"omniscience" poems
Before there was anything that mattered everything that would ever be existed , it was the essence of totality , it was without dimensional constriction or necessitated form . Optimistically speaking time had no relative realism to it’s progression because realistically nothing had happened yet . As it continued it became according to it’s innate inflections as a functionally integrable form . The questionably understandable nature of it’s conjunction was an omnipotent directive beyond necessitated action or morphological construction . The enigmatic consciousness of it’s relatively interrelated conception was spontaneous and yet it continued without elemental omniscience.
As the relative complexity of it’s interrelations evolved dimensional consistence was born. Humanly understandable laws of physical integration governed many facets of it’s conjunction yet the totality of it’s ramification was beyond humanly realistic conjecture .
The organic morphology of biological ontogeny was a conceptually reflective derivative of functional physical mechanics yet it’s diversity exceeded it’s physical complexity , understanding evolved . Relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity succeeded in a hierarchy of functionally integrable forms .
Retrospectively speaking pragmatic practicality is a humanly rational possibility . Rational logic can conceive of individually totalitarian structural forms , yet the implosive nature of their rational cohesiveness becomes a practical partiality due to the diversity of their definitive impetus .
Perhaps the essence of our being is the logical counterpart for the matrix of our subjectively conclusive social fragmentation , or perhaps we are evolutionally incapable of cumulatively rational correlation. Problematic diversity could be perfectible on an individually infinite level or contrarily perhaps ubiquitous causality is the ultimate survivor.
In any case it is beyond our subjugatively rational cohesive coercion to intercede en masse on our own behalf as an integrated unit. Our conceptual abilities have been thwarted by the unmitigatably individual nature of our extraneous conclusiveness .
Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 5:15 PM UTC
Before there was anything that mattered everything that would ever be existed , it was the essence of totality , it was without dimensional constriction or necessitated form . Optimistically speaking time had no relative realism to it’s progression because realistically nothing had happened yet . As it continued it became according to it’s innate inflections as a functionally integrable form . The questionably understandable nature of it’s conjunction was an omnipotent directive beyond necessitated action or morphological construction . The enigmatic consciousness of it’s relatively interrelated conception was spontaneous and yet it continued without elemental omniscience .
As the relative complexity of it’s interrelations evolved dimensional consistence was born. Humanly understandable laws of physical integration governed many facets of it’s conjunction yet the totality of it’s ramification was beyond humanly realistic conjecture .
The organic morphology of biological ontogeny was a conceptually reflective derivative of functional physical mechanics yet it’s diversity exceeded it’s physical complexity , understanding evolved . Relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity succeeded in a hierarchy of functionally integrable forms .
Retrospectively speaking pragmatic practicality is a humanly rational possibility . Rational logic can conceive of individually totalitarian structural forms , yet the implosive nature of their rational cohesiveness becomes a practical partiality due to the diversity of their definitive impetus .
Perhaps the essence of our being is the logical counterpart for the matrix of our subjectively conclusive social fragmentation , or perhaps we are evolutionally incapable of cumulatively rational correlation . Problematic diversity could be perfectible on an individually infinite level or contrarily perhaps ubiquitous causality is the ultimate survivor .
In any case it is beyond our subjugatively rational cohesive coercion to intercede en masse on our own behalf as an integrated unit. Our conceptual abilities have been thwarted by the unmitigatably individual nature of our extraneous conclusiveness .
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 4:14 PM UTC
So it is eighteen years,
Helena, since we met!
A season so endears,
Nor you nor I forget
The fresh young faces that once clove
In that most fiery dawn of love.
We wandered to and fro,
Who knew not how to woo,
Those eighteen years ago,
Sweetheart, when I and you
Exchanged high vows in heaven's sight
That scarce survived a summer's night.
What scourge smote from the stars
What madness from the moon?
That night we broke the bars
Was quintessential June,
When you and I beneath the trees
Bartered our bold virginities.
Eighteen -years, months, or hours?
Time is a tyrant's toy!
Eternal are the flowers!
