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Todos me dizem que o seu coração é impenetrável
O Castelo mais seguro perderia
Não tenho códigos, chaves e nem força
Tenho apenas palavras escritas
Mas como também me dizem, palavras abrem portas
E se portas podem ser abertas
Seu coração também pode ser penetrado
Por mais difícil que seja
Leia o que eu escrevo
Pode ser meio complicado pelas lágrimas que mancham o papel
Nas palavras manchadas pelas lágrimas
Finja que "amor" está escrito
Por que com amor as coisas ficam mais bonitas
Mais uma lagrima cai no papel
Mais amor eu vejo nele
É aconselhável eu parar por aqui
Pode ser que o papel se rasgue
E se meu papel se rasgar
Ler isso você não vai
E então  as portas continuaram fechadas
Ficarei sem códigos, chaves, força e agora sem palavras
Então o que você guarda ai dentro do seu coração não será desvendado
Por toda a eternidade.
Paul d'Aubin Oct 2013
Hommage élégiaque au poète indicible du Genêt, Giacomo Leopardi


Oh toi, Leopardi né à Recanati,
Tu portas sur la vie, le regard des «antiques»
Et même, les «lumières» semblaient pâles pour toi,
Du haut du belvédère de la pensée antique ;
Tu vivais en ton siècle comme un exilé,
Qui a connu l’âge d’or et se languit d’ennui.
Recanati, pour toi, était comme un caveau
Dont tu ne t’échappais qu’au travers de tes livres.
Ivre de grec et féru de latin,
Seule la bibliothèque était ta vraie amie.
Latiniste à huit ans, Helléniste à quatorze,
Si ton corps t’enfermait, ton esprit t’élevait ;
Bien haut, dans les hauteurs où dominent les aigles.
Très tôt dans la palette de tes talents immenses,
Tu sus choisir la muse comme cime des arts ;
Et devint son Mozart, ciselant de ses mots,
Que tu allais cueillir dans les champs de diamant,
Dans la Grecque éternelle qui irrigue l'Esprit,
Tu souffrais en silence ton époque mesquine.

Par ton hommage à Dante tu commenças d'écrire
Et souffrait tellement pour ta patrie meurtrie.
Ainsi tu ravivas la mémoire, des légions enfouies
Sous les neiges et les glaces de la Russie glaciale,
Là où, Napoléon, conduisit tes enfants
Où dans de vains combats ils moururent, si ****.
Admirant la nature tu en perçus la grandeur,
Mais en compris aussi les minéralités froides
Dont l'éternel retour se rit de nos soucis,
Alors que nous goûtons des lieux apprivoisées
Son chaos naît et renaît en "Bige Bang" convulsifs,
Et moins que des fourmis, elle se soucie de nous.
Gravissant les volcans tu pouvais contempler
Le peu de cas fait, de cités, jadis si glorieuses.
Tu pouvais mesurer l'immense solitude
Qui pétrifia Pascal et rend tout orgueil dérisoire,
Comme pure chimère dans les champs du Cosmos
Ou le temps ne suit pas, nos piètres horloges.
Et, pourtant gravissant les pentes du Vésuve
Du Genêt si chétif, tu saisis la grandeur ;
Celle même, des humains face à l'inexorable.
Mieux encore tu en appelas à la fraternité humaine,
Et face aux cataclysmes toujours renouvelés
Tu conseillas de ne pas y rajouter nos propres maux.
Toi que l'on désigna : "prince du pessimisme" ;
"Sombre amant de la Mort, pauvre Leopardi",
Tu fus plus bien plus que d'autres, un sceptique attentif,
Aux peines de tes frères, et à leurs vains combats,
Toi le savant chétif qui mourut à trente-neuf ans,
Tu goûtas la passion de cruelles qui repoussaient ta bosse.

Paul Arrighi ( Toulouse/France)
E-Mail : paul20.arrighi@numericable.fr
Le poète

Le mal dont j'ai souffert s'est enfui comme un rêve.
Je n'en puis comparer le lointain souvenir
Qu'à ces brouillards légers que l'aurore soulève,
Et qu'avec la rosée on voit s'évanouir.

La muse

Qu'aviez-vous donc, ô mon poète !
Et quelle est la peine secrète
Qui de moi vous a séparé ?
Hélas ! je m'en ressens encore.
Quel est donc ce mal que j'ignore
Et dont j'ai si longtemps pleuré ?

Le poète

C'était un mal vulgaire et bien connu des hommes ;
Mais, lorsque nous avons quelque ennui dans le coeur,
Nous nous imaginons, pauvres fous que nous sommes,
Que personne avant nous n'a senti la douleur.

La muse

Il n'est de vulgaire chagrin
Que celui d'une âme vulgaire.
Ami, que ce triste mystère
S'échappe aujourd'hui de ton sein.
Crois-moi, parle avec confiance ;
Le sévère dieu du silence
Est un des frères de la Mort ;
En se plaignant on se console,
Et quelquefois une parole
Nous a délivrés d'un remord.

Le poète

S'il fallait maintenant parler de ma souffrance,
Je ne sais trop quel nom elle devrait porter,
Si c'est amour, folie, orgueil, expérience,
Ni si personne au monde en pourrait profiter.
Je veux bien toutefois t'en raconter l'histoire,
Puisque nous voilà seuls, assis près du foyer.
Prends cette lyre, approche, et laisse ma mémoire
Au son de tes accords doucement s'éveiller.

La muse

Avant de me dire ta peine,
Ô poète ! en es-tu guéri ?
Songe qu'il t'en faut aujourd'hui
Parler sans amour et sans haine.
S'il te souvient que j'ai reçu
Le doux nom de consolatrice,
Ne fais pas de moi la complice
Des passions qui t'ont perdu,

Le poète

Je suis si bien guéri de cette maladie,
Que j'en doute parfois lorsque j'y veux songer ;
Et quand je pense aux lieux où j'ai risqué ma vie,
J'y crois voir à ma place un visage étranger.
Muse, sois donc sans crainte ; au souffle qui t'inspire
Nous pouvons sans péril tous deux nous confier.
Il est doux de pleurer, il est doux de sourire
Au souvenir des maux qu'on pourrait oublier.

La muse

Comme une mère vigilante
Au berceau d'un fils bien-aimé,
Ainsi je me penche tremblante
Sur ce coeur qui m'était fermé.
Parle, ami, - ma lyre attentive
D'une note faible et plaintive
Suit déjà l'accent de ta voix,
Et dans un rayon de lumière,
Comme une vision légère,
Passent les ombres d'autrefois.

Le poète

Jours de travail ! seuls jours où j'ai vécu !
Ô trois fois chère solitude !
Dieu soit loué, j'y suis donc revenu,
À ce vieux cabinet d'étude !
Pauvre réduit, murs tant de fois déserts,
Fauteuils poudreux, lampe fidèle,
Ô mon palais, mon petit univers,
Et toi, Muse, ô jeune immortelle,
Dieu soit loué, nous allons donc chanter !
Oui, je veux vous ouvrir mon âme,
Vous saurez tout, et je vais vous conter
Le mal que peut faire une femme ;
Car c'en est une, ô mes pauvres amis
(Hélas ! vous le saviez peut-être),
C'est une femme à qui je fus soumis,
Comme le serf l'est à son maître.
Joug détesté ! c'est par là que mon coeur
Perdit sa force et sa jeunesse ;
Et cependant, auprès de ma maîtresse,
J'avais entrevu le bonheur.
Près du ruisseau, quand nous marchions ensemble,
Le soir, sur le sable argentin,
Quand devant nous le blanc spectre du tremble
De **** nous montrait le chemin ;
Je vois encore, aux rayons de la lune,
Ce beau corps plier dans mes bras...
N'en parlons plus... - je ne prévoyais pas
Où me conduirait la Fortune.
Sans doute alors la colère des dieux
Avait besoin d'une victime ;
Car elle m'a puni comme d'un crime
D'avoir essayé d'être heureux.

La muse

L'image d'un doux souvenir
Vient de s'offrir à ta pensée.
Sur la trace qu'il a laissée
Pourquoi crains-tu de revenir ?
Est-ce faire un récit fidèle
Que de renier ses beaux jours ?
Si ta fortune fut cruelle,
Jeune homme, fais du moins comme elle,
Souris à tes premiers amours.

