In a tempestuous shower.

They put away the evil day,         25
  And drown’d their care and fears,
Till drown’d were they, and swept away
  By vengeance unawares:
So at the last, whilst men sleep fast
  In their security,         30
Surpris’d they are in such a snare
  As cometh suddenly.

For at midnight break forth a light,
  Which turn’d the night to day,
And speedily an hideous cry         35
  Did all the world dismay.
Sinners awake, their hearts do ache,
  Trembling their ***** surpriseth;
Amaz’d with fear, by what they hear,
  Each one of them ariseth.         40

They rush from beds with giddy heads,
  And to their windows run,
Viewing this light, which shines more bright
  Than doth the noonday sun.
Straightway appears (they see ’t with tears,)         45
  The Son of God most dread;
Who with his train comes on amain
  To judge both quick and dead.

Before his face the heavens gave place,
  And skies are rent asunder,         50
With mighty voice, and hideous noise,
  More terrible than thunder.
His brightness damps heaven’s glorious lamps,
  And makes them hide their heads,
As if afraid and quite dismay’d,         55
  They quit their wonted steads.

Ye sons of men that durst contemn
  The threat’nings of God’s word,
How cheer you now? your hearts I trow,
  Are thrill’d as with a sword.         60
Now atheist blind, whose brutish mind
  A God could never see,
Dost thou perceive, dost now believe
  That Christ thy judge shalt be?

Stout courages, (whose hardiness         65
  Could death and hell outface,)
Are you as bold now you behold
  Your judge draw near apace?
They cry, “no, no: alas! and wo!
  Our courage is all gone:         70
Our hardiness (fool hardiness)
  Hath us undone, undone.”

No heart so bold, but now grows cold
  And almost dead with fear:
No eye so dry, but now can cry,         75
  And pour out many a tear.
Earth’s potentates and powerful states,
  Captains and men of might,
Are quite abash’d, their courage dash’d
  At this most dreadful sight.         80

Mean men lament, great men do rent
  Their robes, and tear their hair:
They do not spare their flesh to tear
  Through horrible despair.
All kindreds wail: all hearts do fail:         85
  Horror the world doth fill
With weeping eyes, and loud outcries,
  Yet knows not *******.

Some hide themselves in caves and delves
  In places under ground:         90
Some rashly leap into the deep,
  To ’scape by being drown’d:
Some to the rocks (O senseless blocks!)
  And woody mountains run,
That there they might this fearful sight,         95
  And dreaded presence shun.

In vain do they to mountains say,
  Fall on us and us hide
From judge’s ire, more hot than fire,
  For who may it abide?         100
No hiding place can from his face,
  Sinners at all conceal,
Whose flaming eye hid things doth spy,
  And darkest things reveal.

Then were brought in, and charg’d with sin.         105
  Another company,
Who by petition obtain’d permission,
  To make apology:
They argued, “We were misled,
  As is well known to thee,         110
By their example, that had more ample
  Abilities than we:

Such as profess’d they did detest
  And hate each wicked way:
Whose seeming grace whilst we did trace,         115
  Our souls were led astray.
When men of parts, learning and arts.
  Professing piety,
Did thus and thus, it seem’d to us
  We might take liberty.         120

The judge replies, “I gave you eyes,
  And light to see your way,
Which had you lov’d, and well improv’d,
  You had not gone astray.
My word was pure, the rule was sure,         125
  Why did you it forsake,
Or thereon trample, and men’s example,
  Your directory make?

This you well knew, that God is true,
  And that most men are liars,         130
In word professing holiness,
  In deed thereof deniers.
O simple fools! that having rules
  Your lives to regulate,
Would them refuse, and rather choose         135
  Vile men to imitate.”

“But Lord,” say they, “we went astray,
  And did more wickedly,
By means of those whom thou hast chose
  Salvation heirs to be.”         140
To whom the judge; “what you allege,
  Doth nothing help the case;
But makes appear how vile you were,
  And rendereth you more base.

You understood that what was good         145
  Was to be followed,
And that you ought that which was naught
  To have relinquished.
Contrary ways, it was your guise,
  Only to imitate         150
Good men’s defects, and their neglects
  That were regenerate.

