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Kim Nov 2015
A tragic tradition from times long past
Weak of wit and hard of heart
Thus pawns are born and
Circumstance plays its part

Here we stand again, aghast
Alas, what evil has come to pass!
Questions burn, anger rises
Vengeance brews on the horizon

The world has turned for years and years
On violence and wars, and bitter tears
You build - they break, you smile - they’re fake
Injustice reigns in misfortune’s wake
Struggle for some, victory for others
Caps are waved with fair-weather feathers

Who are they, who are we?
Who is safe, who is free?
Where is the heart that knows no fear?
Where is the mind that’s always clear?

An ephemeral world, a passing phase
The old, the new
The false, the true
A blink of an eye in eternity’s gaze

Yet weak-minded malignancies
Must ply their trade of misery
Dispensed with as refuse in this life
****** as bartered souls in the next
Fate’s hand is heavy and dark is the night
For the vicious heart and feeble intellect.
Vernarth leaves and articulates in them to guide and accompany them with this imperishable itinerary, coming from the undivided becoming that was normalized with its evident parapsychology, creating certain polycellular substances in the accentuated multi placebo effect by injecting them with clinical blindness, to then reactivate them in the ejido of Bethany as a path of going and death, back and Life, with whom they revived from the anginal dizziness, that even some faltered when they saw Bethany full of Borricos who led them with the allegory as if the real world had just been made in a variety of towards a speculative problem and its limitations. Vernarth could glimpse with his glances certain affected areas of some who were with the entourage, essentially in the wear of their pancreas, hormones that were launched with radiant flashes of celestial suns, with extracts of muscles varying with irradiation in super stocks, inhibiting radioactive parts of Cinnabar that finally brought them all together when the phase of Cinnabar that was deployed as an aid to the cutting of the heads Speleothemes or Speleotomies, becoming radioactive by generating concentration in large eminences of snatched electrons, in order to begin to open the layers of the bathyal zone at four thousand meters of depth without light, up to the Neritic where large cemeteries with whale mammary arteries flowed back, and together with toxins from sea snakes. The hypnosis that Vernarth exercised towards all those who absorbed aspiring to have enough dynamics, and generate prayers of all kinds for when they reached the Metelmi tunnel of the Profitis Ilias. With the management of the visualizations of her emotions, meditation and prayers were rewound after a neat trajectory of wealth and well-being Venusiana.

The power of their unified minds has been successfully adhered to for hundreds of years since they were fostered. From the first hypnotic third with the mesmerism of the chiroptical, rather of the four species of Vlad, Fruit Chiroptera, Vampire, Indiana, Egyptian, which would mainly be the carriers of fertilization of the lands of Patmos, and their pollination together with the Lepidoptera, also gave them the magnetism in this way:

Says Vlad Strigoi: “Eventually it suggested to me from the hypnotic trance that led us to varieties of suggestion in the dermis, which it branded us as suggestive ectodermal. Under the keys of the nervous system if I have to have a conscience or exquisite wisdom for all the blisters that in frugality it is convenient for my species of chiropterans to shelter them, and not my human comrades. So I got over the death of my older brother, and then I succeeded him, where I went some time to moan him on the Danube. I was exiled in Edirne, and from there in my second reign, I went to Wallachia, many episodes happened and early in the morning I was visited by the rest of the Boyars' bats, fleeing from themselves, there were thousands and thousands I had to take care of from them. Later I went to Valdaine, Chauvet. Welcoming me to Wonthelimar so that one day we would regain the true kingdom of manumission in the darkness of Wallachia with my monastic brother Vlad Calugarul "

The blisters of thousands of Vlad's Chiroptera burst when he referred to his brother Calugarul, beginning to fall from the upper angle into cheesy leagues of flying animals, who wanted to control the pain of man, all protected by psychic mental waves emancipated from the presumptuous angle of Vernarth, and of the laziness of his spasms, and migraines that we're frightened of some by the entrails of the physiology of the platform. Upon reaching five hundred years, there were four hundred left to approach the quantum borders that the Souls of Helleniká transferred to them, the entire timeline was covered with a tunic that was moistened by turbulent water that appeared from overseas, producing dramatic conventional meteorologies, where The line of sight of the horizon lay three times where it was, to indicate that the humid plain of the tunic was in concert with the setting Sun. From this regulation plan, the prime time was counterpoint, for a link of half an hour before approaching midnight, before reaching the Profitis Ilias, specifically the Metelmi Tunnel in the Raedus Codex. Many species were unable to tolerate the immunity of such an event as they emerged to the surface and began to collect cells that revived engulfed in themselves, to later become impregnated with Wonthelimar's entourage and then predisposed to enter the geological cavity.

