From one thousand mountains the hawks flights are gone
Soaring freely & thinking clearly through the clouds in the sky
Not looking back persevering to fulfill the dreams
The dreams aren't solely an illusion in the mind
But a preview of future times
For the reality in the hawks mind is dreams of happiness
Clashing between difficulty & a paradox of what is seen & what is not seen
What is believed has 20/20 vision
A clear sight with no eyeballs
But a driven mind with great visual
Anticipating the future of success
Feeling blessed and alleviating stress
Persevering and passing all the tests
What lies is the wind which is the past
Securing things of desire at last
Achievement is a good friend
Resulting in a fulfilled end. . .

Blue sky, smooth sailing
Balancing neon lights of my mind's eye
(as glassy waves lap against my feet)
And the innocent sands of a white-gold beach fantasy,
Soft, warm, and as sure as the day.

Graying sky, persevering
Forging ahead through tempestuous waves
(growing faster in speed and height than a father's son)
I cling to the sample of that white sand,
Bottled up in a tiny plastic nip.

Blackened sky, capsizing
Plummeting into jet-black sea
(stained in the lights of my fallen Titan)
The nip shattering, without my notice
Icebergs visible on the horizon of her heart
My sand lost into the radiant black seas
Never to be seen again.

God wants your whole Heart. so keep persevering.
Never give up, But continue to chase after him Fully.
For He uses those that persevere in times of Trouble.
He shall never give up on those whom Persevere here.
So whatever you do, keep chasing after the One whom saves.
Keep chasing the only one whom can save anyone here.
Allow him to use you, to draw others to his Holy Kingdom.
So whatever you do, keep persevering in times of troubles.
For by doing this , you are allowing Christ to use you here.

Life is the treasure and knowledge is the fire to kindle and wisdom the outcome to distill it

Poverty is taking away food from a fellow human being
Poverty is not being grateful that you have slept having eaten a comfortable meal
Poverty is going out there with a poor self image and using the presence of others to mask your inadequacy
Poverty is not knowing how divine you are, your soul content

Poverty as a woman is not being able to say how you feel and what you feel because you are afraid of rejection or disappointment
Poverty is trying to make a guy feel insecure because you yourself are insecure
Poverty is trying to have multiple ****** relations to either draw a man or men towards you or simply for the sake of trying to fuel your self esteem
Poverty is dreaming and letting the birds talk about it as a could have been
Poverty is stabbing a person you love dearly in the back
Poverty is blaming society, culture and circumstances at home for not progressing forward
Poverty is killing because you are stuck in unorderly primitive and unruly state and you do not know tranquility

Poverty is wanting things to remain the same because it protects you from growth and the awe of advancement
Poverty is living in the past and endlessly trying to change the present
Poverty is not knowing what to say because you have forgotten how to compose yourself in the presence of others
Poverty is thinking for short term satisfaction breeding inevitable lack of long term contentedness

Wealth is inviting the future fearlessly
Wealth is loving abundantly
Wealth is joining the heart's dance by yielding to emotions of pure positive vibrations
Wealth is making the heart intelligent so your desires are not  of a marginal durability
Wealth is seeking the truth because it will wash away the lies and test your bravery as it opens up the wounds and the pain of reality
Wealth is knowing that in giving a lot and asking less more than half the time; you remain abundant
  Wealth is imagining what a future 'you' would be like and in pursuit you strive to make your future self proud
Wealth is having an open mind and seeking first to understand than to be understood
Wealth is trying to find better solutions for either parties, a higher way; which healthily benefits either parties

Wealth is having someone who will support you no matter what
Wealth is sticking to divine principles because they will stand no matter what
Wealth is treating another better than you treat yourself and in essence you treat yourself as the greatest being
Wealth is being patient and persevering for good things because you will honour them as you understand what it took to earn them
Wealth is making a promise and keeping it, it boosts the progress of the whole Universe; even the promises we make to ourselves
Wealth is cleaning up after ourselves and engineering our personhood to not rely on insubstantial and baseless objectives and mantras
Wealth is taking a stand for one's own life and not waiting for a hero to pull up the yardstick
Wealth is going to the dam with a  broken rod and teaching yourself how to fish until a master comes and philosophises your decorum, approach, conduct and credo on the whole process of being independent and going out into the world,
Wealth is unlearning all of the miseducation that we have been fed since the day we were born and relearning and rewiring our psyche to be conscious and cosmically aligned with our divine purposes and use the resources around us to make the raw a tangible gem and vice versa.

Say no to poverty.
Live a sincere life of truth and meaning, we only have so much time to pay off our debts until we're rich enough to give back to the world again.

12-17-2013

The constant chatter
lowly, gathering attentions
apprehension--that's the matter
thoughts are shattered
the noise: rushing, crushing, bustling in
and flushing out all rationale
growing louder, shouting over morale
and one who can no
control it, cowers, trying hard not to
a persevering temperament, one
who silences the sounds of increasing volume
madness boomerangs again;
pain returns once again.

Summer would be the sunflowers seemingly blooming from beneath telephone poles as a reminder that love can travel upon the wires connecting long-distance lovers, the ropes that cling to trees as though reuniting after a twelve month absence as they bear the weight of two bodies more entangled in each other than the pattern of the hammock that they lie upon, the ice cubes that float atop the glass of sweet tea stealing quick kisses each time the glass is lifted as they melt together beneath the heat.

Fall would be the leaves clinging to the tree limbs whispering secrets to each other as they flutter in the wind and change color according to the lovers that will one day float to the ground beside them, a calm pond reflecting former versions of couples who have always desired to know each other before their time of acquaintance only to realize they never existed until the day that they met, the stone path that weaves through a graveyard that has felt the light footsteps of paired souls wandering the grounds during midnight strolls.

Winter would be the snowflake drifting in the wind quickly memorizing the patterns of each familiar one it passes in an effort to reunite with its match made in the heaven from which it has fallen, the steaming cup of tea that collects condensation in the hands of lovers who find solace in sitting upon their front porches when it's freezing, the parallel lines of sleds that have etched temporary tracks in the land as representations of the distance that once separated those who created them (but does no longer).  

Spring would be the first sprout of the season persevering through the darkness of the soil and finally pushing through the light at the end to feel the warmth of the sun upon it, a bridge the connects flower-covered hills that houses the memory of two lovers who reunited after being apart for the winter, the daisy that he planted beneath her chest the night that he told her he loved her and promised to always water it.

Who is the happy Warrior? Who is he
That every man in arms should wish to be?
—It is the generous Spirit, who, when brought
Among the tasks of real life, hath wrought
Upon the plan that pleased his boyish thought:
Whose high endeavours are an inward light
That makes the path before him always bright;
Who, with a natural instinct to discern
What knowledge can perform, is diligent to learn;
Abides by this resolve, and stops not there,
But makes his moral being his prime care;
Who, doomed to go in company with Pain,
And Fear, and Bloodshed, miserable train!
Turns his necessity to glorious gain;
In face of these doth exercise a power
Which is our human nature’s highest dower:
Controls them and subdues, transmutes, bereaves
Of their bad influence, and their good receives:
By objects, which might force the soul to abate
Her feeling, rendered more compassionate;
Is placable—because occasions rise
So often that demand such sacrifice;
More skilful in self-knowledge, even more pure,
As tempted more; more able to endure,
As more exposed to suffering and distress;
Thence, also, more alive to tenderness.
—’Tis he whose law is reason; who depends
Upon that law as on the best of friends;
Whence, in a state where men are tempted still
To evil for a guard against worse ill,
And what in quality or act is best
Doth seldom on a right foundation rest,
He labours good on good to fix, and owes
To virtue every triumph that he knows:
—Who, if he rise to station of command,
Rises by open means; and there will stand
On honourable terms, or else retire,
And in himself possess his own desire;
Who comprehends his trust, and to the same
Keeps faithful with a singleness of aim;
And therefore does not stoop, nor lie in wait
For wealth, or honours, or for worldly state;
Whom they must follow; on whose head must fall,
Like showers of manna, if they come at all:
Whose powers shed round him in the common strife,
Or mild concerns of ordinary life,
A constant influence, a peculiar grace;
But who, if he be called upon to face
Some awful moment to which Heaven has joined
Great issues, good or bad for human kind,
Is happy as a Lover; and attired
With sudden brightness, like a Man inspired;
And, through the heat of conflict, keeps the law
In calmness made, and sees what he foresaw;
Or if an unexpected call succeed,
Come when it will, is equal to the need:
—He who, though thus endued as with a sense
And faculty for storm and turbulence,
Is yet a Soul whose master-bias leans
To homefelt pleasures and to gentle scenes;
Sweet images! which, wheresoe’er he be,
Are at his heart; and such fidelity
It is his darling passion to approve;
More brave for this, that he hath much to love:—
’Tis, finally, the Man, who, lifted high,
Conspicuous object in a Nation’s eye,
Or left unthought-of in obscurity,—
Who, with a toward or untoward lot,
Prosperous or adverse, to his wish or not—
Plays, in the many games of life, that one
Where what he most doth value must be won:
Whom neither shape or danger can dismay,
Nor thought of tender happiness betray;
Who, not content that former worth stand fast,
Looks forward, persevering to the last,
From well to better, daily self-surpast:
Who, whether praise of him must walk the earth
For ever, and to noble deeds give birth,
Or he must fall, to sleep without his fame,
And leave a dead unprofitable name—
Finds comfort in himself and in his cause;
And, while the mortal mist is gathering, draws
His breath in confidence of Heaven’s applause:
This is the happy Warrior; this is he
That every man in arms should wish to be.

October 20, 2018


I've spent this year

Learning how to deal.

This isn't melodrama

Just the truth

Condensed into just a few words

To express a vastness

Guaranteed to fill a few pages.


Like all years, it's been bittersweet.

I've fallen down

Tripped up

Left a bruise

Quite a few times.

But, of course

You have to fall --

Maybe even bleed a little --

In order to teach yourself

The triumph

Of bringing yourself

Back to your feet.


I've stood in front of a lot of mirrors

Most of them metaphysical

Truly getting to know the girl

On the other side.

The more we talk

The more I like her.

She's a hot mess sometimes, sure

But she's kind of a cool person to have coffee with.

She doesn't look like she used to, not at all

Especially when she's obviously trying to do better.

She still chews her tongue a bit

When she admits that she's wrong

And she's so very shy

When I ask her what to do

And she responds:

"I don't know."