But to express their holiness,
  Or imitate their grace,
You little car’d, nor once prepar’d         155
  Your hearts to seek my face.
They did repent, and truly rent
  Their hearts for all known sin:
You did offend, but not amend,
  To follow them therein.”         160

“We had thy word,” say some, “O Lord,
  But wiser men than we
Could never yet interpret it,
  But always disagree.
How could we fools be led by rules,         165
  So far beyond our ken,
Which to explain did so much pain,
  And puzzle wisest men.”

“Was all my word abstruse and hard?”
  The judge then answered:         170
“It did contain much truth so plain,
  You might have run and read.
But what was hard you never car’d
  To know nor studied.
And things that were most plain and clear         175
  You never practised.

The mystery of piety
  God unto babes reveals;
When to the wise he it denies,
  And from the world conceals.         180
If to fulfil God’s holy will
  Had seemed good to you
You would have sought light as you ought,
  And done the good you knew.”

Then at the bar arraigned are         185
  An impudenter sort,
Who to evade the guilt that’s laid
  Upon them thus retort;
“How could we cease thus to transgress?
  How could we hell avoid,         190
Whom God’s decree shut out from thee,
  And sign’d to be destroy’d?

Whom God ordains to endless pains,
  By law unalterable,
Repentance true, obedience new,         195
  To save such are unable:
Sorrow for sin, no good can win,
  To such as are rejected:
Nor can they grieve, nor yet believe,
  That never were elected.         200

Of man’s fall’n race who can true grace
  Or holiness obtain?
Who can convert or change his heart,
  If God withhold the same?
Had we applied ourselves and tried         205
  As much as who did most
God’s love to gain, our busy pain
  And labor had been lost.

Christ readily makes this reply;
  “I **** you not because         210
You are rejected or not elected,
  But you have broke my laws:
It is but vain your wits to strain
  The end and means to sever:
Men fondly seek to part or break         215
  What God hath link’d together.

Whom God will save such will he have
  The means of life to use:
Whom he ’ll pass by, shall choose to die,
  And ways of life refuse.         220
He that foresees, and foredecrees,
  In wisdom order’d has,
That man’s free will electing ill,
  Shall bring his will to pass.

High God’s decree, as it is free,         225
  So doth it none compel
Against their will to good or ill,
  It forceth none to hell.
They have their wish whose souls perish
  With torments in hell fire,         230
Who rather chose their souls to lose,
  Than leave a loose desire.

Then to the bar, all they drew near
  Who died in infancy,
And never had or good or bad         235
  Effected personally,
But from the womb unto the tomb
  Were straightway carried,
(Or at the last ere they transgress’d)
  Who thus began to plead:         240

“If for our own transgression,
  Or disobedience,
We here did stand at thy left hand,
  Just were the recompense:
But Adam’s guilt our souls hath spilt,         245
  His fault is charged on us;
And that alone hath overthrown,
  And utterly undone us.

Not we, but he ate of the tree,
  Whose fruit was interdicted:         250
Yet on us all of his sad fall,
  The punishment ’s inflicted.
How could we sin that had not been,
  Or how is his sin our
Without consent, which to prevent,         255
  We never had a power?

O great Creator, why was our nature
  Depraved and forlorn?
Why so defil’d, and made so vild
  Whilst we were yet unborn?         260
If it be just and needs we must
  Transgressors reckon’d be,
Thy mercy, Lord, to us afford,
  Which sinners hath set free.

Behold we see Adam set free,         265
  And sav’d from his trespass,
Whose sinful fall hath split us all,
  And brought us to this pass.
Canst thou deny us once to try,
  Or grace to us to tender,         270
When he finds grace before thy face,
  That was the chief offender?”

Then answered the judge most dread,
  “God doth such doom forbid,
That men should die eternally         275
  For what they never did.
But what you call old Adam’s fall,
  And only his trespass,
You call amiss to call it his,
  Both his and yours it was.         280

He was design’d of all mankind
  To be a public head,
A common root, whence all should shoot,
  And stood in all their stead.
He stood and fell, did ill or well,         285
  Not for himself alone,
But for you all, who now his fall
  And trespass would disown.

