"navigation" poems - Hello Poetry

"navigation" poems

An empty boat glides through a tide-less sea Echos of thunderous silence reminisces the rowdy sailors once on board Without fear they sailed across the dark waters Without the knowledge of forthcoming doom they kept the spirits high Navigation impaired by the wrath of silence, their abominable gaiety and preposterous hopes were muted for eternity Life drained, flesh rotted, bones crumbled to dust, and the boat was filled with peaceful death Though without an inhabitant it still continues to drift towards a predesitned chaos Its calm trail behind disrupted by an impatient tranquility Its still path ahead disallows all animations with an unfluent time Yet it moves forward

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Aug 14, 2018

Aug 14, 2018 at 12:19 PM UTC

An empty boat glides through a tide-less sea Echos of thunderous silence reminisces the rowdy sailors once on board Without fear they sailed across the dark waters Without the knowledge of forthcoming doom they kept the spirits high Navigation impaired by the wrath of silence, their abominable gaiety and preposterous hopes were muted for eternity Life drained, flesh rotted, bones crumbled to dust, and the boat was filled with peaceful death Though without an inhabitant it still continues to drift towards a predesitned chaos Its calm trail behind disrupted by an impatient tranquility Its still path ahead disallows all animations with an unfluent time Yet it moves forward

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your stars hung in pairs against the accustomed singularity of celestial bodies your stars held the promise of enlightenment and i sought you the way kings did hunting you down in the endeavor of navigation pinned down and ****** until man left the stars for devices of their own and when the stars followed humanity stardust resurrecting in the arrangement of atoms constellations manifesting in wombs nebulae shattering for the genesis the universe destroyed itself for you oh gemini boy the cosmos are not kind to boys who are destined to be halves on an eternal voyage for missing fragments in a lover's touch and a child's laugh the world is not kind to boys who look into your eyes and only see their reflection but you were kind to me oh gemini boy this is an apology to a mortal born from the immortality of twins whose love bore the gods' mercy to rest among the stars not knowing that stars die just as the children born from them do just as you oh gemini boy maybe i should have known better than to love a boy always searching for himself i mistook you for a cosmic collision meant for the dawn of a new heaven and maybe i fell in love with your destruction as i navigated you the way ancients looked to your stars for salvation oh gemini boy my stars hang in the silhouette of the unknown isolated from the promise of deliverance man was once told we are born from different stars our fates moving in parallel precision never meeting again after our stardust once laid prints upon our astral anatomy and because we are not stars but the echoes of seraphic wars meant to traverse desolate lands in search for completion oh gemini boy i forgive you you just wanted to be whole

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Sep 5, 2016

Sep 5, 2016 at 4:19 AM UTC

your stars hung in pairs against the accustomed singularity of celestial bodies your stars held the promise of enlightenment and i sought you the way kings did hunting you down in the endeavor of navigation pinned down and ****** until man left the stars for devices of their own and when the stars followed humanity stardust resurrecting in the arrangement of atoms constellations manifesting in wombs nebulae shattering for the genesis the universe destroyed itself for you oh gemini boy the cosmos are not kind to boys who are destined to be halves on an eternal voyage for missing fragments in a lover's touch and a child's laugh the world is not kind to boys who look into your eyes and only see their reflection but you were kind to me oh gemini boy this is an apology to a mortal born from the immortality of twins whose love bore the gods' mercy to rest among the stars not knowing that stars die just as the children born from them do just as you oh gemini boy maybe i should have known better than to love a boy always searching for himself i mistook you for a cosmic collision meant for the dawn of a new heaven and maybe i fell in love with your destruction as i navigated you the way ancients looked to your stars for salvation oh gemini boy my stars hang in the silhouette of the unknown isolated from the promise of deliverance man was once told we are born from different stars our fates moving in parallel precision never meeting again after our stardust once laid prints upon our astral anatomy and because we are not stars but the echoes of seraphic wars meant to traverse desolate lands in search for completion oh gemini boy i forgive you you just wanted to be whole

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The progression of Huntington's disease often leads to the need of a wheelchair. My husband resisted using a wheelchair for many years, even though his poor balance and tiredness meant he was prone to falls. I didn't exactly pressurise him into using one. To be honest it was not just because it was another sign of loss of independence, but it would have been harder for me too in many respects. What I wasn't prepared for, when the time came, was the social stigma attached to wheelchair users insofar as becoming a kind of non-entity! In a weekly blog I wrote in 2008 I wrote about the first time I took my husband out in a wheelchair. It angered me how peoples’ attitudes seemed to change overnight. Walking down the High Street, Hand in hand like lovers, The couple blend into the crowd, No different from the others. As the years go by though, His body having changed, Has sadly meant a wheelchair, Has had to be arranged. Strolling down same High Street, The woman now behind, Her lover needing pushing, Steep pavements so unkind. Entering the bar now, With awkward navigation; People jump to open door, Aware of situation. “Thank you” says the man in chair, When wheeled into the place; “Welcome” say the helpers there, But all avoid his face. Carer gets the “Welcome” mouthed, No looks with him they share; Let’s treat this fellow human being, As if he wasn't there.

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Jul 21, 2015

Jul 21, 2015 at 7:39 AM UTC

The Wheelchair Outing

The progression of Huntington's disease often leads to the need of a wheelchair. My husband resisted using a wheelchair for many years, even though his poor balance and tiredness meant he was prone to falls. I didn't exactly pressurise him into using one. To be honest it was not just because it was another sign of loss of independence, but it would have been harder for me too in many respects. What I wasn't prepared for, when the time came, was the social stigma attached to wheelchair users insofar as becoming a kind of non-entity! In a weekly blog I wrote in 2008 I wrote about the first time I took my husband out in a wheelchair. It angered me how peoples’ attitudes seemed to change overnight. Walking down the High Street, Hand in hand like lovers, The couple blend into the crowd, No different from the others. As the years go by though, His body having changed, Has sadly meant a wheelchair, Has had to be arranged. Strolling down same High Street, The woman now behind, Her lover needing pushing, Steep pavements so unkind. Entering the bar now, With awkward navigation; People jump to open door, Aware of situation. “Thank you” says the man in chair, When wheeled into the place; “Welcome” say the helpers there, But all avoid his face. Carer gets the “Welcome” mouthed, No looks with him they share; Let’s treat this fellow human being, As if he wasn't there.