I should tell her that I love her

A lot more often this year.


I've found that the heart is a wonderfully strange instrument

And that the soul is not an *****

But is something very, very real.

I've found that the former

Is as good at persevering

As it is at making messes

And that the latter

Is something all-too-useful

In the modern world.


I've found that most friends are fairweather

And, often, so am I.

I still hold out hope

That, maybe one day

I'll discover loyalty

That can be truly permanent.


Lastly, I've found that poetry

Is a beautiful vessel

Worth so much more

Than worrying about boys

Through a series of rhymes.

It's quickfire, artful catharsis

Freeing a caged dove

With words that make me feel

As if I can make my writing soar.

It's filled to the brim with love

And laughter

And tears

And imagination

And anger

And fear

And reflection

Just like these passing years.


And with every one I finish

I long for many more.

If I could speak to you one more time,

I’d tell you about all the great and terrible things I’ve done
Hear your voice crack as you laugh at the fact that I tripped on a gap in the sidewalk again.

I'd get to see you dressed up for prom
and run across the lacrosse field
and even shake the hand that handed you your diploma.

I’d like your posts, filled with new friends you made at college,
and might even get the chance to dance with a few of them.

If I could speak to you one more time,

I’d explain that I hear you in the singing of the summer cicadas
and I see your smile in every shade of purple that exists in the world
and feel your hugs in every tie-dye t-shirt I wear.

I’d forgive you for making March the hardest part of the year
and even survive the month without shedding a tear.

If I could speak to you one last time,

I’d whisper I love you despite it making your eyes roll.
I’d say thank you for filling my childhood with endless laughter.

If I could speak to you one last time,

I’d probably be too emotional to say anything at all.

So, I’d just hold you for a little bit longer.

Holding your loved one close at night
Appreciating the existence of another
Persevering through trials and tribulations
Perusing your hopes and dreams
You create your own happiness

In life, we have those moments.
Those moments where,
everything seems to stop.

And the only thing that seems to matter,
is you, and anybody in that moment.

Your heart beats faster than
it ever has before
and everything is now
in slow motion.

The rain even seems to fall slower.
The wind quiets
and in the distance you can hear
a Lynyrd Skynard song
or maybe it's Bob Dylan.

But it's smooth and calming
and you feel like the moment
couldn't possibly end,
but it does.

Like all things it, it too must end sometime.
But you know what's really great?
We can always make more.

I've had a lot of moments,
with you.
They take my breath away
and remind me.

They remind me that no matter
how I'm feeling:
Angry
Excited
Glum
Happy
that I'm ALIVE

Mon Cheri
You are the best thing
that has ever happened to me.

I was once petrified
at even the thought
of uttering any sentence
close to that.

To admitting how I feel.
Especially to myself.
I was terrified of getting
broken.

But that's apart of life!
To be upset, happy, scared, confused,
Full of love.

And we as people
are not like the broken glass
in the alleys of the cities.

We are humans!
Resilient! Persevering!
Not just surviving but living!

And what do we live for,
if not love?

Mon Cheri,
you have my heart.
My everything.
Everything I have to offer
it's all yours.

You are my one.
I will make no comparisons
of princes and princesses,
or of fairytales and fables.
We are not those things.
Make believe.

We are the realist thing
I have ever had the chance
to be apart of.

We're human.

We make mistakes.
We scream.
We cry.
We get hurt
and we kiss the broken parts
of ourselves.

But, amazingly,

We also help each other.
We laugh.
We love.
We pick each other up
when we fall.
And we kiss the broken parts
of each other.

We have love between us.
It's similar to Kryptonite
for Superman.

It's the source of his strength
which makes him invincible.
but it's also his weakness.

We'll get hurt sometimes.

But together
we are still invincible.
You literally make me feel
like I'm flying.

Like I was saying about moments.

There have been moments where
you're in front of me and
tears are sliding down my face
and I feel as though my heart
is banging on my chest,
trying to escape the pain.

Where we're yelling and I'm
afraid we're going to lose each other.
Where your eyes are full of tears too.
Where I don't think we'll make it through.

But we do.

And then the relief washes over us.
And suddenly, we're clinging to each other
for dear life.

And in those moments, I'm absolutely sure
that I NEVER want to lose you.

Arms, legs, and lips are intertwined.
Hugging, kissing, laughing.
Like we never had before.

I love all of those moments.

I love the moments on a lazy Sunday.
Where we wake up, make love and just
hold each other. Just enjoying the morning.
As the light creeps through the window
dancing on our bare skin
and smiles are stretched across our faces
and our hearts are full
and we whisper to each other and laugh.

I love our adventurous moments,
where you scare me to death
and I shout your name and smack your arm.
But really,
I'm laughing on the inside.

I love the moments spent on the couch,
fighting over what to watch, or
playing video games.

I love the moments we spend in the shower,
it just feels so normal.
So comfortable.

I love the moments when we
go on dates. How you hold
my door, hold my hand,
hold me.

So many moments spent together.
Doing normal everyday things
with you is so much better
than alone.

They just become so full of love.
They become moments.
Things to appreciate.

Even sleeping next to you is better.
You keep the nightmares away.
You keep me safe.

I love you Mon Cheri,
for everything you do,
for every part of you.

From your messy hair
to your toes.

For every piece of you,

From your kind and sweet words
to your ADHD.

I love how loud, how vibrant you are.
I love how excited you get for things,
you could never annoy me.
Everything that makes you who you are,
I love it.
and I love you.

With every part of me.
Even the parts you don't particularly like,
but I know that you still love.
Oh darling,
even with all these words,
they still don't come close at all
to how much I love and care for you.

Oh, my darling.
Mon Cheri.

Cupid comes a'knocking
Who is it what do you want
I come bearing gifts girl
Don’t be afraid open up
No Cupid not again
Haven't you done enough
When you lit my heart aflame
Plunged me into the deepest depths of pain
No cupid not again
No more joy turning to rust in my veins
And my heart beating beaten and bruised
And my eyes falling like summer rain
No cupid not again
I can't do this anymore
Aim that broken bow away from my heart
Find some other fool's door
Its different this time girl
This time I brought you the one
With brown locks and a crooked smile
And eyes that shine like the sun
Open up girl
Love can be rewritten and redone
It’s a process of years and centuries and eons
A persevering stroll not a manic run
Don’t lie to me Cupid
When your hands still hold the smoking gun
Rome wasn’t built in a day
But it sure was destroyed in one
There is nothing left to give of me can't you see
There is nothing left to be won
You failed me before Cupid
When you shot at him and missed
And he didn’t care a **** for me
While I dreamt of him in colours that don’t exist
How many more victims will you find
How many more hearts will you break like mine
How many more souls will your bow plunder and defile
Not anymore Cupid. Not this time.
I sharpen my claws and smile a wicked smile
Hone the fires burning in my eyes all the while
Prepare to rip the white wings off his body
Prepare to sear his halo to char
Come in Cupid, I whisper
The door is left ajar

Vernarth sequence

Prophecy I -  “Eighth month of sailing in systemic plenitude”

“Since they will not hunt us down in all our Itheoi cycles…
nor in other lapses from where the fine eye could have sewn the buttonholes of the shroud, where there will be life and if there will be a short time without life...
dragged by you for a long time where the sun is melted over the word, staying stored and locked in your pocket to collect it blushing,
tomorrow's jump without a yesterday declining..., without a tomorrow in the heat of a bonfire...
lamb in bait handled being the portal of those who have been slapped inside their cheeks… who will not shorten the cycle that transcends all the oblong sepulchral vaults or who abound in the nonsense of sanitizing nights of ***** despot life having to measure themselves in your flourishing duel by Aiónius of the cleanest dew of its solid stroke and announced delineation of the new one that has been retraced again being more than a brief syllable created again fertile, in the biosphere mouth so as not to see you omnipresent mist, meditating not having you and that dares to meditate on your future that will have to be reserved for yourself by professing it when you are cold in front of you and insinuating if in living followed by letters to be flooded pondering like a paralyzed sleeping part that wants not to be covered with feigned warmth and that does not fit in all the parts of me being who wants to be consul of some shelter with all those who sleep also half dreaming in the company of the lost afternoon that never ends serving Saint John in Katapausis here, perhaps Aiónius del Ibico 1 as a magnificent and net unit that sees the luminous truth when we all come out of a prophecy alive even if it's dark ".

"What a reckless job of losing value,
I am already in Katapausis in the eighth month...,
I entered as the light opened with my hand turned into the light...
being already a katapausis meaning in Sabbatarianism.
Quasi-unit method exhibiting cohesion to the rest motif
With levers in my hands and intra-sabbatism in his dissertation...
of an exegetical and theological nature that has transpired soft insomniac light, We are a people who do not have to fear or air to deposit for a future warehouse above the Sycamore or birds that guard all the Gold above my hands on the Sycamore…”

"Stay in my house, if I don't come back it will be yours
stay at home, it will belong to everyone even in the apocalypse...
that more reckless will be silent as a work of losing value,
Katapausis is the threshold where my life enters and leaves at once,
stay at my house, if I don't come back it will be yours...
Open windows by meekly closing them to that confronted obverse to you...

He comes from a den relativized on reliefs in weathered beads...
they will be soluble mineral beings convened moving away from the most distant and closest to the least distant…, from waters of underground siphons… there we will all be floating… like vertebrate invertebrate animals”

Vernarth, after not entering the grotto not having found Saint John, goes outside where he goes on a campaign for three months before he can be received by God's law. Here he meets with Reader and his pelican, as well as Eurydice.


Prophecy II -  “Seventh, Inter-synergy energy”

“Three months I have waited in the middle of this mountain,
symmetrically arranging the steps to be taken, not going backward
prana of life walking in oceans of life walking…
us and them… how much must separate us to reach us?
what I have not tried to separate…, what I have not been able to achieve…

I think I died early in the worlds that haven't risen yet,
I think I was reborn late among dense curves that overwhelm us with straight lines
soul, principle, matter, and material distinctive ontology
Ghost god of parallelisms beings and activities in affinity...
starvation body of low energy ceasing creatures in embryo
incessant firstborn to infuse other confining souls
trails demons slip where my ashes hands are sore
wounded doctrines to engender and doctrines to ulcerate...