We are but girl and boy
Yet -since love leapt as swift to-night
As it had never left the light!
For fiercer from the South
Still flames your cruel hair,
And Trojan Helen's mouth
Still not so ripe and rare
As Helena's -nor love nor youth
So leaps with lust or thrills with truth.
Helena, still we hold
Flesh firmer, still we mix
Black hair with hair as gold.
Life has but served to fix
Our hearts; love lingers on the tongue,
And who loves once is always young.
The stars are still the same;
The changeful moon endures;
Come without fear or shame,
And draw my mouth to yours!
Youth fails, however flesh be fain;
Manhood and womanhood attain.
Life is a string of pearls,
And you the first I strung.
You left -first flower of girls! -
Life lyric on my tongue,
An indefatigable dance,
An inexhaustible romance!
Blush of love's dawn, bright bud
That bloomed for my delight,
First blossom of my blood,
Burn in that blood to-night!
Helena, Helena, fiercely fresh,
Your flesh flies fervent to my flesh.
What sage can dare impugn
Man's immortality?
Our godhead swims, immune
From death and destiny.
Ignored the bubble in the flow
Of love eighteen short years ago!
Time -I embrace all time
As my arm rings your waist.
Space -you surpass, sublime,
As, taking me, we taste
Omnipotence, sense slaying sense,
Soul slaying soul, omniscience.
4.4k
तत् त्वम् असि
*for sitar, mridangam, vina, musical spoons,
washboard, Jew’s harp and banjo*
(*the names Swami and Guru-ji can be replaced by
any other mystic names the reader wishes to substitute*)
Swami and Guru-ji went to the river
to wash their souls in the ***** water
filled brass pots while they were at it, singing:
“These are Gods –
worship them, worship them,
these are Gods –
won’t you worship them please”
Guru and Swami-ji flexed contortions
twisted minds and limbs in knots
sold each other secret mantras
to erase akashic records when the body rots
Swami and Guru-ji taught disciples
how to fast and hum and chant;
bound their ***** with priestly garments, saying
“These are Gods – worship them, worship them,
these are Gods – won’t you worship them please”
Guru and Swami-ji swallowed prana
purged their guts, then farted light
launched their chakras into oneness
in the ida and pingala of their third-eye sight
Swami and Guru-ji built a temple
around a monstrous calf of gold
bowed before the six-armed idols chanting
“These are Gods –
worship them, worship them,
these are Gods –
won’t you worship them please”
Guru and Swami-ji studied parchments
by the dim light of a feeble ray
railed and wailed at the sinful heathen
in the filthy Kali-yuga of the dying day
Swami and Guru-ji made ablutions
offered incense and holy foods
ate their share and smoked the profit, humming
“These are Gods – worship them, worship them,
these are Gods – won’t you worship them please”
Guru and Swami’s blissed devotions
entwined their members with the temple belles;
stuck their yonis up their lingams
in the twenty-seventh circle of the seven hells.
Swami and Guru-ji offered puja
wrote it all off as a karmic debt –
forced a shudra to bear the burden, screaming
“These are Gods –
worship them, worship them,
these are Gods –
won’t you worship them please”
Guru and Swami-ji meditated:
pure omniscience in eternal now –
drank fresh ***** from a heifer’s bladder
for they knew that it was soma from a holy cow.
Swami and the Guru merged with Brahman –
then went home to the wife and kids.
Told the servants to polish statues, saying
“These are Gods – worship them, worship them,
these are Gods – won’t you worship them please”
THE MORAL:
(slower solemn rhythm, no banjo or Jew’s harp)
Aaron’s calf is ground to powder,
cast upon the Ganges’ tide.
Every tribe shall taste its poison.
“This is God –worship Him, worship Him –
this is God – let us worship Him now…”
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 8:33 AM UTC
Is mystery dependent on me thinking of mystery?
It is a safe bet.
For when what is central is knowledge, then I can only become aware of mystery if upon something new or unknown.
Thus, mystery is not knowledge, but the lack of it.
Mystery is ignorance.
