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Lucius Furius Aug 2017
January 1, 1000

Year One-thousand, January One,
starts the new millennium.
The villein, Jacques, in Reims,
wakes to find his world unchanged.
His hut stinks; his flour's wormy.
He fears God's wrath, but trusts His mercy.
Walled in by his community,
set in Christian certainty;
by their fireplace, with his family, sitting,
he plans the plots he'll plant come spring
The stars above him do not move;
he knows God's power --and His love.

                                                          ­                                        
1118

Others loathe such conformity:
their minds and spirits must be free.
Tutor Pierre finds knowledge increase
in the arms of his pupil Héloise.
Risking life and reputation,
they learn a different conjugation.
(L'Université de Paris's great philosophe
and the canon's niece --in reckless love.)
You think the danger overstated?
Let me remind you that Abélard was castrated
--and the **** confined to a nunnery ...
whence she wrote most eloquently.
("Though I should think of God, I think of thee.")  


225

Dear Francis,
I hear that when you visited St. Peter's
you exchanged clothes with a beggar
and stood all day at the door of the church;
that you asked the people of Gubbio
to be kind to the wolf who was eating their sheep;
that you call birds your "sisters" and fire, your "brother";
that you would have us give all that we own to the poor....
--Perplexed in Perugia

Dear Perplexed,
I ask only that you see God's hand in all creation:
wolf, *****, flower, stone --
God gives to each His rain and His sun.
What man is in the eyes of the Lord,
that I am --and nothing more.


1517

Martin Luther says you can't buy salvation;
the individual conscience is the only true religion.
Of intermediaries, he'll have none;                              
Man is responsible to God alone.
The Bible, being God's holy Word,
must, by each Christian, be read and understood.
Humble toil is a service of God
far surpassing the holiness of monks.
God is terrible in his majesty;
by faith in God, are we made free.  


1611

[London; Shakespeare addresses assembled friends as he
retires to Stratford;... a mysterious stranger rebuts.]

"Despite it surely not being my intention
to slight the worth of imagination,
to doubt the value of our fictive craft,                                          
there can be no question:  in their import,
the actual deeds of actual men
must, perforce, surpass the disembodied pen.
This [pointing] is merely men upon a stage;
these, merely words I've placed on the page."

"Master Shakespeare, I beg to differ:
it is your words which will live forever.
When fiery Phoebus ten million times
has run his course 'round rotund Earth, men will
still be astonished at Lear's great woe,
still sigh with Juliet for her Romeo."


1711

They've placed Monsieur Voltaire in prison.
This will not postpone the Age of Reason.
Men will speak and write as they see fit,        
be governed by laws and the intellect.
        

1783

[General Washington, at Annapolis, Maryland]

"My friends, I'm honored deeply,
by the faith which you here show in me,
your confidence that these qualities
which served so well in war might now
to governance be applied successfully.    

"I, myself, have doubts:
I fear that battle's clear, cold steel will be dulled
in the gauzy murk of diplomacy.
And though I were suited to this high estate most perfectly
still I should shrink from it.
I think of Caesar,
returning, triumphant, from Gaul,
his heart full of zeal for the good of his people,                  
who achieved much, but whose lordly rule
gave way to others far less wise....

"There's a name for a man raised above men as a god:
it's 'king'. I'll have no kings!

"Thus, I surrender to you,
the duly-elected representatives of the States,
the outward and visible sign of my authority:
this sword. Let the world take note
that these united States, born under tyranny's yoke,
shall, in word and deed, henceforth
be governed democratically."


July 27, 1890

Vincent finds his world has narrowed,
(--what wonders he'd seen in la lumière d'Arles!--)
all the things for which he's sorrowed--
rejection by his cousin Kee,
reliance on his brother's charity,
failure of his "painters' community"--
come welling up....
He walks to the field from which he'd come.
In his pocket, the letter he'll never mail.
The wheatfield he'd so recently painted.
In his pocket, by his chest,...
the gun.