As the prophecy uses the sea carrying messages resolved from shore to shore
close to a Virtual why in the twilight your Faith that must be glandular… matter of soul and body exposed to predisposing theological and chemical, in pursuit of the corruptible whole in vice versa if he does not burst with atheistic impatience.”

Eurydice takes a zither and sings tempting stormy actions to Vernarth, Raeder and Petrobus put their souls in line in the first linear principle, Together with the matter of corporeal fire proceeding to the definition where all the parts are confirmed without distinction dancing next to them creating the greatest bond of faith in body and soul, thus spending the three months in a few words of light of the sated fire.

"In the eighth-month katapausis, eight times your permanent peace must rest in
cited state; once it is translated into Sabbathisms and it will be the same state… When everyone finishes their dance in the cave and enters believing they have the courage to enter eight times in connection with rest…, plus eight times in connection without rest.
In some verses, the urgency of the entrance will be accentuated. The main issue “is that history will be repeating itself exactly where the Israelites were at Kadesh-Barnea. A related term either synonymous with Kadesh or referring to one of two sites, is Kadesh (or Qadesh) Barnea. Various etymologies for Barnea have been proposed, including 'wilderness of travel' but none have produced a broad consensus. What is the consensus? will we stop believing or lean on the shores of a preacher rain of Jehovah or lean on the shores of a preacher sinful waterfall or lean on the shores of a preacher confessing rain or lean on the shores of a preacher wet wind inquisitor...? where ever the aromas of its faithful winds served will go sacred to everything named before and many before the confessing rainy…, waterfalls in favor of the temperamental inquisitor wind”.

Astheneiais”, in Greek is and will be a weakness, in Hebrews a moral connotation and will mean not only physical weakness but a conscious weakness and trembling in temptation. Our Lord also understands us in this weakness because he was tempted in every way as we are. Since he himself was tempted he knows from experience what it means for us to be tempted. He was not tempted in all the particulars of our life, for example, He was not tempted as a husband or father, owner or employer or soldier, because he was none of these things. But he was tempted in all three areas of human susceptibility: body, soul, and spirit.

Prophecy III -  “Sixth, Resilience…”

“They were on the perimeter trying to keep me together at his command,
I go every day for its pantry, food, groceries, bookstore supplies and ink, oils, and other essences for the environment in continuous handwritten obedience, I have to leave for Skalá where some residents are waiting for me who have ordered to bring materials from Gricos and Psili Ammos to project your home,
If this has been written like this, it is because my pleasure in walking has written it, in the company of the one, he has written for the one who walks next to me the god Ibicus!

They always asked me why to mention why I have to do this for them… I will tell you that I used to serve leaders who consolidate the Hellenic geography,
without them, everything would have been invaded by unled foreign hands… in that rest, I have to attend to the verse that precedes it...
which says that we have already entered where I already intend to argue the following…

Resilience and exhortation that from the beginning I have taken since it began... now I will abide by and present your messages in a very predominant note, I was Hoplite Commander of the Falange and Hetairoi, now a Christian who does not dispute living a life of obedience to those who are not and are not without his martyrs...
like those people to whom God swore they will not enter my rest
whose amen will be preached in the passive voice verse!

Remain as the verb indicates with the real facts, the word
independent of the present, independent of who and when…
Saint Gabriel my Abrahamic angel will give me white strength and frolicking lilies like baskets of hermaphroditic lilies procreating only-begotten forests at the altar.

Stand tall over the Abrahamic fire without knuckles or shields,
rethink your beloved woman and take a sudden step to heal your wounds there is so much grass to cut and so much poetry to chew...
up the mountain towards Skalá at night after drinking wine
Epitrapezios Inos setting fire with innocuous saffron atmosphere
lips of fire and bread, for a good offensive fight.
Greek fire naphtha, cinnabar, and anthracite.

Wake up united with the deep disorder
Grant the color that deserves to have your day as a constellation
with the image that rests on your angular and calloused hands.
stopping spaces of loss more than all the centuries that waited for the minimum incense to a good warrior, sweet wine for open bleeding wound not his… the thunder that hides baptisms in all hearts empty of blood...

“While Vernarth was praying in the oracle he felt a thunderous supra sound As if the gates of hell had opened...
As if millions of seconds of angels were to be dispersed from the sky
To reduce more seconds of silence to the thinnest pleading eardrum

A few days ago I saw a ghost that was chopping wood...
I couldn't realize that he was really Him...,
I also saw him cutting thousands of volumes from a library...
Also, not realizing it, I saw several, like more than eighty manuscripts..., of breaths that still did not prosper in the hands of San Marcos...

A gigantic door slam is felt again...!
again it was the angels that came
at the wrong time in his return..., but now in his repatriation
they climbed through and into the Garden of Eden.”

Vernarth, evicted from the habit of the unknown, was apprehended by his craftsmanship of him, he was still attentive to be received by San Juan. The longer he waited to be arranged for an audience, he did not postpone what his memory pointed out to be more than an experience plotting capacities in the face of his own limitations. From that moment on, a gigantic gate slam is felt again! the angels who went back one after another with their polished golden-white cloaks relapsed..., but now making the Garden of Eden their own,... being theirs in what was theirs, that they would be in the house of a wise gardener of Eden perhaps being the same Katapausis manger at once!

Raeder says: hugging him profusely! time has to fly like little angels, having them by your side as companions of the time that is leftover on their wings, giving it all to your enjoyment of living and feeling it lost in you without finding it. ! khaire mi Vernarth!, I have some karidopitas with nuts and yogurt accompanied by baklava with nuts in delicious syrup from Kalymnos. Petrobus jumped for joy and fluttered like a hummingbird to steal a few pieces! Eurydice and Vernarth did the same. That night they told militia stories while they ate the morsels, so they fell asleep as if it had been the first time they had fought such a great menu. Euridice assists in the same with his fresh clean face, creating an atmosphere of conciliation to renew the dream of a day that will dawn close to his waking up far from the criminals. Vernarth takes the staff from him from then on and divides books and manuscripts into two portions so that he has time to take steps to really feel that he can walk close to Saint John.

Prophecy IV -  "Fifth, Nature, Manuscripts and Jophiel"

“Zeus wakes up trembling, full of headaches saturated with Herbs for headaches Jophiel speaking this time with the Kabbalistic language of the Torah...with golden commoner super zone of the Organikon Sorousliston Papadikon….age-old music that supplies Zeus with protein albumin, to make him more human…Zeus accepts Jophiel by placing his head about the house of Jophiel; a divine island to throw cards…brings the second ray to the Sahasrara at the crown of your head, pacifying love that is the suspicious and risky loser of everything risk in the head especially when a feeling is born!

Zeus turns his head and Jophiel twists it to the opposite side
about the ruined zeros that he did not count from the plasma of his dependency, Zeus feared having albumin at risk of human transmutation... happy to be able to cry he imagines slipping into the middle of a lake and he sees that he falls on Hera's poultry harming none, Zeus pours brimstone from his mouth and milks inelegant prose from the scythe…

Trina flame whose son bears glorious her bearer,
thousands of lives being clumsy for the wisest destitute
being what in the present you were more than past trine
when you harbor from Hanael's Blue Sodalite quarry
the imperfect perfects when you listen to your
body how it beats, how it breathes... you realize that it is perfect
as is Jophiel and discerns repairing the wisdom in the decisive punt
where gum rosin myrrh and multi urban frankincense go
towards the soul plane architecture of the human plane.
Hardened Zeus overflows glazed sallow emulsion of war
coagulated exhausting guarantor of everything is well,
books of the silent world of nails that do not sound sheets,
Hanael in massive books divides sounding with her iris gel-colored nails encrypted library manuscript of a thousand years, the voluptuous organism of a thousand years…
flapping unpredictable millennia and wiry hands,
colossal capstans…, annihilated with a thousand years…
a silly propeller that spins like a sickle rolling over a certain holistic tabernacle of the small portion of the next day when Zeus awoke to the diaphanous threatening light with sunless cloud waistband…
His face is seen with frowns and he looks at his face as well
without seeing folds…but in front of the Aiónius.

The geranium appears in the representation of the natural whole kicking the Sickle, much more here lost of our spiritual being
Zeus Jophiel's hardened shoulder heats up only to lean on Him...
light on his shoulders fires on both of them…
how long it takes to save us perhaps twenty times what supports us even tired and much more unwrapped than the treachery of him alone and without being followed without knowing
nothing more than a thousand-year-old shell through which he would drain…perhaps a tortoise-like millennial angel walked up to the omega! joy preparing to give you live hopeful,
that if it would be timely to give you more life...
Here is Aiónius reordering the world together with Zefian…
He shares everything eternal of all your life that floats in the sea,
miserable mix space where capo dastro separates the end
where all the wheres cannonade the hoarse fire...
cement that joins brick wall and plenary adobes
love without nature that castrates your beautiful woman
that hides her face without mascara looking for it...
let's go outside says Vernarth..., we still have a few seconds in his solvent... sensible, full, and arc well-being...
as if you were floating in the air floating more
also needed me to teach you before your limits limit you,
and make you angry from the miserable sense,... Don't listen to me anymore...!!”

Vernarth puts his first three fingers on the capo dastro roosters crow with his skin vibrating beyond the sleep of Raeder and Petrobus. Reader wakes up and says…; My Vernarth I will make fire and heat water. Petrobus runs with his wings to look for sacred wood. Eurydice comments…, I will prepare the praiseworthy sacred breakfast.

When they were preparing to do all this, Jophiel and Hanael appeared to him, joining in the breakfast that would feed all the days and millennia of the world. Unleavened fruit, honey, and milk multiply above all, satiating hunger with satiated satisfaction.

Prophecy V – Fourth, Limbus Necropolis

“From so far away…, so far away that I listen to your sacrosanct cries…!
from the Koumeterium of Messolonghi…, rocking my elbows and hurting myself
moving in rare pleasant crypt upon crypts disconsolate stones
not so far away..., keys held in the eighth cemetery...
Who is to open the heavy door now...?
I come from Messolonghi 555 km in linear figures to Patmos...,
narrowing concave… doubtful in extension, passion princess cloud
He must welcome me benevolently in the night nymph consort...
Limbus N cloud, Cloud Cemetery lofty lofty hypogeum
soul of Limbo, before seeing the nut that girds the face in the graceful Grim Reaper resurrecting restless…, sinning… grail sacrament without Being or being…?
Necropolis Cloud, expectant mortuary technology...
amaze me if there is a byte for me...
narrow conscience, unseemly to amaze me?