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243 I’ve known a Heaven, like a Tent— To wrap its shining Yards— Pluck up its stakes, and disappear— Without the sound of Boards Or Rip of Nail—Or Carpenter— But just the miles of Stare— That signalize a Show’s Retreat— In North America— No Trace—no Figment of the Thing That dazzled, Yesterday, No Ring—no Marvel— Men, and Feats— Dissolved as utterly— As Bird’s far Navigation Discloses just a Hue— A plash of Oars, a Gaiety— Then swallowed up, of View.

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Emily Dickinson

I’ve known a Heaven, like a Tent

243 I’ve known a Heaven, like a Tent— To wrap its shining Yards— Pluck up its stakes, and disappear— Without the sound of Boards Or Rip of Nail—Or Carpenter— But just the miles of Stare— That signalize a Show’s Retreat— In North America— No Trace—no Figment of the Thing That dazzled, Yesterday, No Ring—no Marvel— Men, and Feats— Dissolved as utterly— As Bird’s far Navigation Discloses just a Hue— A plash of Oars, a Gaiety— Then swallowed up, of View.

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Blue is not sure where to find the propeller. The motor boat sent to scotch the shimmer. The waves break inside a jar, and the little pieces are swept up by the wind and made into mist. The Jar is shaken, the titanic sinks, and the seagulls peck at our eyes. Covered in barnacles, the new-found fish men wander onto the sand and get coated, as in cornmeal, ready to fry. Infatuated and floundering they wander to water again. Drinking death hand over fist, they ring themselves out with simply a twist. The fish flap their fins so forcefully; trying to be flying to a sea called the sky. With a crumbled-ed crust they say, “motherboat or bust”, but the navigation of aviation is a compilation of great frustration for fishes whose function is on boats, wrapped up in those silly greatcoats. Yet they made it, or so they claim, and with only one flounder or flunder who had made a blunder to blame. If only old skipper had been a bit quicker, he wouldn't have had such a queer story to claim.

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Oct 25, 2014

Oct 25, 2014 at 2:10 PM UTC

Odd, eh? Sea...

Blue is not sure where to find the propeller. The motor boat sent to scotch the shimmer. The waves break inside a jar, and the little pieces are swept up by the wind and made into mist. The Jar is shaken, the titanic sinks, and the seagulls peck at our eyes. Covered in barnacles, the new-found fish men wander onto the sand and get coated, as in cornmeal, ready to fry. Infatuated and floundering they wander to water again. Drinking death hand over fist, they ring themselves out with simply a twist. The fish flap their fins so forcefully; trying to be flying to a sea called the sky. With a crumbled-ed crust they say, “motherboat or bust”, but the navigation of aviation is a compilation of great frustration for fishes whose function is on boats, wrapped up in those silly greatcoats. Yet they made it, or so they claim, and with only one flounder or flunder who had made a blunder to blame. If only old skipper had been a bit quicker, he wouldn't have had such a queer story to claim.

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I watched the water rise. Creeping down the muddy street. As if a divine force was attempting a stealthy act of insurrection. I didn't have the heart to fight it. Had I only known. I watched Hell's Half Acre silently succumb to the whimsical (however so pleasantly devastating) path of Gaea. Through this empowering incident I felt redemption like I never had before. I jumped down from the platform of the livestock pen to personally welcome the satisfying force of nature's purification. The water lashed out and grabbed my leg. At that moment my jubilate spirit spoiled to uncontaminated terror. It was not a redemptive Spirit winding its way through the rail tracks but the serpent Lucifer. Had I only known. And so in the West Bottoms Tavern I found myself under the ***** shoe of The Machine. A wayward phantom rising from our precarious Kansas River. It drifts through the sweet Midwest like the coal black locomotive smoke that paints a suffocating thick haze above the Stockyards. A welcome slate of provision. A shelter covering us from the racial tension and poverty smothering the outside world. To those in the Bottoms with unruly desires, a saviour. To those at City Hall with loose morals, the messiah. And it was at 1908, I nervously pulled the covers over my vulnerable body and sealed Satan's foul kiss with a diabolical red scrawl. We skipped hand in hand through the freshly paved streets of our "wide open" town. I always tried my best to look the other way but I knew full well that I travelled with a gang of thieves. Nonetheless, everyone votes in our town. A brutal party whip keeps the Jackson County Democrats in line and "Charlie the *** prevents any Rabbits from multiplying. But I've been working from within the belly of a "whale" for years and I fear we've now run out of ocean. Our arranged marriage has robbed my capacity for faithful navigation. I'm seeking a radical divorce from The Beast, the cost has become inconsequential to me. So I found genuine redemption. Finally. I closed the driver side door to my sedan and walked out to the edge of the bridge. The water below seemed whimsical (and so pleasantly devastating) in nature, much the same as it had 36 years ago. I pinned this note to the window, and with a Ready-Mixed Concrete block tied around my waist I watched the water rise.

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Oct 25, 2018

Oct 25, 2018 at 9:47 PM UTC

andrew-maitland

I watched the water rise. Creeping down the muddy street. As if a divine force was attempting a stealthy act of insurrection. I didn't have the heart to fight it. Had I only known. I watched Hell's Half Acre silently succumb to the whimsical (however so pleasantly devastating) path of Gaea. Through this empowering incident I felt redemption like I never had before. I jumped down from the platform of the livestock pen to personally welcome the satisfying force of nature's purification. The water lashed out and grabbed my leg. At that moment my jubilate spirit spoiled to uncontaminated terror. It was not a redemptive Spirit winding its way through the rail tracks but the serpent Lucifer. Had I only known. And so in the West Bottoms Tavern I found myself under the ***** shoe of The Machine. A wayward phantom rising from our precarious Kansas River. It drifts through the sweet Midwest like the coal black locomotive smoke that paints a suffocating thick haze above the Stockyards. A welcome slate of provision. A shelter covering us from the racial tension and poverty smothering the outside world. To those in the Bottoms with unruly desires, a saviour. To those at City Hall with loose morals, the messiah. And it was at 1908, I nervously pulled the covers over my vulnerable body and sealed Satan's foul kiss with a diabolical red scrawl. We skipped hand in hand through the freshly paved streets of our "wide open" town. I always tried my best to look the other way but I knew full well that I travelled with a gang of thieves. Nonetheless, everyone votes in our town. A brutal party whip keeps the Jackson County Democrats in line and "Charlie the *** prevents any Rabbits from multiplying. But I've been working from within the belly of a "whale" for years and I fear we've now run out of ocean. Our arranged marriage has robbed my capacity for faithful navigation. I'm seeking a radical divorce from The Beast, the cost has become inconsequential to me. So I found genuine redemption. Finally. I closed the driver side door to my sedan and walked out to the edge of the bridge. The water below seemed whimsical (and so pleasantly devastating) in nature, much the same as it had 36 years ago. I pinned this note to the window, and with a Ready-Mixed Concrete block tied around my waist I watched the water rise.