July 16, 1945

[Robert Oppenheimer, near Alamagordo, New Mexico]

    If the radiance of a thousand suns
    were to burst into the sky at once,
    that would mirror the Mighty One's splendor....
    I am become Death --World-destroyer.
    --The Bhagavad Gita

Everything was so much clearer
when it seemed the Germans might get the thing first....
Now it's all so terribly muddy....
Who knows what these generals'll do with it.
...The radiance of a thousand suns....                                                         ­                                                 

That 100-foot tower --completely gone!...
If we didn't do it, someone surely would....
I am become Death --destroyer of Worlds.  


January 1, 2000

Year Two-thousand, January One,
starts the new millennium.
The sales-clerk, Jacques, in Reims,
wakes to find his world unchanged.
He's got Internet access! Two cars!
He doesn't fear the universe....
The only group he's part of
is guys who drink at the local bar....
He goes to church, but doesn't believe.
His job, his marriage --nothing is certain....
Even the stars above him move.
He knows God's power --but not His love.
Hear Lucius/Jerry read the poem:  humanist-art.org/old-site/audio/SoF16.MP3 .
This poem is part of the Scraps of Faith collection of poems (https://humanist-art.org/scrapsoffaith.htm )
Nat Lipstadt Jun 2018
why I love certain men


it’s a raining and writing Saturday,
a washout for the beach visitors who chose their
calendar lottery tickets poorly

but hurrah and huzzah for the poet
in the no-sun-today-room with
steam collecting on his face from his 20 oz. Canadian mug,
the rest of him cozied neath a
wooly mohair knitted and tasseled blanket,
from a now naked and shivering alpaca goat in Turkey or Tibet

perhaps we’ll make a tiny dent
in the 1319 poems,
in the ‘sorta started to do’ list

****.
new one sneaks in demanding immediate satisfaction
and threatening my mind’s incarceration unless,
serviced and unleashed as the Frenchies say

Frites, immédiatement!: (french fries, now!)

I love most men; certain men more than others,
not because they are soft to the touch,
look great in thigh highs, can fix a backhoe,
lay hands on animals, just as they do upon their grandchildren,
or write better poetry than me,
because
they make me weep from zealous delight at
their capricious unprecedented constancy of their
honorable actions

they are soft to the core, which is itself
wrapped in a leather soldered steel,
which defines them by their self-questing constant,
asking themselves preface and postface,
doing it well, in between,

what is the honorable thing?

this honor idea of which writ previous
doesn’t dissolve - indeed grows crescendo stronger,
like the miracle of the Yom Kippurs rams horn
crying out to heavens at the concluding end  
on the holiest judgement day,
a shofar miracle for it inhumanly grows ever louder,
ceasing only when nightfall marks a new day begun,
reminding both sinners and saviour each,
to inquire of their colluding selves on this forgiveness-giving day,

what is the honorable thing?

some are borrowers and some lenders,
of anything, the substance or the whom matters not,
but the bonding bonfire from which the deal is done,
is of a uncharted organic chemical matter unrecognized
but millennium ancient


here I stop

the call to breakfast must be obeyed,
for it’s with lovely made, menu man-poet requested,
this is too an honorable thing to do,
and the 1319 half blood~half writs poking my eyes,
can be faced with new courage afterwards
on a perfect raining and writing Summer Saturday
for the next one hopefully and woefully

may not come till the September (Rosh Hashanah/Jewish New Year) when acorns fall

certain men will greet that fall Sabbath/ New Years Day,  
when Atonement begins, a ten day process to the final conclusion,
by asking of everything living and of every act human performed,
for the forgiveness requested inherent in the absolute bar setting of

what is the honorable thing?

which by the by,

is why I love certain women too...

and all who are honorable
will read this honorific and remain
clueless as to whom it is addressed...

oh god, I do so love that best!

what could signal honor even more...
Donall Dempsey Sep 2018
A WOMAN IS CRYING

In the next room
a woman is crying

a moon
perches upon an hotel sign

unmoved

as a new millennium
dawns

as bright as neon

the woman
still crying

her unknown
despair

shifting silently
from one century to another

human grief
unchanged

from age
to age.