Le poète

Non, - c'est à mes malheurs que je prétends sourire.  
Muse, je te l'ai dit : je veux, sans passion,
Te conter mes ennuis, mes rêves, mon délire,
Et t'en dire le temps, l'heure et l'occasion.
C'était, il m'en souvient, par une nuit d'automne,
Triste et froide, à peu près semblable à celle-ci ;
Le murmure du vent, de son bruit monotone,
Dans mon cerveau lassé berçait mon noir souci.
J'étais à la fenêtre, attendant ma maîtresse ;
Et, tout en écoutant dans cette obscurité,
Je me sentais dans l'âme une telle détresse
Qu'il me vint le soupçon d'une infidélité.
La rue où je logeais était sombre et déserte ;
Quelques ombres passaient, un falot à la main ;
Quand la bise sifflait dans la porte entr'ouverte,
On entendait de **** comme un soupir humain.
Je ne sais, à vrai dire, à quel fâcheux présage
Mon esprit inquiet alors s'abandonna.
Je rappelais en vain un reste de courage,
Et me sentis frémir lorsque l'heure sonna.
Elle ne venait pas. Seul, la tête baissée,
Je regardai longtemps les murs et le chemin,
Et je ne t'ai pas dit quelle ardeur insensée
Cette inconstante femme allumait en mon sein ;
Je n'aimais qu'elle au monde, et vivre un jour sans elle
Me semblait un destin plus affreux que la mort.
Je me souviens pourtant qu'en cette nuit cruelle
Pour briser mon lien je fis un long effort.
Je la nommai cent fois perfide et déloyale,
Je comptai tous les maux qu'elle m'avait causés.
Hélas ! au souvenir de sa beauté fatale,
Quels maux et quels chagrins n'étaient pas apaisés !
Le jour parut enfin. - Las d'une vaine attente,
Sur le bord du balcon je m'étais assoupi ;
Je rouvris la paupière à l'aurore naissante,
Et je laissai flotter mon regard ébloui.
Tout à coup, au détour de l'étroite ruelle,
J'entends sur le gravier marcher à petit bruit...
Grand Dieu ! préservez-moi ! je l'aperçois, c'est elle ;
Elle entre. - D'où viens-tu ? Qu'as-tu fait cette nuit ?
Réponds, que me veux-tu ? qui t'amène à cette heure ?
Ce beau corps, jusqu'au jour, où s'est-il étendu ?
Tandis qu'à ce balcon, seul, je veille et je pleure,
En quel lieu, dans quel lit, à qui souriais-tu ?
Perfide ! audacieuse ! est-il encor possible
Que tu viennes offrir ta bouche à mes baisers ?
Que demandes-tu donc ? par quelle soif horrible
Oses-tu m'attirer dans tes bras épuisés ?
Va-t'en, retire-toi, spectre de ma maîtresse !
Rentre dans ton tombeau, si tu t'en es levé ;
Laisse-moi pour toujours oublier ma jeunesse,
Et, quand je pense à toi, croire que j'ai rêvé !

La muse

Apaise-toi, je t'en conjure ;
Tes paroles m'ont fait frémir.
Ô mon bien-aimé ! ta blessure
Est encor prête à se rouvrir.
Hélas ! elle est donc bien profonde ?
Et les misères de ce monde
Sont si lentes à s'effacer !
Oublie, enfant, et de ton âme
Chasse le nom de cette femme,
Que je ne veux pas prononcer.

Le poète

Honte à toi qui la première
M'as appris la trahison,
Et d'horreur et de colère
M'as fait perdre la raison !
Honte à toi, femme à l'oeil sombre,
Dont les funestes amours
Ont enseveli dans l'ombre
Mon printemps et mes beaux jours !
C'est ta voix, c'est ton sourire,
C'est ton regard corrupteur,
Qui m'ont appris à maudire
Jusqu'au semblant du bonheur ;
C'est ta jeunesse et tes charmes
Qui m'ont fait désespérer,
Et si je doute des larmes,
C'est que je t'ai vu pleurer.
Honte à toi, j'étais encore
Aussi simple qu'un enfant ;
Comme une fleur à l'aurore,
Mon coeur s'ouvrait en t'aimant.
Certes, ce coeur sans défense
Put sans peine être abusé ;
Mais lui laisser l'innocence
Était encor plus aisé.
Honte à toi ! tu fus la mère
De mes premières douleurs,
Et tu fis de ma paupière
Jaillir la source des pleurs !
Elle coule, sois-en sûre,
Et rien ne la tarira ;
Elle sort d'une blessure
Qui jamais ne guérira ;
Mais dans cette source amère
Du moins je me laverai,
Et j'y laisserai, j'espère,
Ton souvenir abhorré !

La muse

Poète, c'est assez. Auprès d'une infidèle,
Quand ton illusion n'aurait duré qu'un jour,
N'outrage pas ce jour lorsque tu parles d'elle ;
Si tu veux être aimé, respecte ton amour.
Si l'effort est trop grand pour la faiblesse humaine
De pardonner les maux qui nous viennent d'autrui,
Épargne-toi du moins le tourment de la haine ;
À défaut du pardon, laisse venir l'oubli.
Les morts dorment en paix dans le sein de la terre :
Ainsi doivent dormir nos sentiments éteints.
Ces reliques du coeur ont aussi leur poussière ;
Sur leurs restes sacrés ne portons pas les mains.
Pourquoi, dans ce récit d'une vive souffrance,
Ne veux-tu voir qu'un rêve et qu'un amour trompé ?
Est-ce donc sans motif qu'agit la Providence
Et crois-tu donc distrait le Dieu qui t'a frappé ?
Le coup dont tu te plains t'a préservé peut-être,
Enfant ; car c'est par là que ton coeur s'est ouvert.
L'homme est un apprenti, la douleur est son maître,
Et nul ne se connaît tant qu'il n'a pas souffert.
C'est une dure loi, mais une loi suprême,
Vieille comme le monde et la fatalité,
Qu'il nous faut du malheur recevoir le baptême,
Et qu'à ce triste prix tout doit être acheté.
Les moissons pour mûrir ont besoin de rosée ;
Pour vivre et pour sentir l'homme a besoin des pleurs ;
La joie a pour symbole une plante brisée,
Humide encor de pluie et couverte de fleurs.
Ne te disais-tu pas guéri de ta folie ?
N'es-tu pas jeune, heureux, partout le bienvenu ?
Et ces plaisirs légers qui font aimer la vie,
Si tu n'avais pleuré, quel cas en ferais-tu ?
Lorsqu'au déclin du jour, assis sur la bruyère,
Avec un vieil ami tu bois en liberté,
Dis-moi, d'aussi bon coeur lèverais-tu ton verre,
Si tu n'avais senti le prix de la gaîté ?
Aimerais-tu les fleurs, les prés et la verdure,
Les sonnets de Pétrarque et le chant des oiseaux,
Michel-Ange et les arts, Shakspeare et la nature,
Si tu n'y retrouvais quelques anciens sanglots ?
Comprendrais-tu des cieux l'ineffable harmonie,
Le silence des nuits, le murmure des flots,
Si quelque part là-bas la fièvre et l'insomnie
Ne t'avaient fait songer à l'éternel repos ?
N'as-tu pas maintenant une belle maîtresse ?
Et, lorsqu'en t'endormant tu lui serres la main,
Le lointain souvenir des maux de ta jeunesse
Ne rend-il pas plus doux son sourire divin ?
N'allez-vous pas aussi vous promener ensemble
Au fond des bois fleuris, sur le sable argentin ?
Et, dans ce vert palais, le blanc spectre du tremble
Ne sait-il plus, le soir, vous montrer le chemin ?
Ne vois-tu pas alors, aux rayons de la lune,
Plier comme autrefois un beau corps dans tes bras,
Et si dans le sentier tu trouvais la Fortune,
Derrière elle, en chantant, ne marcherais-tu pas ?
De quoi te plains-tu donc ? L'immortelle espérance
S'est retrempée en toi sous la main du malheur.
Pourquoi veux-tu haïr ta jeune expérience,
Et détester un mal qui t'a rendu meilleur ?
Ô mon enfant ! plains-la, cette belle infidèle,
Qui fit couler jadis les larmes de tes yeux ;
Plains-la ! c'est une femme, et Dieu t'a fait, près d'elle,
Deviner, en souffrant, le secret des heureux.
Sa tâche fut pénible ; elle t'aimait peut-être ;
Mais le destin voulait qu'elle brisât ton coeur.
Elle savait la vie, et te l'a fait connaître ;
Une autre a recueilli le fruit de ta douleur.
Plains-la ! son triste amour a passé comme un songe ;
Elle a vu ta blessure et n'a pu la fermer.
Dans ses larmes, crois-moi, tout n'était pas mensonge.
Quand tout l'aurait été, plains-la ! tu sais aimer.

