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synchronize debt
and
unfortunate occasion

apply a pinch of poverty
and
unreachable secession

integrate inconsistent economy
and
lack of intuition

and then you'll be america
and
it's financial oppresion
rough draft poem in science class xD
yanci colon May 2012
In a different perspective I learned that life comes in sections
I was a fool to believe in world's total perfection
It became dark without changing its complexion
It's now lethal like a fatal infection
I'm in a maze lost with no sense of direction
Guided errors with no proof of correction
"You'd all be there if you had listen to the selections"
I know it's going to take more than repairs to pass this inspection
Who knew?   Today I'm full of questions.
Why do people solve their mistakes with mistakes, like theres no such thing as correction?
Nowadays the only way winning is winning with deception
You say, " But this didn't start as my intention!"
"Look at it this way you can't be president without winning the election."
You can stop the flue but every year there's a different injection
"I realize there's not just one but quite a broad selection."
We can beat this oppresion
I had dreamt my inception and got pushed by the tension
I just have one more question
"What's after that?  What's after us are we the end of what's mentioned?"
Or just the start of an infinite collection?
If so, why are we forced in this perpetual detention?
I'm getting, tired too much ingestion?
If I had to find greatness, I'd look at my own reflection
Even if it's over, giving up from the beginning was out of the question...
Not that I know, I had changed my expression
The truth "we are realistic inventions
same role, just in different dimensions...."

Yeah I dreamt my inception
It only took knowing to realize that was just the start of the session.
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2017
here's to getting drunk and writing *******; because mozart did likewise; or said man of the following verse: shouting into a plastic bag thinking it might make a pop' sound. **** get's technical, it's basically a comma on top, akin to diacritical markings; i'll mention the **** star later.

n.b. you emphasise the pop and descend into sound, well that's chiral for emphasis otherwise reserved for italics or bold (text). just about time, when language had to become as complex as comp-sprechen, or that famous censor of oath words: &$#@!

and you will hear no song without the word allah,
and you will not hear
                will not hear
                            a word said about the tetragrammaton,
because it's so, the constructs of language
   can provide categories for the arrangement known
as the tetragrammaton,
        and when it does become apparent,
what gives meaning to thought,
   as a higher tier of what later becomes a *hegel

or the: thinking about thinking,
   and the much esteemed follow-up of what
is like a sinking ship of beggars asking for morality;
i said the word allah, because it's the most
understanding word to use when figuring out
the sudoku equivalent of a lament configuration:
so it opens...
        and so too i see what needs to be seen,
how wahhabism abhors music, and how people
are starving, to simply hear it...
             are we people who really care
to write out an onomatopoeia of an ******?
well... reverse psyche teaches us this:
  that we are indeed bound to write something more
complex than the sounds we make during ***...
animals disguise their pleasure from ***
and therefore remain gravity prone,
sinking in the re-       toward infinity,
again and again, and again - always the same...
modern saudis abhor music, wahhabism
abhors music... yet the adhan: the call to prayer...
and didn't muhammad warn against
the dajjal?
                   the polyphemus,
                   that diabetic ****** that was ibn saud?
so few curses applaud the resurrection of a name
these days so abhorrent...
                then the poetics comes in and we have
a metaphor for something already not
               properly equipped... formerly
it was a television, but now the computer screen,
and hey presto! two eyes!
                 that life would somehow turn uncomfortable,
as it turns out, it has thus happened in saudi
arabia... the killing off of music might as well
equate to a sudden dodo policy of all other birds...
   truely, the shahadan can only be pronounced
in song and in tears...
                 the tetragrammaton i can think of,
and appreciate,
    but i can't appreciate the nag hammadi library
nor the dead sea scrolls...
          my heart forbids such emotions,
for i see a valley and a shadow in it and this shadow
becoming the valley itself...
but thus sung: you walk into a catholic mass in
a church, and they're mumbling their creed,
  like it was indeed a satanic mass incantation,
believe me when i tell you that you need to
experience it: go to a polish catholic mass and hear
this mumbling, hear this cult-like status
   of reciting the creed...
  i'd rather look at a swarm of mosquitos
and hear **** all... that's how scary that thing is.
no wonder then, for all the gothic architecture,
gargoyles 'r' us... so why didn't the eskimos
**** out a horror, given we share the same harsh
environment?
                  the jew didn't have to say anything,
play me anything, he gave me something to look at,
but given that there are 3 monotheisms,
  and that re-confirms the brothers zeus hades and poseidon,
what can be done?
         just as much as what we owe to feel -
what we owe to what's to be necessarily felt...
  for me i wear the y.h.w.h. "niqab" to see past
christianity, and looking past it i listen to something
islamic... at all times: it's very human, unrealistic
to be unified, but still, once in amsterdam i met this
egyptian, and he exposed me to le trio joubran
with the song masar, i had a few beers prior
took three or four tokes from the joint,
then he put the headphones on... minutes later:
i was monged... that slang enough?
   done gone, whatever... i listened to the ****
song with my eyes closed and was consumed by shadow,
and nothing...
                    i could have been imitating a ******
addict to be honest...
   when you become so detached from the world
around you, marijuana and alcohol and really
detach you even further...
     so this pretty dutch girl was looking at me
and i have her the V-peace (not the welsh longbowman-V
about to eclipse the sun with arrows in normandy)
sign and smiled...
                     i could have linked this to a spiritual
homoeroticism, but then she smiled back and replied
with a V-peace using her hand also...
         which kinda reminds me of
watching this sasha grey video about geeking out,
and how, throughout the whole video i'm just
picturing the conversation to a james bond movie:
for your eyes only, and then start thinking
about the niqab... or something along the lines
of self-induced oppresion...
     all this "anti" dialectical "opinions for opinions' per se /
per says" (heidegger's point:
  if you live a simple life... language will have
to become complicated, you can't lead a simple
life and think your language will seem "incomprehensible",
spend a year with a cat and hear meow all
the time: you're bound to come up with some
weird punctuation, as antidote to psyche)...
   so all this anti "dialectical" persuasion lasts
for some time... beauty attracts ugly,
but then beauty turns ugly, and ugly says,
something on the lines: this thing... this reservoir
of oil in the sand? it's not water,
     it's not the water in the sea and the water in lakes
and the water in rivers and it's not rain...
you can't recycle oil...
    sasha grey was really talking about a theoretical
niqab, wasn't she? or did the host just bring up
the salem witch trials?
                 oh i'm not a convert,
   even with all the overtones that i might be,
but given that i'm not working from the concept
of the big bang but rather from φoνoς
i appreciate the word αλλαη... it's a cushion type
word for what you dare only say when lament
approaches... either that or the stupid: why me oh god!
i like that spelling even, it's like the greeks never
laugh, or what's the basis of laughter, a H...
                how would you even say that αλλæ?
like blah blah bleh with a stereotypical Transylvania
accent of vlad the **** genius?
            cos η (eta) doesn't cut into either t or a,
but into the prefix e-    which makes it a grapheme
equivalent married to epsilon (ε)!
          the **** did we inherit?
i love the argument that comes from
  i don't care about your feelings...
                i don't care what you're thinking,
so why don't you simply shut up?
                  ah the pulpits and popes akin to
urban the 2nd...
       thankfully i'm just feeding silence (break line comma        over
^,or what i like to call the white, the canvas of defeat.