A woman is crying.
londin Oct 2013
Between the the drivers seat and passenger door handle
floats a millennium of shy sentences.
I said I was going home
but unpredictable got in my way.
I wandered into the park, curious, for I saw
a crowd milling about, and curiosity did demand
my time. By pure chance, randomness, I acquired
a bounty of yokes in the likeness of blue ghosts.
Such is the way of Millennium on a Friday.
As quickly I found my mates to show them
the treasure.
We decided
to get dosed.
Bitte.

Suspense coming up, then, forty-five minutes in
excitement hit
as our brains leak serotonin. On love buzz again,
Young demon.
Some gang tried to mug mine, I laughed at them
as we walked by.
Howdy-** *****?
Nobody could touch
us, I was on fire. Then
drum 'n bass brought everyone higher.
I'd never've guessed where those vitamins led.
We joked a lot about Breaking Bad. Times change.
Dan Filcek Apr 2015
controlled intellectual tolerance,
considered Golden Age,
became first exchange, wars took their toll
turning point called second Age.
seaside expanding new suburbs
food shortage, riots, rooms had fallen
city invaded, concentration camps
some lived, one girl died, bookcase covered
scarce citizens, countryside foraged
spaces provided improved conditions
restoring entire city
city centre has reattained former splendor
buildings have become new millennium,
flat man is city inhabitant
city limits of foreign origin,
large wave settled asylum seekers
social projects make up the population
eight windmills summarizes open society,
increased influx has strained nationalities,
widest varieties share immigrant ancestry
city centre forms the foundation
Canal boats most popular
million visitors flood inhabitants, travel freely through
only staying for illuminated red lights.
This year for Poetry Month, I decided to post a "found poem" every day. If writing a poem is like painting, a "found poem" is like sculpting. source - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amsterdam
Left Foot Poet Apr 2018
(seep yourself to leak away)

all reveals are feints;
I take you right
but I am moving left,
always left,
then left again

when I turn the faucet of me on,
brown, rusty pipe water comes out,
never turning clear,
even if the flow
went on for a millennium

someone traveller passerby
reads my excellent explicit illicit words,
with kind sweetness
observes a valid conclusion:
Poems take.a lot out of you

correct+wrong

not take, give
they are the slow seepage
of my overburdening
which is
yes, yes, I know, all relative,
but perspective is a
sometime summer thing,
and all the springtime streets
filled with filthy frozen slush

having  come from some rusty water leakage,
never turning clear
no matter how long the street runs away
from you

so you take yourself to give away,
seeping and leaking

ah words;

so useful and so inadequate
crushed petals from the Tree of Life

you ask me If I have read my brother,
the prophet-poet Jeremiah?

The heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure.
Who can understand it?


When your words came, I ate them;
they were my joy and my heart's delight


Then the Lord reached out his hand unto my mouth and said,
"I have put my words in your mouth."


these are those words
written months ago
Our souls are enfettered
By an Inexorable Penance,
Sorrows & Lamentations:

In pining for
The Light of Transmutation
The Adamantine Wings
Of Stalwart Bahamut
Unburdened our etherealized hearts.

(Speaking for the future)

Spira has lost its
Yoke of Communion
To this Cimmerian Millennium.

Redemption’s Revelation:

Aeonic sin hath reigned
Under the Cathedral of Deception
Forged by the taught tongues
Of Yevon;

Despotic Lunae
Eclipsed the light
Of a forlorn sky,
Divine Pantheon
For
Numen of Sol.

Cast a
Stygian Shadow of Sanctimonious Suffering for Souls.
Seems eternal; truly, ephemeral.