Here the lost mist of the Nothofagus God phoneme-photon vanishes with divine mass light to build the Áullos Kósmos. The Sacrament of Limbus will provide spaces and assemblages of meters for thousands of areas of infamous wandering the Ouranos, approaching the Áullos Kósmos to host him and rescue the children of the meter that was missing in the numeral rule of the Megaron acroteria before going up to the Necropolis Cloud. Vernarth, mere body formalizing principle...
extinct delicate evocation of the shadow of Elpenor;
Achaean warrior of Ulysses grandiloquent who even has otitis
and verse where flu spreads influenza
heartbreak from far away reverberating in the elite of lexicons…
arriving equidistant ... the last one arrives threatening with his Kantabroi staying neither divided nor captured, taking refuge in outright failure twilight of megahertz, farce propaganda surrendered fear will not fall even after …

Vernarth falls from the Koumeterium Mesolonghi in the Necropolis cloud privileging his status, he falls from this gloomy digital platform with a high alcoholic degree! from the high heaven after drinking hours he came in the carriage that was from Zilos, with the passion of heaven depriving his understanding stunned on some branches of will of Ziziphus…, stunned on branches of mercy….

Vernarth in a contrite accident with Elpenor, his psyche flies to the realm of the dead, Hades was remaining prisoner in that world taking the form of a Homeric icon or shadow. Vernarth was asleep after his binge, and Elpenor asks him if he wanted to join him with some concoctions. He was with blurred vision, a headache, and still lying down. But in the passionate horror of his drunkenness, he gets up quickly, saying to Elpenor: For me, it was one less pain to drink after having fallen from such a distance without being able to request and have had the grace of my mother's lullaby. For this reason, I hug you! They went together to the Cloud Necropolis to continue in the Limbus trying to alternate their physical body to gaseous liquid. At that moment Eurídice hits her with a piece of wood on her legs so that she wakes up from the bite of that nightmare that overwhelmed her to finally be able to wake up. Raeder had gone with Petrobus to Skalá to seek inputs of gnosis and his own inspiration for accents before the welcome in Katapausis to come in the blink of an eye of San Juan, necessary redaction for licenses and to be admitted to his library.

Prophecy VI - “Third, Rethymnon City and State”

“Vernarth heard the sound of a bouzouki, spoke of a 40-day fast that Greece celebrates before Easter, at the Rethymnon carnival they come from all over Greece to attend as a family during the week with animations, evenings and concerts, dances…theatre, floats with Venetian art in the picturesque old town and modern city, in this ancient city …

Rethymnon Political Ellipsis

“Like territorial extension, past-future organized infamous scene…Vernarth imagines being with Etréstles in immediate predictions
with years and thousands…, clan hobbies, Rethymnon manuscript…
while he thus deliberated…, thus rejoicing in the immaculate extramural grotto thus being as if it were comparable to a Neolithic village; being together lost with eagerness to appear from political power... palaces, kings, pro-organized religions..., rancorous superlative temple, priestly-eucharistic, nationalized sovereign citizen... commanding Parliament of the Hellenic politai people
the competent anti-value entity of the substratum political state…
sedentary-agricultural or nomadic-livestock culture…, vertical Hoplite culture!”

In Thessaloniki street, he would meet his brother head-on...Imagining how he would be...? Well-dressed-shiny, he would be in a passing tavern usually naming himself tradition and terms of questionable validity rather than those of a retro-linguistic family, in the remarkable urban-city dialogue called seditious inns with networks of political territorial extension, reaching the colossal size of multinational ideals of a complex stratification, social meeting place, future ministries to whom to delegate?. They would arrive at the tavern in Rethymnon in Crete, they order coffee, biscuits, and Mosaikó chocolates. In an unexpected moment, he suddenly wakes up from this deep, hallucinating, and futuristic imagination! His brother appears immediately, not in Rethymnon but in Katapausis with the goddess Lepidoptera!

End Ellipsis Rethymnon

“At the moment his imagination breaks just when they were preparing to toast… Etréstles in this same interval appear in Katapausis Reader and Petrobus coming in a singular pilgrimage from Skalá…this is how the syllabic song of the arcane ***** is heard emitting from the grotto…, yellow lights and saffron…. Saint John and the Gospel celebrating the Eucharist…Vernarth would believe for the first time that the hermit would come, but No…!
his brother was to be in the intervening yellow-white light
in front of him nothing more than Etréstles visiting him”

Likewise, they would no longer be in Rethymnon,
but the carnival would already begin in the region of Patmos...
eating delicacies, and the Sousta towards the circle of the Sun in the hands…They have been two months with the sweetened Moon and the Sun posing its mass of light in her… soft palm next to her waiting for him in the proximity of a Hebrew silence

Estretles says Khaire Vernarth! from Piacenza who did not see your joyous lux! I can see now to the sound of yourself the stoic zither...
countenance light, the orbit of your eyes, pale asthenia without photon without light, expectorant suppuration of your sacred Lynothorax, Absent in front of the long and fatal transverse lapse!
Raeder makes a speech to Zeus Photon Child Lux
Fulminant spends time where it remains greater than the minimum...
Patmos is the time of the Messiah…, retrograde years…
polis Helennic city-states.

Culture-state… state time chorus in tune
Philosophical poetic-epic Olympian Aiónius global leader
Homeric poems..., Raeder I am..., a naughty Politai...
you Vernarth are Politai Hetairoi militia
candy wasted by me Raeder… sweetened in my memory
polytheistic, cultured and declined…
theocratic referendum or democratic right,
Exciting porridge of my Kourabiedes cookies
butter, icing sugar, flour, eggs from the icy cliff
vanilla or Mastica resin, ***, Ouzo, mastica liquor…
or other alcoholic beverages…, which bubble on the underside of Aiónius soaked in my mouth with water from petal buds
coated for you with sugar on the tip of my tongue…
reflective cops in a wonderful dialogue of a tasty recipe...
It's time for everyone else to snack too!!

In that second Raerder was choking on a Kourabiede biscuit,
but there was the guardian of the Petrobus who piloted the
throwing hieratic water on the inside of his mouth,
forcing him to take heart from the buttress of his speech
shooing thick crumbs from his skinny dialogue spitted...
Gerakis, ray, tabletop oak bull, scepter for those who rule with him and not...My Zeus friend I invite you to play marbles,
I invite you to tell us that we are friends...
we're both fine… only Space-separated us…?

Raeder runs towards Zeus' thunderbolt from his right hand.
he jumps up and takes it from her, in exchange for this she gives him his marbles...The entire earth tilts over the Aegean..., the earth's axis tilts eight degrees, altering the cerebrospinal fluid of the Hellenic geopolitical conception..., with Zeus poly infarcted over descending magnitudes of inter-politics, millennia and headless governments...

“Apokalypsis lightning restarted, emerged from a New World”
Prophecy VII -. “Second, Alikanto Aion, Quantum”
"Kalymnos, golden tetra steed Alikanto was grazing under the metallic moon...
transiting its quantum physics…, golden legs…, four golden domes
the super host being in Apoika Andros next to the villagers,
commemorating troupe and advent…, Heraklion next period
celebrant anniversary, progeny bearer of Kanti Cretense,
close cycles of the sacred fire, domestic environment, and private zeal...
funerary hidden cult… streets in the hieratic family dwelling
fertile women… totalized and lustful ****…
productive longevity and harvests…, family Apoika
next successor belligerence…, funerary plexus…
culty predecessor…, treatise and imprecation of law, theme and legible religion domestic scene, family civic servant ceremony

Goddess Hestia austere, head with eight sacred candles dressed
Olympus lacking without gods…, only Goddesses embargo!
Feminine Hestia Domestic Goddess, an emanation of the female oval to ovulating…Pritaneo, the central decree of the political harvests… foreign exchange grains to be minted monetary stock exchange of Athens… Pritaneo ford on the rise, ford on increase Aion... hesitant dart swoop into eternity,
Alikanto Perpetual Aion…Speaks with both hands
synchronized and tilted tongue…
stutters and swallows, in six paranasal sinuses
saturated with fiery saliva..., and an Internal voice saying say...
what makes sense to feel and what does not turn off...
sleeping waves in the poison of love igniting
intra-Vernarth love…, billing infected holy blood
methodical coupled time…, Gaugamela the bronze extremity,
of a lost leader…, won leader!

If I had to run to rewrite retro Adhoc poems and chosen trova,
With a shy Trojan verse, I would dare today if I kissed her in front of me… she!
she would jump from the hyperesthetic-Ouranos…, inhuman to the Aion world
aurora celestina, bleeds big and defiant today in your star
In herself Ella…, pestiferous condemnation sweetness and aura between her…she just be, she herself be supported be…, Oh… Goddess Hestia on your opposite leg unbraced arm, meadow and vein braid… assaulted by lost and thirsty love written everything if she tempts…, everything wields darkly if it took you to our Olympus… at night loving you whole..., emptying everything with no inappropriate hand singing don vine fissure and intimate company, may it be exterminated... passion outside with nailed stake..., iron embedding..., nails wounding...exhausted supra lips supra yours…, mid sand writing full to her…
tip of my Xiphos… blood made written with written maiden mythology,
letter sword Spatha…, cyclamen balm made whole if I had you!

“To the loves of the world I say…, cover your ears fungus of boredom, your torn ears squander ignoring more than sordid saying...my blood kills, my blood revives! I **** my blood and I **** everyone, with your blood scattered, ***** blood scattered…!
do not leave me alone until nightfall… I only ask for holy water,
emptied from your mouth goddess Hestia who flies tons over me...
I only ask for a spatha romantic blood sharp, ******, and scattered...
to write to the love wars that I have lost...
to the wars of love that I have won, slicing the jugular of the
treacherous and wicked emperor"

“… Alikantus, he remembered the Hoplite commander in Gaugamela, he remembered when he dodged arrows with his head so that they would not hit his body or his pectoral. From such a present moment falling by surrendering to the evocation of him. He goes down to a stream and confines himself to the vanity quagmire, continues on his path reaching a suspicious lagoon, drinks sacred water, drinking again manages to perceive the effigy of Vernarth in the mirror of Aion's Hydor... calling him from Patmos! Law reminded his master how he died for everyone in the world just as the world would not let him bring more than agonizing for him because there was no more space said Aionius ... "

Alikantus then clenched his jaws too hard, falling out all his molars, he asked the Gods in front of Hestia to restore them fifteen days before arriving at the Ekadashi in Patmos where his master, thus loving all the lives of the world, as well as the hidden cries behind the Dypilons hiding the power of God… or laugh at gagged iris flashes and mummified sighs with lives that subsist!