Le poète

Tu dis vrai : la haine est impie,
Et c'est un frisson plein d'horreur
Quand cette vipère assoupie
Se déroule dans notre coeur.
Écoute-moi donc, ô déesse !
Et sois témoin de mon serment :
Par les yeux bleus de ma maîtresse,
Et par l'azur du firmament ;
Par cette étincelle brillante
Qui de Vénus porte le nom,
Et, comme une perle tremblante,
Scintille au **** sur l'horizon ;
Par la grandeur de la nature,
Par la bonté du Créateur,
Par la clarté tranquille et pure
De l'astre cher au voyageur.
Par les herbes de la prairie,
Par les forêts, par les prés verts,
Par la puissance de la vie,
Par la sève de l'univers,
Je te bannis de ma mémoire,
Reste d'un amour insensé,
Mystérieuse et sombre histoire
Qui dormiras dans le passé !
Et toi qui, jadis, d'une amie
Portas la forme et le doux nom,
L'instant suprême où je t'oublie
Doit être celui du pardon.
Pardonnons-nous ; - je romps le charme
Qui nous unissait devant Dieu.
Avec une dernière larme
Reçois un éternel adieu.
- Et maintenant, blonde rêveuse,
Maintenant, Muse, à nos amours !
Dis-moi quelque chanson joyeuse,
Comme au premier temps des beaux jours.
Déjà la pelouse embaumée
Sent les approches du matin ;
Viens éveiller ma bien-aimée,
Et cueillir les fleurs du jardin.
Viens voir la nature immortelle
Sortir des voiles du sommeil ;
Nous allons renaître avec elle
Au premier rayon du soleil !
Victor Marques Dec 2009
O teu amor.  
Nunca escondas meu amor.  
Te amo e te quero fazer sorrir
Te baloiçar ao vento sem tu pedires,  
Te amo seja onde for.  
Quando nascestes choravas,  
Teus pais davam gargalhadas de felicidade,  
Nem sabias então o quanto me amavas,  
O teu amor nunca teve idade.  
Terei a vida toda para sempre te amar.  
As estrelas do céu para olhar,  
As portas e janelas sempre abertas,  
Papoilas do campo e giestas.  
Victor Marques
- From Network, wine and people....
Victor Marques Dec 2009
Nós e a universo

O futuro será o que a mente pensa,
Procuro resposta ao meu passado,
Do meu interior rebuscado,
Acção e boa esperança….


Fecham-se janelas, portas se abrem,
Com boas razões e motivos,
Estradas direitas e por vezes tortas,
Pensamentos sempre positivos.


O ser humano se fustiga e consome,
As estrelas, as montanhas e o mar,
Sentem o seu próprio nome,
Nós somos navegadores  sem navegar….

Victor Marques
Canção Do Verbo Encarnado

*
Minha geração foi assim,
começou pelo quando
e acabou pelo fim.

O amor escorreu pelos cantos
e quando cantamos
a canção do amor armado,

Thiago de Melo estava em Berlim
mergulhado no verde dos olhos
da alemãzinha da ACNUR ,

nossa orquestra saiu de cena
e nossa guerra de guerrilhas
acabou no maior calor...

O suor que expelia seu odor
era o suor frio dos tiranos
nos porões mórbidos da ditadura
executando nossos irmãos.

O ar jazia cheio de sangue
e nós estávamos congelados
nas câmaras de gás dos IMLs.

Vínhamos de todos os lados,
desde os vales profundos do Ribeira,
das chapadas mais íngremes do Araguaia
ou dos guetos subumanos da urbe.

Éramos nós o odor de fumaça
que agredia as narinas alheias
com a catinga de carne queimada.

Éramos nós o encanto das canções de protesto
cantadas na avenida com euforia
para engendrar os projetos do futuro,

como somos nós os ignorados da história,
os estranhos os comícios,
a cadeira vazia das reuniões oficiais,

pois somos nós que chegamos e partimos
sem ninguém saber quem somos
e que vamos lá adiante,

distantes da balburdia alienante
e quando vós menos  esperais
somos nós que nos imolamos
às vossas portas
contra a apatia com que nos matais.

Como todos vós podeis ver,
a minha geração é assim:
começa pelo quando
e acaba pelo fim,
mas não fica à toa na vida
pro seu amor lhe chamar
e ver a banda passar
tocando coisas de amor...

Visite....http://blogdopoetacabral.blogspot.com.br/
Hoje sinto que aquela bola de sabão existe!
É uma bola de verdade, leve e livre, pelo vento,
Sente-se os sons das palavras, que expeliste,
Sentiu-se aqui o timbre, presente do alento!

O longo curso, no horizonte dessa montanha,
Que um dia essa bola quis seguir, sente-se aqui!
Brilham olhares atentos à noite, agora estranha,
O olhar de bolas voando vê-se agora até daqui!

Desperta solto e livre o sol de medo dos ventos,
Dispersa cores cinza, que o habitaram por tempos,
Ouvem-se desejos de liberdade, nestes momentos,
Quem sabe agora, o tom dos seus passatempos?

Não vejo os Invernos, nem se sente o tom do inferno,
Plana sobre a linda natureza um cheiro aflito e difuso,
Que sonho teve o vento, que te levou e trouxe, recluso!
Voa-as pelos céus e nem sabes mais a forma do parafuso!

Os círculos controversos do prender da abertura das portas,
Sustentam como metal idêntico as formas do pensamento,
Não importa ser bola de sabão e voar ao saber do vento,
Foi disposição para soltar amarras e viver o que hoje adoras!

O homem fez-se fora e a mulher vê-se agora, ambos cintilantes,
Todos os medos e costumes, já doentios, na hora do descanso,
Quando à noite no silêncio, os medos dos sons são abundantes,
Fogem sorridentes porque mesmo carentes têm seu descanso!

Autor: António Benigno
Código de autor: 2013.09.18.02.23
Lucas Couteiro Aug 2016
Em épocas de instabilidade,
Caro navegante...
Tenha muita cautela ao escolher teus caminhos.
Pois existem portas que, quando abertas...
Nunca mais se fecharão.

Já outras portas, quando se fecham,
Jamais poderão ser abertas novamente.
Grande amigo...
Há caminhos em que os Espíritos gritam
E o sangue se derrama...

Caminhos esses por onde o fogo consumidor se alastra
E o ímpio se transmuta.
Ali a dor é colossal. E cresce a cada passo dado.
Onde a guerra é lei. E te fere a todos instantes.
A morte será teu guia por estes vales estreitos.

Lugar em que abismos devoram os injustos
Em que a própria terra engole os fracos
E o veneno proferido se multiplica no retorno
Afogando os incautos nas marés do próprio sangue.
Por ali deve ser o teu andar, filho meu. Não temas.

Tais caminhos se cruzarão, um dia
Onde não houver mais tempo nem espaço, nobre guerreiro...
E os véus ocultos do eterno se abrirão,
Para os vitoriosos que se deleitarão
Nas glórias do amor infinito.
Victor Marques Apr 2013
As areias e o mar

As tuas caricias me fazem penar,
Noite e serões de embalar,
Violinos que tocam afinados,
Sonhos acordados…

Pele como a seda fina,
Cara de sempre menina.
Cedro no ermo sobranceiro,
Areias de um mar solteiro.

Tuas confissões sentidas,
Areias do mar movidas,
Noites mal dormidas,
Areias queridas.

O mar nos envolveu,
A lua se transcendeu,
Areias finas para nelas caminhar,
Portas abertas de um só olhar…

Victor Marques
Victor Marques Oct 2013
As aldeias

Outrora as plantas eram verdes e singulares,
Aldeias dispersas expostas ao luar,
Pelourinhos estranhamente nus,
Candeias e pouca luz.

Cavalos, burros com albardas e ferraduras,
Charruas, enxadas e portas sem fechaduras.
Cabras, ovelhas, cães e as alcateias,
Galinhas e galos  passeiam nas aldeias.