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I’ve summed up the equation for my isolation It's People who look up, look down, left and right Desperate for information We never looked inside for much needed inspiration Instead, We lead a life of impulsive behavior mixed with preoccupation for our own reputation I've lost toleration for the weak minded population Individual thoughts slowly decay and eventually cut off circulation Sending thoughts on permanent vacation, worthy of respiration, ideas now suffer suffocation If this is my "generation" I’d rather live in hibernation You can take this as retaliation I just don’t understand why we seek gratification for having no imagination? I swear, It’s like the world around me is nothing more Than telecommunication Different voices yet the same conversation Broad interpretation leaves room for destructive ********** Shedding uniqueness for trendy consolidation **Who the **** do you think you are? a star?** You're no constellation You expel no illumination Your personality is a narrow cultivation of Seedy corporation, Media publication, And lack of moral stabilization Let me give you clarification Meditation is my detonation Put words in your mouth before you die of starvation We all have a fixation on giving into temptation Putting ourselves in situations were Passion is stimulation, Trust is manipulation and Love is *********** Pour out your heartache in perspiration After *********** we expect a standing ovation *** is nothing more than sensation* ....are we lost beyond the point of navigation?

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Nov 28, 2011

Nov 28, 2011 at 12:35 AM UTC

Meditation is My Detonation

I’ve summed up the equation for my isolation It's People who look up, look down, left and right Desperate for information We never looked inside for much needed inspiration Instead, We lead a life of impulsive behavior mixed with preoccupation for our own reputation I've lost toleration for the weak minded population Individual thoughts slowly decay and eventually cut off circulation Sending thoughts on permanent vacation, worthy of respiration, ideas now suffer suffocation If this is my "generation" I’d rather live in hibernation You can take this as retaliation I just don’t understand why we seek gratification for having no imagination? I swear, It’s like the world around me is nothing more Than telecommunication Different voices yet the same conversation Broad interpretation leaves room for destructive ********** Shedding uniqueness for trendy consolidation **Who the **** do you think you are? a star?** You're no constellation You expel no illumination Your personality is a narrow cultivation of Seedy corporation, Media publication, And lack of moral stabilization Let me give you clarification Meditation is my detonation Put words in your mouth before you die of starvation We all have a fixation on giving into temptation Putting ourselves in situations were Passion is stimulation, Trust is manipulation and Love is *********** Pour out your heartache in perspiration After *********** we expect a standing ovation *** is nothing more than sensation* ....are we lost beyond the point of navigation?

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During the night, a dreadful night, a mole dug deep deep and around my garden that I love This cheeky mole then had the nerve to stop burrowing and then surface to check the damage from above. Up came his velvety head and sniffed the fresh air parting my newly laid lawn like a digger. Now he appears to be smiling the cheeky scoundrel He is making the problem a whole lot bigger. "Look what yo have done" I shouted "made a right mess The piles of earth are everywhere with your coming and froing" "With all due respect madam" sniffed the mole "what do you expect when I cannot exactly see where I am going!" "I have no map, no satellite navigation device, just my claws I am just a mole and all that I can do is dig, I've no appliance No shiny ***** no mechanical device, what do you expect Honestly madam it is not exactly rocket science. He tutted and rushed back down the hole leaving me speechless and trying my best not to cry. The mole had made his way underground by now next door but my hard work was down the drain - I wonder why!

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May 3, 2015

May 3, 2015 at 2:51 AM UTC

During the night, a dreadful night, a mole dug deep deep and around my garden that I love This cheeky mole then had the nerve to stop burrowing and then surface to check the damage from above. Up came his velvety head and sniffed the fresh air parting my newly laid lawn like a digger. Now he appears to be smiling the cheeky scoundrel He is making the problem a whole lot bigger. "Look what yo have done" I shouted "made a right mess The piles of earth are everywhere with your coming and froing" "With all due respect madam" sniffed the mole "what do you expect when I cannot exactly see where I am going!" "I have no map, no satellite navigation device, just my claws I am just a mole and all that I can do is dig, I've no appliance No shiny ***** no mechanical device, what do you expect Honestly madam it is not exactly rocket science. He tutted and rushed back down the hole leaving me speechless and trying my best not to cry. The mole had made his way underground by now next door but my hard work was down the drain - I wonder why!

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**** mit ein(e) gernierung of... ****** MACDONALDS for the protestants MCDONALDS for the catholics... and **** the rest of it whoop di do d'ah whoopsie! **** it... i always called the IRA the ginger ninja brigade... ******* ***** ha ha! is that even permitted? like... oopsies?! oh **** the steam-roller is giving it a shot at reading the earth,.. flat... map on paper? **** me... no app.... ****** you ever navigate a car through the German Rhine roundabout? what's in it? Dortmund.. Essen... you know that constipated part of the road map of Europe... ever navigate that trippy conundrum ******** of navigation? beside me... can't speak german, won't navigate in german, no matter how many Mercedes-Benz they pump out from the Henry Ford institute of the reclining chair, supposing die krupps to be squidgy clean... i think the european translation reads: die Dortmund Ringe... das Rhine Ringe... **** allocating yourself to a rally car... navigate through that sort of German ******** achtung achtung... autobahn ende! vorwärtskreis might as well salute for a second coming of... hítlear! shaking Stevens? huh?! knee on the no contra the know: bother... the english won't know... isn't that nay? i listen to too much lawyer jargon... i'd love to listen to poetry... but... i figured... lawyers play the slight of the sly of hand that poets exasperate into toying with words to accomplish art... lawyers? the impasse of judgement? **** me! apparently the argument goes: down syndrome... psychopaths... 'ere by god's grace... much grace, my lord... too much grace... two salvation pointers: (a) i won't drink with them... (b) i won't eat with them, (c) there is no "c" that isn't a "d" that isn't an "e" "f", etc! you get a zebra... you get a null bonus! a ******* safari of an automated anti hamster Boston outfit!

