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Francie Lynch May 2018
I'm green with those I leave behind,
This world I have, where all seems mine.

I vacillate as their world keeps thriving,
Leaving the living live with the alive.

But I'm gone, I'm dead,
The colorful globe will spin;
The living will die;
Not now... by and by,
With O whys and O mys.
It's a curse I've bequeathed
To the loves of my life,
When they leave their loved ones behind.
Natalie Davis Sep 2014
i cannot fathom
the (i'd)ea
of you (go)ing away
and leav(in)g
me here,
i(s)olated ,
unable to st(an)d
by mys(e)lf.i cannot fathom
the (i'd)ea
of you (go)ing away
and leav(in)g
me here,
i(s)olated ,
unable to st(an)d
by mys(e)lf.

n.d.
Andrew Switzer Apr 2014
The mystic Mys-Match of Mew Manor mounts the moon at midnight. He flies freely, forgetting the faltering fallacies that fold this failing facade of figments of the imagination and inglorious nations into a crooked caricature of creeps, clowns, and carcinogens to our culture. From crack and **** to casual deaths, the population prays for post-******* match days.

What's the reason of rhyme if you don't have a reason to see a new season of sweethearts and treason? The mystic Mys-Match of the planet Piblatch has snatched nary a glance of this reprehensible romance. He hums happily, hovering over the homes of the hurt and the helpless, unaware of the ugly and untrue souls of the suffering below.

Due in part, perhaps, to the planet Piblatch, whose population prowls playfully amongst the pipperplitz plants and the tinktertip trees. A civilization unaware of Gods and demons, *****'s and dip *****.

At sunset, the Piblatchians partake of rackaday root and crushed up clibber clatch cuttings. They see the psychedelic sky ways that sing of sweet things and spacey swings.

As mankind manipulates, murders, and maims itself, the world which waivers with weakened wings is consumed by the carnivores that **** off the common crowd and leave only the corrupt and cantankerous crooks that fall to the depths of despair when the bomb goes off, blotting out humanity's light forever.

But the mystic Mys-Match and his planet Piblatch live on, past the end of time itself. The peaceful people continue to enjoy their lives and never know of the negative notions that drove the dimwitted denizens of Earth into a violent and gruesome grave.

Mankind could have learned something from the Piblatchians, if only they had opened their eyes and seen the light.
mt May 2022
Earth abundant with Oh Mys,
Oh my belly, oh my thighs
Oh my sensory surprise

Oh my hips, oh my lips,
Oh my palm, oh my wrist,
Oh my action, oh my whips
deviating from the script
More Oh Mys than I can fit

Or maybe this multiplicity
Crossing all with all
Simplifies to one love

A universal go, cosmic come
Cosmic to, a universal from

These Oh Mys meld
Do not be deceived
Feel the universal energy,
But oh my!
do not leave
Natalie Writes May 2013
i cannot fathom
the (i'd)ea
of you (go)ing away
and leav(in)g
me here,
i(s)olated ,
unable to st(an)d
by mys(e)lf.
*n.d.
What for? For what am I waiting so long?
It makes absolutely no sense. Without you I felt
the walls built out of plaster and tasted
coffee from countries that I haven’t visited, with soft hands
I am planted in the earth on the edge of your river.
Yes, so even, yet outflown as I am, degraded and unnecessary.
A thousand thorn centered tributaries.
I would like to feel your thoughts on me and
mys-- “mys,” what does it mean to adhere?