Tantas Igrejas do tempo do Marques de Pombal,
Se expõem e embelezam Portugal.
As fontes são antigas com água para beber,
Ribeiro que corre por correr…

O xisto e o granito ficam imortalizados,
Exaltam o trabalho de nossos antepassados.
Aldeias lindas que enchem livros nunca lidos,
Aldeias dos amores e dos amigos…

Victor
aldeias, portugal, granito, xisto
Victor Marques Sep 2013
O bom ladrão da aldeia

Seus pais embriagados estão,
Felicidade nunca tida,
Olhos de solidão incontida,
Despedaçou meu coração.

Partes vidros da janela,
Dormirias em qualquer cela,
Poderias matar e ser assassino,
Carinho que não tiveste em menino.

Arrombarias portas sem saber porquê?
Tens a falsa e estranha sensação,
De sentar num sofá e ver televisão,
Carinho e amor que Deus te dê…

Cordiais Cumprimentos
Victor Marques

Lavandeira, 28 de Junho de 1991
Victor Marques Nov 2014
Amar a vida primeiro
Gratidão para o resto do dia,
dando sorrisos para irem muito longe.
As coisas estão serenas tais como os rios Douro e Tua que esperam pacientemente todas as águas que se deleitam em correr desenfreadamente para seus leitos. Vinhas com folhas que caem coloridas e se assemelham a um horizonte de ouro luzidio.
Os pecadores sem sinos para tocar os remorsos dos seus pecados mais graves. A consciência humana dignifica e purifica ao mesmo tempo tantos seres que com pequenos delitos caminham livremente. Portas e janelas abertas logo de amanhã para espreitarem a  biblioteca do universo. Amando cada ser humano em excesso,  cada folhinha que tem medo de estar ligada. Folhas com o medo de estar no ar. A vida nem sempre é justa para  leõezinhos que na selva com cabras e cordeiros confraternizam no paraíso de um Deus infinito e imparcial. Amar a vida meus queridos amigos porque não se pode amar ninguém senão amarmos a vida primeiro.
. Victor Marques
amor, vida, primeiro
The Macedonians in this spectral fight would spend their last efforts to reach the heart of Vernarth and Alexander the Great, to try to ****** and defeat them from their captaincies that challenged Asmodeus. The colossal figure of the converted Sapsila had a longitudinal figure from head to toe of approximately four kilometers, all the maritime lines of Leros, Lipsi, and Pireas housed him in the hemisphere of contemplation where his skeleton was more sensitive than the geographical area of Sapsila, where the Achaemenids approached the longitudinal pectoral of several kilometers in length, pointing out the effigy of an immemorial Hoplite sedimented in this region where the feet rested at the height of the southern hemisphere of the feet of the corresponding Nótos and Vóreios that corresponded to its head. The Achaemenids reached the exact diameter of Vernarth's pectoral where it had the admission of the energy of the Kassotides, the same entrance hole that it had with the elder in the Bumodos, ad portas of the Gaugamela stage. Here his exoskeleton was transfigured towards the monastery of Atros with the cognition of the Katapausis, which led him through the hiding place of his epistíthios breastplate or iron and bronze breastplate, which exemplified how it was erected after the Achaemenids dispersed over the nearby line of Skalá. , where they will arrive with the Psiloi, for the purposes of raising the phalanxes that will lift with their feet the colossal figure of the Psiloi being nothing less than an archetype of Brisehal in the desolate Dasht-e-Lut desert, being from unpopulated places of devotion that again he was emerging from the empty glow of the Profitis Ilias. The specters abounded wandering alone as if trying to grasp the last sparks of the politics that remained for them to surrender from their own unencumbered solitude. Brisehal was a mountain with a canine head similar to Anubis, but millions of times larger towards the top and acid, like the hope of regulars to enter the garden-kingdom of Heaven. Before the day trembled with the movement of his trembling mocking strides, that Brisehal was from Das-e-Ruth from Arbela shaking day and night, embodied in the body of Vernarth, like the bombast of the archaeological sedimented hoplite of the Subclavian Kabbalah demarcating the entire pedestrian propulsion dynamics in the Achaemenids by his rib when he was soaked in Samael's silica, since he had been given a superior potion to close the Vernarth pectoral hole, and which has not yet been transplanted by the Kassotides. In such a way that all his anatomy would border the anatomy of his body gigantic free from Asmodeus, and from the whole cycle of tons of breaths of the shadow that conceived sparks of Shemesh on them, to revert the potion of Asmodeus to the degree of innocuous elixir.

Consisting of the voluminous being stretched out in the midst of Gnosticism that declared the figure of its proverbial monstrosity to be erected, born from the consciousness of the sectarian origins that placed it after a being harassed by Samael for centuries and centuries being condemned to be stretched in non-clairvoyance of those who did not really love him and yes, with the great profile of venerating the sublime sky that he knows in front of his eyes looking at the sky that divides Grikos and Skalá, after it was time to get up for the purposes of the Battle of Patmia in the Seventh Heaven, from where Vernarth ran terrified by the Olympic archaeological excitement in which this buried being was, being the same one that represented the god that Saint John the Apostle had mentioned to him referring to Geburah; where all the serpents or basilisks protocolized appeals of revolt against Alehisebenech, the serpent that will transmit paths from Dash-e-Lut on all the heads of the Achaemenids, asserting the judgment of Gnosticism when they were incarnated by Geburah and lost their night vision through nocturnal curtains that this abnormal god of the mesosphere, who was trying to eradicate them from the roof of the Tabernacle of Faith, pointing out that the noble harassments became more inexorable with the counterattack for those who suffered temporarily from the stubborn blindness that this god Geburah forged, as a God who claimed the abilities of Mars to constitute the existential fear that would ultimately intimidate even the Islamist soul that resided in these involuntary beings, being a trophy of their instincts and losing the chrism of the Hoplites for the reason of filling them in the glasses of the room chalice of Elijah, even if they do not attend the Upper Room but may be judicious to exalt the glory oria that resides in the front of the colossus, who personifies the versatile power facing the left where he carried his Xiphos vehemently, trying to adulterate them towards the sword of Samael. The lights of the sea were appreciated in the bay of Skalá exhibiting the ardor of the breakers as the arrest of archangels that took cover to slide in the toppers that were expelled when the mass was finally raised, flickering from a forest of life that would protect the troops of Vernarth, expelling them of every scale that could lodge in a decapitated teacher, being able to come sooty and representing in the Muslim Iblis that he would exchange the eternal nocturnal light, in advance when the first movements of the troops were unleashed, while some were in the stillness of the bonfires. pointing out the glimpse of the Iblis that came quickly to shoot fire due to its excoriation, showing that just by looking into their eyes, the Vernarth clone judged him at more than four kilometers of elevation, causing dissension by trying to stun them. Once again the embryonic action of Alexander the Great would relapse on Vernarth, who was laborious among all the Syntagmas that were conglomerating from the Psiloi, and already on their boyar horses, infants of the Ida and the newly developed wagons of the epsilon, pretending to debate them in doubt of the Exodus. that resembled in the infinitive people that flee from the Shemesh that whipped them from their scriptural registers, on the hands of cherubs with their hands hold the reins, with the patriarchs with the twelve crowns of stars that shone as in the Nile linking with the Sea of Patmia.
Battle of Patmia  Part  II
Estava encostado, ao muro da escada,
Que me levava junto à velha casa,
Meditava ao som de uma doce balada,
Passarinhos cantavam música em brasa!

Despertou em mim, que estava ali especado,
Tamanhos sonhos, que dei um grande grito,
No pensamento, sentia o coração alargado,
Abram-se as portas, sem haver qualquer conflito!

É essa a viagem, a mais esperada e que procurei,
Senti ali a direcção, a um mundo muito nobre,
A frontalidade e a esperança, é agora, e eu achei,
É o mundo onde a minha presença não é pobre!

Ali vale a coragem e a dificuldade dos que tentam,
Vale a alma e a presença da aparência, não é sorte,
Todos se sentem belos, porque se vive sem morte,
Aquela morte passaporte, que na vida é mais forte!

Vi o que desejava ali naquela escada, mas nem sonhava,
Naquela velha casa, meu pai e minha mãe nos preparava,
Enquanto vagueava, pensei que o que eu sonhei, não realizava,
Mas mesmo naquela casa, estava tudo com que ambicionava!

O caminho pra o enxergar foi longo e demorado,
Mas vivi tão perto e durante anos não a alcançava!
Não foi em vão a viagem ganhei vida avantajada,
Tirei do pensamento maravilhas maiores doutro mundo!