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Aug 14, 2018

Aug 14, 2018 at 8:23 PM UTC

removed.polaroid-scrabble

**** mit ein(e) gernierung of... ****** MACDONALDS for the protestants MCDONALDS for the catholics... and **** the rest of it whoop di do d'ah whoopsie! **** it... i always called the IRA the ginger ninja brigade... ******* ***** ha ha! is that even permitted? like... oopsies?! oh **** the steam-roller is giving it a shot at reading the earth,.. flat... map on paper? **** me... no app.... ****** you ever navigate a car through the German Rhine roundabout? what's in it? Dortmund.. Essen... you know that constipated part of the road map of Europe... ever navigate that trippy conundrum ******** of navigation? beside me... can't speak german, won't navigate in german, no matter how many Mercedes-Benz they pump out from the Henry Ford institute of the reclining chair, supposing die krupps to be squidgy clean... i think the european translation reads: die Dortmund Ringe... das Rhine Ringe... **** allocating yourself to a rally car... navigate through that sort of German ******** achtung achtung... autobahn ende! vorwärtskreis might as well salute for a second coming of... hítlear! shaking Stevens? huh?! knee on the no contra the know: bother... the english won't know... isn't that nay? i listen to too much lawyer jargon... i'd love to listen to poetry... but... i figured... lawyers play the slight of the sly of hand that poets exasperate into toying with words to accomplish art... lawyers? the impasse of judgement? **** me! apparently the argument goes: down syndrome... psychopaths... 'ere by god's grace... much grace, my lord... too much grace... two salvation pointers: (a) i won't drink with them... (b) i won't eat with them, (c) there is no "c" that isn't a "d" that isn't an "e" "f", etc! you get a zebra... you get a null bonus! a ******* safari of an automated anti hamster Boston outfit!

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In the arid dust I can see a shimmer of you in the distance, the red of your hair mixing with the ochre earth Amid the noise and collision of caravansary in Jemaa el-Fna I hear your soft drawl joking with Snake charmers, always in hustle In souks the sweetness of fennel and myrrh swirl in the wake of travellers steps and I'm reminded of your desert scent, like cedar and musk covered dust In the dissonance of the call to prayer I can feel your awe as struck as mine, while the roiling sound of voices lifted in faith erupt over the Medina In the coolness of Jardin Majorelle, I can feel your head resting on my shoulder as I contemplate the reflection of Lotus blossoms in stark blue pools I see your eyes in the green of the Atlas Mountains, echo your amazement at Saharan navigation, feel your peace as the stars appear over the Riad But can't feel your hand in mine as the sun sets over Marrakech

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Aug 5, 2017

Aug 5, 2017 at 5:06 PM UTC

In the arid dust I can see a shimmer of you in the distance, the red of your hair mixing with the ochre earth Amid the noise and collision of caravansary in Jemaa el-Fna I hear your soft drawl joking with Snake charmers, always in hustle In souks the sweetness of fennel and myrrh swirl in the wake of travellers steps and I'm reminded of your desert scent, like cedar and musk covered dust In the dissonance of the call to prayer I can feel your awe as struck as mine, while the roiling sound of voices lifted in faith erupt over the Medina In the coolness of Jardin Majorelle, I can feel your head resting on my shoulder as I contemplate the reflection of Lotus blossoms in stark blue pools I see your eyes in the green of the Atlas Mountains, echo your amazement at Saharan navigation, feel your peace as the stars appear over the Riad But can't feel your hand in mine as the sun sets over Marrakech

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In the intricate tapestry of love, the adage "once a cheater, always a cheater" weaves a cautionary thread. It is a phrase laden with the weight of experience, a mantra that whispers of broken trust and shattered vows. When someone treads the path of betrayal, leaving the fragments of a once-whole heart in their wake, the scars run deep. The echoes of deceit reverberate in the corridors of love, leaving those who have been wounded hesitant to trust again. The notion, "once a cheater, always a cheater," emerges as a defense mechanism, a shield against the vulnerability of being deceived once more. Yet, in the realm of love, the narrative isn't always so black and white. People evolve, learn from their mistakes, and yearn for redemption. It's crucial to acknowledge the capacity for change within each individual. While the wounds of betrayal may linger, they need not dictate the course of someone's entire romantic journey. The human experience is multifaceted, and relationships are complex landscapes. People stumble, fall, and sometimes, they rise anew, reshaped by the crucible of their own errors. Love, at its essence, encompasses forgiveness, growth, and the possibility of second chances. So, while the cautionary phrase carries the weight of wisdom, it is equally important to recognize the potential for transformation. People can break free from the chains of their past misdeeds, learn to value trust, and construct relationships founded on honesty and integrity. Love, after all, is as much about healing as it is about the initial spark. In the end the tale of "once a cheater, always a cheater" is not a universal truth but rather a reminder that love demands conscientious navigation. It prompts us to approach relationships with discernment, to treasure the fragility of trust, and to foster an environment where growth and change are not only possible but celebrated.

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Nov 25, 2023

Nov 25, 2023 at 7:26 AM UTC

once a cheater always a cheater

In the intricate tapestry of love, the adage "once a cheater, always a cheater" weaves a cautionary thread. It is a phrase laden with the weight of experience, a mantra that whispers of broken trust and shattered vows. When someone treads the path of betrayal, leaving the fragments of a once-whole heart in their wake, the scars run deep. The echoes of deceit reverberate in the corridors of love, leaving those who have been wounded hesitant to trust again. The notion, "once a cheater, always a cheater," emerges as a defense mechanism, a shield against the vulnerability of being deceived once more. Yet, in the realm of love, the narrative isn't always so black and white. People evolve, learn from their mistakes, and yearn for redemption. It's crucial to acknowledge the capacity for change within each individual. While the wounds of betrayal may linger, they need not dictate the course of someone's entire romantic journey. The human experience is multifaceted, and relationships are complex landscapes. People stumble, fall, and sometimes, they rise anew, reshaped by the crucible of their own errors. Love, at its essence, encompasses forgiveness, growth, and the possibility of second chances. So, while the cautionary phrase carries the weight of wisdom, it is equally important to recognize the potential for transformation. People can break free from the chains of their past misdeeds, learn to value trust, and construct relationships founded on honesty and integrity. Love, after all, is as much about healing as it is about the initial spark. In the end the tale of "once a cheater, always a cheater" is not a universal truth but rather a reminder that love demands conscientious navigation. It prompts us to approach relationships with discernment, to treasure the fragility of trust, and to foster an environment where growth and change are not only possible but celebrated.

