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Mean while the heinous and despiteful act
Of Satan, done in Paradise; and how
He, in the serpent, had perverted Eve,
Her husband she, to taste the fatal fruit,
Was known in Heaven; for what can ’scape the eye
Of God all-seeing, or deceive his heart
Omniscient? who, in all things wise and just,
Hindered not Satan to attempt the mind
Of Man, with strength entire and free will armed,
Complete to have discovered and repulsed
Whatever wiles of foe or seeming friend.
For still they knew, and ought to have still remembered,
The high injunction, not to taste that fruit,
Whoever tempted; which they not obeying,
(Incurred what could they less?) the penalty;
And, manifold in sin, deserved to fall.
Up into Heaven from Paradise in haste
The angelick guards ascended, mute, and sad,
For Man; for of his state by this they knew,
Much wondering how the subtle Fiend had stolen
Entrance unseen.  Soon as the unwelcome news
From Earth arrived at Heaven-gate, displeased
All were who heard; dim sadness did not spare
That time celestial visages, yet, mixed
With pity, violated not their bliss.
About the new-arrived, in multitudes
The ethereal people ran, to hear and know
How all befel:  They towards the throne supreme,
Accountable, made haste, to make appear,
With righteous plea, their utmost vigilance
And easily approved; when the Most High
Eternal Father, from his secret cloud,
Amidst in thunder uttered thus his voice.
Assembled Angels, and ye Powers returned
From unsuccessful charge; be not dismayed,
Nor troubled at these tidings from the earth,
Which your sincerest care could not prevent;
Foretold so lately what would come to pass,
When first this tempter crossed the gulf from Hell.
I told ye then he should prevail, and speed
On his bad errand; Man should be seduced,
And flattered out of all, believing lies
Against his Maker; no decree of mine
Concurring to necessitate his fall,
Or touch with lightest moment of impulse
His free will, to her own inclining left
In even scale.  But fallen he is; and now
What rests, but that the mortal sentence pass
On his transgression,—death denounced that day?
Which he presumes already vain and void,
Because not yet inflicted, as he feared,
By some immediate stroke; but soon shall find
Forbearance no acquittance, ere day end.
Justice shall not return as bounty scorned.
But whom send I to judge them? whom but thee,
Vicegerent Son?  To thee I have transferred
All judgement, whether in Heaven, or Earth, or Hell.
Easy it may be seen that I intend
Mercy colleague with justice, sending thee
Man’s friend, his Mediator, his designed
Both ransom and Redeemer voluntary,
And destined Man himself to judge Man fallen.
So spake the Father; and, unfolding bright
Toward the right hand his glory, on the Son
Blazed forth unclouded Deity: He full
Resplendent all his Father manifest
Expressed, and thus divinely answered mild.
Father Eternal, thine is to decree;
Mine, both in Heaven and Earth, to do thy will
Supreme; that thou in me, thy Son beloved,
Mayest ever rest well pleased.  I go to judge
On earth these thy transgressours; but thou knowest,
Whoever judged, the worst on me must light,
When time shall be; for so I undertook
Before thee; and, not repenting, this obtain
Of right, that I may mitigate their doom
On me derived; yet I shall temper so
Justice with mercy, as may illustrate most
Them fully satisfied, and thee appease.
Attendance none shall need, nor train, where none
Are to behold the judgement, but the judged,
Those two; the third best absent is condemned,
Convict by flight, and rebel to all law:
Conviction to the serpent none belongs.
Thus saying, from his radiant seat he rose
Of high collateral glory: Him Thrones, and Powers,
Princedoms, and Dominations ministrant,
Accompanied to Heaven-gate; from whence
Eden, and all the coast, in prospect lay.
Down he descended straight; the speed of Gods
Time counts not, though with swiftest minutes winged.
Now was the sun in western cadence low
From noon, and gentle airs, due at their hour,
To fan the earth now waked, and usher in
The evening cool; when he, from wrath more cool,
Came the mild Judge, and Intercessour both,
To sentence Man:  The voice of God they heard
Now walking in the garden, by soft winds
Brought to their ears, while day declined; they heard,
And from his presence hid themselves among
The thickest trees, both man and wife; till God,
Approaching, thus to Adam called aloud.
Where art thou, Adam, wont with joy to meet
My coming seen far off?  I miss thee here,
Not pleased, thus entertained with solitude,
Where obvious duty ere while appeared unsought:
Or come I less conspicuous, or what change
Absents thee, or what chance detains?—Come forth!
He came; and with him Eve, more loth, though first
To offend; discountenanced both, and discomposed;
Love was not in their looks, either to God,
Or to each other; but apparent guilt,
And shame, and perturbation, and despair,
Anger, and obstinacy, and hate, and guile.
Whence Adam, faltering long, thus answered brief.
I heard thee in the garden, and of thy voice
Afraid, being naked, hid myself.  To whom
The gracious Judge without revile replied.
My voice thou oft hast heard, and hast not feared,
But still rejoiced; how is it now become
So dreadful to thee?  That thou art naked, who
Hath told thee?  Hast thou eaten of the tree,
Whereof I gave thee charge thou shouldst not eat?
To whom thus Adam sore beset replied.
O Heaven! in evil strait this day I stand
Before my Judge; either to undergo
Myself the total crime, or to accuse
My other self, the partner of my life;
Whose failing, while her faith to me remains,
I should conceal, and not expose to blame
By my complaint: but strict necessity
Subdues me, and calamitous constraint;
Lest on my head both sin and punishment,
However insupportable, be all
Devolved; though should I hold my peace, yet thou
Wouldst easily detect what I conceal.—
This Woman, whom thou madest to be my help,
And gavest me as thy perfect gift, so good,
So fit, so acceptable, so divine,
That from her hand I could suspect no ill,
And what she did, whatever in itself,
Her doing seemed to justify the deed;
She gave me of the tree, and I did eat.
To whom the Sovran Presence thus replied.
Was she thy God, that her thou didst obey
Before his voice? or was she made thy guide,
Superiour, or but equal, that to her
Thou didst resign thy manhood, and the place
Wherein God set thee above her made of thee,
And for thee, whose perfection far excelled
Hers in all real dignity?  Adorned
She was indeed, and lovely, to attract
Thy love, not thy subjection; and her gifts
Were such, as under government well seemed;
Unseemly to bear rule; which was thy part
And person, hadst thou known thyself aright.
So having said, he thus to Eve in few.
Say, Woman, what is this which thou hast done?
To whom sad Eve, with shame nigh overwhelmed,
Confessing soon, yet not before her Judge
Bold or loquacious, thus abashed replied.
The Serpent me beguiled, and I did eat.
Which when the Lord God heard, without delay
To judgement he proceeded on the accused
Serpent, though brute; unable to transfer
The guilt on him, who made him instrument
Of mischief, and polluted from the end
Of his creation; justly then accursed,
As vitiated in nature:  More to know
Concerned not Man, (since he no further knew)
Nor altered his offence; yet God at last
To Satan first in sin his doom applied,
Though in mysterious terms, judged as then best:
And on the Serpent thus his curse let fall.
Because thou hast done this, thou art accursed
Above all cattle, each beast of the field;
Upon thy belly groveling thou shalt go,
And dust shalt eat all the days of thy life.
Between thee and the woman I will put
Enmity, and between thine and her seed;
Her seed shall bruise thy head, thou bruise his heel.
So spake this oracle, then verified
When Jesus, Son of Mary, second Eve,
Saw Satan fall, like lightning, down from Heaven,
Prince of the air; then, rising from his grave