Yes, I know you have them still, these whispered thoughts
they are the seams that hold my feathers beneath your head.
You can lie the same way as yesterday, but without follow up.
“I am not flying toward you!” I call. But it’s no use
You escape me. Shame, Sweet, that we
are together so short.
MMXXII
Anthony Carrasco Feb 2016
It took only a few seconds to
f
a
l
l
in love with you.
____________
It took only a few seconds for us to be,

meyou

, side by side.  
____________
It took only a few seconds for you to
d
r
o
p
me from your life.
_____________
Why can't it take only a few seconds to pick
myself
mysel
myse
mys
my
m
up again?
Lonely Heart Apr 2019
What is fantasy?
False fantasy confession
Understanding by analogy
The fantasy of me
Counter brainwaves
With thought guns
Deceive me
I am a self agenda
Schools are found
In the background
School mask
Real me
Real mask
School me
Fat
Sad
and
Bad
Submissive
Fantasy
Villain
Happy he should be
Look down
Straight Shot
Straight up
It's up
Fantasy is theater
Acting like a character
How many writers in a snare.
One by one making a dare
School of thought thought up
Subscribers indentured to strange
What a hollow soto
A thin man's polo
Stripped with dread
Woe on theater
Theater is the past
Back in history
****** get hit by disarray
This is a history made this way
Only character hits from these paypools
Not so obvious doc!
Try to be less conscious!
Tu lewai to LA FENESTRA
I'm playing the tropes
That I loathe and despire
Even I hide my own words
Get a thought recorder
Shipping and packaging is free for the day.
250 of the most popular
Words arranged in draft sentances
I am a fantasy! U play in.
Don't worry
I am an expert attorney
Trained in exquisite self fantasy
Proffessor of Future Fantasies
Or maybe Garfield the nat
"Sneekky rouououttttt. I know the truuttthh.
It's a parks and rec
Adventure sketch
I am declining
I've lost my health
This issssnnn'tttt FAIR
Director "CUT!"
IT COMES FROM THE HUMAN MIND
HAAUUUUUUUU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
How can you
Teach
Them
That
CAT
IN
THE
HAT
???
??!
?!?
!??
!!?
!!!
@
#
$
Fantasy
Divorced
From mys
elf
Argumentative
Prentinsuous
And
parsimonious
Who buys it?
Pai n      voi ces b od ys c o r p s e s gu ilt hat re d ang er sad ness blo od gu ts  ste  nch  de a th    he ll peo ple      ene mys all ies fam ily lov ed o n e s  fri ends   se arin g pa i n b r ok en        b o nes      to rtu re N O mer cy        
men tal    sani ty L O S T                       m in d  br o k e n HIM I am HIM n o i c a nt b e ple as e  just  
ki ll  M E?
Had another nightmare I just woke up
fro m, Most likely won't be falling asleep again. In the end, It will all fit together.
Ken Pepiton May 2023
as I nearly slept, I nearly
rolled over in my bed, did not,
folded my hands, slumbered on
dreamlessly imagining signals hmmms
Massive
low
notes, accepted as receptible
by my phone with no reply request
acknowledge
accusatory story…, here, I see, okeh

Each sapien sapience, from the womb,
to final dust, despite the mounds of mud,

and opera, werks, shunning sweat,
rear up any child in the way one wishes
that child to grow, see, noble king
one must see those things one wishes
were true,
then rule,
be the head of state itself, the wedom
of all the subjective class, objects
deemed worthless but by thy
grrrace, grunting there is a hell. there is, there is
as it is said Christians must believe,
having as one prays, even now,
those needs, cast off all care,
imagine all debts, all paid,
no offering to prove it
needed, only be
left to see your own way, open eyes, a bitter taste,
aftertaste of wisdom, used as in a spirtual duel,
with a passle of powerful fools, unaware
of the rules, anointed, by truth, dare
prove all things, challenge
the persuader, offer bitter herbs with salt.
Salivate conditioned reflex,
some day all your enemies
feel your own self made up form of love,
and that loving burns their evil minds,
to useful illuminosity, before
catch, grip. holf if, see
ante-cipitates, make each look up,
pledge the believers every day,
good
to go,
so in time, as stages pass,
one knows, this is what my hand
has found to do.