For,
the Hearts of nations
Are
Sacrosanct Luminaries.

Our tears
Have been shed,
Our vanities
Indemnified.

Skies shall bleed Empyrean Bliss
And
The Opus of Life
Shall cleanse
This wearied Spira of Pernicious Sin.
*

(Amen.)
Inspired by Final Fantasy X. I attempted to encapsulate the story, thematic undertones, fantasy elements, ambiance of the musical piece (of same title as piece), as well as the penitence, sorrow, hope, and mirth set out before our heroes/heroines. Was a bit rushed as I wanted to get this out to you guys as swiftly as possible. Thank you for all your support because you mean all the world to me. Any constructive feedback is most appreciated! Enjoy! :)
Lucius Furius Aug 2017
1  

"Oh, Dad," cried my son,
with the huge, unrestrained sobs of a five-year-old,
"Justin Borley knocked me down. <sob>
He kicked me <sob>
and called me a loser <sob>
because we lost the game."

"Does it hurt badly? Where does it hurt?
Let me give you a hug....
Justin Borley is a bad, mean boy.
A few children are like that....
I will speak with his parents....
You must not be; you must always be kind....
Though you can defend yourself."

"What does that mean?"

"You can knock his leg or arm if he tries to hit you....
There will be many, many other games....
Some you will lose,
but most, I think, you will win.
You will be a champion!".

"What kind of champion?"

"I don't know.... A baseball champion,
a chess champion, a chemist....
You're smart and strong.... You will be a winner!"


  2

"Oh, Daddy," cried my daughter,
with the heartfelt sobs of a sixteen-year-old,
"I loved him so much,
I wanted him so much,
and now he's gone.
I'll never find anyone else to love;
I might as well be dead."

"My darling, you are so beautiful and smart,
so pretty and graceful and spirited....
The boys who love you will be as countless as the stars,
as many as the sands on the shores of Lake Michigan....

"You are like a cherry tree,
putting forth its first few delicate blossoms,
which have been blackened by a hard, late frost.
We are sad, but know --
we feel in our hearts --
that this strong young tree will grow,
that its blossoms and fruits will be many....

"I know it's hard for you to believe,
but you will find other boys to love --
not the same as him --
nothing is ever the same --
but, in their own ways, equally perfect."


  3

"Oh, Dad," cried my son,
with the quiet sobs of a 33-year-old,
"Is this all there is: we're born, we live, we die;
our children are born, they live, they die....
How dispiriting, how terrifying ...
that this universe should be
devoid of meaning and empathy.
We walk on a cold treadmill,
day after day, year after year,
millennium after millennium....
Forsaken.
Why suffer this torment?
Why not step down?
Why not just get off?"

"Some could answer with words about
a 'kind and loving God'....
I can't.

"Fifteen billion years ago, the universe grew in seconds
from a pinhead to a radius of a trillion miles.
The supernovae, nuclear furnaces, forged the elements.
One hundred thousand years ago, **** sapiens emerged
     in Africa.

“Your body is made up of those elements,
contains actual genes from that first **** sapiens....

"You say life's a torment.
Sometimes it is.
But I say
for every ounce of suffering
there is, in time,
an equal, exactly counterbalancing,
experience of joy.
You can play your part in this gigantic pageant,
this extravaganza of joy-sorrow --
or not.
But never doubt that your mother and I love you.
You can walk out into the sunlight,
you can smell the rose-blossoms, newly-opened,
you can let your finger be grabbed by the hand --
the incredibly tiny hand -- of a baby --
or not...."
Hear Lucius/Jerry read the poem:  humanist-art.org/old-site/audio/SoF17.MP3 .
This poem is part of the Scraps of Faith collection of poems ( https://humanist-art.org/scrapsoffaith.htm )
Lawrence Hall Jan 11
For Mike Marconett