^yep, there).
joel jokonia Aug 2018
Sometimes as poets
We get lost in
Aggression, Depression,
Situations,
                   Creation...

Sometimes as Poets
We get lost in the
Definition of oppresion,
Selection of
                   Emotion

Sometimes as Poets
We get lost in
Voice projection, Crucification,
                   Medication..

Sometimes as Poets
We get lost in
Imagination, Intention,
Intimidation
                  Hesitation..

Hesitate to Speak out
On the blood of our brothers and sisters
You spilled

Hesitate to Speak out
And ask for GOD's assistance
Cause as people we have failed...

Sometimes as Poets
We get lost in
Education, Discrimination,
                 Manipulation...

Manipulated to think
Poetry is nuisance
when its sense has been ****** out by the SYSTEM..
And made us SLAVES

Manipulated to think
We have the right to FREEDOM...


                                 AAAAAARE WE FREE???

No
     we not
                We are slaves


Slaves of
Time...
Money..
Colour..
Death..

Sometimes as Poets
We get lost in the
Fiction of our diction

An addiction to POETRY
and its all emotion...
Michelle M Nov 2017
How do you miss,
a thing that wasn't yours,
was never real,
a figment,
an imaginary voice,
silenced?

I wander these corridors,
aimless,
turning doorknobs,
searching rooms,
listening for hallowed sounds,
in the silence.

The din of the empty ******,
consumes this place.
It is a mausoleum for the un-souled,
the living eaters of humanity.

Gone is the irreverent knife,
that sliced through the miasma,
Gone is its weilder,
the cocksure warrior I walked beside,
A mirage corrected,
A trick of the vapor.

This fun house hallway,
deceives me at every turn,
It's reflections,
a lurid parade of illusions,
and delusions.

I miss you,
my obstinate anti-hero,
invented angel.
Your signature,
was glandular,
a ripe pheromone.
It clings to my nostrils,
my lizard brain,
and deeper things...

Your signature was deliverance.
From the noise,
the pervasive idiocy,
from domestic terrorism,
and the oppresion of monotony,
From myself.

I wander these corridors,
restless,
casing the interior,
Enduring the terrible sideshow,
the clamour,
and the odor,
the seedy film it lays.

I am stalwart,
hopeful,
frenzied.

I am jonesing for that chemical release,
for another dose of ones and zeros,
the hit that makes it real,
the hit that brings it home.
Graff1980 Feb 2018
Let us all stand united against the hate and intolerance that ignites violence and oppresion, whether it is in foreign lands or in our own nation. Let love reign supreme and hope that hate fades.

— The End —