Autor: António Benigno
Código de autor: 2014.02.02.21.41.04.02
Igor Vitorino Jan 2015
Nova Andradina, meu moinho
Sua gente me recebeu com carinho
Lembro-me de cada rua e praça
Ali construí uma vida cheia de graça

Domingos entre amigos e festas
Passeios pelos seus rios e florestas
Sábados aminados em seus bares
Papeando com os tipos populares

No caminho do trabalho aventuras garantidas
Na “Escola Agrícola” se vai parte da minha vida
Ali fiz amigos e tenho estudantes incríveis
E aprendi com as mais situações horríveis

Política, cultura, dia-dia e aventuras
Aproximaram-me da vida dura
Que esse povo forte e lutador
Ostenta com graça e esplendor

Aqui somente abri portas e janelas
Aprendi o preço da liberdade
Descobri a força da vida e da solidariedade
Para sobreviver às contradições e querelas
Nova Andradina-MS
Necropolis of Hellenika / Kímolos
Tsambika / Philo of Alexandria

They passed each other on the outskirts of Archangelos to go to Tsambika, going to the Necropolis of Helleniká where he was waiting for them more than 400 kilometers to the west of the Cyclades, precisely in Kímolos where they would do the colloquy with to do the channeling with the Necropolis. Etréstles had traveled with Kanti the steed; on his back, they saw the distance before they arrived at Mandraki in Rhodes. They all headed down the coast towards Archangelos, but Etréstles went to Helleniká, the Vas Auric was landed on Mandraki for the purposes of the Creation of Vernarth together with the Apostle Saint John. Kímolos, it is on this island that the famous beginning of the procession towards the outskirts of the cities was to deposit their sacred remains on the way to a better one, here were the martyrs who were used to Etréstles since he cohabits in delay with Drestnia for the new millennium (His female of hers) with which he resides in the Koumeterium of Messolonghi in the ninth vertical cemetery. Having a chapel and altars this place was propitious to create between Kimolos and Tsambika which was so many kilometers away, so the meeting performance between villages would be seen in its entirety to be resurrected and worshiped between the Cyclades and the Dodecanese with pious exercises between both latitudes precisely in the chapel of Theoskepasti, while in Tsambika it would be in the Panagia Tsambika monastery. Etréstles carried in both hands some matches of some population dowries with laws of affability and generations lived there without knowing each other between the two islands and tabernacles, arguing canons of burial and exhumation. In this case of performance refer to the Vas Auric of Limassol that brought the construction of a world of the right angles for the neat reconstruction of multi polygonal spectra, adopted for the first time in Kímolos to be retransferred to a logical philosophical-architectural division seeking to enclose the perfect plans where the new Christians will reside, between Rhodes and the west of Kímolos re-installing themselves among more than a third of the venerable ones who rested in Helleniká, in syncretic neatness with dissimilar populations and creeds.

Saint John the Apostle with Vertnarth, Raeder, and Petrobus plus Eurydice would bring from the rubies of Alexandria the incorporeal honor of Alexander the Great, turning both island sites into palaces of the Muses of Helleniká for the scholars who would be at the canonization of Vas Auric. Being the precursor of the chapel of the Theoskepasti, this performance of erudition will be endowed with the new status for Philo of Alexandria present here, now being a co-demiurge who will convert this necropolis city into duality with Tsambika for distinctions of the rituals and homilies, reducing the inputs basics in ceremonies. Philo of Alexandria says that only God protects the Jews, adding to what Philo wrote in La Legatio ad Gaium, the Jewish delegation had trouble meeting Caligula and when they finally met him, the emperor declared that he wanted a statue of him to be built as Jupiter in the Temple of Jerusalem, which sowed desolation among the members of the delegation. Finally, this purpose was not realized thanks to the intervention of Agrippa I and the death of Caligula, Philo attributed the happy ending of both cases to Providence. This divine letter of these translators with Saint John the Apostle and Philo of Alexandria will make this homily the spiritual custody that will be preserved in these two cities and then towards the world of Vernarth of the Duoverse, so that invisible winds blow from the chapel of Kímolos to Panagia de Tsambika, in the frameworks that feed the Hebraic and Hellenic boundary “translating Greek into Hebrew, but in two universal sites of creation in the Theoskepasti chapel and Panagia de Tsambika, about the magic of the meeting of omniscience and grace. Says Vernarth: “with the interpretation of Philo of Alexandria and his exegesis, I will rub the tract of the successions of infinity legitimately stored the creation thought of the ZigZag Universe with the Parapsychological Regressive authority now circulating in a sniffing universe with a Verthian genealogy, tempering with my Falangist disciples but being biblical when it becomes the occasional emaciated mob of a world that falls degrading with its last pieces and challenges of the world associated with an allegorical spirit, contracted to wings of ethics and doctrinal rectitude. I have two candles in each hand, similar to Etréstles in Kímolos and in Helleniká, making delights of pleasures in these ceremonies to create the world’s ignored in the office of the super compassionate language, in more than seven days that add up between the Sun and the Earth, in a sub-mythological world being ourselves our own executioner established on the ***** that falls from the match of the wick of my Lucerne in its own mood. I still have a memory of who and of each one who will always be in my prayers, reopened in a sacredness less than my own end, here I will not continue to be stored. Rather I will continue to fall, exhumed from the very storehouse and from the struggle of the thistle that falls from itself rounded up to be competent to explain himself biblically as if he had never before been read ad limit of the doctoral, and sacred in the work of Philo of Alexandria here with us leading and there in the Necropolis on another thorn; as a perpetual creeping species growing here as an unvarying summer plant in cooler climates, which would usually be prostrated on the Helleniká slab with radiating branchy stems extending the fractal distance between Kímolos and Tsambika in thistle´s ceremonies. The hirsute silts will come from the genesis of their spiritual temporal being the same wool of the whirlpool of all the weeds attached and oppressed to the lamp of the gargoyles that are tuned together with the Gulpers of Archangelos in a happy diet following patterns of even, and odd thistles spring in the Cyclades and the Dodecanese. The Parapsychological regression XIV century - Saint John the Apostle says: “from Filerimos a sidekick monk of Philo of Alexandria has come with the image of the blessed Immaculate ****** and painted by Saint Luke the Apostle. The Knights of Saint John built the Monastery of Saint John in Rhodes with this image; everything comes from there on the Miraculous Hill of Filerimos, and the temple of Athens Polias was converted into a proto-basilica with a three-bay nave dedicated to Her. The church is known since then for housing the figure of the ****** of Filerimos (Our Lady of Filerimos). In the fourteenth century under the rule of the Knights of Saint John a monastery was built here surrounded by cloisters cells and a series of chapels, that is where the figure is the miracle worker and is reverently guarded. Being a Capuchin order after the Ottomans destroyed it; it was rebuilt by the Italians. With this image we canonize the Vas Áuric in the homily prior to the spiritual link with Etréstles in Kímolos, before every morning they illuminate the sacred Earth of both latitudes in the mystical house of Saint John the Apostle with the herbalists on the wind to fight for the Somnia in Hortum et Flos Herbarium in Kímolos, Garden of Flowers and Dreams in Herbalist in Kimolos. Knowing that the Universe is approaching the Vernarthian Duoverse, Saint John the Apostle decided with the Birthright to establish a Duoversal Garden in Kímolos with the aim of laying tremendous foundations on the base of the pre-Christians and apostolic who enlisted in the Greco-Hebrew world with the addition of compression, and medicinal valences for the herbalist of Kímolos, in such a way to reissue it in the monastery of San Juan in Rhodes and the Panagia of Tsambika. Since the grains grew and germinated they became thickets of great predestined forest in Rhodes, aspiring to continue being a well-known theology in Greek also being sufficient testimonial about its Aramaic originality, being addressed to the Sanhedrin, 37-42 AD Before Caiaphas and redirecting it to his brother-in-law Theophilus of Annas. The Aramaic Apocalypse, also known as 4Q246, is in one of the Dead Sea Scrolls, found at Qumran, with notable early messianic mention of the Son of God. Saint Luke says in the voice of Saint John the Apostle: “4Q246, we are children of God…, the Highest, the Messiah as a messianic voice, being able to be confused with the Beast or the Messiah but Philo of Alexandria will be there saying “I always ignored with the most blessed indifference to Satan, because therefore in this Aramaic manuscript he only has, and will reside forever and ever in his Messiah” Given this situation, the commanded expressions were those of astragals mysticism in herbalist and botany in this manuscript, since the unfortunate leftovers are the freshness and splendor of the flowers caressed by the wind that arrived at that moment; in regard to the wind of the Anemoi being eight gods that correspond to the eight cardinal points from which they came and were related to different seasons and meteorological phenomena, but he heralded the excitement of the Cyclades, like Sound of Sounds between Narcissus of Sharon and Lilies of the Valley. The audio-images were avocados forming the deep thickets that will move according to the inclinations of the planets, each time the Universe approached Greece among all the cisterns with water for the flower meadows that Vernarth in litanies was assigned to the paths that lead to the Vas Auric.