Vernarth from Patmos called to him so that his eyes looked invigorated like the swarms of green and gray vanadium fire, of mood in the predictive table and close prediction. AlIkantus bids farewell to Kalymnos spraying sorrel and hyper-odoriferous flowers of the Apoika in Kalymnos loving from above, very close, flying, loving everything so much that he forgot to fly. He sometimes fell hard but recovered retried as a baby steed in the womb of a mother new species to be born again in Apoika!


Prophecy VIII -  "First of Aionius, "Eleusis Prophecy of Hamor"
“Aiónius received news of Hamor's prophecy; cosmic orgiastic order
tyrannical snake victim throwing herself into her abyss and purpose..., banishment as an objective void to be decreed, even so ending the world from another world,
discontinuous terse march, slurred arpeggio, speech by Aiónius
there is no world left but if extermination…, undone threshold…, provoke in delicate chaos…!

As a child, I ran to the supreme world herding lions... I called them and they ran to me..., they came alone, some didn't...! Being young, one day Aionius went to the farm and counted the lions... Some came others No... Aionius..., in such a hamorio he was locking an earring from his ears, he hung them again, which happened the next day relaxed..., he saw a maiden who laughed hypnotized…, he sighed when she turned around saying with her poor gestures… Destroy it! The afflicted turned away not knowing what was coming… destroying the desolate world vilifying silky physiognomies, chipped and dandruff face slipping from yours being captive and arid…, tempts to flow libertarian imprint in foreign praxis, origin, and end,
me from the slime being born in my eighth life in nothingness ataxia…

The beloved Victim surrounded by snakes moved the stump of her arms
eaten away by the serpent that took refuge in thorns of forged steel...
she kept walking…, Aiónius pointed at her and kissed her gestures escaping frightened towards the valley in farewells... not fitting itself in valleys that were never anything she paraded with the current of her last word, the beloved again moved her arms following her in front of her the beast was on her, Aiónius buried from fleeing and coming… with fiery phenotype, abrupt vocabulary, says: “Strapping and interludes, after beings of impiety, the world of impiety, Hamor of the first wit… towards other refuges I will depart about a Yes devouring bare ring on it…”
escape curve that cuts the pelvis of my beloved
destructive be your curved world that before had to destroy me...
ultra pre-hellenic nymph Harpé passion spread on me…
Hailed libertarian praise, aristocratic vermilion accent, minority ruling? Overwhelming rigor expended, prophetic Hamor, prophetic expansive arsenal! It must come from all the supreme worlds with strokes and silhouettes conquering...true dream, confused hypothetical oscillate sweeping imploring and contracting popular decision, management and space of my Sickle…, sometimes uncontained… worse avenues in its radius and dark mourning badly wounded shadow! The vertex that finally launches opens the dawn and his Hamada flees... Leaving with the untidy serpent, about touching and causing rangers in the stuck earth.

Demeter and Persephone; based on Eleusis in ancient Greece
mystery myth of the abduction of Persephone daughter of Demeter…
by the king of the underworld of Hades, Abrahamanica's offspring
cabal, life in the descent, the search and the ascent…
Ascent of Indra lightning Vahana and lightning from her right eye,
Persephone to the reunion with her beloved daughter ascending.

Zodiac and mysteries involved, visions and sleight of hand
that of an afterlife, rain of seven trunks, long-lived Airavata
elephant, Eleusis jump psychedelic mystery, incision, and coherent rites, ceremonies and experiences of cold winters and life on earth
plants in gestation under the gift of Elitíaen and beings that
they are about to germinate and be born, beings in a chain of genes...
vegetable running on the earth, vegetable in March in its glory
September in the jaws of the purified phrase and inaccurate acropolis I…

Sacred obscenities, deadly tributes with the death penalty...,
wandering nights without clothes with obese and badly fragrant meats point and taco dances praising the harvest in honor of a dead Thracian bull, libating priestly vessels and bullfighting heads in a deliberately defined and improper triweekly ritual, revealed in Demeter and Persephone.

Only Hamor in his venerable pyx lies locked up knowing he is unable to open inside this lustful bewitching sparkles, the mystery of emancipated disenchantment that awakens from his slow consciousness without knowing how to go on passing in the sum of all happenings of Aiónius. ”

This is how he defined himself from the syncretism of Indra and the mystery of Eleusis, from Demeter and his daughter Persephone from the vile kidnapped underworld. Of the divine Goddess Elitia and the annual records of children born within a year in the germinating seed of the mystery of love that would begin with this prophecy with the initial "H" of the underworld exclaimed Hades and Greek heritage in this event. Vernarth and his companions listened to this prophecy, almost falling asleep, it seemed to them sweet pallor-bitter, love-heartbreak in the previous day before diagnosing having a presence in the hermitage of San Juan Apóstol for the superior company of a later day that was approaching as the greatest daring of all up in the mountains while disposing of Vernarth's Apologist obverse of Aiónius's.

Epilogue Prophecies - “Eleusis, Isadora Duncan to the Parthenon”

“Vernarth and Eurydice indulged in the jargon of agitated diasporas
of inhabitants fleeing the Rite of Eleusis, crossed hands and feet
They dueled on olive trunks with Theban thunder, vague Insurrection of the ancient world, and consonants of barbarian Pleiades,
acclaiming predilection of the Eremita San Juan to appear...
in a breath of peace resurfacing... but seeing that Vernarth was accompanied of Eurydice hid in front of them leaving only her aura near from the stream of a chrysalis!
In the dizzying succession of myths, good news reaches her sacred ears, waking up her trend and her high quarterly price outside the walls... being later received in the grotto of the hermitage in growing expectation and a link of longing that weaves to remind him of being a crusade piece.

The kidnapping of his reverie feared and timid frivolous crushing blizzard, he was walking surrounded by Falangists on horseback pointing at him and threatening him, scrutinizing in the distance loneliness of his past lives,
his regressive life, concerning key to origins of his illustrative Existence, stranded at this moment..., Vernarth makes a pact with himself to detach himself..., of his spirit, detach from their lives under a hypnotic and compelling law..., like a suspended index in the Sistine Chapel, homologous ship Ave Maria Messiah!

From Eleusis Vernarth vanished in aerial horse-dreaming,
he crossed through the pavilions with himself persevering some wake
riding his Alikantus ******* and standing with him to pillage the Empyrium niche Persephone's trace of herself and her ******* ******* them...
with devoted passion, milky way, and milky syrup chin howling...
Vanishing dancer, Athenian acropolis, Dionysian sanctuary of the acropolis… Stepdaughter-patron in the dance of Zeus and Themis lopsided frame of the season's wildness of all creation and defiance of Eleusis looking for her daughter and her children, priestesses safely taking off their corset and their pictures…
raging chastity, oligo blood, Itheoi music, outraged dance complaining, Possessed expressing being seductive but also a native *******... the underworld in darkness, free daughter, and iconoclastic Greek mythologist
inconvenient Victorian mania, a courtesan from Olympus, courtesan undressed! Isadora, Demeter, and Persephone… flooded with Aphrodite foam!

She “prayed songs with plexus and feet, plotting gardens around the world… full of baseboard feet where everything created in brief Apokálypsis was dying! By desolate Parthenons dancing in Muscovite ruins, maenades sweaty enclave and also throwing back his head as if possessed by ecstasy in her Bugatti and Leonidas…, enchanted by Aiónius! intoxicated and exorbitant with beautiful rosy placebo eyes... Hair with headbands vine petioles, her Nebris tight skin was wearing... in her hand's bunches of barberries to Dionysus with torches and live snakes a chaste crook naming Thirsus; rod topped with Kashmar branches wrapped in borders, vines and ivy, allusive link…, morbid ecosystem! covering her crotch in the Temple of her Kopanos dancing from the eternal fire cremated and in a romantic dimension remembering Byron's meritorious…
Hellenic passionate, and of Hölderlin poeticizing together with Aiónius.

Rudiment wound … ruinous on value exciting in those
of the imagined and creative in her perdition, Sicalipsis e impudicias
torn fire in the Metelmi and her ***** we are twisted,
epic worthy of greek tragedy dancing like waves of fire
in the forge in terrifying death of her children Deirdre and Patrick,
submerged and injured in the Seine in Paris in 1913, falling into the
water in the car that was traveling with her wet nurse… before…!
saying goodbye to them in urgent social commitments,
I Aiónius take you to the Empyrium.

What a dire tribulation in the prevailing misfortunes by not postponing it, retain the fate of whose children is quite a story with the kidnapping of theirs and merits of fulfilling commitments committed to solicitous artists... support, crestfallen inside a dresser or Bolshoi dancing statue, dancing empty with bare feet, frigid anemone, frigid Sea…

Arriving at the dawn of her last prophecy, Isadora Duncan accompanies her in full life beyond all limiting borders with the borders of her dance, the flat field of Eleusis receives her presumptuously associating in around for the dressings...
And left-handed dalliance self-indulging…, advanced barefoot to the Parthenon…!naked towards the world and the orb dug out of her before her undressed.

Reader and Petrobus jumped on this steep stone, emulating the meteorites that shone in the sky of Patmos such a party of nocturnal lights, such emery detached from a fleeting planet in the largest Hellenic scene saying: "Well-being to the Hellenic World all calm, dance and immunity to the firmament where Isidora rests in the Kantabroi of Aionius”

It's raining. Hard. Real Hard. In this train full of people. Some were sleeping, some were standing. While I was sitting on my own with my earphones on. It's raining. And I am thinking of what it takes to be a hero.

What is a hero? Have I ever met a hero of my own?

My idea has always been someone who would die for a country, or someone who would sacrifice for someone else. But does it really require dying and sacrificing? What about those who are still alive and living? Ah! The soldiers, indeed they are.

I know of a different and unique soldier. Whom I met up close on the 3rd of June 2017. He was young and beautiful, a little naive, and so were his dreams. He's a soldier for he's battling with his very own self in search of his own life's purpose, of his own self-worth, and of his own love. I believe that his battle is still on, but what makes him the soldier that he truly is, is by the little yet significant things he does for someone else.