The collectivity of time was dissipated, all the nature that was of a coherent past was beginning to visualize itself towards a state of immunity mechanism, due to the trances that deprived it of hope of living in a new beginning before reaching Patmos. From Agios Andreas, expulsions of malignancies that were expressed with the Apsidas Manes were still felt, being very well alternated by Marie des Vallées who deconcentrated conventions and individualities towards the lacerated that still did not form outgrowths on their bodies removed from Spinalonga, while she continued as always In its most absolute darkness and exile, only portraits were enough to project itself on a populated island, which would be rescued from involuntary excretions and depopulation, being a human settlement. More than a hundred experiments were missing to scale the island to a superiority that was far from a medical shelter site, which excludes it from knowledge of prevalent and invalidated concepts of a miraculous life that was beginning to be written in Agios Andreas. The power of Faith self-healed in the bodies that had yet to be awarded the healing intentions of collective minds that flowed among all, when they were guided by the Saint of Normandy after having clear evidence and for how long they would be on this islet, for also rejoin the investiture of the Himation of Vernarth in the Áullos Kósmos, indemnifying the intervals of the Vas Auric and the Cinnabar. All prayed inclined towards a transformation of the permutations that inspired a quantum healing, that moved the waves of the seas in unison with their prayers, that creating a quantum healing atmosphere in all channels, and for all their atoned intentions. Telepathy apprehended all their emotions, prevailing the vital energy that contemporary in the prayers of the new earth field that greeted them became at their astonished feet.

The hospitality of Agios Andreas had Theus and Vikentios defined to be with her, to have total compassion with the Saint and to recover their ancestors with a focus of energy that were invaded by hyper healings similar to an ultrasound, which emanated from the hands of the Santa, for each of the individuals who remained to be definitively healed and then redistribute them in the new spheres of execrations, which hung from the indigenous Manes on the island, which delimited the improvement of many human beings who lived long periods here, overcoming dimorphisms in the reproductive organs of ancient cavemen, with leprosy in the ***** of their ******, but the testimony of dimorphism motor skills will lead to species totally free of this scourge of the ***** bacillus, to perfectly synchronize a field of healing energy, from the magical thought of the Saint who assisted them permanently, to prepare themselves in the new regions before they had what to make the last decision to integrate in Patmos. The membranes of the nuclei of the sun that healed them and reconvened themselves from the molecules of an energized level of matter celestially congruent, with the sensitivity of the affected organs, until some cells imprisoned in the cells of lost morbidity, hypnosis was reinstituted bilocate de Vernarth who assisted them from his eclectic Portal before superior hypnosis that led them to mutate their bodies into astonishing birds, which were retransformed with the Birds of the Stymphalus.
Stymphalus  Birds
Luke Lucci Sep 2021
Could this reality have been different with women in power,
From the eras of Caesar, of Stalin and Alexander.
Would children go without supplement and their mothers subjected to unwilling seed,
Envisioned a reality of women in power and men on their knees.
Would a system that’s shrouded in malignancies be fair and modest posses such corruption,
Having been birthed for wasteful capitalism and upheld in contention.
Half a century of genocide, of colonialism and greed.
Continue to suffer at the hand of man, left used, discarded to plead.
It is often said that crisis brings clarity when you’re living in a mans world,
To tolerate such dominance, allowing your voices to go unheard.
Copyright © 2021
Darbi Alise Howe Feb 2013
Before,
Chaos reigned each day
The ground quaked with the weight
Of every fresh pursuit
Such debt I've yet to pay
For years of inane deeds
I explored man to excess
Until all thought turned towards lust
An insatiable beast that feeds
Upon its eager flesh
I craved things evil and benign
(For both I wished to feel)
Though now they are malignancies,
That no human eye could find
But just as storms will peak
And give way to idle skies
My story is now a fragment
- nothing more to seek
Though plateaus are pleasing
To walk upon at times
Extended paths exhaust the mind
Just as anything unceasing
Jordan Frances Jan 2014
Although I never thought I would use that word to describe you.
You played me like a pawn,
And I willingly went along,
All the while hoping you would get better.

You say that you do everything for others,
But you only think about yourself.
Well aren't you just the martyr now?
I let you trample all over my back,
I hope I can wash your footprints off,
Before they stain me red.

I drank from your gauntlet
The malignancies infect me now
It could have been lethal
But I will not let it invade my blood stream.

If I could string together a few words to describe a hypocrite,
They would choke you out.
If I told you all of them, I would run out of breath.
So for now, I'll leave you with two:

It goes something like
"*******."
allison Oct 2019
Four simultaneous calls unknown number familiar area code
I clicked all the necessary buttons to block you yet still your voice
penetrated my messages made my entire body contract into a fraction
of myself I tried to delete them but they never stop

I pleaded with my mom over salted mall pretzels to help her
understand why I wanted a restraining order against you without letting it slip
that your hand had slipped across my face before but secret scars
faded without photographic proof it was you
'there isn't enough evidence against him'

I did planks in thirty second intervals until I felt remnants
of when you pushed me too hard into the freshly mopped floors
wine splattered counters I lie awake listening for a motorcycle
that I am almost certain will never come roaring around the corner
I can't be sure if you ever watched me input the new garage code

I am suffocated by the thought of you I hardly remember which arm
is tattooed with what you're a reoccurring tumor I can't get perfect margins on
I beg myself to cut out the malignancies you have seeded once again
but it doesn't work
it never works.
June 24, 2019
12:00:09 AM
CarolineSD Mar 13
I am clinging to you like a steady rain into my palms,
On my knees, in the damp ground,
Putting my entire soul into the act of
Never dropping our love
Never letting it fall like something that is not treasured
Beyond all measure.