Spoiled Principalities and Powers, triumphed
In open show; and, with ascension bright,
Captivity led captive through the air,
The realm itself of Satan, long usurped;
Whom he shall tread at last under our feet;
Even he, who now foretold his fatal bruise;
And to the Woman thus his sentence turned.
Thy sorrow I will greatly multiply
By thy conception; children thou shalt bring
In sorrow forth; and to thy husband’s will
Thine shall submit; he over thee shall rule.
On Adam last thus judgement he pronounced.
Because thou hast hearkened to the voice of thy wife,
And eaten of the tree, concerning which
I charged thee, saying, Thou shalt not eat thereof:
Cursed is the ground for thy sake; thou in sorrow
Shalt eat thereof, all the days of thy life;
Thorns also and thistles it shall bring thee forth
Unbid; and thou shalt eat the herb of the field;
In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread,
Till thou return unto the ground; for thou
Out of the ground wast taken, know thy birth,
For dust thou art, and shalt to dust return.
So judged he Man, both Judge and Saviour sent;
And the instant stroke of death, denounced that day,
Removed far off; then, pitying how they stood
Before him naked to the air, that now
Must suffer change, disdained not to begin
Thenceforth the form of servant to assume;
As when he washed his servants feet; so now,
As father of his family, he clad
Their nakedness with skins of beasts, or slain,
Or as the snake with youthful coat repaid;
And thought not much to clothe his enemies;
Nor he their outward only with the skins
Of beasts, but inward nakedness, much more.
Opprobrious, with his robe of righteousness,
Arraying, covered from his Father’s sight.
To him with swift ascent he up returned,
Into his blissful ***** reassumed
In glory, as of old; to him appeased
All, though all-knowing, what had passed with Man
Recounted, mixing intercession sweet.
Mean while, ere thus was sinned and judged on Earth,
Within the gates of Hell sat Sin and Death,
In counterview within the gates, that now
Stood open wide, belching outrageous flame
Far into Chaos, since the Fiend passed through,
Sin opening; who thus now to Death began.
O Son, why sit we here each other viewing
Idly, while Satan, our great author, thrives
In other worlds, and happier seat provides
For us, his offspring dear?  It cannot be
But that success attends him; if mishap,
Ere this he had returned, with fury driven
By his avengers; since no place like this
Can fit his punishment, or their revenge.
Methinks I feel new strength within me rise,
Wings growing, and dominion given me large
Beyond this deep; whatever draws me on,
Or sympathy, or some connatural force,
Powerful at greatest distance to unite,
With secret amity, things of like kind,
By secretest conveyance.  Thou, my shade
Inseparable, must with me along;
For Death from Sin no power can separate.
But, lest the difficulty of passing back
Stay his return perhaps over this gulf
Impassable, impervious; let us try
Adventurous work, yet to thy power and mine
Not unagreeable, to found a path
Over this main from Hell to that new world,
Where Satan now prevails; a monument
Of merit high to all the infernal host,
Easing their passage hence, for *******,
Or transmigration, as their lot shall lead.
Nor can I miss the way, so strongly drawn
By this new-felt attraction and instinct.
Whom thus the meager Shadow answered soon.
Go, whither Fate, and inclination strong,
Leads thee; I shall not lag behind, nor err
The way, thou leading; such a scent I draw
Of carnage, prey innumerable, and taste
The savour of death from all things there that live:
Nor shall I to the work thou enterprisest
Be wanting, but afford thee equal aid.
So saying, with delight he snuffed the smell
Of mortal change on earth.  As when a flock
Of ravenous fowl, though many a league remote,
Against the day of battle, to a field,
Where armies lie encamped, come flying, lured
With scent of living carcasses designed
For death, the following day, in ****** fight:
So scented the grim Feature, and upturned
His nostril wide into the murky air;
Sagacious of his quarry from so far.
Then both from out Hell-gates, into the waste
Wide anarchy of Chaos, damp and dark,
Flew diverse; and with power (their power was great)
Hovering upon the waters, what they met
Solid or slimy, as in raging sea
Tost up and down, together crouded drove,
From each side shoaling towards the mouth of Hell;
As when two polar winds, blowing adverse
Upon the Cronian sea, together drive
Mountains of ice, that stop the imagined way
Beyond Petsora eastward, to the rich
Cathaian coast.  The aggregated soil
Death with his mace petrifick, cold and dry,
As with a trident, smote; and fixed as firm
As Delos, floating once; the rest his look
Bound with Gorgonian rigour not to move;
And with Asphaltick slime, broad as the gate,
Deep to the roots of Hell the gathered beach
They fastened, and the mole immense wrought on
Over the foaming deep high-arched, a bridge
Of length prodigious, joining to the wall
Immoveable of this now fenceless world,
Forfeit to Death; from hence a passage broad,
Smooth, easy, inoffensive, down to Hell.
So, if great things to small may be compared,
Xerxes, the liberty of Greece to yoke,
From Susa, his Memnonian palace high,
Came to the sea: and, over Hellespont
Bridging his way, Europe with Asia joined,
And scourged with many a stroke the indignant waves.
Now had they brought the work by wonderous art
Pontifical, a ridge of pendant rock,
Over the vexed abyss, following the track
Of Satan to the self-same place where he
First lighted from his wing, and landed safe
From out of Chaos, to the outside bare
Of this round world:  With pins of adamant
And chains they made all fast, too fast they made
And durable!  And now in little space
The confines met of empyrean Heaven,
And of this World; and, on the left hand, Hell
With long reach interposed; three several ways
In sight, to each of these three places led.
And now their way to Earth they had descried,
To Paradise first tending; when, behold!
Satan, in likeness of an Angel bright,
Betwixt the Centaur and the Scorpion steering
His zenith, while the sun in Aries rose:
Disguised he came; but those his children dear
Their parent soon discerned, though in disguise.
He, after Eve seduced, unminded slunk
Into the wood fast by; and, changing shape,
To observe the sequel, saw his guileful act
By Eve, though all unweeting, seconded
Upon her husband; saw their shame that sought
Vain covertures; but when he saw descend
The Son of God to judge them, terrified
He fled; not hoping to escape, but shun
The present; fearing, guilty, what his wrath
Might suddenly inflict; that past, returned
By night, and listening where the hapless pair
Sat in their sad discourse, and various plaint,
Thence gathered his own doom; which understood
Not instant, but of future time, with joy
And tidings fraught, to Hell he now returned;
And at the brink of Chaos, near the foot
Of this new wonderous pontifice, unhoped
Met, who to meet him came, his offspring dear.
Great joy was at their meeting, and at sight
Of that stupendious bridge his joy encreased.
Long he admiring stood, till Sin, his fair
Enchanting daughter, thus the silence broke.
O Parent, these are thy magnifick deeds,
Thy trophies! which thou viewest as not thine own;
Thou art their author, and prime architect:
For I no sooner in my heart divined,
My heart, which by a secret harmony
Still moves with thine, joined in connexion sweet,
That thou on earth hadst prospered, which thy looks
Now also evidence, but straight I felt,
Though distant from thee worlds between, yet felt,
That I must after thee, with this thy son;
Such fatal consequence unites us three!
Hell could no longer hold us in our bounds,
Nor this unvoyageable gulf obscure
Detain from following thy illustrious track.
Thou hast achieved our liberty, confined
Withi
ryn Nov 2016
The light touches
of the wind,
caress the blush
in reddened cheeks.