My soldier is such a nice and gentle man. He is hardworking, persevering, and well determined to pursue his passions.  He always think of the safety of others and of how can he be of any help for them. And he would really get out of his way just to help you. Like accompanying somebody to the hospital just because she has a sick grandfather and is carrying a big ecobag full of adult diapers and underpads. Staying with someone inside the van because it's raining and he just can't allow that someone to lurk alone in the dark and to get wet by the rain.

He's the type who would text you all day to know of your whereabouts so he can wait for you to give you a free ride on your way home, everyday. And if he didn't get to ride you home, he'll stay up all night texting you to make sure that you arrived safe and sound, and only then he could sleep.

He will steal glances at you when you're not looking, and smile away if you ever caught him. He will annoy you and tease you until your stomach hurts while laughing and until you lovingly pinch him, and he will lovingly pull your hand for him to hold to make you feel loved. He will wrap his arms around your waist to pull you close so he can embrace you to make you feel like you are some kind of wonderful. And he will look at you as if you are the only person he sees at the moment.

He's the person to go to after a long tiring day to rant about how your egotistic workmate ruined your day, and he will calm you and tell you to just let it pass and think of him instead because he knows he can make you smile by the very thought of him. He's the person you can share your messy thoughts and whirlwind growing up story with, yet he still thinks you are an amazing woman and will never judge you. And he'll be your best friend. He'll even bring you himself to the hospital should you have your sudden asthma attack, and he'll be worried of you whenever you're sick and ill.

He will share his dreams with you, and he will need you to support and encourage him to go get them and to live his life to the fullest. And he will thank you for it and will send you plenty of kiss and monkey emojis and your favorite heart symbol to let you know that he appreciates you and will encourage you to do the same with your life. He will tell you how much he loves to eat chocolate bread alongside his meal and he will invite you for dinner because he wants to eat it with you and because he knows that you are hungry.

He will pout on you if he knew you've had more than 2 cups of coffee in a day and if you ever got yourself wet by the rain. He's jealous if you try to mention some other guy but will try his best to hide how he feels. That's him, he's not much of a talker but you know that his heart and actions speak otherwise.

He could be your partner-in-crime should you have the lazy urge to get a leave from work, or if you want to have some roundtrip joyride just because you don’t want to go home yet. He will tickle you from time to time, and will kiss you if he has the chance to. He will pick you up at 5am, then he'll make love to you all morning as he tells you that you are some **** and beautiful woman, then you'll have lunch together, and finish your extraordinary day watching movie at a cinema in a newly opened mall as you two try to bully that hardworking janitor mopping the floor.

He's a hundred fold stubborn, ironic, silly, childlike, selfish, foolish and impulsive at times. But you will love him even more because of them. And you are lucky enough that you were able to get to see those traits that makes him the imperfect yet the real man that he is. He will never ask you to wait for him, but because you are more stubborn than he is, you will still wait anyway. And he'll teach you what it's like to love somebody unconditionally because he will attempt to leave you and to bid you goodbye for several times, and you still want him, and love him anyway. He will give you the feels that you haven't felt for a long time. He will make you feel alive, more alive than ever before. He'll give you a sanctuary in his arms, and he'll be your peace and you know you don't have to ask for anything and for anyone else. And you will never want to loose him ever.

He will help you appreciate all the good things in life, every great thing there is, and you'll see that everything happens for a reason and that every thing is a blessing. You will experience what Carpe Diem means. He will complete your day in a way that no one else ever has. He will deepen your faith because you will end up staring at him while praying to The Lord, crying, thanking Him for bringing this man to your life and that He may never take him away from you and that He'll grant you a lifetime to spend together with. Because with him, everything just feel so right sooo **** right like all the stars out there and destiny itself are bringing you closer to each other and nothing could separate you apart and that together, nothing seems impossible.

This soldier will do everything to make you happy, and to see that smile on your face. He will never want to see you sad and even more to see you cry. But just like any other soldier, there's always a sacrifice that he had to make; and that is he will break your heart to let go of you and set you free because he thinks that you don't deserve him... Because he doesn't have the courage to tell you that he loves you, and he thinks that that's the way he can prove that he really do loves you.. That he'd rather be your friend, and you'd rather be his friend.

And that's the soldier whom I loved and adored so dearly. Yes, I have found one. He is the hero of my own. And because I love him, I have no other choice but to accept and live every day that I can only be his friend. But being his friend doesn't mean that I would stop loving him. For he just gave me a new beginning. The beginning of loving him from afar. The beginning of resting my faith with fate and of trusting the power of true love.

To love such hero has been one of the best privilege I could ever have my entire life. And I am always so proud of him. And the hardest part of loving my hero is to reciprocate the sacrifice he made for me, to let go..

It's not going to be easy, it will never be. For I will have to face my every day alone with a broken heart, longing for his presence. Because he was the hero who has made my heart whole again, and so he's the one who can tear it up again. But if it will make him happy, then maybe he's better off without me because I will never be enough. How can a hero possibly deserve some woman like me who just happened to love him in such unrequited way. Just some woman who made him her world. Just some woman whose own battle is to fight for his love.

But to me, my life will never be the same again because he will always be, my love, my friend, my soldier, and MY HERO. And I would still choose to be with him on both good and bad times all over again. I would still choose to have my heart broken by him if it's the only way for us to fall in love again. And I would fall in love with him all over and over again all the days of his life with every ounce of love left in me. And I will always love him and wait for the day that he shall finally win his battle that he doesn't have to search anymore, because (hopefully) he knew he had found him, he had found me, and he had found us. And we shall win every battle yet to come, together.

And so you see? A hero doesn't have to die to become one. Sometimes, he just needs to love. You just need to love him irrevocably in order to bring out the best out of the soldier in him.

i have anxiety
undiagnosed.
well that’s not true i’ve been to therapists, psychologists.
many, so many doctor appointments.
i have old medications for it, i haven’t kept up with
i don’t like the way they force my brain
to conform to the usual and to feel a certain way

sometimes it feels like my head is stuffed with an overflowing amount of crumpled paper *****
piling up crowding the available space in my frontal lobe
the things i never said, the things i should have never said,
the things that someone never said to me.
that special someone that holds hands with the prettier girl
about two feet away from me.
she’s a better fit for you. i guess
the grade that i got on my last math test but really don’t care about
because by this point i’m habituated to the sting of failure.
i sit in my room and cry by myself because my nerves feel like they are ripping apart
or maybe it’s the sensation of exploding
similar to the creation of a star, or i guess in my case,
the painful closure of a life well lived.
of a time far too stressed.

my brain feels very full while simultaneously existing almost on empty.
i wake up from a drowsy late afternoon depression nap with
my neurons firing too fast for me to catch up with and a weirdly powerful
and persevering sense of anger or maybe it’s frustration.
i feel like i’m stuck in a crevasse between the cliffs of successful and beautiful
but maybe i’ve always been here
living in the pits of my insanity stuck under the weights of my anxiety

all of these things are written on these crumpled pieces of paper
there are so many of them, i used to be in control, not anymore
the world feels as if it’s tumbling out of my hands
rolling down the hill and crushing my motivation with it
there are so many things on my mind
right now that no more would be able to fit 
in my brain, it’s overcrowded like an LA rush hour
with time speeding by, with me just sat there working from my tower.

i have reached maximum capacity
and yet i can't stop thinking things,
i can't stop saying stupid things,
i can't stop wishing things. 
i sigh, i reach up to my forehead and i swipe away remnants of exhaustion
and bend down to pick up my backpack that weighs far more than it should
with my shaky hands caused by a high intake of caffeine
that i now require just to stay awake in class
i’m tired but as i sit here avoiding responsibilities
and the anxiety that often travels along with it

i'm hoping that one day when i get to this place
of unbearable tensions in my shoulders
and stress that pulls the insanity directly from my mind
that translates to unrelenting tears falling from my eyes.
the top of my head will crank itself open
and all of these crumpled pieces of thoughts and worries
will pour out into a neat little pile
on the floor 
and disappear
at least for just a while.
that would be nice.
as my arms let go and the tension falls away along with my body
letting go of the stress and the pressures of
holding those pillars together
and fall through the sky
just so i have enough time to
take a truly deep breath.

here’s to a peaceful ending,
a crumbled paper ball fate.

Life’s obstacles can only delay us
from achieving our God-given purpose;
instead of becoming frustrated, we
should look to Christ and just focus

on the underlying issues in prayer.
Obstacles may perfect personal traits,
like having peace by waiting on Him,
so that our hearts are not deflated.

They kick up dust, blinding our vision
whereby, we must go back to Him again;
When our eyes are focused on Christ,
He lights our path and lessens our pain.

Instead of worrying and becoming anxious,
I’ve decided to cast my burdens on Christ,
knowing that He earnestly cares for us;
employing His principles, no real strife

can ever deter us from personal victories.
We’re blessed, from persevering our trials;
for these too, will eventually leave us,
lasting but a short, inconvenient while.
.
.
.
Author notes

Inspired by:
Psa 27:1, 119:2; Isa 41:13; 1 Pet 5:7;
Jam 1:12; Prov 3:5-6  and

"No matter how big or small the obstacles we face in our spiritual journey, as long as we keep our eyes on the Lord, we will reach our destiny that God has prepared for us beforehand to fulfill in this life, and hence inherit a mighty reward for it in the life to come. Keep your eyes in between the start and end of your faith on Jesus because He is the one who actually starts as the author and also ends as the finisher of your faith, He is able to keep you safe from the drowning of worry and unbelief by His supernatural power to stay afloat to reach your heavenly destination!" —Abraham Israel

Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ

By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2016, All rights reserved.