In your service dear reader, thus far,
in our momentary now reality,
between our shared unreal pasts,
in the bubble of we, the people of earth,
attempting to buy the world a coke,
since a certain series of orange acid
during February and March, 1970-
- Chicago. Kesey and Wolfe
- fine weather, for a few days in March

ping vid mind adapts, yes, we re
member seeing something so close
to that exact day at that exact spot,
and the weather
was way worse.

but then I he(a)rd the songs of Mao,
being mys-tried, re sung once more as if
each line was free of debt to Lao Tze
no wei, no secret sacrosanction.
dedeMao, now.
b'n ice geeye ai ai - feel the power
lust right, the drill
will to…
w8
Impulse to cut and run, see a message,
make it stick to the bumper of your cat. Cat.
Tell the world what you are
catalogical,
sorted by did you not wish you knew
rearview, how much of that
do you know,
do you know once, we remember

I did, feel a signal, listen,
think I speak mammoth, listen

in fact, we all did, at the time,
we project that as impossible to prove\
reproof of construe-ition is the way of life
instruction in right use, upgrade scales
praxis co-knowing our each selfish in a
we as a wedom, awesome
by the way life lingers
on topological math,
see,
below the actual band width
of light, white
in the middle see the bones
of the bits, those are from stars,
photons ping touch /percepticons
see-ing
opposition in the future, met today,
hey hey hey
tell me what I say,
that ain't no way to pray,
I done said to each, ever lasting
misconcieved grand spirit of a movement
when the guts of goodnessakesknowswhat
is clogged in curses,
generational debt,
the ruler mind set,
to rob the rich, I was led,
daily I watched the Adventures
of Robin Hood, while I only saw Dragnet
once each week,
ethics of each occur in all boomers, as a wedom,
the first generation born after 1945,
sorted by standardized Dewey measures
of progress. toward becoming
community minded boys and girls,
destined to bring tomorrow by conforming
to the systematized sorting, grading on math
and language arts, then history and science,
then juris prudence for civilians, duty,
- team player drills daily, 40 minutes,
- extracurricular activity choices, weighed

current deception opens green receptors
for signals
to me sent, presently as a gift,
from the queen
of the south.

We assume the idea of gifts, tributes
to k'ki'kn'no'ings, legendary models,
magi conquerors who kept the roads free
of theives and babblers
of goodness only, used as sacramental
kindness made sacred,
bidding you have a mighty fine day.

- is that the Power Farm?
- Circa 1989, HyperCard, crazy easy coding.
- But not so easy as now, finally, harmony,
- knowledge was never what divided
- truth from multitudes of witnesses,
- globally aware more mass shooting than days
- to share with former saints in 2023, so far…
All ye
Religious spirits, little impulsive crossing, muttering
thankyou to the unknown god, higher power, el ultimo.

You know, Wisdom herself, given her due, trueee baby,
too true, knowledge is power, wisdom is might,
stand up, right, perpindicular to the true balance,
prepared, made ready to use thoughts abound,
and turn you around
on a low pressure gyre, rolling up Tornado Alley,
as you imagine it all connects.

It's that hard rain, the poets called,
a seeing from the old'ns,
son, ya got a good eye,

never hesitate to wink, and think, I can see,
should I ever need to give up an eye
for my life's comfortable ends, in mind, my
days of rest --ha, these, after a spectacular

reexamination of metaphors filled with crud,
as seen in plastic sacks of potatoes,
left to sprout and rot, in the dark,
not the slightest snakey lick
of seeing with infra-red, in your head, augmental
conjoining
click… serious speed of recognition instant
cognosis,
we both know, like in a Romcom, how- to movie,
shaping mindsets to put on while in rut.

Historically Christian Nationalist Roots, Cowboy way,
circa the informational slots we slipped by, ran away,

one bought a carnival, one bought charisma seeking,
one bought a vision
through the future to right now. Eh.