Gentle fingers abscond
with the moisture
in hapless tears.

Teasing playfully,
the obstinacy
of wayward strands.

Inciting a smile
from a heavy heart,
lifting off the anvil
that carry all fears.
ryn Mar 2016
Grant me forgiveness.
For my mouth had acted prematurely
and erred.
Acrid words my tongue can't retract.
My lips quiver,
pursed and scared.

Grant me relief.
For my ego had lunged.
Fueled emotions that strayed.
Sensible thoughts in mind
that my heart had betrayed.

Grant me strength and courage.
Let the next morn's sun,
illuminate the dark obstinacy of my heart.
Allow this bitter turbidity to pass.
So I could walk the hard road,
to a brand new start.
.
Sometimes words carry more venom than fangs.
And often, the path to absolution lies first, in forgiving oneself.
.
ryn Dec 2015
Too long I've rested upon my throne.
Ordained as ruler,
I wield a sceptre
imbued with old indoctrinated notions.
Bound in aged, tired traditions.
Obstinacy clasped tight within my fingers.

Living by the
foundations laid,
imposed by predecessors before.
I realise that I am but caged
within my self enforced confines.

I want what lays beyond...
But I am afraid...
And more...

I must embrace the unknown.
Be fearless...
And take to the darkness.

Because...

One can only fly free into greatness
if one is unafraid to take the leap
into changing winds.
Nat Lipstadt Mar 2014
The excerpt below is from an interview Philip Roth gave to Daniel Sandstrom, the cultural editor at Svenska Dagbladet, for publication in Swedish translation in that newspaper, and in its original English in the Book Review of the New York Times (March 1, 2014).

It was laid out in normal article (paragraph) form, but I chose to re-present here, line by line, sentence by sentence, for it struck me as I first read it, as a prose poem, and a source of inspiration for me.  But then I realized, I could not improve upon his words, just risk diminishing them.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“The struggle with writing is over” is a recent quote. Could you describe that struggle, and also, tell us something about your life now when you are not writing?

Everybody has a hard job.
All real work is hard.
My work happened also to be undoable.
Morning after morning for 50 years,
I faced the next page
defenseless and unprepared.
Writing for me was a feat of self-preservation.
If I did not do it, I would die.

So I did it.
Obstinacy, not talent, saved my life.
It was also my good luck that
happiness didn’t matter to me
and I had no compassion for myself.
Though why such a task
should have fallen to me I have no idea.
Maybe writing protected me
against even worse menace.

Now?
Now I am a bird sprung from a cage
instead of (to reverse Kafka’s famous conundrum)
a bird in search of a cage.
The horror of being caged has lost its thrill.
It is now truly a great relief,
something close to a sublime experience,
to have nothing more
to worry about than death.
-------------------------------------------------------------­--­---