Thus, my meditation is rather reflection on ignorance,
As if I'm trying to better describe ignorance, or find a way out of ignorance with only the experiential.
I think of mostly consciousness and the universe here, in terms of my and humanity's ignorance of them.
Not only am I limited by my own understanding but also the understanding of others, however much they are even more intelligent than me.
I see others working on problems that have proven to not solve the mystery, the mystery being ignorance.
The only thing that could solve it is omniscience.
Then it follows that what I'm really trying to solve is omniscience.
"Infinite cognition" as the Buddha put it.
Even if a person could have omniscience, it would be colored by how they can make sense of reality.
Knowledge would take the form of what is most familiar.
Thus, when wondering about a question as to what is pi, they may say about 3.14.
The answer conditioned on how people and the omniscient one would have the capacity to hear.
Maybe this seems more like intuition.
But omniscience would denote the person as a speaker, yet only allowable to speak as what was conducive for everyone's best.
This is how Baha'is look at Manifestations of God: only allowed to share a certain amount at a time.
Just as the Son said "I have many things to share with you, but you cannot hear them now".
Still their capacity would be limited to what they themselves were interested in.
For one who is marginalized and oppressed or even thronged by multitudes, often has no willingness to delve deeply into subject matter, it causing some to stray from a correct path.
Since fractal systems work strongest in more diverse settings, it would seem that the very thing that makes it strong also makes its capacity to hear weak.
Omniscience therefore, if given to only a few, has a limited range of effect.
But even this limited range would change the entire system.
As Baha'u'llah calls His followers "the leaven" and the Son calls His followers "the salt".
"Many are called but few are chosen" seems derogatory in a world where "ye are all the leaves of one tree".
World consciousness almost arose to love tonight, but the lover ensared it in his anger once again.
If I close my ears to them, will it go away?
If they close my ears to me, will I go away?
Strength in the diversity of parts.
Strength really meaning pain.
E Pluribus Unum.
Mar 8, 2021
Mar 8, 2021 at 1:30 AM UTC
This might not be deep enough for you, but I still need to tell you.
You have the lips of a goddess and I long to kiss them
And I want you to know
I hear you, that quiet shudder you make as you feel my breath on your neck
I see you, clenching your teeth as my fingers delicately dance on precious skin
I feel you, one hand on the side of the bed, the other reaching and holding on for dear life to my chest.
If you only knew how much I wanted you.
I want to make love to you like I have OCD- I won't stop until it's perfect.
I want to make love to you like I'm in love with you
I want to make love to you like you are my best friend
I want to make love to you like we were complete strangers, who met each other for the first time at some random college party in the Caribbean
But we thought to ourselves, **** I will die an unhappy person if I don't make love to you".
And maybe I'm wrong for that
But tell me why every time I close my eyes, it is your hands I feel in my back; your inarticulate moans starting to sound like A Love Supreme and My Favorite Things.
Let me kiss you at the sixteenth minute and fifty-two second mark of Around the Midnight.
I want to take in every inch of your body, savor the taste of the gourmet that is your back, your neck and your la belle chatte.
Vamos a la mierda y ver como el ciedo de la noche empieza a sangrar la luz del sol.
And wake in the morning thinking every night with you is a love story worth telling the world.
So I am.
Physical *********** that results in spiritual exultation is what we share.
I want you in ways my mind can't tell my mouth what to say, that's why every time before we make love, I tend to stare at you first.
Engulfing the structure of your body and envisioning the ways I shall go about pleasing it.
My bedroom walls, the floor, the bed, everything else becomes glass when I'm inside you.
We become the solstice to each other's world
Time turns into the finest Egyptian velvet that envelops us.
I hear Nefertari's screams of fulfillment every time I go deeper into the story.
You are the definition of a Beautiful Companion, so let me be your pharaoh.
The ****** omniscience of you is what I desire
So I humbly ask you, to give it to me, slowly
For every second I have with you is **** near perfect
It's Euphoric.