Your touch cascades across my face like
Rain in August, when it is
Still warm, and honest, and true
And we are bathing in a storm that is immeasurably beautiful,
Exceeding words, exceeding all of our attempts to define;
To contain it.

Our love rushes like a torrent of wild rivers to the sea
And we are blind to its source and where
it leads,
So, I am here grasping at water as it seeps through my hands,
Trying to control that which I never can.

I don’t want to lose you.

I don’t want to lose you.

I don’t want to lose you.

These doctors come and go
And the testing was good and did not show the worst
Malignancies,
And if we monitor and test and treat
and treat and monitor and test,
I may never have to watch you
Fight for your life in a
Hospital bed.

And yet, as I sit in each, cold waiting room
I know
There is only so much we can do to break the flow
Of the rain,
When the skies open up and say,
It’s time to go.

Still, I will hit my knees in the flooding ground,
Arms locked tight around your neck,
And I will tell them, firmly, and without end:

No!
No!
No!

.
I will fight forever for my husband. Fight for his health, his well being. Fight against a system that wants to brush people off. Fight for diagnosis and treatment. Fight against time. A losing battle for all of us. It becomes more real when a loved one has a major medical issue, but I will never give up. In sickness and in health. I will be steadfast through all of it. Wesley, I love you more than every star in the sky.
If I could get you out of my head I surely would.
These sleepless nights are worrisome;
those dark walls cave in, relentless,
jagged spires and grotesques
and stained glass malignancies
crumble upon me;
I am not calm.

I see your face in grey clouds and windowpanes.
Somewhere, sometime, I think of you;
do you think of me? I think
not. Not
now not
never ever ever. You are not the first.

But you've taken a seat, made yourself at home,
and I smell you on the air;
I taste you in the food,
fresh and young and lively.
You make me dream
and I hate you for it.

I have no time for dreaming when my heart flutters so.
They are false prophecies;
I do not dream at Delphi
and I have no intention to do so.
Do you dream there?

I imagine you would respond with a particular kind of silence,
the one where the words are there
but do not need to be heard.
Your eyes would speak.
They would look at me with a peculiar pity;
and I would know in that fatal glance
that I would never have a chance
to gaze into them again.

I would rather you were a friend than nothing at all,
a tired acquaintance,
a deadlock of emotions;
I do not want to checkmate them,
just let them know they have another move,
towards me, foretells that particular prophesy.
Ha
Ha

I see your face in grey clouds and windowpanes.
I would rather you were a friend than nothing at all.
I imagine you would respond with a particular kind of silence.
I have no time for dreaming when my heart flutters so.
If I could get you out of my head I surely would.
But you've taken a seat, made yourself at home.
Onyx Jun 2018
You're surrounded by the musings of their echos,

Snippets and snatches of conversations that cut through like a wound;

Some harsh words may shatter Your entire constitution,

Some condescensions are meant to bring You down from the horizons You kept Yourself afloat in.

And You know what's the Worst part?

They assume You're unaware of these Whispers they carry of You.

These scarring malignancies that they slowly inflict on You without Your knowledge.

You must feel entrapped in the haze of confusion,

Your eyes frantically in search of Light,

But Your ears beg for silence,

Silence and solitude from the scathing Murmurs.

Constantly You must be feeling an unquestionable burden,

With no idea of where and how it gravitates.

But it's there that's for sure!

Suffocating is the dark with no end,

Nerve wrecking is the commotion that plagues you incessantly,

Maddening isn't it?

But let me tell You something,

The Torture You're going through, it's not a compulsion.

Afterall, nobody asked You to suffer.

Indeed, they rather wish You eternal Misery.

Sanity must have asked You countless times but You always brushed it aside.

Stubbornly clinging to what You believe makes You whole.

But is it really doing that? Or tearing at the seams of Your soul,

Dilapidated and ragged is the once brilliant vivacity I knew.

Tainted and smothered of its grandeur.

I urge You, Let go of this Obsession before You become It...
A poem from my collection Wanderlust Galaxies https://www.wattpad.com/story/99254120-wanderlust-galaxies
ymmiJ Feb 2020
letting pressure build
whipping up frenzied panic
what they do the best

talking head pundits
spewing vile malignancies
stirring their cauldron

under constant fire
twenty four seven access
nowhere they can’t find

better to unplug
devices meaning to divide
wake up go outside

breath in his sweet air
watch that glorious sun rise
thank God your alive

— The End —