http://www.nytimes.com/2014/03/16/books/review/my-life-as-a-writer.html?_r=0
.
Yes, perhaps 'tis true.
Everywhere I go-with all t'ese dwindling thoughts on my mind-
'tis always the same shadows that roam, and moan-
before my eyes: and t'eir never-ending business.
Crawling on t'eir lips,
poisoning t'eir bosoms, chins, and hips-
but unrelenting in their unfolded shades;
with a swamp of bruises like mazes-tangled mazes;
likening them to spoiled, yet uncherished, little pearls.
How despairing-such views I obtaineth, on my every journey!
But shalt there still be space for us, to be outstanding;
to understand this world from a pair of eyes
glistening like unquestioning gentleness; but learning simultaneously
its unvivid perspectives
with such comprehension t'at is crystal clear;
such wit t'at is far from recklessness and greed-
salutations that are pure, and distant from any blighting threats
of equivocation? For t'is world is, in spite of its minuteness,
was framed and brought into life from
awesome darkness, abysmal cells of lifelessness
and hateful ambiguity.
How terrifying!
And often have I enforced myself to wandereth into those shades,
with unmolested poems boiling up in my brains-
and t'ose windy thoughts toppling out into th' paper
on my hand,
jostling through my veins like some ghastly, furious power
t'at's unseen, invisible as it is to th' human eye-
frail and susceptible to th' weather's surly temptations-
and entrapping me in the shrieks of its wondrous grot-
so I could never wane it any further, in my guileless brambles.
How I have dreaded t'ose sights-and t'eir dormant treachery! Lessons of
guilt, teaching of such guilty flakes of harm
and abomination! And how in my following quietude have I pondered-
t'at t'is would be just a balmy prelude to some far bigger strains of
mockery, obstinacy, and destitution. Hark to how those powers
shall arise! And that will indeed be th' abjuration of our splendidness-
everything shalt stop at a halt-everything will become flawed,
and no more poems shalt be liberated-from living souls, and t'eir undamaged
blood, as t'ey still are now! How I shiver at t'ose possibilities, as soon as our
latent enemies be on th' loose-free in t'eir ruthlessness, traces of dark,
unperturbed miseries, and brutal savagery.
And shalt we shine no more-like those summer flowers that are waiting for us-
to be fed daily like th' hungry morning doves;
with their thorns as sharp as love, and innocent gladness
in the arms of their lips-'tis but a scent so dear to the heartbeat
of oureth salubrious mornings.
But t'at danger, danger indeed! And its eyes of glaring monstrosity!
And 'tis just of substantial profoundness t'at we should be
cautious-yes, cautious, my dear fellows, towards t'ose signs
of th' upcoming storm-th malevolent storm of human rage, t'at shalt attack us
one day-at one perilous night, unpredicted and unexpected is its fate-
especially when all th' battling footsteps areth
peaceful in their slumbers-and no more palms dancing around
piles of paper-in th' holy procurement of continual wealth.
How t'at moment shalt be our early Armageddon-awakened shalt be
all rivers of terrors, and waves of hatred. How t'is beautiful solitude shalt end-
in th' fierce burning, brimming death of t'at flame-credulous shalt we be,
disempowered from th' heat-which shalt bring us but our dead feet.
Thus I but sincerely hope t'at gloom shalt not conquer our race-
the noblest of all creatures on earth-on t'is dull earth, fatigued as it is
from all th' uniformed battles, hatred, and anger-t'at untiringly sneer
at th' faces of those dying soldiers.
Peace, peace, my dear mates!
Ought to realize thou now-t'at swords shalt shed blood only if instructed.
So tranquility is but in oureth hands-yes, we are but th' key to our own salvation,
and since it is so, shalt we move forward and be the charms of t'is world's
new foundation: for it is our own life that we shalt save.
Peace, my friends, shalt but break all t'ese unseen boundaries amongst us,
and enrich our fathom of t'eir unspoken presence; so t'at th' small world is but
th' most dwelling of comfort, and aught but ease to our hearts-
our very dear, dear hearts in t'is life.
SUDHANSHU KUMAR Feb 2023
No, he's not pessimistic
It's just that he's accepted the reality
He has examined every single angle
But got the same result each time
The radius is not yet ready to form a cone
So, he has to cope with the circle only
He understands things very well
Hence, there's no point in being optimistic...

The tree would bloom only in the spring
So, it continues to wait for that season
Similarly, he's also waiting for the storm to pass by
And the clouds to rain down 
So that he can see the clear blue sky
Under which he'd again try to convince
The radius to give up its obstinacy
And to form the cylinder, if not the cone...
If he can't be at the top alone... Let him be equal with every other being..!
Krissy Schiller Jul 2011
Caution, lost in the motion,
The tender lapse of green sea waves
The scent that has become you,
Sweet, sweet summer rain.

Like magnets, the polar pull, subsequent and building
The silent seize of your stomach muscles
Oh honeycomb.
Wrapped in cellophane, and the fleece in our ears

Your chin, the small hollow in which rests my head,
The cradle of your Adam's apple.
For hours I studied the color transmit in the darks of your eyes,
Of subtle change and shade

The soft, downy wool of your legs,
Warm blankets rescued from the creaking loft.
And your slow, sleeping breaths, of wind whistling through wheat fields
Shared dreams of barefoot gardens, sweet peppers in springtime

The gentle obstinacy of your fingers,
Extended forward in the thaw of shallow slumber.
The difference between oak and pine,
This nest you constructed, we lay in.

Nestled underneath the galaxy you installed, pin by pin.
Ayad Gharbawi Feb 2010
NOT LOOKING AT OURSELVES

August 7, 2009 - Damascus

Ayad bin Izzet


Why is it so hard to think of ourselves?
Why is it so hard to change bad habits that seem to possess us?
It seems to be a near certain fact, that humans do not like to think of themselves; certainly, very few seriously, deeply think about themselves. Who asks himself: “How do I look like to people?” “How do I sound to people, when I say this and that?” “Why is it people like certain aspects of my behaviour?”
When you open up such a subject to people in general, it is common to hear: “Look, I don’t care what people may think of me”. But an answer like that will not help you go far in this world. You do need to pay attention to what people think about you, otherwise you will be, de facto, behaving like a tyrannical dictator – you are, in effect, alienating and restricting the advancement of your varied self interests.
Why you ask me?
Because we all need people if we are going to succeed in our professional and social lives. Without the agreement of people you cannot succeed, unless if your work can survive within a hermit’s context.
So why are people so antagonistic to change themselves?
I think that for people they are scared of thinking about themselves because they fear what they might find out the nature of what is existing within themselves.
Another reason, is addiction. A person may simply be compulsively addicted to the harmful personality he has – yes, even if he knows that his personality is harmful to his own self interests.
I talk about this subject because we all do need to change our selves, our personalities - since all the troubles of our entire lives emanate from one source: we dysfunctional humans!
Where else do they come from?
And yet, anyone who has ever tried to explain to another person their faults will surely go nowhere. No one is interested. I know one lady who I call the ‘Pharmacist’ because she lovingly showers everyone else with advice, while she herself cannot bear to hear one word with respect to her faults. And then, as the years passed, I came to realize, why all people are basically ‘Pharmacists’!
People have an obstinacy that harder than leather, colder than an icicle; we simply will not improve, as human beings, if we remain this determined not to reform our minds.
And there is nothing else to add on this sorry subject.
How pathetically sad.
A fine epitaph on Humanity’s grave.
Is fate a myth
Or simply history
In the making?
Time has no control,
Humanity can alter in many ways,
Change is inevitable,
It eventually possesses species
To age and exist,
Change is a chain cycle,
Like repeated life and endless death,
Every time
A new creature is born,
A human is modified
Into an improved being,
Fictional characters attract
Later relations
Becoming real friends,
Emotions rain
Upon nothing,
Carelessness listens,
Rusted persons remain,
Fascination of naive substitutions,
Dissimilar appearance is shown,
It is humor,
A parody act of an individual,
Copycats are role models
Also reversed,
Prototype is modernized,
A flash realization,
Attire is just costumes,
Halloween is every day,
It is bitter
To join a daily moment
Without forgetting happiness,
An original reemerges alone,
Continuous trial and error,
Cancelled plans,
Prevention of bail,
Focus on detachment,
Enemies enhance friends,
Vice versa,
Ignorance, selfishness, and obstinacy
Play important roles
For imminent loneliness,
Layers peel off,
Phases reattach,
Advanced coating,
Flesh is fresh,
Advantage is taken
Before it rots,
Practice makes perfect,
But nobody is flawless,
So why rehearse?
Conversion is harder
Once an escape is made,
Easier to turn back to habits,
Longed antique people
Update to mainstream
For the familiar fame
Causing personal depression,
Difficulty in translation,
One false move,
One mistake
Can shape everything,
Change is for better or worse,
It is neutral,
Trust is a dare,
It shall be a risk if so,
Life is not sacred anymore,
Beautiful opportunities,
Immortal lessons,
Unfulfilled difference,
Generation increases,
Veneration decreases,
A drifter or a breather
From a mundane reality
Lived in today,
Buried childhood,
Alive adulthood,
Until skin wrinkles,
Life becomes dull,
Change is the only regret,
Eyes analyze nouns,
Burn from mutation,
Melt out of sockets,
Now fluid, now tears,
Due to Change
In this planet,
Lips are blankets,
Teeth forever hidden,
Numb dumb face,
No-expression,
Distressful internal scream,
Thanks to Change,
Influence should disappear,
Good or bad,
Abnormal transformation
Is inner and outer,
Every living period,
The topics,
The only events,
Violence will never change
But progress,
*** will never change
But process,
Suicide will never change
But build deaths,
Down to the physique of Earth,
Its decay,
**** sapien extinction,
Change occurs,
Past blurs out,
Present is happening,
Future will shout,
What is not needed
Is pleaded,
What is not wanted
Is taunted,
Creating temptation
To shift self,
Society ripens into rumors
Always developing
Over infinite time,
Civilization is the tumors
Of the world divine,
Of course
Looks mature,
Genes mix,
Still adjusting,
From a caterpillar
To a butterfly,
When insects die,
Old selves perish,
Where there is dead
There is still transition,
Not by action or choice,
Soul disintegrates,
Spiritual decomposition,
Sprouts regenerated seeds,
Change is sane and insane,
It is humane and inhumane,
Keeping some youth
In the heavy heart,
Offspring morph into aliens
Proving Darwin wrong,
What stays human
Is what stays pure
To hinder their contagion,
No matter what at first,
As it grows and grows,
Change is unexpected,
Social morality
Evolves into
Singular morality
Unless hate enters love,
Love is reduced
And produced,
The amount varies,
True passion figures out,
Full respect notices disguise,
Isolation underneath,
Distinct memories
Soon fade obsolete,
Exception of fragile organs,
Mind is psychologically sadden,
Recollection is to function,
If consciousness is missed,
Recreate remembrance,
Reincarnation
For an everlasting current
Since time fluctuates eternally.
st64 Mar 2014
he who knows..
he who speaks..