-SFJ
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 10:52 PM UTC
Dissipate into oblivion
To become the nether
To lapse in consciousness
To enter the void
Flow to omniscience
Live without measure
To float through the meshwork
To drift through space-time
& Become the needle
To weave my percipience
& Teeter on the precipice
To transcend ascension
Ameliorate the ethereal
To glitch beyond boundaries
Defragment my surroundings
To eclipse the sun
In perpetual rapturing
Suspend reality
Be one with the everlasting
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 4:10 PM UTC
Fertile earth’s seductive sorcery
Like ephemeral effulgence’s effluent effusion
Can lead you to believe that it’s not a travesty
Like life’s visceral intuitive eternal is not lost in subtle evasive confusion
Life’s virile translucence reflects this glow
Like an aorist ensemble of interludes transposition
Can lead you to believe that you’re in the know
Like omnipresence presages omniscience’s ubiquity is existential exigency’s peroration’s exposition
Corporeally preternatural metaphysical mystique
Like a mirador bartizan tableau panorama
Can inspire us to rise above its critique
Like spatiotemporal’s telemetry incarnate is creation’s vivid intrepid cyclorama
Spectral verve’s liaison’s consortium
Like eclectic synectic’s conclave’s fatidic
Can leave you lost in germane compendium
Like terminus thrall’s apriori inclination is transcendental accession’s endemic mnemonic
Monad’s transitional majestic splendor
Like residual harmonic vibration’s resilience
Can autonomously evoke and vicariously render
Like rubato’s actuator’s prospectus revealed is orchestration rendition’s intriguing brilliance
Eidetic preterit’s aesthetic amendments
Like protractive analyses’ dimensional delineation
Can lead to cogent salacious enticements
Like phantasmagoria’s fantasia fantastication’s magniloquence is sultry solace’s ostentatious ideation
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 8:07 PM UTC
Vacant. Empty. Twisted. Lacking.
Chills shoot though my body filling the cracks whatever is left
Let go of the Meaning of LIFE and one is lost
Worried. Angered. Freaked. Spinning.
Words jotted down upon an empty page to show giving proof to rage
Reality is no kind reminder in correction of humanness
Stupidity. Irony. Pathetic. Foolish.
These eyes have absorbed from the outside world all which is meaningless
Vibrant life left behind to retrieve if one is wise
Hope. Love. Joy. Peace.
Never take the God-given gifts taken for granted or hard ways shall teach
Throw them aside as ******* and despair will find what's left
Trash. Pathetic. Waste. Shameful.
Such trash is how I perceive some to view my vehemency
No integrity do they see in what these eyes hold scared
Purity. Integrity. Honesty. Valiancy.
Which spring from the soul and mind diluted from ones first breath in the flesh
Access to God diluted from what cannot be achieved
Sovereignty. Omniscience. Omnipresent. Agape.
Witness madness for what God has been met first hand is just in righteousness
Full of grace and mercy to those who Seek Him
Loving. Wise. Holy. Eternal.
To those Who serve Him He gives of Himself correcting those He loves
Comfort is naught promised for character is His measure
Sanctification. Tried. True. Loyalty.
Purifying His people through teaching His ways is the foremost goal
As choice gold refined and proved accordingly
Oct 8, 2011
Oct 8, 2011 at 10:24 PM UTC
She—an unrepeated motif—waxes precocious like her ancient self.
Never mind the counterfeit eccentrics,
strange enough to be noticed but not doomed.
Their only burden is imperfection.
She’d die for these people, but they don’t realize omniscience is boring.
In preschool, she learned people are mean for no reason.
There’s no sense in spiting the inevitable,
so she gave away her quarters at bake sale.
Her mother would say, “That money is yours.”
The girl would ask, adjusting her overalls,
“If it’s mine, can’t I decide what to do with it?”
In the future, when repeating this story to a potential motif,
she’d know he’s The One when he’d say,
“What do four-year-olds need to know about capitalism?
Thanks to Walt Disney, they want to conform
and follow their hearts at the same time.”
She’d get off on his grumpy, and then notice his ring.