Vernarth says: “With these titles “Vas spirituale, Vas honorabile, Vas insigne devotionis, Rosa mystical, and Regina sacratissimi rosari”, I have to transform all the astragalus, and shrubs into the consorts with the presence of the jacaranda vase of living human nature in virtue of the meeting of the Universe-Duoverse, for the herbalist of Kímolos now imprisoned in the Vas Auric of Limassol. "Sweet Nectar of the dying, eager for eternal hunger and sweetness in withered flowers"
The end of Parapsychological regression XIV century
Saint John says Apostle: “Helleniká and Tsambika, will be the lily, the saffron, the rose and the violet but also new ones, like the marigold and the chamomile making of all a diadem crown to place the world of the Duoverse in all its radius, for the star that illuminates par excellence as a white planet without thorns, which is perfect among the perfect, anti herbicide of language and of incarnation as in the Empyrean the medieval sky in the highest of heavens. It is likewise in the place of the physical presence of God, where angels and souls reside in Paradise between caltrops and Rosas towards the alimentary plane of conventual voice, and tonics of the glycogenic Milky Way sipping third-grade milk to curdle in the children who have not been a Messiah yet. Paths of thorns will guide visitors to this gallery of flowers and plants through the Panagia monkish for the holy homily with the Lilies and through low valleys, where no more Lilies can escape from their chains of the Liliorum genome in the valleys of the galactogenic virtue. Like Mother Rosette and son Lirium, being the mother of everyone and of that…, there… your son, “Myself in the path of the three Mary’s”. Over there in the desolate place, a columbine carries me imprisoned on my heels as a bond of a son who makes my steps with the Columbine of my saving feet” At 320 meters of altitude Still, Life appeared concealed behind the Vas Áuric descending…, here everyone approached the auric circle of Moral that made them authors of the proximity of the Universe falling on Greece, and the Herbolaria that fell with all its reliable structure in the foliage where many more species appeared such as thilts, Laurel, Olive, Linen, Grenade in a simple and nuanced devotional with the pro status of the delegate; the same Hexagonal Primogeniture to make the cinnabar fistulas that were elemental by the different associated colors, and by Grail tutorials that looked indigo on top of some Rhododendrons. If it is eschatological, it is in the mystical nets of the Empyrean further from a form that is said to be called a form of antagonism, between Cardinals and their dead Lilies. As first among the last, the bulbous and clayey Tulip of the orbital and basilica symbology, peacemaker and philosophical Eritrean for spiritual quests that toil outpourings from the Empyrium, reaching the Messiah on his Colt on his way to Bethany. Around the Monastery, everyone could be seen as they arrived to the beat of the cymbals and aulós, among lyres that prowled tickling the inquiry to rest their fingers, or perhaps dressed by some Trojan villain augur in those of "Daedalus". Being the latter, here a tulip with flames of a true seeker trying to sacrifice subsistence daring over the risk of the resole of salvific death or perhaps dressed by some Trojan villain augur in those of "Daedalus".
Daedalus says: “After the incident with Perdix, I Daedalus was expelled from Athens. I then went to Crete, and in the kingdom of Minos I was placed in the service of the monarch. One of his tasks was the creation of Thalos, an animated bronze giant who defended the island from invasions. By order of Minos, I built the labyrinth to enclose the monster; the labyrinth was a building with countless corridors and winding streets opening into each other, which seemed to have no beginning and no end. Minos locked me up with my son Icarus, whose mother was Naucrate, a slave of Minos in the same building. The reason for the confinement was the collaboration of Daedalus in the escape of Theseus from the labyrinth, I have to lament for the ****** of Perdix, now turned into Partridge who now carries in his claws the creation of the Universe-Duoverse, turned into his own, and myself in envy neither harassing me about my endings, and neither starting nor finishing. That is why I appear here coming from Crete, to wrap myself in the garden and its mystery closing all the madrigals and hedges, like a world that has created me, in its splendor, seeing the humility fragrant with violets grafted onto lavender with my soul now, of a somewhat syncretism Hebrew-Hellenic and Mythological sub-Mythological, like a nobleman who walks free and without chains… passing through the Parthenon to put on tiaras in dresses that are adorned with Linens, but of evangelical lineage here in Kimolo.

In Kimolos; Helleniká Necropolis, Etréstles was suspended in a columbarium equivalent near the lapidem of the necropolis. There was a great amount of accumulated air enclosed in the musty cinerary walls, with the translucent specters that fluttered through other metropolises that transited inconsistently in their proto-masonry, and some resembled pink jaspers on some grooved slabs, letting pale dovecote rhizomes slip away under an oblique columbarium domain that manifested itself meagerly on an unstable podium of Folegandros. Adhering to this enormous exteriorization were Kanti, and Etréstles in their hydrothermal genesis, lying as a petra forms at a wide range of heat towards periodic effluvia of their Devonian geology, manifesting discreetly until a carbonization of sedimentary rocks attributing their curiosity when they continued to remain in areas favorable climatic conditions, simulating to be exordiums on thermal hydro sediments, leading to the carbonization of the surface of the necropolis with micas and serpentines, to cool down in the selfless natural fields that resisted the effect of the heat generated by the ZigZag Universe, etching each other on pyrites and graphite’s with the compactness that increases, and extends the widening of the mournful enclosure attentive to channeling emanations and traces, that will be the first loads of exegesis from Tsambika for prompt elucidation from Mount Hymettus in Athens, and continue to proliferate in hives of bees libating in its thickness towards the good-smelling necropolis causing its magnificent flowers and herbs to steam; so much so, that from the paved lipoids of honey astragalus and spectra will come out deposing to be toxic, yearning the strigilas or curved striaeons (reverse or straight), imitated from pagan sarcophagi.

Thousands after Thousands of Centuries after centuries, adorning themselves in the lapidem glossaries on the exterior fronts of tymbos that were embedded in the tholons, almost as in outright Constantine-Hellenic brilliance towards an unarmed cenotaph with their flat covers, pouring over them the devastated trisomy of Kaitelka, of whose diploid organism extras, aberrated by being parity triplicates of their greatest chromosomal and homologous hereditary complement. The vestiges of fossil whales here were generating disproportions of execrable variation, being destined to the patio of fall on them in three additional courtyards of marbles at the rate of inverted strata, revealing only some of their extremities appreciating them with semi-covered figures, and on reliefs filling again by genetic trisomy for gentile practices and lead them to the Christian Vas Auric. Faced with such a famous disproportion of fossil reliefs, they turn to the scourges of the Universe.