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The truth is that life isn’t fair– it isn’t, but “you do the best you can” – at least that’s what I’ve been told. The truth is I don’t even know which one of ‘me’ is real and I’m scared of the many times I leave my body and can no longer communicate, it makes me feel unsafe and the truth is it happens every single night. The truth is I’m scared all the time because at any minute I could change into someone else and bad things can happen. The truth is every single night my body aches with sharp and persistent pain, and I cannot rest, or find comfort. And the truth is I prefer not to be present when the pain becomes unbearable. The truth is I feel overwhelmed with the chaos inside my head and the pain in my body – and the truth is I know that no one will be there, so why would I even ‘write’ how it feels anymore? The truth is DT has no idea what happens now because the truth I don’t think he really wants to know and he wants to believe that because I don’t ‘email’ him or leave him a ‘voicemail’ that I must be doing better. Good Job, Nita, you are doing such a great job navigating through the pain, in a much “healthier” way. But the truth is he doesn’t know anything about my “nightly navigation”. The truth is no one wanted to know the TRUTH then, and no one wants to know it now. No one wants to see, or hear, about a man fu@#ing a kid. Because the TRUTH is that it’s disgusting and revolting, and horrifying…and the thought really turns the stomach of anyone who hears it. And the truth is, if it makes you feel that way to hear it, then imagine how disgusting it feels to be a kid who was fu@#ed. The truth is I scared as hell that one day I will seriously hurt or **** myself. Because the truth is that we do tend to hurt and **** ourselves, and if ‘one’ of us does it – the rest of us are scared as hell that it will happen to another survivor! The truth – the truth is a journey into madness…and you can’t handle my ‘truth’. Because your truth and my truth are WAY to different… The truth is I’m not that scarred when I’m covered up – and the truth is no one wants to see those scars because it’s uncomfortable and perhaps a reality check that the world really is fu@#ed up – and adults really do f@#k kids – and people like me really do hurt themselves and **** themselves. The truth is everyone ignores what isn’t “spoken” and the truth is everyone is shocked as hell when the unspeakable happens. The truth is “I” am not the one with the blinders on. And the truth is you don’t see me now because you don’t want to see me. Because you WANT to believe that I’m doing “better” as a result of your “boundaries” and “limits” (what a good doctor you are!- pure genius…she finally ‘accepts’ the limitations –and as a result huge sigh she’s doing so much better) – but the truth is you don’t know because you don’t ask, and you don’t ask because you don’t want to know- because it’s not pretty and it certainly isn’t something you see in a showroom window. And the truth is you don’t know what my reality is because you don’t want to know, you don’t want to see. Because my reality is covered up with clothing, eyes that hide the truth, the ability to use humor to hide even the most painful feelings, and a bright smile. And that’s okay – but really….your truth and my truth are as far apart as Earth and Venus. Smile Pretty for the Camera, Nita ...that's "perfect."

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Apr 23, 2014

Apr 23, 2014 at 7:20 PM UTC

The truth is that life isn’t fair– it isn’t, but “you do the best you can” – at least that’s what I’ve been told. The truth is I don’t even know which one of ‘me’ is real and I’m scared of the many times I leave my body and can no longer communicate, it makes me feel unsafe and the truth is it happens every single night. The truth is I’m scared all the time because at any minute I could change into someone else and bad things can happen. The truth is every single night my body aches with sharp and persistent pain, and I cannot rest, or find comfort. And the truth is I prefer not to be present when the pain becomes unbearable. The truth is I feel overwhelmed with the chaos inside my head and the pain in my body – and the truth is I know that no one will be there, so why would I even ‘write’ how it feels anymore? The truth is DT has no idea what happens now because the truth I don’t think he really wants to know and he wants to believe that because I don’t ‘email’ him or leave him a ‘voicemail’ that I must be doing better. Good Job, Nita, you are doing such a great job navigating through the pain, in a much “healthier” way. But the truth is he doesn’t know anything about my “nightly navigation”. The truth is no one wanted to know the TRUTH then, and no one wants to know it now. No one wants to see, or hear, about a man fu@#ing a kid. Because the TRUTH is that it’s disgusting and revolting, and horrifying…and the thought really turns the stomach of anyone who hears it. And the truth is, if it makes you feel that way to hear it, then imagine how disgusting it feels to be a kid who was fu@#ed. The truth is I scared as hell that one day I will seriously hurt or **** myself. Because the truth is that we do tend to hurt and **** ourselves, and if ‘one’ of us does it – the rest of us are scared as hell that it will happen to another survivor! The truth – the truth is a journey into madness…and you can’t handle my ‘truth’. Because your truth and my truth are WAY to different… The truth is I’m not that scarred when I’m covered up – and the truth is no one wants to see those scars because it’s uncomfortable and perhaps a reality check that the world really is fu@#ed up – and adults really do f@#k kids – and people like me really do hurt themselves and **** themselves. The truth is everyone ignores what isn’t “spoken” and the truth is everyone is shocked as hell when the unspeakable happens. The truth is “I” am not the one with the blinders on. And the truth is you don’t see me now because you don’t want to see me. Because you WANT to believe that I’m doing “better” as a result of your “boundaries” and “limits” (what a good doctor you are!- pure genius…she finally ‘accepts’ the limitations –and as a result huge sigh she’s doing so much better) – but the truth is you don’t know because you don’t ask, and you don’t ask because you don’t want to know- because it’s not pretty and it certainly isn’t something you see in a showroom window. And the truth is you don’t know what my reality is because you don’t want to know, you don’t want to see. Because my reality is covered up with clothing, eyes that hide the truth, the ability to use humor to hide even the most painful feelings, and a bright smile. And that’s okay – but really….your truth and my truth are as far apart as Earth and Venus. Smile Pretty for the Camera, Nita ...that's "perfect."

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She thought she has understood it clear That love is only a game to play When she feels bored and out of place Someone is there, a game to share with She understood it so very clearly A game of heart, so let's play it fair To Win some, To lose some A love game between two players The game of hearts, Attracting, flattering, sweet talking, seducing... losing or winning doesn't really matter... the pleasure is the game... Just a fling of romance, In the name of a game Steal each others heart... and be safe and sound a risky game... to love for to die for and to leave free upon a game over no strings attached....understood it clear after all.... its only a game of love She thought the game is in the grip of her hands understood the game so clear Played with the rules of the game... A game is nothing but a game... Too egoistic to admit... That emotions and feelings cannot be bought can never be part of a game... To these..... She Lost herself in her own game Unplanned, Unprepared, Unprofessional... Both players were A dangerous game... love is... What she thought as a play of love Is a strong flame indeed, hard to put out.. hard to cool off... what a dangerous game of heart to play fire with fire a fire of real desire... it burns the skin so deep.... The players are hooked in the end.. lost their navigation....in the game they thought They have understood... What they thought a GOODBYE after They grabbed some tokens as the exchange of love.. is an unexpected FOREVER stays... In this game of the hearts Success or defeats... unskillful Players become lovers... attached... inseparable... even when the game is OVER! When she falls, she falls hard... play not with the game of heart...