If he had stood, then all his brood
  Had been established         290
In God’s true love never to move,
  Nor once awry to tread:
Then all his race, my Father’s grace,
  Should have enjoy’d for ever,
And wicked sprites by subtle sleights         295
  Could then have harmed never.

Would you have griev’d to have receiv’d
  Through Adam so much good,
And had been your for evermore,
  If he at first had stood?         300
Would you have said, ‘we ne’er obey’d,
  Nor did thy laws regard;
It ill befits with benefits,
  Us, Lord, so to reward.’

Since then to share in his welfare,         305
  You could have been content,
You may with reason share in his treason,
  And in the punishment.
Hence you were born in state forlorn,
  With nature so deprav’d:         310
Death was your due, because that you
  Had thus yourselves behav’d.

You think, ‘if we had been as he,
  Whom God did so betrust,
We to our cost would ne’er have lost         315
  All for a paltry lust.’
Had you been made in Adam’s stead,
  You would like things have wrought,
And so into the selfsame wo,
  Yourselves and yours have brought.         320

I may deny you once to try,
  Or grace to you to tender,
Though he finds grace before my face,
  Who was the chief offender:
Else should my grace cease to be grace;         325
  For it should not be free,
If to release whom I should please,
  I have no liberty.

If upon one what’s due to none
  I frankly shall bestow,         330
And on the rest shall not think best,
  Compassion’s skirts to throw,
Whom injure I? will you envy,
  And grudge at others’ weal?
Or me accuse, who do refuse         335
  Yourselves to help and heal.

Am I alone for what’s my own,
  No master or no Lord?
O if I am, how can you claim
  What I to some afford?         340
Will you demand grace at my hand,
  And challenge what is mine?
Will you teach me whom to set free,
  And thus my grace confine?

You sinners are, and such a share         345
  As sinners may expect,
Such you shall have; for I do save
  None but my own elect.
Yet to compare your sin with their
  Who liv’d a longer time,         350
I do confess yours is much less,
  Though every sin’s a crime.

A crime it is, therefore in bliss
  You may not hope to dwell
But unto you I shall allow         355
  The easiest room in hell.”
The glorious king thus answering,
  They cease, and plead no longer:
Their consciences must needs confess
  His reasons are the stronger.         360

Thus all men’s pleas the judge with ease
  Doth answer and confute.
Until that all, both great and small,
  Are silenced and mute.
Vain hopes are crop’d, all mouths are stop’d,         365
  Sinners have nought to say,
But that ’tis just, and equal most
  They should be ****’d for aye.

Now what remains, but that to pains
  And everlasting smart,         370
Christ should condemn the sons of men,
  Which is their just desert;
Oh rueful plights of sinful wights!
  Oh wretches all forlorn:
’T had happy been they ne’er had seen         375
  The sun, or not been born.

The saints behold with courage bold,
  And thankful wonderment,
To see all those that were their foes
  Thus sent to punishment:         380
Then do they sing unto their king
  A song of endless praise:
They praise his name and do proclaim
  That just are all his ways.