If he had met her first, would he still have married his wife?
It’s not worth hoping for divorce. He’s built to mate for life.
Instead of turning twenty-six, she’ll choose a chair in purgatory—
trapped between what should be and what is.
As long as she’s sitting, she may as well start smoking.
It’s a fine day for oral fixation.
At least she doesn’t smoke Parliaments like the counterfeit eccentrics.
She’d wonder if in a past life she was a dusty vacuum cleaner,
covered in what she was meant to destroy.
It’s too easy to claim hypocrisy,
too easy to cry genius for discovering what works
when for so long, failure was the only place to go.
She hasn’t been happy since she was thirteen.
The day before her first existential crisis,
her mother said, “Stop being so melodramatic.
You must want to be depressed.” Her response:
“I’m not too young for a mid-life crisis. I just won’t live to see thirty.”
She owes her life to a fear of hell,
knows we all experience hell differently. Hers is a banquet.
The proceeds will go toward ending world hunger.
At the end of the night, the keynote speaker complains
that Alfredo sauce doesn’t reheat well, so the leftovers get thrown out.
Jul 29, 2012
Jul 29, 2012 at 10:17 AM UTC
As with power of light and darkness i ride,through cosmos i glide Divine poetry Devilry MostHeavenly
Illusion of time shatters,starfire scatters,blood of heaven splatters
Left hand of God is my name Eating his wings is my game,to make me his bane
thane of heaven,tool no bell for me,for fell your heaven in the cosmic 7
666 or 999 to from chaos to eternity
Lament of innocence sang for a devil profound in god
Requiem thy starlight
gaze upon the spectral hellsight
witness destruction
and creation from 1 cause and effect
Omniscience Omnimastery
Enchanted Badassery
Starlight! in this night most long,for light is wrong
Starlight!be evils fright and my right on good and darkness
Starlight!Poetical poem for your ascension moment in this unholly Light and Darkness Interveniton
Secret of the universe,fire shall bleed,darkness will bleed light and let light bleed darkness
Cut god open so light and darkness bleed,on his blood i feed.
Grant power to the game
of the foolish winer
for light and darkness
power of illusion are
beyond the stars
beyond every universe,astral plane,dimension,and existence
lies the future and destiny
of my soul
for it is in this moment
as i speak
my awakening will come
2013-2021/2023
2021 a castle is visible from all sides of the earth in the sky,no one knows whome stands before it.
(in this universe doomsday comes in another castle)
-AlucarD
Nov 28, 2013
Nov 28, 2013 at 3:31 PM UTC
Majestic old moss covered lion
standing guard over the locus of a pagan soul
and hedonistic bloodhounds ready to pounce
their muscles stretched in anticipation of feasting
An ancient timekeeper drips eternity in pearly drops
over and above the city of omniscience…
chalky faces embedded in the century old walls
I wonder about their cloaked, clandestine lives
The lady in white lost in peaceful contemplation
demure head ensconced within her flowery crown
presiding goddess over a temple of busy-ness
devotees scurrying beneath her perennial sight
- Vijayalakshmi Harish
20/08/06
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
Aug 14, 2012
Aug 14, 2012 at 5:29 AM UTC
The constellation of the celestial shrine
The author and finisher of our faith,
Dead set against the Old Serpent
As poor as a church mouse
Playing with the ghost of a chance,
Earning like Cain, the milk of a coconut;
Crying quarter entertaining (decollate) angels unawares,
Kith and Kin a church invisible, fast and loose
Perpetuating the false dawn of sombre dreams
Amid the tranquility of evil, whispering
Of time, the harmonious echo of silence
Soul enlightening at the gates of death devouring
Light, the omniscience of truth, as the
Devil loves holy water, a conjuror
Of the wages of sin.
ELEETE J MUIR
Apr 2, 2012
Apr 2, 2012 at 6:53 PM UTC
They told me she died.
So I woke up in the graveyard of my dead dreams,
Took up my trusted shovel,
And like a good old country lad,
Decided to dig her up.
They told me she died.