How oft must one reset such knowns as nouns,
and names of action words, love, fear, hate, lie, die

Did your mindset bid you challenge

Since 2016, I have my word, I swore, with fervor,
once more eternal hostility
to any form
of tyranny {outside-will control} ever imposed
upon the mind
of mankind, wombed or un, however we be
physically, there is none of that in Christ,
believe your rules of rights use.
Examine the faith that being apes,
who could signal names of things, Adamkind,
pre functional womb model.

He could name things, he could not make babies.
Adamkind, warrior breeds from olden days,
such as fight to entertain the mob in waiting,
fans for flames, founders kenning use
of passionate inflamation to provoke
good works, in the mind of the mob,

vicarious sons of deceiving reasons, come
to call my use of faith proves nothing real.

There are made men using God's name, in vain,
eh, it never works, but it is their religious duty
to think kingly, eh,
too ghuckingoodforoneself, we, Trumpians.
We believe,
we never imagine a war we can't make.

Or a set of actual conspiratorial winds,
with names, familiar spirits, returning winds,
infested with Saharan dust, where once were lush
gardens, back when Greenland was green,
or, so I heard/

Bham harumpharump feel the answer,
pick up the combover, so cool, no care, unaware,

- exposed to the expert in this warfare,
- symbolic marvelous armour,
- for pulling down strongholds, castles,
- silicon solid state preservation cast away
- war in the spirit with historical daemons,
- meeting the neo-Manicheans, word for word…
Ai ai, sir, yessir.
We won a mindtimespace precedent mind state writ,
with the entire child of Arpanet, my second wit,
ready writer motto,
use knowledge right, criticize your story,
sift solidity through cellular security,
finest flakes of self assurance, shine
on
and on as
knowns evil or good.. only the priest can call
foul or fair, there,
excuse you, lawyer
for the defense that there is no vicarage, no live
embodiment
of the intercessor between,
truth's way through life,
and the common dominion
of a certainty,
Your MOTHER IS
BY GOD, ALL CURSES, SHE's

the reason
for your father's rage, generational curses,
daddy wounds,
mommy deprivation, post partum. chaos

love, assuage
woe, soorry, Jesus. But, as has been widely
reported the business
of religion,
by exposing truth
pays a visible wage, shiny smile,
U joint versify,

if we may,
play in the code of life, past any inkling fear
of death,
ducks
in order, will and testament cleared,
read already, ready
to oppose, I suppose, am I.
Logically a state of mind, at the moment.

I callt the efficacy of faith
to call all the outs in.

So we see them on TV, they everywhere,
other people,
OH GOD, why must there be
other people,
oh, my, we may agree,
this answers that,
reasoning, by active faith,
usualized, made common sense.
Why would any sane lover of truth god,
create a forever for enemies of lies?
Belief in spirits opposing truth,
metaphors abound, Kriegspiel on coke,
the real thing, viewers imagine,
watching all the nobles
become naked, and as ugly as any among us.
We see the chins and hairlines in horses,
yet neglect to notice, mustang
herd management, as traits
adjust to new standards,
wild life reset to order.
We realize the riddle,
is the reason, we feel foolish and know it,
U knew, not me, forethought,
morphically resonating
peace, as on a gong
gone
normative,
adjustment bureau wise
sinner's bound in a doctrine
- cut to the gist, there is no sting in death.
- and teaching children to fear death is abuse
- of right authority granted parents
- of loved children, chosen ones, olden days.
Legendary warrior mind, allowed, only if
initiation allows exposure

the daysman lack-
no, look crosswise,'
stripes, whistle, dude
-see, there, the excuse, Job ttalked back.
And Yah, he say, you know, you got that right.
Heysus hisself, look at me he say, I'll go,

become the logical conclusion,
to a story where there was a flaw,
and time threatened to run out, but
the hero, ready to become the tool
to answer a malignant liar with his religion.
Job said to Yah,
you do not know how it feels to put on
a carnal  mind, set by God in Atom's right
to be first
to say this is that…
and one thing leads to another
- you feel the power without knowing
Mysteriously, you,
suddenly seem shy, thinking
how can I say what this is,
you have no right
to say a name Adam did not
say first, we say ****, you say poo,
******* artistic instinkty ways to say, not what
goes in,
corrupts, but what comes out sure can,
that's
gnosishit trustatistical fact according
to science
scent, pre
yours it stinks to, Jesus said.
Brush y'teeth, with Pepsodent to night, be
brite
- visible
knowledge is all good see, so we say we say
good riddle. fit for a king
prone to seek an interpreter of signs and sigils.