laughing all the time
disobeying every law
even the great-king laughed
till he retired for five centuries
to meditate


1.
the imp of wisdom
with coat of gold-brocade and mint-lining
never crawled but crashed
all parties with *ephemerated
-crime
with banner held high, he spread mirth
but the jay-lord's son was not amused
and challenged the magic-monkey
who blew but one hair-strand to duplicate the view
and the foe fought hard against the wind
which made one **** and disappeared

there he was.. up on the beam
munching joyful an apple to the core
and ire met his glaring eyes
he lifted a large vase and forced fire inside
and sent it forth
but excellent skills of the hermit shone
until deception caught him by surprise
ugly lies and secret art sent the baton flying
into malingering-oblivion
and left the imp banished into stone
mockery petrified
and the staff traveled on, alone
where it spins to this day
until it finds a worthy-hand
to catch its portent, embossed with ancient-lore


2.
but the player of the lyre spun a thread to turn all heads upside-down
spinning a feline-twist
smacks them with tight silver-aglet'd tresses
and sends the hunters onto a new trail
of unspeakable dangers on the Fifth-Pathway
a hooded rider on a steed so fast
outruns the stallion over a cawing-hill
a silent-temple starts humming olden-prayers in tongues-forgot
to a drunken-master
calabash-mug in the hand of an expert
pretense hard at work in the grey-dust

both holding onto the same thing
makes sharing one swish of a horse's tale
a miniature-masterpiece sways obstinacy
interceptor-serpent too languid to trap the crab
silent riddles stretch learning to land at the waterfall's feet
its power majestic, yet freeing


empty your cup
pour anew
there's half a shadow beneath the bridge
the one you must cross
take finest-care now





S T, 1 march 2014
just a silly piece..



sub-entry: protect yourself

read the letters on the wall
now.. duck!
R Moon Winkelman Sep 2010
Lost in a sea of square boxes
these angles do not agree with nature
they do not match up to my mind's eye.
Tingles of energy wash over me
without ceasing,
drowning in energy and matter particles.
I hear what you say before you open your mouth.
I feel the walls of the masses,
crushing in their obstinacy
their willingness to not see the similarity
between the idea of reality and illusion.
For they are ideas only,
labeled and set on shelves
in neat little rows
by the scientists and philosophers of our day.
Their mantra is
"It is only our own reality,
through our individual perceptions,
which counts. React accordingly."
Do they not see that interaction is vital for a reason?
You must bounce against others in order to fully participate,
the intent is nothing if you keep it silent.
Wrapped up in false hopes and fears,
assumptions made out of gray matter fairytales
which are so ingrained,
it might as well be a genetic code.
In order to have the change we ache for,
there must be revolution.
Evolution.
I am more lost now,
with universal answers dripping from my tongue,
stardust honey
which feeds the soul
and yet leaves it aching for more.
We all want to run away from the pain,
not realizing until it's too late that in flight
we cause more suffering than we prevent.
I am older than the hills
I am a newborn babe in this universe.
I love,
I hurt,
I become enraptured
I lose my way.
in all of this I learn, change, transform, adapt.
My marriage bed is shared with Death.
Death of ways no longer needed,
to paradigms grown rusty and stale.
To lies told in good intention and the need to protect.
I have walls no more of my own volition,
nerves raw and jangled.
Brutal truths scrape my throat
grating the ears of loved ones.
How does one say
I see straight through you
?
How do you explain the x-ray vision
past all the masks
to the cowering centers of those around you?
When all you want is to scream and cry in frustration
the answers in front of their faces.
I no longer belong in this place,
chaos calls to me in balance with natural order.
I want circles and spirals
not 90 degree angles.
I want Truth
not brainwashing to lull the masses.
Slipping into madness
this reality is unreal
surreal
it no longer makes sense.
Now a round peg
with a square hole rushing to meet me.
Do I run?
Do I embrace?
I have found that I am truly alone,
trying to make my reality.
My roots are gone,
my emotions a whirlwind
I am the Universe
just waiting to see what happens next.
RMRW 2005

My reaction to the mundane world after coming back from my first Burning Man experience.
13 Oct 2021
OhK
I never thought I’d see the day when I would agnise the depths of my desire.