                                  of happy memory

Bright star, beyond a Sterno stove’s brief glow,
We’ll live forever as we live this night:
Coffee and cigarettes and comradeship,
Our backs against the sun-warmed Sierras
As the cold falls from infinite darkness
To keep the snow in place another night,
To smile in ancient silence back at you,
To make a glowing, slumberous twilight until dawn.
Those C-rations were good after a day
Of scrambling among pre-historic rocks
Made musical by the dinosaur creek,
Water as cold as the dark end of time.
San Diego glows in the south-southwest,
Silently, inefficiently, light lost.
But you, dear, happy star, will still shine down
On dreaming youths, tonight and other nights,
Counting for us, for them, each millennium.
Michael Dean Marconett of Minnesota was a Navy buddy in 1967-1968 through recruit training, Hospital Corpsman ‘A’ School, and Field Medical Service School.  One weekend Mike, Bill, another friend (who was killed in Viet-Nam), and I rented an old car, loaded up our Marine Corps sleeping bags, and went camping in the snow.
A WOMAN IS CRYING

In the next room
a woman is crying

a moon
perches upon an hotel sign

unmoved

as a new millennium
dawns

as bright as neon

the woman
still crying

her unknown
despair

shifting silently
from one century to another

human grief
unchanged

from age
to age.

A woman is crying.
New York with one century becoming another and in this one moment on the threshold of a new age...a woman cries her own private grief...a sorrow that has no name but seems to be the grief of all ages now and to come. I never discovered the reason for such sorrow and the neon coloured it blue and yellow and then red.
Juhlhaus Jan 15
I hurried out at six fifteen to wait
For a train with a waning moon,
Bright Venus and Jupiter hovering
Above the skyline. The amber horizon
Turned to orange and pink
As scattered stars went dim.

Misread the schedule and arrived
Downtown three quarters of an hour
Before my Electric District connection.
An accidental gift to self. I ascended
And ate two breakfast sandwiches
I got for one dollar with a coupon,
Warm in my hands on a blue picnic table.

The sky grew light
Above the Lake and I wandered
Through Millennium Park. It was empty
Or nearly, which felt the same.
The sun broke the bent horizon
In chrome and ice. I took some pictures,
Then descended to find Track Five.

The day's light revealed
Hollow houses with cartoon stone applied
Like paint, unable to compete
For preeminence with two-car garages.
The newest were bigger and offered
In different colors, but all the same.
Driving conditions were excellent.

At sunset I stood on another platform
Above a busy highway. The last rays came
Through tree branches and melted
Into the pale sky as they left my face.
I had witnessed that sun's birth,
It had warmed me while I waited for my carpool,
Rested with me on a concrete planter after lunch.

I entered the city in darkness
A second time. Changed muddy boots
For clean shoes and hurried to the museum.
It was a free night, overcrowded
With families and children, so difficult
To find a quiet corner for contemplation,
Any sanctuary for my own small soul.

I descended, discovered the typewriters, then
Realized you and I were already there, just
In different colors, using different words,
Spending school vacation to view old paintings
And the Holiday Miniature Rooms.
It dawned and the future was brighter even
As I left the city in darkness.
For a wonderful fellow poet who reminds me that there is no such thing as an ordinary day.
Soles Oct 2018
I am a walking target, bull's-eye,
Easy prey of this millennium.
I am a number, you want my money, I want the attention.
Spew your crap at me, make me beautiful, clean, worthy.
Desperate I'll relinquish all I have, my multiple identities, my sanity.

Only 9.99 a month, click here!

Which one will I be today?
Please upload them in the cloud, algorithm me for later, sell me on the bitcoin market. I am a good, a gain, capitalist surplus.
For I can freely pick and choose in this techno democracy, Silicon Valley guinea pig.

This poem will continue after the ad...