A trained cadre of bright boys, as runners,
or senders,
senders using drum and fife, to lead,
trumpet to send, and banners,
to rally round on our side,
whose sigil is that? Do we aid or raid
the edges, scavenge strategy
from the dead.
Live to tell, as I the lone survivor,
I who slew the king at his request, please
believe me
I never steer you to wrong.

Letters flow qwerty wise,
let it happen in the fingers fit to the task,

take a little walk, listen
to a story, sit a while and wish the
enemy were here to enjoy the ease,
beyond the bliss of ignoring,
past the weight worth standing under,
to the home imagined right in time
to finish in December, 2021, one thing
done.

Search any phrase of life, and find answers
to unasked questions, regard-iding lying done
id est as when it is, totally Scriptural moral- wise
right in such a time as once

when some liars who held fast to prophesy
hired the guy who rode the wild ***,
which cognosisadictattenti sorts say
the darnedest things, strecht
stitch in time
Art of Linking Letters, Art Linkletter,
as regular a lunchtime mind flush with a chuckle
and nod at the secrets children can
claim to publicly believe, but ….

the link was to the stay-at-home mom,
not her peer's latch-key kids in allegiance prep,
who get home each day,
for a solo home run heads up on,

who did what on the news, since last night.
Wait, when did Kid Parrett buy the farm,
for more lasting fame than many
in the game, of vicarious triggerers of revenge
reaction, action ready
wha, wham
I a,am sh…za'am is a real rebbiwort, glaubtgut
Jesus
do u read Seuss, still, a quest, mark, take,
leave, ask best bet, take
chance…
look away. Beulah land,
then Beulah see, wise black nanny guide from non-
nodded off, witty, pretty sweety Mary
poppin' clap off pop
stand and deliver, let it be
sistarepistol packin' mama, whoa
Sister,
I did not think to ask, have you been this far? Before?
993 maybe, but the next seven are done. I am stopping, long enough,
to make some money some how... eee-odle eee dee hee,
I may be back again by summer.
Alicia Hubert Mar 2013
On top of the stairs her silhouette dances,
She sways with the beat making her hair flow with rhythm.

Good God Oh God
she moves with such grace
I can't look away I want her embrace.

She pulls up a square straight to her lips
takes a long drag and lets the smoke fog drip.

In one bony hand she grasps her own bottle,
constantly taking swigs she would be my favorite model.

Her arms swish back and forth next to her sides,
boys keep approaching her left and right.

Their mouths keep moving but it doesn't reach her,
she never stops dancing like shes been in a trance.

My palms get sweaty as I watch them walk away,
Now mys chance as I stand from the floor.

I try to catch her attention shifting in front,
but like all the others she ignores my approach.

I stand there awhile embarrassed of failing,
noting the shine in her long black hair.

Oh God Oh God,
why not me Evanjellion?

I take a few notes before I saunter away,
turning my back I'm hoping she'd watch,

Glancing back I catch a blue eye,
my body burns with passion.

But I just let it fly,
I'll remember this night and try again next time.

Do my best try harder,
than maybe just maybe,
she'll love me like no other.