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Jul 4, 2013

Jul 4, 2013 at 4:04 PM UTC

The game of heart

She thought she has understood it clear That love is only a game to play When she feels bored and out of place Someone is there, a game to share with She understood it so very clearly A game of heart, so let's play it fair To Win some, To lose some A love game between two players The game of hearts, Attracting, flattering, sweet talking, seducing... losing or winning doesn't really matter... the pleasure is the game... Just a fling of romance, In the name of a game Steal each others heart... and be safe and sound a risky game... to love for to die for and to leave free upon a game over no strings attached....understood it clear after all.... its only a game of love She thought the game is in the grip of her hands understood the game so clear Played with the rules of the game... A game is nothing but a game... Too egoistic to admit... That emotions and feelings cannot be bought can never be part of a game... To these..... She Lost herself in her own game Unplanned, Unprepared, Unprofessional... Both players were A dangerous game... love is... What she thought as a play of love Is a strong flame indeed, hard to put out.. hard to cool off... what a dangerous game of heart to play fire with fire a fire of real desire... it burns the skin so deep.... The players are hooked in the end.. lost their navigation....in the game they thought They have understood... What they thought a GOODBYE after They grabbed some tokens as the exchange of love.. is an unexpected FOREVER stays... In this game of the hearts Success or defeats... unskillful Players become lovers... attached... inseparable... even when the game is OVER! When she falls, she falls hard... play not with the game of heart...

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We were driving my car out of town a few sunsets ago. Had just gotten from the shore, uphill on an 80. Every headlight like a good newspaper headline to your cracking Sportage leather seat— the steering wheel as heavy as my breathing. Fog devours all the windows and if the engine participates with the general meltdown least i can do to help myself is call a mechanic. Hey now stop peeling the last bit of skin on your already-bleeding lips; you’ve gone past the necessary pain now youre just prolonging the sight of red. Even traffic lights turn green once in a while. There are no dead ends from sharp curves. Maneuvering always seemed like cylinder blocks on your shoulders But now youre steady; too steady unmoving and it’s scary isn’t it? To simply be unable. An engine you cannot engineer— navigation you cannot decipher. Cut throat mechanism. We’ve passed by too many yellow lights to forget we sometimes need a bit of a slowdown. And perhaps you’re gonna have to go through the kind of adrenaline that digs your nail underneath your palm first. The current leads the batallion. Even the strongest require a running start before the leap. Breathe. Twist the key in the ignition. Drive. The fog eventually subsides. The mechanic eventually arrives. What i’m trying to say is my car broke down in the middle of the road. A slow descend. I counter the shaking fist. At least we didnt crash.

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Mar 17, 2019

Mar 17, 2019 at 11:19 AM UTC

call a mechanic

We were driving my car out of town a few sunsets ago. Had just gotten from the shore, uphill on an 80. Every headlight like a good newspaper headline to your cracking Sportage leather seat— the steering wheel as heavy as my breathing. Fog devours all the windows and if the engine participates with the general meltdown least i can do to help myself is call a mechanic. Hey now stop peeling the last bit of skin on your already-bleeding lips; you’ve gone past the necessary pain now youre just prolonging the sight of red. Even traffic lights turn green once in a while. There are no dead ends from sharp curves. Maneuvering always seemed like cylinder blocks on your shoulders But now youre steady; too steady unmoving and it’s scary isn’t it? To simply be unable. An engine you cannot engineer— navigation you cannot decipher. Cut throat mechanism. We’ve passed by too many yellow lights to forget we sometimes need a bit of a slowdown. And perhaps you’re gonna have to go through the kind of adrenaline that digs your nail underneath your palm first. The current leads the batallion. Even the strongest require a running start before the leap. Breathe. Twist the key in the ignition. Drive. The fog eventually subsides. The mechanic eventually arrives. What i’m trying to say is my car broke down in the middle of the road. A slow descend. I counter the shaking fist. At least we didnt crash.

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Intensity for you wavers not Your lips pure ******* Love stronger than the drugs Coursing through my shallow veins I am searching for a way to repair That will stop gnawing emptiness I swear there's no fairness in this world I am waiting, I only see less and less Contentment is clearly decreasing Do not know where it keeps on running to Am tracking with the tools I have Navigation here is hard to do Thoughts and devoted feelings intersect Wish my mind was a blank slate Yearn to eject unsavory parts Pull out of this unhealthy state I will be addicted to you for life Inhale the smoke that makes up who you are Sweet smell of nostalgia and lost intimacy I face the pain of another scar Terrible remains will be all that is left Part of me forever gone and departed Human weakness flows through my blood You are a drug I wish I had never started

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Aug 30, 2018

Aug 30, 2018 at 8:48 AM UTC

Intensity for you wavers not Your lips pure ******* Love stronger than the drugs Coursing through my shallow veins I am searching for a way to repair That will stop gnawing emptiness I swear there's no fairness in this world I am waiting, I only see less and less Contentment is clearly decreasing Do not know where it keeps on running to Am tracking with the tools I have Navigation here is hard to do Thoughts and devoted feelings intersect Wish my mind was a blank slate Yearn to eject unsavory parts Pull out of this unhealthy state I will be addicted to you for life Inhale the smoke that makes up who you are Sweet smell of nostalgia and lost intimacy I face the pain of another scar Terrible remains will be all that is left Part of me forever gone and departed Human weakness flows through my blood You are a drug I wish I had never started

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You are cyclic like the change of seasons in your reinvention; robust is your passion, a mountain brook that embraces hills plains, fields and ravines without any restriction. Instantly you would imbibe any message, air, wind or water sends through flashes of intimations, nature's child you are, a woman in sync with the moon in your veins and the sun that seeks you from my ***** I only follow the music your heart strings play that in my psyche resonates, every moment, it makes easy navigation in this planet my right. You and I move through the waves rowing shoulder to shoulder, singing spiritedly barcaroles. The feminine in me is under your tender care, I let my masculine self be in communion with yours, all merging in harmoniously, resulting in only ONE.