And I'll expose myself for this audience, my wants and desires, the coffee I drink, the pills I take, my children and the children of my children.
They'll drink sewage water, bathe in acid rain.
And I'll build arguments on why I bore them to this Earth, tell them stories of better days.


A millennium back
Our fate decided
That we were destined
To meet like this
As strangers...

For LOVE to touch us
For LOVE to happen

Nor YOU nor I
Could have stopped
This LOVE to happen

We were mere puppets
In the hands of fate

Good thing is
Rather than fighting LOVE
We surrendered to accept it

We made choice of not
Harming, Hurting, Hating
Humiliating each other
Or anyone else

We made choices
To be kind, caring
Respectful & trusting
To be compassionate and
LOVING towards each other

In your LOVE
I became a Radha
And a Meera
And a Kabeer
And an Eve
And a Kaiz
And a Rumi
And a Rabya

You became my Krishna
And a Layla
And an Adam
And a Zuliet
And my Allah-Hoo

Wherever I stand and BE
You are there
Everywhere for me
You've became ETERNAL
Part and parcel of my SOUL

We've stood by each other
In thick and thin
And we intend to do so forever
To keep our conscience clean




Primitive fingers keystroke smudges all over the lunar corona.
outside me, OUTSIDE me I breathe
free of bones and teeth I am
not anchored to disease;  I am the flight
igniting.  
She is imperfect, so Poetry but
if not for her skin I would be too scared to see,
to know how deep we root into the soot
our lungs just the trees bleeding leaves so
seasons have meaning and the
stars the Reasoning it would take a millennium to meet.
And we are just Ocean’s Infinity.
Pricers Jul 6
Elements took flight never again will they have that drown when limitless air through the hottest part of the millennium summit tonight was a new day that edend so swiftly in to the bitterness that you could only ask yourself what was I missing tonight throughout failure


After walking in a desert
Under the burning sun
With scorching heat
That peels the skin

As if one finds
An oasis in desert

As if one finds coolness
Of a GRAND Banyan TREE

As if one finds peace
Under a Bodh-Gaya Tree

Such is the happiness & bliss
I feel inside my heart & being
The day I realized your
LOVE-SOUL-connect
That's the time...
I completely surrendered
Myself in/to your LOVE...


~~~~~~~

My mind had so many questions
My life was just
An aimless wander-lust
I was not getting anywhere...
I was seeking an anchor of LOVE

As if a canoe is fighting
A ravaging battle with
Surging oceanic waves and
Unable to sail to a shore

As if some sparkling-stars
In the dark-sky
Showed the direction
To the floundering boat
Towards a safe seacoast

Such is the happiness & bliss
I feel inside my heart & being
The day I realized your
LOVE-SOUL-connect
That's the time...
I completely surrendered
Myself in/to your LOVE...


~~~~~~~

As the pitch dark nights becomes
Illuminated by your full-moon-shine

As if a thirst of desert
Since a millennium years
Receives dew drop messages of
Upcoming downpour of thunderstorm

Such is the happiness & bliss
I feel inside my heart & being
The day I realized your
LOVE-SOUL-connect
And when
I completely surrendered
Myself to your LOVE...


~~~~~~

I only walk on the path
That is leading me to YOUR SOUL

At all times....
In seasons of springs,
When flowers blossoms
In walks across thorns
During autumn leaves

In summers or winters
Over fires, over valleys
Without faltering or straying
From your LOVE course-call

To the one who was thirsty
For a single drop of water
As if
Destiny gave Divine nectar
To one's heart's content
To live & survive for Eternity

Such is the happiness & bliss
I feel inside my heart & being
The day I realized your
LOVE-SOUL-connect
And when
I completely surrendered
Myself to your LOVE...