But I knew they had to be wrong.
Why, there she lay, as unattainable as ever,
Smiling smugly from her coffin,
Mocking me with her fake omniscience.
For Death, may be a great leveller,
And make sceptre and crown
Just tumble down,
But not so her beauty.
They told me she died.
But how could i believe them,
After knowing her wicked wit of Solomon.
With which all her life,
She didn't let death so much as touch her beauty,
For she hid it so deep within,
Veiled beneath the layers of toughness
And faded tee’s,
That even a soldier camouflaging her scarlet skin,
Would be put to shame.
They told me she died.
But they didn't bury her beside me.
But by another man’s side.
Because he was man enough to ask
What i should’ve,
And now she lies buried,
As his bride.
Jan 10, 2016
Jan 10, 2016 at 8:55 AM UTC
How I long to be like you, White Oak
Standing tall and regal
You fulfill your niche as an edifice of omniscience
Wearing proud your burl as if it were a purple heart
But perhaps it is a purple heart,
A Timberland Medal of Honor generated from bacteria and plague
The burl you boast is a bulbous scar
Informing your onlookers “I survived”
I too am still standing, White Oak
I’ve weathered my failures,
Teach me the trade of your bravery, muse of Mother Nature
Show me how to wear my battle wounds like a diamond ring
When they come to slice me open
The exploitation of my innards will taste nothing but familiar.
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 1:24 PM UTC
Shut up
in abysmal oblivion
to the millio(nth) degree
Shoot up
the drug writhes,
pulsating through my veins
Usurping my brain
as my visual modality turns inward
awakening my inner eye
Mentally breaks the binding constraints
finding my center,
I enter the void
Then I shoot off in space and time
inserting my Mind someplace
light years away from reality
Inert I remain
And what was once pain and indifference
Has become
Upshot
in transcending zen
To the point of omniscience
Mar 12, 2014
Mar 12, 2014 at 3:16 PM UTC
Fertile earth’s seductive sorcery
Like ephemeral effulgence’s effluent effusion
Can lead you to believe that it’s not a travesty
Like life’s visceral intuitive eternal is not lost in subtle evasive confusion
Life’s virile translucence reflects this glow
Like an aorist ensemble of interludes transposition
Can lead you to believe that you’re in the know
Like omnipresence presages omniscience’s ubiquity is existential exigency’s peroration’s exposition
Corporeally preternatural's metaphysical mystique
Like a mirador bartizan tableau panorama
Can inspire us to rise above its critique
Like spatiotemporal’s telemetry incarnate is creation’s vivid intrepid cyclorama
Spectral verve’s liaison’s consortium
Like eclectic synectic’s conclave’s fatidic
Can leave you lost in germane compendium
Like terminus thrall’s apriori inclination is transcendental accession’s endemic mnemonic
Monad’s transitional majestic splendor
Like residual harmonic vibration’s resilience
Can autonomously evoke and vicariously render
Like rubato’s actuator’s prospectus revealed is orchestration rendition’s intriguing brilliance
Eidetic preterit’s aesthetic amendments
Like protractive analyses’ dimensional delineations
Can lead to cogent salacious enticements
Like phantasmagoria’s fantasia fantastication’s magniloquence is sultry solace’s ostentatious ideation
Mar 19, 2017
Mar 19, 2017 at 2:47 AM UTC
I'd rather know than believe
But I believe in you
Knowing you'll never show
Knowing I'll never know
Yet still
Believing you're all that matters
I don't trust things I can't see through
They're as trustworthy as I am
Solid, taking up space
Faith in God, faith in you
I sometimes have trouble finding
A difference in the two
Faith's a gift
Belief's a risk
Selah
I'd rather have faith than to know
Walking the mundane streets of this life I've been given
A little uncertainty is a good thing
So long as you're the central theme
Magnetic north
A lighthouse guiding me home
When I get there I'll know
Arms entwined, dying to faith and belief
Into eternal life of omniscience
Knowing
As we are known
Selah
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 9:42 AM UTC