Ingrained in every cell; the swell of emotion
ebbs and flows into each passing day
like the waves we’re all familiar with.
A calling card;
reminding me of the expectation of love,
the anticipation of hope,
and the abuse of obstinacy.

I learn from it everyday.
Paying respect and gratitude as tuition for the lesson called ‘life.’
Freshman year, every year.

Can’t complete the puzzle even when all of the pieces fit.
There is meaning in this.
Sometimes, I wish it wasn’t so.
But I can’t pursue it alone, so I won’t.
“If it can be realised, let it be so when the universe wants it”, is my escape.
But there is no escaping yourself.
You are the universe and it is you.

It has never felt like it wasn’t meant to be.
It has never been like it wasn’t supposed to.
Maybe one day it will manifest again.
Or perhaps fade like all beautiful, fleeting, moments.

You won’t catch me chasing something that doesn’t want to be caught.
You’ll see me walking the other way.
You’ll see my aura welcome it.
And you’ll see me turn around to embrace it with every fibre of my being.
But only if it wants the same things as I do.

If it doesn’t, that’s okay, too.
Dee Renee Smith Mar 2011
There’s an obstinacy in this freedom.
A stifling in motion.

Open filaments confuse creativity
by dropping shattered tungsten from its cliffs.
Sparks bounce then darken my mind
with compounded dreams.
Breathless searches produce elements foreign to me.

Panic tainted gifts.

Surrender surfaced to engulf me,
then, balance bridged broken paths.
Restoration created by parallel lines bending.

As I rested on one side,
she told me to stand
where I am
if I was able.

****

She challenged me to flow.
Shed light on my visions
if I had the courage.

Placed me among a resurgence of memories
that confirmed my creative inventory.
They all have been invaluable inspirations.
Yet, this existence at the brink of a new age
has caused me to sleep lightly.

I felt alone and inadequate without them
and thought of giving up.
My being hovered hardened hearts & cartilage
that I’ve scattered from my own *****.

She supports me
and I know that this gift is for me
but it’s not about me.

I rest soundly
more aware and able
to let God use me
where I am.
13 Feb 2015
Let’s cut away the ******* for once.
Honesty may not have it’s reward but it sure as hell feels good to the ears it falls on.
More often than not, we’re selfish for others.
And more so for ourselves.
It’s not as though we find the day when all cheery bright things would miraculously weave their way into our dull lives something to look forward to.
But paper cuts and medical buffs might take you there sooner.
We’re professional liars for our own companies.
We get paid with insolence and envy, which we spend on the ones we truly love.
Look, laugh and pity the fool who gripes and moans.
But let’s not forgive him for being wretched and miserable, and not completely insensitive.
Don’t ever realize how much mass ****** has helped you balance your daily routine or how easy your life has become since the fall of justice.
Cherish these moments of obstinacy and revel in the fall of man to mere beast, you might never know such disgrace, cloaked in pride, again.
The definitions given to our own villainous deeds are such elaborate deceptions that sometimes I wonder if the one they call God was just a man who thought to prank this world with a promise of salvation so that other men could **** each other over a system of faith that has no foundation.
I would bake a cake for that guy.
So, these long sentences putting you to sleep yet,
or am I too pig headed to get through to your blooming pride?
Maybe you find this funny, maybe you’re a terrible friend.
Maybe I don’t care about you and your perfect life.
There’s a chance none of that is true and you think we’re all good of heart inside.
Ahh, that mystical hidden power within everyone!
Makes me wish I was a non-gay looking He-Man.
Makes me wish for a lot of things that you would find offensive (so I’d hope) and enthralling (so I’d doubt it).
You collect high horses for prancing ponies and jewellery boxes full of ring fingers, alongside cushions and compliments so tight that not even gangsta-wrapped truth could split open.
Minds full of right wing liberalism and perks full of questions that exonerate reason, lead you to believe that ending friendship is a walk in the park.
Years of trust and respect lost in an instant, but that doesn’t affect you. It won’t now, nor ever.
This will all be forgotten like a really bad book that reminded you of your child abuse days.
Because, accepting hardship is a waste of time.
Acknowledging pain and moving past it is a bad decision.
Let’s keep one day apart from our indifferently vehement, opportunistically coherent and beautifully disconcerting lives to make all the bad decisions we love to.
At least on that day, no madman would feel alone.
Posted on May 11, 2014
Samm Marie Aug 2016
Nothing screams hellbent
Like insanity
Nothing whispers crazy
Like tenacity
Nothing sings determined
Like obstinacy
Nothing screams hellbent
Like me
Ananye Krishna Aug 2016
Silence can divide

Giving birth to many a doubt

Pondering and re-pondering

Coming up with reasons new

But then doubt is hope

That all is not gone

emphasis on the ego is misleading

A lot can happen

These happenings bring realisation

Of the self obsessed nature

How can one be like this

There is a need to change

Yes mistakes teach

But repetition kills

This obstinacy must die

For there is a wish to survive
Usque incorruptibiles aeternum vivet in aeternum
                                         (356-323 B.C.)

The Regressive Legend tells that this good piece of muscular meat and brain too, was born to write his entire story dying with the blood of Etruscan Steeds, each one had golden piercings on the internal hanging of their six paranasal sinuses, to seal life by this blood-tightness. Franciscan timeless swordsman, so that with his last four molars it would give way to amalgamated crystalline light and overflowing from the gums of the period that soaked blood in the equestrian fields. With which from the ventral turbinate he would be in the first row giving pendency to the Troops of the Great Darius, from where his Alikanto Horse, dressed in degrading dust, changed his Etruria marble saddles with his paranasal attributions, and his brain roots of the hypothalamus pillar who gave them super alchemical excitements and compulsions, super powerful attack to arrive at Tel Gomel 7 days before, supported by the elixir of the Fires of the reinforced steel legs of his Alikanto, with whose entity they came out in droves looking like when they ran at great speeds pretending to be more than a thousand equine Etruscans escaping from the Culture of the Vulture war in a rectilinear scourge of speed in an inordinate trajectory by the Gaugamela tapestries.

Vernath; in one of their lives he was aware of broker comments. Along the long avenues there were countless soldiers who had taken possession of their regression! Many spoke loudly through the pavilions of their stateless conscience. After putting their good feeling of great good sufficiency, they called to him to loud voice which with little will he could hear. Then he heard himself say saying ...; They talked about me? Sooner or later I will be with my therapist, she says that before going to her office she was already dictating to approach her great Christus Martial test in Gaugamela. From the six strings of his devotional he came, taken with both hands with great force, to bend from the eyelids of his intruding Sibyl, to travel through the minimum must of the Solstice to reach the point of apogee closest to his epic, which I rescued with Eternal Life an obese arm from wars won by the peaceful Death, in the Way of oblique perpetrated committed soldiers that from Mosul swept him swirling with high bravery mounted in his Alikanto, before arriving at the low meadow forest of the Lid.