~~~~~~~



As the fire freezes to cold ice
Such is the blessing of your LOVE

As the cold ice melts into raging fire
Such is the blessing of your LOVE
electrocution marks
the hall
with flatulence
that table
jars a
rebuttal from
his umbrage
their rounds
o explosives
polarized steps
in building
avenue to
the union
with twist
whether turbulent
lifestyle now
this millennium
Marlboro Country
gifts are like flowers
souls are shattered every hour
broken dreamers lift the seams
of yesterday's curtains
i contain the millennium
and a multitude of
other names
Nat Lipstadt Jul 21
all my poems are unique general principles

~for Helene Mendelsohn~

“A general principle never comes to life in my mind except by exhibiting itself in various special forms and in
crowds of instances for each form":  
R.G. Collingwood

each a construct - an arch-i-texture,
each a crowd of a single instance
special forum, a dialogue differentiation,
a conjugate particle,
forming up, in marching order,
a singular troop, a base case singular,
a soldier especially demanding,
“Of Me, Write, Write”

for within my insight,
a one-off sighting,
one glinting wave reflecting,
its one millisecond exactitude of existence,
reforming unseemly, a new but not!

a seemingly similar shifted shape,
but no wave is a precision repetition,
perhaps a passing familiarity
of its precedents, antecedents,
at best

an instance borrowed and paid back
to the generosity of time
for a fully developed statement of a
general principle,
even a primary secondary textual emendation,
requires a unique naming definition

being born and dead dying while you are blinking,
does not understate absolute value,
a principle exists to give absolution,
so the moments resets,
perpetually,
but its own resolution is n’err forgotten

do you see the crowd of inferences
herein contained?

the principal unique,
poem plucked from passing sun ray,
a tickling hair of a brazen breeze,
one wave, one wave reconstituting a
millennium of preceding lives,
deriving its abbreviated genealogy
of droplets of prior principles
forever reinterpreted

so I gave you back
words you knew
but in a new combination
establishing this poem,
its constituents,
as a unique general principle

there is a prior poem, new, unique
in everything
7/21/19 10:00 am S.I.
Ike Jan 11
The sun hit my eyes as I walked out the door
And life became more than four walls and a floor
Or an ideal that is sold when loved by the masses
That cry and complain and talk out their *****

Because we can't see the truth in front of our face
They've convinced us our sadness is a fantasy place
And forced their prescription on the whole human race
With a spoon made of greed to a malnourished face

Can you hear it? She's calling our name while she screams
Mother earth slumbers in nightmarish dreams
Wreathed in smoke and industrial gasses
The rage has been building as the millennium passes

The time has come the ground is shaking
Stars are falling and flesh is baking
The rich and the poor are gasping for air
This wrath of the of the ages cannot be compared
The oceans are boiling and touching the sky
What once was immortal is now begging to die

As a hush falls down in the ashes of lives
There will be no more sons, no daughters no wives
Just a mournful epitaph on the grave of our kind
"Here lies humanity and its self centered mind"
Graff1980 May 1
Goddess of ice and steel,
she laid there
and slumbers still.

No longer needed
to retain
the powerful sword
for the
once and future King.

She snoozes
At the bottom,
mud laden dress
cluttered about
her cold pale legs,
turning to tatters
while she remains
unaged.

Once there was
a shimmering blade
that made her great
while she waited.
Now there is nothing
but wet dreams
of wizards and kings
marking unconscious time’s
passing.

No purpose
is everlasting
though she may be.

They found that lady
a millennium
or more
after the great wars,
settled like sediment
on the lake bottom,
still sleeping
while they were draining it.
Desire Mar 23
Mates mingle, mash, and match,
a mystery so miraculous.
A magical manifest of our
majestic and marvelous Maker.
Magnetize and magnify,
making it magnificent,
modest, meticulous,
measuring each minute's bliss.
Movies and moonlight,
moments made to memorize.
Memories that mesmerize,
meant to last a millennium.
[Lifetime]

matches-made-in-Heaven

@desire.is.dope­
20190323
0542HRS
MARRIAGE
@desire.is.dope
20190323
0542HRS

Inspired by: the Hewitts
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