Panagia Theoskepasti Parapsychological regression Etréstles in Kímolos: The church of Theoskepasti, due to its position could be easily recognized by the invaders during their raids. However, according to a legend the church was veiled by dark clouds of mist and became invisible as soon as the assailants approached. Due to this legend the church received the name "Theoskepasti" from the Greek words "Theos" and "skepazo" meaning "God" and "watch" respectively. So, the name is 'God Veiled'. According to another tradition, when once a foreigner managed to get into the church and tried to steal the golden candle divine power cut off his hands. Also if it is watched over by God, so it is divine for the Creation that it will begin with the synchronization between both latitudes of the Cyclades and the Dodecanese. Etrestles After staying together with Kanti, they went from Theoskepasti to Hellenika, located in Dekas Bay on the west coast of Kimolos, here in the necropolis there are ruins of ancient tombs that would form part of the new humanity in the creation of the Duoverse, existing since Mycenae and the Cyclades next to the small islet of Agiоs Аndreas, also being part of the city. Many ruined tombs can be seen from the hill on the edge of Elliniká with some stones still in the sea between Kimol and Milil, in the vicinity of Psathi on this island located on the southeast coast. Kímolоs to Chοrá is 1 km away on the hill above the Psathi port from here the foreign ships trying to come to the Bay area sighted, for the advent of the Cinnabar on the scapulae that hold the Gates of the Necropolis for the effect avant-garde, and regenerator of souls that will resurface with more universal chromosome tints mutated from trisomy, more of extreme longevity. In the homily, an archpriest of the regional deanery will make a pastoral criterion for this gesture by virtue of eminence, and guide them through the orthodoxy of the chapel to the Episcopal organizational procession of the Vas Auric. It was already twilight and Etrestles was climbing onto Kanti's pony clutching the utensils of the homily, in the customary ritual before incensing and setting fire to the laurel and rosemary in the fords of Leto and Koumeterium of Messolonghi, it rotated in ellipses sprinkling crumbs of the purest loaf from Arcadia on a gray Monday with hummus to attract sour souls that they were in a catatonic state making them more esthetic or aesthesis, of reactionary rebellious natural aesthetics with nuances, then reincorporate them into the three courtyards in a magnificent concordance with Rhodes. When the Archpriest begins the talk, he derives his prayers from semi-inert materials that were made in communion with the chromosomal dyes; with the worms with absentmindedness of progenitor snakes that were grafted undulating, being in reality only worms that were amazed at the exhortation of the Archpriest in the ritual, circulating universals destined for his elegies and celebrating from an ambo or pulpit with classical Latin pronouncing the archpriest the way it died lunae, mutating it ****** to dies lunis by analogy with dies, on a dark Monday day but full of grace for the assistants doing the sermons to interpret the alabaster patios that will lead to Tsambika. The first worms were persecuted by Kanti, he believed that they were scatterings that emerged from the ground, such an earthly ecosystem was beginning to disown him due to the metamorphosis of annelids which seemed to increase their ultra-grave texture with the same remains of an irresolution without a sarcophagus, turned into sharp curves intestinal that were depressed breathing autonomously on consistent folds of the dermis of the oldest caste of the subsoil of Helleniká. Preexisting the distant origin of the Arcadias and they're dissected that silently followed the hummus and bobota, not to digest them with their suckers, but rather surround them and delegate them to explore the surroundings that would encapsulate the ground with the proximity of the transfigured universe to Vernarth's Duoverse, to phosphorus and emit the will-o'-the-wisp nitrogenous fires before the Archpriest, Etréstles and Kanti disquieting by an arcane movement. Being a full act of the herbaceous phagocytosis, they continued ascending in the curvilinear procession with their traces weaving moment without time, which was added to the sub-mythology and a finite sub-time, like unicellular procreating others that accelerated their physiognomy detached from their immateriality, towards a longer intake of the organic material on the hummus and exudation of propolis rhizomes. In this way, they resign when falling with serious cramps cleared of the digestive world, which no cell has tasted ******, but rather direct when breathing from Hellinika's lung lobes, comprised mostly by the alabaster sheepskin that was suspended to other colonies of worms that sailed to lean out towards the surface of the altar where they regenerated from the flow of the annelids. Archpriest says: “The frame of the Vas Áuric arises from the nuclei of the medallion, pending a high presence of insulation. With high mobility between the tissues and amino acids of the annelids, new basal cell functions even being visible for Etréstles and not totally for all yet. The image of the medal had a classified functionality and concrete information, but imperceptible chronological possibly being the first function of the icon in its justification with religious symbols and manifestations of the divine, and semantic still removed from a theoretical auto-iconic. When reading in Vas Auric, "What two men do not see, a man sees who does not see..., what the creeping animal sees, self-prisoner of his lack of vanity..., He will see it". Being epistemic images that provide more distant knowledge of the sub-divisible organic matter in finite mortality towards the other eternal inorganic, contributing to the super complex neuronal development, in a veiled sensation that is lost between itself and its own bodies, being able to take them with its own differentiations”

Panagia Tsambika Monastery - Channeling Cinnabar: Vernarth commanded the three architectural courtyards of Tsambika for the Cinnabar layout. They climb the steps that lead to this monastery at the top of one and to the very connection of the homily with Helleniká. In this monastery they will have to censor three courtyards, all pointing towards the west of Mandraki Bay, on some pine trees all surrounding the virtual stained glass window of the portal that joins the main avenue with the ascent of the monastery, until very close to the Virginal Marianus icon and very close to the dividing wall from where Lindos can be seen. The Tsambika Monastery is four kilometers from the city of Archangelo, the height of the monastery is leveled with pebbles on its bare floor that led everyone barefoot, towards the three nearby patios. Cinnabar as a polygonal crystal would be specially used for the perpendicular ceremony of Mercury, to sensitize the climatologically the variation that would be appreciated once it began to sponsor the bones that would spread in the extreme longevity of annelids exchanged from the moldy alabaster arcades, and carried by alluviums of crystallized mercury, granting together with the Panagia of Tsambika fertility, and parental conception for the new Universe-Duoverse of Vernarth, extending life farther than the first-born descendant's first ancestor, being the cinnabar the diversity of versed uses now been given in the upright channeling with ultra vital extensions with Helleniká. The alabaster and the three columns of these sulfated stones form compact would dare to hydrate in the silos where the windows will be poured, this is where the sub-mythological specimens detached from any temporal dimension will be used, leaving sapiens annelids free will recombining the diploid chromosomes, and profiting from molds of exact erratic aberrations to be vindicated in the dispensaries of Saint John the apostle. Thus adorning the perfumed areas intervened three cinnabar patios, for the sermon of the Vas Áuric. Thus inspiring the chair with the verses of Saint John on the immanence after the fifty days of the Messiah in epistolary verses and the evangelizations, elaborating vessels of the low rank of Faith to opt for expectations of moldings with new consciences of selenite clay, and refine them in messianic faith. Middle-range pebbles were subtracted for the interior and extramural floor of the Monastery, being rather Biblical Calcite for the Egyptian-Hellenic Alabastron psalmody praise perfume. This typology will be the quilt for the magistracy with a canopy glass exhibited near the tulip lamps, and ceiling lights of the monastery for the use of the diamantine sphere of the opaque panels that flamed from the intersection of the arachnids re sprouting from the current wind of cinnabar. Vernarth says: “Suitable for our consciences, we will open the channels in Kímolos before our subtle bodies that will make us divided just as we parabolize ourselves, before the airs of St. John the Apostle in the headdress of mediumship to reach the wavelength to Helleniká, the interactive vibrations will leave with the expression of deep reasoning after pontificating the Mandylion with the Vas Áuric, for the effect of its icon and idiomatic monologues for the edges of San Judas Tadeo and Veronica, for such a faced event in foreign forces before the Messiah, a coherent gadget will be made in the intermittence variants. The channeling to the Cyclades will go from east to west wading the Aegean and Mediterranean waters, through the channel of the Universe-Duoverse for inter consciousness between the Hexagonal Primogen in Tsambika, and the triad of Etréstles, Kanti, and the Archpriest in Helleniká, with high degrees of the light consciousness and conclaves between both synchronous homilies. With drowsiness before the Anemoi winds that will be crossing near the voyages of the Trojan chthonic ships, and before the fateful chthonic divinities for such deities in the Mediterranean substratum identifying more obviously with Anatolia which since prehistory has followed to the site of Troy, in a cheesy union plan for Agamemnon's loyalists, to defeat Hector between farms and revolutions of agriculture, and Akkadian worlds b.C., in peripheral outposts to influence the central regions of Greece and its maritime trade. Hydro-physical influences, for the cycles of the solstice and nature with life and survival after death that is at the center of concerns that are not translated. In Crete, the supposed cult of great Gods is transformed during the second millennium BC as new actors appear: various animals, plants, etc. Given the consciousness, it will be the channeled light in the three courtyards of alabaster and between the cinnabar by bending the re-fertilization of the Cyclades channels, which go from Rhodes and Kimolos, for discernment. Sometimes it is more gratifying to hear what you want to hear and not the real message, the egotistical mind that does not come from a series of daunted egos..., or signs of the technological shamanism, intervening artificial intelligence from maniacal administered consciences, being shrill for worlds of appearances and illusions. I Vernarth with our own Khaire Fíle…, in my mind I go to the vessels that sail through the landscapes of the elusive identity, trapping her in the totemic stratum, and tracking psychology, but a seer of her present ego. Today I will wear my Leonatus cap, to separate his anger from such a shadow that clouds my grief, and my own victimhood of reduced and meekness which spurns violence, blaming it on a ruthless kind of depression and excluding shame from everyone's own fear of everything. I will bandage my eyes against diseases that will heal after three days, to straighten the ecstasy that thickens towards the scaffold, staying in Golgotha with nothing, I will create the framework of cinnabar for the pain of the skull that trembles in my claws, until sleep becomes vaporous with anger and the harmless destroying itself before your egos, colorful throbbing towards your alien beings and scarified host. I will be waking up from my subtle and anthropomorphic subconscious dreams, with sentences that hurt my worst self-destructive delinquencies before the new memorial, on the veil of Theoskepasti with its science sheltering itself by giving in on the vanquished springs and inaugurating new miraculous courses where I will surrender, full of forgiveness and more distant from the veil that does not act as a viewer.