My patience is exasperated
So negative connotations
Are analytical advice, on a diagram of ******
for life as AnNotation
Used as emphatic confirmation
That my formations deformed,
so be warned, you won't be warmed
by hearing I've conformed
To be socially reborn or Reformed
no Solubility just scorn
Death of Altruism not reborn
My attempt to succeed is Forlorn
****** without pleasure like ****
With an actress who's *****
Unable to reject the amorous nature
Of the advancement taking place
Only to try to post placate
But u can't humorously play hate
That's like calling date ****
a play date, and tho karma may take
Action a day late
It'll subtract your pay rate
And I try to listen when they say wait
Otherwise I Trade faith
For fortune so pray fate
Has Infallibility and acts
With revenge and intends to ignore
Its Sanctification on your behalf
But without assured Omniscience
Or Predestination I'm left
Wit bitter taste from various Mongrels
so nefarious I wish for death
Developing an Aversion to breath
A Discrepancy now remains
Some say lifes a gift and it contradicts
when I say it's inhumane
A reality based on haste purgatory
Where narcissists splurge on glory
And act like a real life purging story
living to fill their urge for gory
Temptations and never hoarding
Desires to control with moderations
like earths resource no Conservation
But this is just my Observation
Or maybe there's no correlation
and I just **** a curation
Maybe my pessimisms Pervasion
Has damaged me for the duration
Of life never to vacation
From my imprisoned state
So internally conflicted I'm eternally
Restricted to unsolicited hate
May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 1:22 AM UTC
sometimes i just--shut--my eyes
think of what could be
a brief instant of mixing--reality--
fantasy--
wings melting i crash--into the sand
the waves washing wet--over me
the sun is too--hot--hot hot
i can carry the fire--up
but i cannot put it out
in all my ice i cannot **** the sun
so i am building a castle--a sandcastle
with parapets and a gated moat--
i knock it down with a crash
destruction was my primer-book
cynicism my blue-backed speller
so i lock myself up--in my room
pretending to be named emily
in my flawless white dress
the old nickname e.d. is transformed
until i remember--myself--
i am not a doll
and i--am not--afraid
the world can be--irrelevant
i will not abandon life
****** half-hatched into reality--
lost in a foreign land unknown
a sojourner who has lost--the song
peregrine with a misplaced home
the repressed truth will arise--
i will find the beginning--in the end
i fly back up--fire in my pocket--
bid cheerful farewell to the sun
good day to the beach-grains
rebuilding the--castle--
it is only--sand--
and i let it stand
life is reality--what took so long
and life that is really happening
is better than supremacy unlived
and i get lost--in omniscience
looking--skyward--realizing
i am a--grain--of sand
May 26, 2010
May 26, 2010 at 4:41 PM UTC
What you watch?
What you see?
What you hear?
What you read?
What you learn?
What you know?
What you don't?
Where you go?
Apr 1, 2017
Apr 1, 2017 at 5:03 PM UTC
synapses snapped
in succession
in order of
originality
subterfuge
cessation
bereft of
carnality
though Thought
through thick
fog doth fly
perception
conception
the perfect
eye
pineal body
purpose
unknown
pernicious
malicious
people
make it
as stone
is it the
god gland
?
are we
easily snared
?
pineapple
pineal part
fully
impaired
?
foaming with
fluoride
worst water
we drink
too tainted
toothpaste
we wash
down the
sink
calcium carbonate
crusted our brain
ordained
order of
omniscience
swept
down
the
Jul 4, 2015
Jul 4, 2015 at 1:18 PM UTC
You are alone.
I can see you now,
in my ever-omniscient
mind's eye.
You are alone, and
you are unhappy about it.
You are sitting upon the floor
wringing your hands,
wishing that days did not exist
and nights were not
so dark.
You are thinking
of how cold the air is
and how silent the house is.
Yes, you are
exactly as I want you.
I laugh, triumphantly,
bitterly,
miles away with
my eyes closed
to the nighttime and to
reality.
Jun 3, 2010
Jun 3, 2010 at 7:21 PM UTC