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Apr 18, 2017

Apr 18, 2017 at 10:07 AM UTC

Our mutual immersion

You are cyclic like the change of seasons in your reinvention; robust is your passion, a mountain brook that embraces hills plains, fields and ravines without any restriction. Instantly you would imbibe any message, air, wind or water sends through flashes of intimations, nature's child you are, a woman in sync with the moon in your veins and the sun that seeks you from my ***** I only follow the music your heart strings play that in my psyche resonates, every moment, it makes easy navigation in this planet my right. You and I move through the waves rowing shoulder to shoulder, singing spiritedly barcaroles. The feminine in me is under your tender care, I let my masculine self be in communion with yours, all merging in harmoniously, resulting in only ONE.

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Aqua, bright fresh water we oft get in the Malaysian Airlines but not in the MH 370 where art Thou? where are you all now? when people and media around the world bow in your case somehow still hope you are all alive i knew that you made that one big dive right to the bottom of the ocean all those inspectors are still saying we can hear your phones are still ringing my heart, my body and soul knew: you all are not whole anymore, but you were just freezing in the cool do not make me a fool that big birdie right to the bottom with that rapid speed as if to a large concrete MH 370 you are now in freezing coolest water know, that we all still bother between air-intro space or salted water filled ground with the deepest bound no matter what, we still care about you all what only matters how long have you been suffering in that suffocating small space between those walls we all heard you sing whatever Thy Response, i do understand Thee no matter what, it's Thy divine decision oh Lord, that suffocating air on the bottom of the Indian Ocean how they were suffocated altogether suffered and that only 2500 km away from Perth but i trust Thee Lord, Thou hath Thy own reason whatever may be Thy divine decision and Thy precision may all passengers be altogether in greatest peace and ease may they all really be released and now Rest In Peace.... © Sylvia Frances Chan AD.Saturday 22nd March 2014~~at 3.09 hrs a.m.~~ ADDED Notes: Since 11th March this MH 370 has disappeared from the radar navigation~~since then I had watched each hour of every day TV journals~~~till today they have found the wreck~~~the chinese in Beijing announced the news today~~ CORRECTED on Monday AD. 24th March 2014 21.12 hrs. pm~~ Malaysia too has announced this news, that they have found the wreck TODAY 24th March at 2500 km away from PERTH, West-Australia at the bottom of the Indian Ocean~~~~~~~~

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Mar 21, 2014

Mar 21, 2014 at 7:55 PM UTC

sylvia-frances-chan

Suffocating AIR MH 370 Boeing 777

Aqua, bright fresh water we oft get in the Malaysian Airlines but not in the MH 370 where art Thou? where are you all now? when people and media around the world bow in your case somehow still hope you are all alive i knew that you made that one big dive right to the bottom of the ocean all those inspectors are still saying we can hear your phones are still ringing my heart, my body and soul knew: you all are not whole anymore, but you were just freezing in the cool do not make me a fool that big birdie right to the bottom with that rapid speed as if to a large concrete MH 370 you are now in freezing coolest water know, that we all still bother between air-intro space or salted water filled ground with the deepest bound no matter what, we still care about you all what only matters how long have you been suffering in that suffocating small space between those walls we all heard you sing whatever Thy Response, i do understand Thee no matter what, it's Thy divine decision oh Lord, that suffocating air on the bottom of the Indian Ocean how they were suffocated altogether suffered and that only 2500 km away from Perth but i trust Thee Lord, Thou hath Thy own reason whatever may be Thy divine decision and Thy precision may all passengers be altogether in greatest peace and ease may they all really be released and now Rest In Peace.... © Sylvia Frances Chan AD.Saturday 22nd March 2014~~at 3.09 hrs a.m.~~ ADDED Notes: Since 11th March this MH 370 has disappeared from the radar navigation~~since then I had watched each hour of every day TV journals~~~till today they have found the wreck~~~the chinese in Beijing announced the news today~~ CORRECTED on Monday AD. 24th March 2014 21.12 hrs. pm~~ Malaysia too has announced this news, that they have found the wreck TODAY 24th March at 2500 km away from PERTH, West-Australia at the bottom of the Indian Ocean~~~~~~~~

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Once in my Universe All the things were Missed I was Created By God's Will Forth intact Fulfiled with an innocent fleur I Created Playful Bountiful Place All the joys and sorrows Were Missed There was The Abundance There was a light laughter Of ignorance Of hardly recognizible indifference Of not knowing Poles are Axed Of vague rememberance Of Which is Arctica Which is Antarctica And how to go there Magic W. . . . Yet I had a technicue to reach a central core of Divinity Yet I've heard about Shangrila and Yeti & Yaks portruding with knited chimes With wide reasonable heads watching Extremly enchanting Dragons floating Effortelessly alluring to the beholder's Navigation By The Cloud By The Thunder By Resonance By Imagination Coming True The Child Butterflies were landing on my arms And I was a Mighty Director Of my Dreamland Dying With every second Not knowing

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May 21, 2015

May 21, 2015 at 12:17 PM UTC

ImpeccableSpacePoetess

All The Things Were Missed

Once in my Universe All the things were Missed I was Created By God's Will Forth intact Fulfiled with an innocent fleur I Created Playful Bountiful Place All the joys and sorrows Were Missed There was The Abundance There was a light laughter Of ignorance Of hardly recognizible indifference Of not knowing Poles are Axed Of vague rememberance Of Which is Arctica Which is Antarctica And how to go there Magic W. . . . Yet I had a technicue to reach a central core of Divinity Yet I've heard about Shangrila and Yeti & Yaks portruding with knited chimes With wide reasonable heads watching Extremly enchanting Dragons floating Effortelessly alluring to the beholder's Navigation By The Cloud By The Thunder By Resonance By Imagination Coming True The Child Butterflies were landing on my arms And I was a Mighty Director Of my Dreamland Dying With every second Not knowing