-Alicia Hubert
insane hatter Sep 2014
left
right
center
what should i choose
bold thin or italic
which will it be
public private draft
who could think
mys perspective or someone  else's
who knows
who cares
ZWS Oct 2014
It's only cables that tie me to you now
Everytime I try to contact you I get shocked
My phone sits there on the coffee table, but it mys as well be my noose
Every text message I sent was just time spent induced
The idea of being with you is so abstract light bends obtuse

But we tried government and it became to powerful
Our markets were privatized and our thoughts of trade were never exchanged
Oland our military minds built thought tanks from broken memories

I remember those October clouds were like the fog of war
When the sky ripped open and tore the ozone
The conflict was swift but it would take time to repair it
You won the battle though, and your sovereignty became apparent

And here I am with this telephone just calling in air strikes
Missing every time
Because you don't care
ZWS Sep 2014
Always tried to live by "don't let your worries ruin your days"
Becomes quite the task when your worries are your days
And you're stuck in between conversation in a hungover afternoon haze
Can't ever get anything out with your constant interruptions
You couldn't ever know what I want
Because all you want to do is talk about you, flaunt, flaunt

Constant conversation, you mys as well mark that down in your monolog
The only one I can talk to is myself
Makes for some interesting morning jogs

Sorry about the hate mail but it's the only way I could get a message across to you

Miss my dorm room for once, everything before I met you
It's better to think about how lovely love is than to fall in it
Sky May 2016
I spend this sun-day
hiding from the sun
under a comforter
the color of today’s sky
and zebra stripes.
I do not participate.
This morning,
I participated,
as my parents scurried about the grocery store
without me.
I called my father’s mother
and I called my mother’s mother.
I called my soul mate
and remembered
last night, prom night, perfect night.
Then I wasn’t at home alone anymore
and I didn’t want to participate anymore
and I let myself sink into the emptiness.
I deny any and all emotions and accusitions of life.
I am not of this world, in this world,
known to the world or by the world,
I am dust hiding under the bed.
I read a book that is nothing but truth and pain
and listen to music that is pure dark emotion.
I twist my mind into wicked shapes,
and embrace the emptiness that is slowly taking over my soul.
I don’t want to feel,
I don’t want to heal,
I don’t want to be me or anything.
All I think is no longer real.
I can embrace this sickness,
this dark disease of the mind.
I am sick, what is my cure?
I don’t know or care or want it.
Let me bleed, and let me sleep,
but don’t let me die,
even in this state of mind
I would rather just cry.
This is a place where love does not exist,
so I’m sorry, soul mate,
but right now you are gone.
This is a place where voices do not penetrate,
so I’m sorry, Mom and Dad,
but right now I cannot hear you.
This is a place where I keep my phone on silent,
So I’m sorry, cousin dear,
I cannot read your admiration.
This is a place made of nothing.
This is a place where my tears are my water
and my blood is my wine,
I never believed in religion
and I swear I never will.
I am my own savior
and I am failing at my job.
This is a place where I cannot be saved
except by my self, by myself, by mys elf.
This is a place to drown in a hot water bathtub,
blood dripping down my wrists,
but don’t let me die,
I don’t want to die,
I just want to sleep.
I just want to bleed a little bit,
I don’t want to watch my life run down my fingers
and slide down the drain,
irretrievable.
This is a place where
everyone who loves me should stay away
because they will get hurt
and I don’t want to hurt them
because I love them too,
but in this place
I love no one
and no one loves me,
so leave me all alone.
This is a place that I don’t tell my love about,
I don’t tell my sister about,
I don’t tell Mom and don’t tell Dad,
don’t tell the grandma with the cats
or the grandma at the lake,
don’t even tell the great grandma who is an older version of me.
This is a place
that makes doctors frown
and boyfriends cry,
that makes my sister slap me upside the head
and tell me to stop listening to depressing music.
This is a place where
I cut so I can feel something,
a place where I just want to see
the sparkling crimson against the paper-pale of my skin.
This is the place where I trace my veins
with my eyes
and have unwelcome visions of opening them.
This is the place where
I see my fears lined up
like a suicide’s pill bottles on the bathroom counter,
ready to jump down my throat
and stop my heart.
This is the place where I feel nothing,
I am a blank sheet of looseleaf
about to be torn into shreds
and scattered along the wet grass
for the birds to use in their nests
and the spiders to hide under.
This is the place where I think I might finally cry,
but somehow my face still stays dry,
and I wonder why I never cry,
I only bleed,
never cry,
never die.
This is a place where
I start to wonder if anyone would notice
if I just stayed here forever,
if they would see the emptiness in my eyes
(oh, my love, would you see the emptiness in my eyes?)
This is a place
I almost wish I could stay in,
because here I cannot feel the pain of emotions,
here nothing matters,
here words cannot penetrate,
here I am a tough scar and not an open wound,
here I am nonexistent
no one cares.