If it was a boy ... it was a Man. If he was a Man ... he was an offender of the fortress. If he was leisurely unfolded he always carried his sword, he never left it. Even his reconciling dreamed would be damaged if he deported him from his daily Christian offices. Vernath, is a living survivor precedent to the resurrected Alexander the Great, after 323 BC .. But when they breathed the same glorious air, both looking at each other, brandished cutting the sharp rudeness that divided them with the 6 Golden swords, from 6 angles of strategic fords to die. several times to challenge the pain that surpasses all life the golden strings with blood "Hexachordia Caelestialis Mortuorum", From the musical scale of agony of the sheep plains that are prey to the melodies of the scythes strengthened by the fear of the trembling of the charismatic migrant .

Vernarth was raised as befits a Greek prince, with heroic tales from Joshua de Piedra's epic poetry. He was part of a culture that demanded that great men despise personal danger and take risks to gain experience. His genealogical ancestors came from Sudpichi, near the Talamitense / Chile reign.
He also received teachings from Kalavrita's Etrestles himself in philosophy and science (Kometerium Messolonghi / Editorial Palibrio - Bloomington USA). Since childhood he was a charming guest for the guests of the court. Etrestles was named their teacher, largely to control recklessness and aggressiveness by at least tempering them with more philosophical and civilized values, far from all insomniac excess.
In this he did not achieve complete success, because his obstinacy led him to run around the world barefoot and without clothes. Vernath, far from obeying his parents. He would go out at night and chase the Moon pregnant with pale Solar light on foot to attack it and tame its silver enclosure on its Etruscan steeds, exuding the naused locked in its loopholes.

He learned a great deal from his tutor and became a highly scholarly man watching for Messolonghi and a keeper of the confines of the Kalavrita macro heavens. But he remained essentially the brave boy who spat too blasphemous atomic alcohol on the Cyclops, who wanted to be Hercules surrounded by himself without parallel. Alexander's inspiration was Etrestles; Homer's accounts of his exploits inspired Vernath in his general attitude of putting his books beyond his memoirs and bibliographic insights.

It is likely that he was seen as a brand new version of the classic Greek heroes with divine blood in SudPichi ..., good piece of muscular meat and brain. To a large extent, this was true more than her own Sibyl lying in her lived regression in the decadent heights of Gaugamela's flushed proximity.

Vernath was an extremely aggressive commander who considered any type of defensive preparation as a sign of weakness, so he dared to speak out in opposition to Saint Augustine; The personality of Saint Augustine of Hippo was iron and it took very hard anvils to forge it, attributing to her apathy not to proceed with the courage of the great Maker, for her encyclopedic fervor and scientific rigor. Perhaps in cowardice, for not facing the mysteries of the word of the present Gods. He was therefore encouraged, rather than dismayed, when the Persian army rallied behind the Gránico river, forcing him to stun across it in front of his predicted opposition, like a sovereign crusader. It is the cross of the plain that in oblique route, can rescind the old word task of the ritual punishment of the sacrilegious Pharisee death that lacks.
Vernath with more than 180,000 faithful followers, declared that the ******* did not have confidence in the victory of the greatest affront, and they counted on the pronounced banks of the river to restrain the intensity of their attack enough so that the Persian cavalry defeated him by accumulating centimeters, to gain deadly meters. He launched his cavalry across the river at the point where the enemy seemed strongest brooding, degraded soldier, and after a fierce skirmish he succeeded in driving the Persian cavalry absent from twilight elixir value alongside the extermination of the voiceless I neither sing nor sing.
The second Persian line expired, the Greek mercenaries, held firm, but was slaughtered in less than five variations of the Sun as a declaring manifesto. Depleted of jubilant water resources, the Granicus established the moral dominance of Vernath's army over his enemies and forced Darius to adopt an even more attitude. Local populations Halicamaso, a nearby port moved their lines more than 5 kilometers in their retreat retreated, before the victorious siege since he was awarded by the natural immensities of the forests of Sudpichi, together with his beloved father Bernardolipo, after consonating suspicious corners from the Osho Tarot, when he drew his sword and upright lunge on the first card, on the instep of the undefeated and naive ignorant warrior, versed strenuous mercenary.
VERNARTH ETERNAL LIGHT
Mani Malien Nov 2015
she was a former witness of jehovah
I ain't much on casanova
couldn't find my GPS
flew over her cuckoo's nest

her perspective compromised
my countermeasures plagiarized
maybe the moonlight sonata?
worldly persona non grata

emasculated superpowers
rain man never counted flowers
just kept running up that hill
terminating her goodwill

yes it was something that I said
another joke over her head
obstinacy will duplicate
a failure to communicate

so many times I tried to love her
the gibson to my danny glover
some animals just are more equal
pray to jehovah for a sequel
Ryan Gonzalez Jan 2015
When I see silent weeping
I see the young boy
standing on his bed
staring three stories down
a sea of masks below
nails in the eye of each

I see the young boy's eyes
filled with red minefields
countless hours worked
countless hours abused
treated like an old computer

When I feel emotions fly
eyes like a vinyl record
I see the girl and boy
her words flying outward
a scourge of hornets
stinging the boy everywhere

I see the girl and her jar
with sorrows of others
used for baiting with lies
the tears inside for herself
to imitate crying and invoke pity

I too have a jar of tears
a jar of my own tears
from nights spent alone
living through abuse again
making the memory smaller
like it was a lanced boil

My tears become medicine
mixed hope and obstinacy
given freely from me
to provide comfort

For those once alone
shia Jan 2019
Basking in blinding white lights
Pencil in hand, papers on the side
Silent, worn gears shifting at five
Eyes droopy, limbs and souls tired
Yet the thirst for knowledge
keeps them very much alive
An ocean of opportunities where
They might drown but they dive
We dive, despite all the risks
The route to our goals still naïve
But for our aspirations, we fight
It is never too early to create
A future for us that’s bright
Our obstinacy a weapon
As we carry the day late at night
Notes in print and in handwriting
We quickly chew what we can bite
So by the time the war arrives
It will be certain, our triumphant vibe
But no matter the glorious recognition
No matter the numbers we are labeled by
As long as we carry on and fulfill
Our dreams, our vows, then we will rise
Rise until we ourselves become the stars
Who will soon emit blinding, white lights
can't think of a title. this was done on a whim. it's been long since i posted a positive one. here's to the people who dedicate their time for their dreams to become a reality. you will get there, i promise.
Ruman Hafsa Dec 2016
They seized her in a cage of demarcation
Bound her by the chains of instruction
Fastened her in a room of dissipation
Abandoned on an island of regulation

Stretching out her feathers of obstinacy
Her wings spread out against tyrrany
Squeaking a war cry of mutiny
She tried hard to gain her liberty

But tired she fell back vanquished
Her wings torn & twinged
And as she laid there curbed
Then it was that she realised

Twittering of her heart she discern
As the flutter of her wings couldn't listen
The true liberty for which she yearn
Should be from within she did learn

Not at all shackled was she
No chain or cage a hurdle could be
Hovering over the waves of her soul's sea
May be she was seized but indeed was free...