I love physics
And I know why
I love physics because
Physics is like you to love

When I look at you
You smile
The light from the sun
Helps you glow to my eyes

When you say something, I listen
I clearly hear your voice
And hear every single detail you say
Because when you speak
The other sounds cancel each other
So that your voice
Is the only sound I can hear

I love physics because
I can feel it on you
When I’m dazed and confused, you slap my face
It makes me calm
It’s the way you say to me
“I am here so don’t worry”
When it happens that we swap position
I’ll kiss you and show my love to you
In that way I can say
“Being sad doesn’t suit you”

When I am cold, you hug me
I hug you when you are cold too
These simple hugs mean
I love you and you love me too

I know you don’t want a selfish person
So I am persevering to change myself for you
My care for myself lessens
Now, I don’t know
Where I should put those cares that I take
Do you have any idea?
What if, I will put it all to you?
So every time my care for myself decreases
My care for you will increase

I love physics because
Physics makes me alive
Just the way you do
Because I can’t live without you

When we are far apart, I worry
But I know you are fine
Because when something bad happened to you
It will happen to me also
When your heart stop to beat
My heart will stop too
Because you know
My life is in series with you
When you are switched ‘on’
Then I will be ‘on’
When someone shut you ‘off’
My life will be turned ‘off’

I like you because
I don’t know why but
Everything is nicer with you
How much do you weigh?
I think you are heavier than me
Maybe that’s the reason why
I fell in love to you
As Albert Einstein said,
“Mass is a force alone”
So your force overcomes me

I guess I don’t know why I really love you
Why do I also love physics?
I think I love you. . .
I guess I love physics. . .
Because physics is you

To live with struggles everyday, is to see Christ grace.
To see the attacks from that wicked scumbag demon too.
For Christ strength keeps you persevering through it.
While so many others have given up with no hope to stand on.
But when we place our hope on the Living God strength gets renewal.
So that even through the rough times we keep pushing through.
With  the strength from the Lord helping us to overcome everything.
That those demonic forces throw right at us on a daily basis .

Follicle Poem
December 6, 2013

A mental relapse occurs.
I see hands plowing through my head of hair
They continue to grasp at the roots,
as if attempting to expose a truth hidden underneath.
But what secrets could bequeath a hair follicle?
Well, one might tell a tale.

Scared of the dark, a 6 year old Wynn laid awake in bed.
He prolonged the inevitable destitution of a dream state.
No longer wanting to accept a reoccurring nightmare,
he took to a dreary exercise of staying awake in the dark.
One hair follicle today may tell of how,
on that night it did not rise in a panicked state.
Wynn had finally conquered his fear of the dark.

"Something felt different today," said Follicle #567.
A new shampoo.
But more than that, strange scissors.
"Who is this new person cutting Wynn's hair now?"
remarked one hair follicle,
"I wonder what happened to the usual lady?"
She had passed away.

An emerging chest hair observed the extended family has grown recently.
"Darker relatives who look different and live in other regions of the world.
Who are they and why do they get treated differently?
Nobody has heard of the ***** region in the southern hemisphere,
or armpit land where our hair family members supposedly smell weird."
The perspective of a follicle in puberty.

"The loud sound of electricity and gears grinding scares me.
There is a storm which ravishes our lands.
First, a foamy cloud surrounds us.
Next, comes a sharp stinging sensation,
not a pleasant feeling to be set free from your roots.
A tidal wave crashes, washing away my follicle friends and family forever.
Then, the lightning strikes - dooming us all."
A ****** follicle's worst fear.

"We are a persevering bunch.
We cling to our conventions and grow, grow, grow.
But recently Wynn has done something new.
We thought he was feeding us honey,
so treacherous.
Sticky goop and stiff paper will be the end of us all.
Nobody wants to admit follicles are second-class citizens to smooth skin."
Waxing prematurely takes the lives of several million follicles annually.

"A rebel group of follicles known as the 'In-Growns' are up to no good.
They scheme with the pimples, plotting when and where to strike next.
I worry about Wynn - wish he could know we aren't all so ill-intentioned."
Follicle culture is derived from parenting, not just biology or anatomical location.

"The last of my kind, I have been contaminated with chemicals.
My color changed to blue.
I've heard the ancient legends about follicles once turned blonde.
We need to appease the summer sun god.
The others have all shriveled up or been brutally betrayed by the locals.
In hiding, we worry the scissor insurgents will discover our locations.
All I wanted was the freedom to express myself,
to be seen for who I really am - not just some color."
Follicles experience discrimination for numerous reasons.

"Drugs.
I can feeeel them in my DNA.
Something about me has changed and I like it.
Living life on the wild side these days.
I don't shower and don't care if I am greasy.
Every other follicle’s fears are irrational.
I'm gonna spread the word and grow out a bit.
Because that's what they expect of me, isn't it?
I mean, what good could come out of a drugged up follicle,
other than more waste of scalp space?"
Follicles who use drugs recreationally receive negative labels and harsh stigma.

"The wavy goodness from a gel rub,
is the highlight of the week.
We are fine, fresh, and fierce, ready to set the standard for follicle fashion.
If you are one of those lower class follicles,
who can't afford gel.
No worries - some might trickle down...
Just kidding!
Spray supports our monopoly on hair care products."
Fashionable follicles are extra sassy and have socio-economic privilege.

The relapse ends.
My head suddenly feels heavy,
swarmed with the hair follicle chronicles.
And the hands running through my head of hair become inspired.
They begin to tell their tales of times passed in Wynn's life.

Perspective means everything.

I
Parting from the golden tinge that tears the azimuth
The red orb descends into the vast blue
Infuses a consortium of colors immaculately blend, an interlude
Between the morn, and the night that has to brew

A stillness engulfs the trees, the night dawns
The last rays sieved by the green leaves, swivel through
Escape from the small pockets, shimmering, marking their finale
Afraid from his embrace, light the path in lieu

Amongst the drowned colors of the night, he moves
Trampling the undergrowth, merging into singleton
And though his destination's vague, for others he carves a path
Follows the constant ire, within his heart that burns

And this began years ago, roots unclear
When fingers hadn't yet gained freedom from flesh
And a luring innocence emanated from within
Cuddled in his mother's ***** he rest

From a bedlam of impetuous thoughts arose
A symphony both bitter and sweet
Ridden with memories, some wounds and falls
An overture of edification he knead

Though the day he learnt to tame
In the dark velvet, white jewels they shined
A servitude of the dreams, trapped awaiting emancipation
He set them free, let them touch the open skies

Taught and steered by the ethereal sun
He embarked on a voyage into the unknown
Trying to steer into the path, nebulous that lay
Though comrades there were, he vanguard all alone

II
The patter on the leaves beseech him from the trance
As the faint drizzle makes its way through
The carved lines on his face that hide deep within
Underneath this hardened countenance, a figure unblemished, raw and ****

And then he sees Nature unleash itself
Her eyes gleaming red with rage
Irked by the persevering being that stands before
She vows to vanquish him failing the riddle she lays

"O fellow-being, I am Nature", she cries
"I have seen a myriad of men come this way
But few could pass, who could answer me correctly
Listen carefully O traveller to what I am about to say

Tales speak of a thing within with mysterious origins
Whose workings be elusive and indiscernible
But O my dear friend, it lays carefully hidden and though we can't see
It vivifies the moment, to make the next turn"

As her hair waves in an eccentric swipe
Like Hades from Hell, she tore
"Tell me what it is, for I forbid thee to go further
Answer wisely, so that I know that thy heart is naught but pure"

As he remains mesmerized, feet transfixed to the ground
The courage and valour he has loomed over so many years
Trickles down with the warmth and the cold sweeps in
As the bells ring, the symphony of the impending doom is loud and clear

The very earth beneath him quivers
With a thunder, as an eerie force pulls mountains apart
And these vestiges of time adorn and reflect
The cursed fire that ensues beneath the two halves

The covetous fires leap, advancing towards their prey
As the tumult above marks its arrival
With a crescendo, the storm imposes its anarchy
The clouds do its bidding, the skies they stifle

The exodus of the falling black rain
A blanket covering the sky, sheds out the light
The Satan's canvas anew, the impenetrable darkness pierces
Awaits the strokes that pervades the crimson into the night

As the mountains rise up, blot out the way
The vultures lay sprawled, their eyes, they shine
And these scavengers of death swoop down, sniffing, awaiting the moment
The hunger glistens in the pupils, today, to their appetite they dine

And he stumbles upon a rock and falls
As the storm vivified by the fire creates havoc
He lays exhausted, a numbed mind, though awake
And he witnesses it though the windows of his eyes that lifts his shock

Amongst the carcasses and the carrion strewn on the bloodied ground
Carrying the dead, the little creatures, ants, unaffected they stride
As they move on, compelled by an unfaltering force
Binding them, as they tread these dark knights

And he realises, what be these, these colossal clouds?
Intangible they may seem, it's the air we breathe, remain just misty shrouds
What be the mountains that stand on our lands?
Boulders they may be, remain just mounds of sand

Darkness never ceases unless one open the eyes
Like the wind only carries those who spread their wings
And the destination is never near until taken the first stride
Just as the tide only sails those who hold on to the mast's strings

Dreams shatter and hard blows we receive
Our eyelids close, wet waters they meet
But we look at the lily, from the depths of the murky waters, it rises
Basking, with a smile, the sun it greets

He speaks "Faith be the elusive power that exists within
Emphasises the goal in the turbulent times
Each human capable of it, umarked by religion or creed
Urges the torment laden heart to beat along", as Nature smiles

And with a single wave of her hand, it all vanishes
He stands before the place that his heart for eons has yearned
And the utopia unfolds as his dreams present themselves before him
And his eyes finally give way, to the tears he has for so long shunned

As he stands captivated, ebullient
Savouring each bit of the magnificent sight
The fresh fragrant air fills his nostrils, as he understands
It hasn't been the destination but the voyage he has prized

As a flock of birds chirrup their way through
And the wind toys with his hair, him they beckon
He smiles and with a lasting glimpse
He starts off again, for sleep has yet to come.

I respect my body.
The same way I respect my house.
My red brick skin
Blushed with flowing blood
From my space-heater heart
My air-conditioner lungs I have routinely maintained
With long drawn out breathes of cool wind
I have protected my house with toxic pockets
Of termite poison
To protect my wooden frame
And I hang up pictures of love ones with
Nails inside tattoo guns that spell out their names
And I paint my home’s walls with different shades
Of colors to bring out its ascetic value
Like how I use blue eye-shadow so my guests
Can better see my eyes, bright blue
I eat vitamins like I vacuum my carpet
Cleaning up and persevering its worth
The ting-tang sound of a working vacuum
Paralleling the pitter-patter of those circular pills
As they fall down my throat
I seasonally change out my couches and my chairs
When I go to my mirror and tie-up my hair
A different look for a different season
Because my house deserves a separate look too
For when it feels the wind changing
And like myself my house would rather not be bare
So I dress it in marigolds and poppy flowers
And ivy that I have to cut down when I notice it growing too fast
Because like my house I am too beautiful to be covered completely
Each shrub I trim another inch of skin I can share
And I respect  it when I get home
I say just a little bit
More skin at the top
To show off my brick house.

strength doesn't mean courage
suicide takes courage
persevering takes strength
approaching that pretty girl
you saw in starbucks
takes courage
loving her
even at the times
when you think you might hate her
takes strength
fighting takes courage
pacifism until you find something
worth fighting for takes strength
encased in our ideals
they catch quite the beating
and if they still stand
once the dust has settled
the smoke cleared
then you know they were strong
I might not be brave
and I might be short and skinny
but don't relax that guard
I have strength enough to know
that you are mistaken

One thinks  on Calvin heav’n’s own spirit fell;
Another deems him instrument of hell;
If Calvin feel heav’n’s blessing, or its rod,
This cries there is, and that, there is no God.