Thus with great joy and melody         385
  To heaven they all ascend,
Him there to praise with sweetest lays,
  And hymns that never end.
Where with long rest they shall be blest,
  And nought shall them annoy:         390
Where they shall see as seen they be,
  And whom they love enjoy.
Emeka Mokeme Sep 2017
With insanely absolute certainty
I am definitely convinced,
that notion died instantly yesterday.
Unwittingly the dream committed suicide.
Our next generation will suffer for the
bad mistakes of our greedy elders.
They cannot save us now.
The pain of fixing it is worst than
the original pain experienced.
They have no clue of the
magnanimity of what they have done.
We can't escape from the
consequences of our deeds.
Doom awaits in the corner.
Go back to where you have fallen.
Mend your fences.
Hurry for thunderstorms.
Save yourselves from their
tortuous acts awaiting you.
Unity among you is vitally necessary.
Our ancestors who sleeps
long ago awakes in their vaults.
The doors of the spirits is now opened.
The blood of our own kindreds
and children killed cries
out from their graves.
Who is he that will boldly
answer the dance call of the flute played.
Let such a one fearlessly come out
of the veil and lead our people.
Our help only comes from our unity.
One voice is our strength.
God will be our helper.
©2017. Emeka Mokeme.All rights reserved.
R Catherine Jul 2020
What little traumas affect existance?
Sensitive souls destroyed by petty words.
Judged as wanting and paltry.
No arms to becalm the distress.
Hands brushing skin.
Moving to secret places.
A dark and ardorless touch.
Revealed in action and recycled in psyche.
Surprising kindreds found then lost without words.
First love led to intimacies wracked with devestation.
Cyclical defamation to the mind and body.
Kindreds remade and lost again.
At last, absconding from lingering tethers.
New love found and destroyed.
Too many little traumas repressed.
Too many left raw and open.
Too many affected existance.
Realization is the road to healing.
@whimsical_writestry
Instagram
Gods1son Aug 2019
F#ck pride,
Let us ride together
Let's put out the fire of jealousy,
that sh#t ain't necessary
Let's rid our hearts of all hatred,
Brothers and Sisters, we are all kindreds
In unity lies our strength,
As a group, we can reach any length
We might err but let's learn to forgive,
Remember oneness is the motive
True love is the only way up,
Let us all drink from the same cup.
I usually don't like to swear but...you know
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R Catherine Jul 2020
Hello World.
Bright lights, flashing signs, busy streets.
Loud and boisterous, fun and full of life.
Ever racing to the next, biggest brightest, best...
Do you see me on that lonely road? I know you do.
I look at your beauty on full display.
I know you ask, no... demand I join you.
To jump into your center.
Hold my head up, stand tall, don't cry....
Heartbreak isn't worth tears.
But your bright lights hurt my eyes.
Your flashing signs overwhelm me.
Racing on your busy streets feels like a dance with death.
But look over here....
See these woods? Deep, black, overgrown, hollow.
Dangerous you say, full of monsters and pitfalls.
Too risky. You, World, would never venture there. No light.
But I love those woods. They are my home.
You see, I can navigate them.
If I trip, I can pick my self up.
I can roar right back at the monsters.
I am senstive, but that does not mean I am weak!
These woods... They have such beauty.
You just have to brave the dark to find them.
These secret places my kindreds and I discover.
They are ours.
Here we can be us.
We can laugh at nothing, cry at everything.
We can dance our little jigs, without you, World, looking at us with that....face.
We can have our oddities, those things you snub.
We can revel in them.
We can love so freely without restraint, because that's our way.
We have no walls. We are vulnerable.
We can even love the monsters, for that's what we are... right?
We aren't like you.... never like you.
Sometimes we venture to you... wanting to show our love.
But you, World, make us anxious. That toxic thing that lives inside.
A relationship that can't be severed when we are with you.
Constantly telling us we are not good enough for you.
That we don't deserve you. But we ARE good enough.
But to you we are like that priceless vase. Broken countless times.
Constantly repaired. Too vulnerable for your hands.
We are put on that top shelf, away from your warmth.
No flowers to feed our creativity. Just admired from afar.
But you don't really admire us anymore, do you?
Because all you see are the cracks.
I am sensitive, but that does not mean I am weak!
You, World, have to build walls to guard your vulnerabilities..... I don't.
You were once like us, you know. Free.....
Free to live, laugh, love, and just be unrestrained.
No walls, no fear, no need for those binding entities.
We flew.
But you wanted better things.
You found the ground and raced towards the future.
Looking ahead to evolution...to the next advancement.
Leaving what's left of us behind.
We are so few now... nearly forgotten.
So we stay in our secret places, and wait.
We wait for you World, to come to us.
Because we will love you with no restraint.
We adore you so desperately... those parts of you behind your walls.
We love your broken pieces, your scars.
They are those little reminders that you were once like us.
So my kindreds and I will live, laugh, love, and be us unreservedly in our secret places.
And we will wait for you....... but we will never change.
@whimsical_writestry
Instagram
Satsih Verma Jul 2021
The autocracy asks to
**** the language of nothingness for
the new adjectives. Did you change the heart?

My preview of absurd kindreds
was impossible. We haven't reached the
vocabulary of non-violence of gods.

The hostile sit into
appeal the boat on fire, not to go
in sea. There were many whales.

— The End —