*© by Ruman Hafsa
2016
Badee Uz Zaman Apr 2016
His spacious heart
is brimmed with
unspeakable grief now.
It can be soothed
where in this land of felony?
The desolated gardens
of his emotions
wear a blazed and a parched look.
What they can appeal
other than the showers of your compassion?
The shadows of despondency
run in tandem to his unpropitious walk.
It can be sliced
by what other than
your luminous company?
You are the only obstinacy of his naivety,
he
baffles death on your hope,
your arrival can
set free his baked soul.

Will not you come..? ? ?
Brendan Sansome May 2015
I know the road back
But I still get lost.
So many twists and turns,
Blind alleys and stop signs.

I know the roots of strongest tree
Can become tangled.
Constrained by my thoughts,
Inadequacy and obstinacy.

I know the fear of dates
On the calendar.
Reminders of my despair,
'Bravery' and breaking point.

I know the vacant feeling
Of slow detachment.
Sitting in pain and staring,
Crying and collapsing.

I know this time of year
April Fools Day.
The body slowing down,
Remembering and revisiting.

I know the road back
But I still get lost....
Depression Anxiety Introspection Conflict April Fools Day Nature Metaphor Road Journey Obstacles
Daniella Torino Feb 2017
Let me walk away;
back then,
the very first time
we've met.
when sleepless nights of
thinking of you
is not a deliria.
when shutting myself off
from other people
is not my favorite work.

Let me walk away;
these butterflies in my stomach
are not even dying, yet
my heart is slowly crumbling,
for finding my world
in that most little space
in your heart,
for allowing myself that *home
is not just a place

but being with you is.

Let me walk away;
entertaining my favorite visitor, sadness
every night,
staying in our memories,
enduring the agony,
and going back in the middle of time,
we believed our always.
You're no longer
my definition of art,
sobbing in those in-betweens,
unimmortalizing you in those poems
that meant to be eternal.

I will turn back from you —
my dearest home –
to a strange place
that I’d never known;
forgetting our prints
that I’d kept tracing,
tearing those pages that were
not included in
my very own structure,
and building my walls
far from any memory of you.
and for the very last time,
forgive me of my obstinacy,
help me to ease the pain,
just
let. me. walk. away.
Mark Wanless Sep 2016
You breathe a fathom minuscule
       of meaning
Into this empty aggregate
       of words
You are the creator a god
       with flesh
And ****** bones walking the obstinacy
       of form
Which does not want to lay down dissipate is the
       entangled construct
Without beginning from desire so vast is why
       so difficult
To drop i habit for constraint free consciousness
       now
Sinking to the deeper suffocation,
I scavenge the soil for the astray nail.
A final spike to lock away the life.

As the light gets darker,
a pungent smell takes over,
smearing everything in its stench.
I descry my melting face.

Air implored perfervidly to break my obstinacy.
I dived deeper,
smiling at its desperate attempt.
Its hope to stop the dead from dying.

My fingers touch the inner debris,
aspiring to find the last nail for the coffin.
A couple of more suffocations later,
I find it;
hidden under the pile of thorns.

I pin it to my heart.
One last breath,
and I ceased at the dawn.
Onoma Feb 2022
seated by the bedside of a

said street...a flower girl hunkers

down a misreading of color, that

claims family to spring's own.

Chaplin fidgets takes--wala, and it's

ramifying  light years in black &

white, yin and yang proposing to

one another at the same time.

rumpus of a penguin-footed mage.

production costs haunted by the

obsessive revisitation of a moment in

time, that only the right take could

liberate.

rheumatoid arthritis of bad directions,

as skyscrapers nicked by forwarding

motion.

a car door interrupts soundlessness.

the syllable of a first fold--emitting off a local

screen.

Charlie's obstinacy from the first flit of onscreen

voices.

the flower opens...the flower girl smiles.

more overpoweringly than she weeps.

supposedly confusing Charlie's purchase,

offering change to an unwitting elderly gentleman

that enters a car whose door slams, startling

cinematic history.

too spare for the things she thought she

couldn't see...

as it were, Charlie could not abscond

from the blind flower girl.

he actually fired and rehired the same

actress.

she finally doused him with a flower ***,

as he attempted to sit beside her.
*Inspired by Charlie Chaplin's 1931 film: City Lights
Erwinism Sep 18
Run
Run, run while you can;
while your toes can spring from the asphalt;
while time is on your side
and the wind is behind you,
and the world is a trail of blur.

The cartilage of your joints,
fresh and oleaginous,
pliable as your young mind,
can take you to your destiny;
can satiate wanderlust,
a bitter aftertaste for a time long gone
of a weary spirit
tenant to a rigid flesh.

Breathe
the scent of life in.
Let your lungs and air,
like lovers who have folded
the distance between them,
savor the embrace
throbbing in their minds at night.
Breathe the scent in,
in time,
they grow stale,
planted in water by the bedside
wilting with apologies
and well wishes
dancing to the music
of beeping machines.

Up the hills if you must;
through mist,
yielding not an inch
to questions
doubt pours on the road.
Against the unwillingness
of your body,
defy,
and when its defiance ripens
in its season,
your spirit shall burden
it a heavy swathe of obstinacy.
So run,
for the loan of time digs deep in the pocket to claim interest,
pay your heart in full,
before foreclosure.
Time inevitably demands its due.

—e.d. maramat | erwinism
Uma natarajan May 2018
The terrain
During visual rain
Revealing obstinacy of rocks
Steep climbs to mock
Treacheries of limping halt
Climbing hunchback jolt
Difficult deadly stretch
Bothering strenuous much
Perilous attempts to cross
Brooding and moving pause
Dangerous cross
Lowly particles and sand
Small Peaks and strand
Still compelled movements band
Felt better to stay on plains
With plenty of rains

— The End —