Alexander Pope

A transcendental tulip
is blooming in my garden.
Before the petals wither,
before affections harden,
I pray it may diffuse its scent –
so gloriously redolent.

Encouraging the faithful,
it blooms in any weather.
In sunshine or in shadow;
let us, elect, together,
enjoy its sanctifying smell
While warning careless souls of hell.

In Him we stroke the petal
That proves our own depravity
The flower that declares our heart
apart from Christ, a cavity
where only evil may be found
by One who dares our depths to sound.

The second petal beckons
and sings of pure election;
where souls are freely chosen
by God’s divine selection.
(As yet not offered to the masses –
Unto whom His wrath now passes).

Thirdly shines the Limit
of Christ in His atonement:
benefits are thus withheld
in God’s eternal moment.
So let the worldling rant and bluster;
Raging will not dim the luster…

Fourth: shall the fallen Adam
hold out against omniscience?
Will puny human being
Prevail in disobedience?
The Lord on high will hound you down –
His grace to place a golden crown.

Point five unfurls its essence;
as saints arise, and striving
shake off the dust and onward march –
though never quite arriving;
while God empowers to go the distance
Persevering with insistence.

Behold in full the blossom!
In Grace it shines, reflecting;
delighting in God’s wisdom,
the lead to gold perfecting;
Magnanimous floral alchemy
bestowing at last true liberty.

Love is patient,
It willingly waits,
Accommodating the pace,
of others,
it is never in a haste.

Love is kind,
It provides support for the long haul,
even in the heaviest downpours.
It appreciates the efforts others make,
However small.

It does not envy, it does not boast.
It exudes humility wherever it goes.
Love is not proud,
"I" is never what it's about.
Love is not rude,
even when it's in a foul mood.

It is not self-seeking,
It does not fight for rights.
Love is not easily angered,
It does not stir up fights.

It keeps no records of wrongs.
Love is forgiving.
It is always protecting,
rather hurting itself than hurting another.

It is always trusting, hoping and persevering even
when the person repeatedly does the wrong thing.
Love never fails.

This is the love that I have.
The love bore to me in death.
When you died on that cross,
You paid the cost.

And now, I'm no longer lost.

(Fargo was sad. He said,)



''I was a helmsman some time ago; '' Gian asked him, ''what happened? ''
''It's a long story; I'm an honest man; Geraldine trusts me
With her confidences; I had saved the women who had trusted
Me, except Bella who died before I could save her; she



(Fargo continued,)



Died in the peace of the Lord; '' Hector said, ''God's will for us is good.''
Abseil said, '' Maybe I wouldn't have been able to use my hands
Without your help; you're a good man, but you're little understood.''
''When I wasn't able to do the good things, I've made some good plans.''



(Ismail said,)



''We can do small things with great love; you hated the pirates.
Sometimes, being too passionate can be a bad thing; the lack
Of control is filled with passion; I see rightly in your iris.''
''When I was on the shore, I saw a ship and my hope came back.



(Fargo continued,)




I had to swim and ask for help; I've found three drunken men,
Who were sleeping on the deck; I've entered the captain's cabin
And I've found some documents demonstrating that they robbed ten
Ship passengers; I've heard about robbing on the galleon.’’



(John said,)



'' And how did you deduce that the ship belonged to the pirates? ''
Fargo answered, '' I've found the papers and the treasure
That belong to me; '' Brisbon said, ''Show me these documents! ''
'' A letter is sent to Fargo Escalante, Cantabria, for sure,



(Fargo continued,)



By Francisco Cerda along with some jewelry and money-
A payment for a service; I had waited for it to solve
My financial problems; then, I took a job; '' ''It's mighty funny, ''
Said John; '' My fortune is in my house because I fight to evolve.''



(Suaram asked Fargo,)



Why did you get a job to work on a carrack while knowing
To survive on a galley so well? '' '' As a sailor on
A carrack, I could do difficult navigation during
The storms; '' ''Freddy used to tell me sailing stories at the dawn, ''



(..said Sam, Brisbon replied,)



''He trusted me while sending me in the ports to hire the sailors.
Then, I've controlled the work of the crew on the ship; '' Sulim replied,
''He needs all our help; '' Gian said, '' while sailing, we will be failures
If we don't communicate each other; it is not in pride



(Gian continued,)



To learn how to correct the mistakes; when the ship is broken,
We sink; '' John said, '' we were hired to do many jobs because
Freddy didn't have enough money; '' ''when the fire was smokin',
He lost everything; the fatigue struck us with its claws, ''



(Replied Sam. Suaram said,)

''We have been too exhausted to fight for life; we could all die.''
''Gino, Nico, and Dino died; I could become invalid, ''
Said Abseil; Sam replied, '' you're saved, 'cause God is above the sky! ''
''Who pays us when we can't work? '' Asked Gian; his frowning face was pallid.



(Cosma replied,)



'' When you don't work, you're starving to death; '' Ismail said,
''Fargo had been persevering until he found a safe place.
He's a fighter and an example to us all; he's our head.''
''He should check the kitchen equipment; for me, he's in disgrace, ''



(Said John; Fargo fell asleep and couldn't hear them. Hector said,)



''He rescued the women while asking God for forgiveness.
He used too many details while describing his adventures
And achievements; he has the sleeping pirate as a witness,
When he says that the documents belong to him; '' '' these letters



Said Gian and continued,)

Could belong to any person called Fargo; '' '' they used
The stranger's dogs to find him; I think it's about money, ''
Said Sulim, '' He brought two galleons and soldiers; I'm confused.
He's a powerful man having some secrets; '' ''Don't be funny!



(Replied John, but he became meditative and continued,)



The women love Fargo; '' ''he should inform the authorities
About the documents, '' said Gian; Sam replied, ''I think he did it
And he received their protection; '' '' he has secret priorities, ''
Said John, '' it's not easy to be honest, but I have to admit



(John continued,)



That I do anything for money except stealing; ''
Sam said, '' It's pleasant to live in piracy and sad to be
A victim of it, 'cause it means the loss of any feeling.''
''I am human as long as no human loss is known in me, ''



(Concluded John.)
(The next day, Geraldine and Frederick tried to convince Fargo to tell the authorities that he had been a pirate, but Fargo said that he had played only a game to take back the treasure, which had been stolen by the pirates.)

(...to be continued...)

Poem by Marieta Maglas

New nature feeds off those words of temporal happiness,
Leaving behind the misery of poets
To lingering moments of waking in solitude.
Yet, they build in my pulse
Till I find I have been sitting in the shower
For a heavy hour
Disguising lonely deltas.

Eternal ancient mirrors reflect my body falling back
Into the man made rain
Letting droplets hit me on the fontanel
Unable to let them in.
Cause one day all this will only be a memory
And why would I want to add to this heavy pocket of lost history?

This morning my breath
Reached a moment of actuality.
I felt compelled to leave the rain
And start my day with the closest star.
There you go darling,
Rip Grecian suns from the garden of
My soul and let dead trees
Be stained with our love.

Oh god,
The motion has only begun.

I must know that love has privilege
In its pain. the only way to
Truly leave solitary water
Is to accept our flaws
As artistic talent.
Each stab of passion has given me
The tools to create
A portrait of our past attempt.

But I fight this epitome. Seeing your
Face brings anger to my
Persevering smile. I am made
Ashamed of my own inflicted violence,
Destroying my desire to hear your internal maps.
This only leads me back to
Rain and I am caught in
My contradictions.

So, I let my desert skin
Take in the water yet again.
But this time
I don't bend my knees
In prayer to our hope.

I swallow the liquid,
Tainted with the blood of city pipes,
And feel my pulse jump out
Toward the lucent droplets
Of some faithful future.

I’m the kind of guy who tries to fly on broken wings.

I’m that sort of guy who is so stubborn,

           that I’ll keep trying to breathe,

       even when the oxygen is gone.

It’s not about comfort,

         and it is definitely not about luxury.

It’s about trying your hardest,

                 and persevering through the pain,

                             even when the pain seems overwhelming.

I was once impressionable,

     but now I’m just a skeptic,

            who’s out to fight the critics

            and prove that I’m not dead yet.

Yet, maybe I’m just an idealist;

                   a naive warrior

          for causes I never really understood.

But that won’t stop me—

       I’ll strive for victory,

      though I know victory is uncertain.

I’ll fight for sanity,

      since it seems sanity is uncertain as well.

I’m not a tamed beast to be trapped inside a cage,

Nor am I a hopeless soul

         treading water to stay afloat.

I am strong.

     I am steady.

And occasionally,

           I am lovely.

I solidify all that is true.

I Am Prestige: The Warrior Deep Within You.

Persevering as comet to your orbit
Your friction renderings shorn my form
Shedding shards of myself as I burn

Two a.m, the taste of alcohol lingers in my mouth.
L.A. at night is a walk unsecure, as wolves come out into the cold.
These green neon eyes of predators approach.
Nightfall creates a ghost town. Darkness, a companion of loneliness.
The city is its own wilderness, I watch my step or risk losing my identity. Desperate to escape but poverty is a frustrating trap that can make one break. I can only imagine the life of abandoned corpses, sleeping next to churches, after constant battles of defeat.
Here come the police sirens, protecting the elites, the security force of oppression and brutality.
Where does love fit in this city? It is like love has been removed to save a few dollars and polluted fog put in its place.
I get why people would give anything to hold onto someone at the end of the day.
A city advertised for dreamers but the nightmare of those that do not make it to the spotlight.
I continue to fight despite no handouts.
My memories shaped by experiences in these streets.
Reminding me of what I am made of.  
I will walk in this misconceived city, still breathing, persevering, until I have reached my destination.