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His lips move but the monsters words of evil are heard His mouth shapes "I love you" but hatred is echoed He reaches for a hug but the beast lunges to attack There's a monster on his back He searches for the colors of day but is shut in a cave He seeks for the limelight but is stuck in the shadows He forces a smile but the hurt is pulling a frown There's a monster that slipped inside He searches for knowledge but the monster hid the books He attempts navigation but the map is ripped to shreds He wants to blossom but the beast chains him down There's a monster deep within He's found and yet he's lost His happiness is hidden He's full of life but wants it to end There's a monster who's made a home The monster has him on a leash A never ending round of "simon says" He's a puppet with claws up his shirt A marionette with strings pulled tout The monster disguises but unintentionally reveals Brutality is uncovered but strength shines through Controversy is displayed but persistence can be found Anger takes over but intensity refuses to hide The monster is battled with bravery The monster is fought with passion The tables turn The untouchables are touched After years of war the monster does not budge He is frustrated and trapped but does not give up hope He gathers an army to fight on and fight hard There's a very persistent monster The end can be touched it appears so near The dispute however does not come to a close The fight has no intention of ending The monster does not wish to leave The monster lives with an ignored eviction notice The beast refuses to leave but agrees to downsize From giant to large to small to smaller The beast is tamed and not exiled His strings are extended but never cut His voice quiet but can be heard His hugs are gentle but welcomed and received He lives in peace as a landlord to a monster

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Feb 22, 2015

Feb 22, 2015 at 7:01 PM UTC

His lips move but the monsters words of evil are heard His mouth shapes "I love you" but hatred is echoed He reaches for a hug but the beast lunges to attack There's a monster on his back He searches for the colors of day but is shut in a cave He seeks for the limelight but is stuck in the shadows He forces a smile but the hurt is pulling a frown There's a monster that slipped inside He searches for knowledge but the monster hid the books He attempts navigation but the map is ripped to shreds He wants to blossom but the beast chains him down There's a monster deep within He's found and yet he's lost His happiness is hidden He's full of life but wants it to end There's a monster who's made a home The monster has him on a leash A never ending round of "simon says" He's a puppet with claws up his shirt A marionette with strings pulled tout The monster disguises but unintentionally reveals Brutality is uncovered but strength shines through Controversy is displayed but persistence can be found Anger takes over but intensity refuses to hide The monster is battled with bravery The monster is fought with passion The tables turn The untouchables are touched After years of war the monster does not budge He is frustrated and trapped but does not give up hope He gathers an army to fight on and fight hard There's a very persistent monster The end can be touched it appears so near The dispute however does not come to a close The fight has no intention of ending The monster does not wish to leave The monster lives with an ignored eviction notice The beast refuses to leave but agrees to downsize From giant to large to small to smaller The beast is tamed and not exiled His strings are extended but never cut His voice quiet but can be heard His hugs are gentle but welcomed and received He lives in peace as a landlord to a monster

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there is no map for forgiveness just a maze of bone deep navigation through static and the unknown frequencies of love

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May 28, 2015

May 28, 2015 at 11:20 AM UTC

Stupid argument

there is no map for forgiveness just a maze of bone deep navigation through static and the unknown frequencies of love

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Started back in '78 we took a pledge and set our fate to sink this deepest then of mines to intense dark and cold confines Introvert or man of song we dug together dark and long the universal brotherhood beneath the earth so understood To qualify to join us there just the proud heart that you wear upon your sleeve let it remain no doubts or worries entertain we fuelled the fires of the world with tons and train-loads hard and hurled closed '91 pride of our nation the stoutest pit Deep Navigation

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Feb 25, 2011

Feb 25, 2011 at 12:11 PM UTC

Judy's Challenge - Deep Navigation, **** Bargoed

Started back in '78 we took a pledge and set our fate to sink this deepest then of mines to intense dark and cold confines Introvert or man of song we dug together dark and long the universal brotherhood beneath the earth so understood To qualify to join us there just the proud heart that you wear upon your sleeve let it remain no doubts or worries entertain we fuelled the fires of the world with tons and train-loads hard and hurled closed '91 pride of our nation the stoutest pit Deep Navigation

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The Navigator stands at the top of the hill, a spotlight illuminating the fog, looking for a direction. The stars are gone, another moonless night, all he has is his intuition and questionable insight. And so the dance of change begins Moving outward while moving in Like a blind man at a drive through atm, wondering how he got there, listening for a sparkle looking for an animal spirit in the dark. There are cliffs and caverns sinkholes and canyons along the way He's been known to fall and rise again - while heading towards the river The Navigator, he is an expert on moving in the darkness looking for that one flash our lives on display The Navigator, he knows the signs, sometimes right sometimes wrong The paths have many directions to follow But with the first step all other paths fade away. Decisions are made The Navigator, he has his day, his way.

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Apr 2, 2017

Apr 2, 2017 at 8:16 PM UTC

The Art of Navigation

The Navigator stands at the top of the hill, a spotlight illuminating the fog, looking for a direction. The stars are gone, another moonless night, all he has is his intuition and questionable insight. And so the dance of change begins Moving outward while moving in Like a blind man at a drive through atm, wondering how he got there, listening for a sparkle looking for an animal spirit in the dark. There are cliffs and caverns sinkholes and canyons along the way He's been known to fall and rise again - while heading towards the river The Navigator, he is an expert on moving in the darkness looking for that one flash our lives on display The Navigator, he knows the signs, sometimes right sometimes wrong The paths have many directions to follow But with the first step all other paths fade away. Decisions are made The Navigator, he has his day, his way.

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Artificial honey milk without devotion, With ground bread of ticking experimentation so near by. I walk and dwell so carelessly to have sensitive skin so marked easily, I look at myself what type of mask will it take to cover my imperfection of vice verses. Woke up, My,Dear,Oh,Dear, Agony of sadness in front of me, It pains me oh so dear, In all my might I can do so little for, My,Dear,Oh,Dear. In and out of the door of no return til sun to sunset, I feel myself dragging my stone block shoes of navigation. So plain and throbbing circumstances of low degree of particles, Floating around. Momentarily , It's quiet over. Then rewinding a sorrowful movie. Until it forwards into something.

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Jan 19, 2012

Jan 19, 2012 at 12:31 PM UTC

Clap,Clap,Clap till I see something.

Artificial honey milk without devotion, With ground bread of ticking experimentation so near by. I walk and dwell so carelessly to have sensitive skin so marked easily, I look at myself what type of mask will it take to cover my imperfection of vice verses. Woke up, My,Dear,Oh,Dear, Agony of sadness in front of me, It pains me oh so dear, In all my might I can do so little for, My,Dear,Oh,Dear. In and out of the door of no return til sun to sunset, I feel myself dragging my stone block shoes of navigation. So plain and throbbing circumstances of low degree of particles, Floating around. Momentarily , It's quiet over. Then rewinding a sorrowful movie. Until it forwards into something.

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