This is a place that I know I should leave
but I dont want to leave
I cannot leave now
I’m just too tired to leave now.

So let me sleep,
and in the morning I’ll be okay,
I’ll leave this place,
and no one will know that I ever left them
so I could sit in the empty darkness
with just my demons for company.

Let me dance with the darkness,
and let me sleep my way back to life.
ZWS Feb 2014
Chewing the same gum for a while now
Late nights, and parties, and fights
About time I spit it out,
Douse the fire, and flare the smoke out

This is an S O S to brain control
We're getting a lot of alcohol down here
It's time to exhale and breathe in fresh air
Kid, you mys as well dig yourself a hole

I speak words, but my words wear masks
They mean more to me, you'll never see what's underneath
Maybe they'll be clearer after we share this flask
And then I can wake up in the morning and breath

And I'll be ****** if I see you show up to my party
I was just trying to reach out
Now my veins run like a still river in doubt
My heart has beat itself out
After visiting the lava-tree
I washed my hands with toile-trees
The weather outside, was sort of win-tree
Affording me no pleasan-trees

As my thoughts become arbor-tree
But hear no words of bigo-tree
So studied the elemen-trees
Looking for some asymme-tree

I sat within a conserva-tree
As i pondered on the fores-tree
Wishing to write something complemen-tree
It all became a mys-tree

I thought for a while on trigonome-tree
And the sciences of chemis-tree
Got completely lost in microcircui-tree
So sent myself to Coven-tree

So i'll finish this piece of coque-tree
As dwell upon my ances-tree
As i delve into lost his-tree
Then return again to the lava-tree!

by Jemia
TOD HOWARD HAWKS Feb 2020
MIRACLE OF MIRACLES

The miracle of miracles is infinity.
Those searching for the beginning
of the Cosmos will never find it, and
those searching for the end of
the Cosmos will never find it, be-
cause there is no beginning and
there is no end. The Cosmos is
infinite. You and I are miracles.
Every blade of grass is a miracle.
Every microscopic organism is a
miracle. Indeed, every creation in
the Cosmos is a miracle. The mys-
tery is why we seem to experience
our exIstence, and all we encounter
in it, as reality when, in fact, that is
patently untrue. The finite is an
illusion:  to wit, take a 12-inch
ruler and divide it by 2, then
divide 6 by 2, then 3 by 2, then
1 ½ by 2, then ¾ by 2, then ⅜
by 2, then 3/16 by 2, then 3/32
by 2, then 3/64, then 3/128 by
2, then 256 by 2, and so on.
You can do this infinitely. I did
this in 6th grade, and this is
how I discovered that infin-
Ity, not the finite, was reality.
Regardless, what remains of
the illusion of the seeming finite?
What purpose does it serve? My
only idea is my own notion “Know
truth by untruth,” a paradox in its
own making. The illusion of
the finite remains a mystery,
but it has never been a miracle.
Einstein spent the last 30 years
of his life trying to prove the
Unified Field Theory, but
never could. I believe he
thwarted his own efforts
because he was using finite
principles instead of the reality
of infinity.

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks
A graduate of Andover and Columbia College, Columbia University, Tod Howard Hawks has been a poet and a human-rights advocate his entire adult life. He recently finished writing his novel, A CHILD FOR AMARANTH.

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