Duet time, Duet space, one with the other illusion unreal elements and epistemic images ignoring them in expeditions crackle my Duoverse, and temples of Tsambika with the decoded annelids mutating in trisomy with flat doors towards the Olives Berna. We look at what gratifies basting and plotting the positions of the stars of the universe that are attached like sheets worthy of almighty serials, and redoubled humor on the chthonic embracing tridents, before skewing Xyston as an original replica of the dream of a night in Tel Gomel. The counterweight of the message of light lagged behind the high astral like the little bear, bustards, and her angelic breath retreated in dissolution..., now if diva emotion I have my daring, and courage towards the binge of my omniscient prosopon, similar to omniscient telepathy, my soul lies and my emotion too because in this way I will treasure the value of panic by surrounding myself with the fears of resting, against the poles and sights of a peaceful energetic confrontation that will make them in Rhodes and Kimolos, channel the consumed human finitude and not eternal ad portas of his Áspis Koilé.

Unconsciously they will continue halfway with their bouquets of flowers for Valekiria, and may they never really take the time to tell her what time of eternity will make them more crowded for her, and her reliquary poem bursting into flame with its insidious outbreak and fear of telling him that if they revive they will be other Hellenic Hetairoi towards the vermilion light of the embodied sacrificed loop state as a "Being of Light". Oh ghost phenomenon that doesn't scare me... rather disappoints, clinging to the skins that die in the unexpected female muses in Gaia, with my burning and hypertensive ballast, still frequent in me... As conjecture and presence of Greek life..., having to be promoted and involved where they should be tempered to the contribution of biodiverse, and species for island life and its balance in the Aegean. The theorem will enunciate in the image of the Vas Auric as sounds of homeostasis in classrooms, properties of intervened annelids consistent, capable of maintaining them in a certain internal and stable condition, compensating for the changes of the explosion of the intervened patios, towards an environment through regulated exchange of matter and energy with the outside towards its (comparative metabolism), in the case of a form of dynamic balance with properties of Cinnabar brilliance, as a self-regulated biosphere in the conditions of the planet to make its environment (especially temperature and atmospheric chemistry) nobler with the species that make up life in the compass of two unmanned islands by beings from Gaia, rather as entropy in physical magnitude for a thermodynamic system in equilibrium, inhabited by dynamic beings that associate nobly for adaptations of worlds that are not born. It segregates them towards a departure measuring them from heightened numbers in states of zero compatible with the laws of that physics for the purposes of watchful guardians if Gaia's engine is turned on before this psychic and spiritual combustion. The laws of this system with closed circuits and brought will tend to maximize the entropy expiring inhibitory reactions for the traces of oxygen and nitrogen of the worms, making a sign of the levitated carbon dioxide to take it from Tsambika in two converged energies of Leviathan and Saint John the Apostle in moles of carbonate dioxide, battling surviving the impostor necromancers adverse to their conditions and reproduction, keeping these habitable for many who do not they enjoyed the life-death-life cycle. Greece, as it will now look regenerated and appropriate of laws and extensive fibers concerning moles of molecules said to be equal of said Vernarth hypotheses by way of sub-mythology, rather perching on the growing ivy and strangling the signs of satiety of life with properties in consonance with severities that hurt even to the sound of the rattles before the passing of the millennia! Fear, insecurity, and frustration did not fit because they will cut the Diospyros abenuz, with its stamens usually sixteen more hypogynous or inserted at the base of the corolla; as female flowers being greened or being converted into staminodes, Diospyros with generally tetra-locular ovaries or with eight locules due to false divisions, will make us channel by inseminating Itheoi demigods, under the staff of sub-mythology with Zefián, before the migrations in Helleniká begin, just as in this pact with silence and meditation and a burning flame, below the vulnerable and high insolated frequencies..., waking up in Gaia as a dozing fairy. Shamanic vested will grade synergy and simple science.
The Homily in the natural lassitude of the created, the Duoverse presented IHΣ, falling in the eighteenth letter of the Greek alphabet and in the duo hundred changes of physical remembrance. The PH (Hexagonal Primogeniture), is conceived in the presence of the Crismón, more Hellenic with the Vexillum banner and the Kantabroi to rescind the tired depressed zephyrs, since the quantum of memory was lost in the integrity of an earth acrophobia for the subsequent it would be air-water for this reason, preceded by the ceremonial that begins with the trimming of the abenuz Diospyros with its stamens usually sixteen plus it's hypogynous or inserted at the base of the corolla; like those of the female flowers having part of the gynoecium in the part of Tsambika, and of the androecium that will be of the Diospyros in Theoskepasti; usually tetra-ocular ovaries adapted to be inseminated for the raids of the demigods Itheoi and Duoverso, with the monogram HDD (Horcondising-Duoverso), tracing the bifurcations with Zefián; the chaos ordering up to modulated Theoskepasti. The changes have to be reborn in the stamen, being almost sterile and aborting in the chronicles of Galilee personifying the pollination benefit of the Diospyros resprouting in the same stem of the whorl even more so in each stigmatized part of Vernarth and Etréstles, carrying the IHS candles with the monogram and the Mandylion-Vas Auric, pointing to the Olives Bern. Before the seams of the carved heels and the canals of the annelids rise up through the alabaster up to the calyxes with the Chrismon hat. Filling the warehouse of Anemoi himself struggling with the roof, and forgetting his deposit of the breath on synaptic abbreviations continuing to argue with Saint John the Apostle in the network of Rhodes and Kimolos, in the bark of the sensory past and consequence of fallen gushes, and affecting being restored on the basis of oxygen-nitrogenated Nemo-genetic activation to summarize loss and gain of channeling between the Cyclades and the Dodecanese. The memories of the stuck Vernarth cerebellum will be loaded, trembling towards the marsh of the hippocampus where Zoroaster led the Magi to the end of the span and first-last border in the vicinity of Ein Karem. This evolutionary scale fluctuated in weak air masses with the increasing rise of the Meltemi over the Aegean taking them to Dekas Bay, on the knees of the colossus that cursed to avoid some delirium that could replace it's joint, remaining like this on a scale of reminiscent and unspoken emptiness..., it continues to be stated and not occupied and not, but raised towards the colossus from the ground of Vernarth which had unfolded bipartite from Rhodes to Kimolos, by way of the Verthian neuroscience whose prose emanated in the submissive glaciers of hyper-intuitive meditation (as a technique of knowledge and abstraction for functional links of improvisation, purgative discernment and yogic memory). All the nonsense is alluded to infringing the rationality of the Vas Áuric ceremonial in its phenomenology making curvilinear pauses to re-captivate phraseological, and diminished keys in the condensed equivalents to approximately ten terabytes from a homologous half surrendering almost when exhausted before both scholars, and their debts exchanged by driving..., thus recovering wave descents before reaching the bay of Dekas; Kímolos and final in the necropolis of Hellenika..., and vice versa before re-climbing in the middle of Mandraki, Archangelos and Filerimos to finish in Tsambika, Rhodes. As a parallel response to the archpriest not to alter the IHS monogram of the homily and the association in remembrance can affect the conduction of the mediate trance, almost prostrating it in the house of omission and frenzy, if it has to recover unstabilized. The sulfurous mercury component of the Cinnabar, came acidifying from the essences of the Vas Auric, already prospering in the tutelage of each auric conductor..., Archpriest and Saint John the Apostle, each one with the sulfurous of the Greek mountain and the arch of the Aegean Sea as a former karstic foundation for its diametric towards a change of reaction of chemical prisms up to the multi-angular of the topaz that Saint John the Apostle carried in his bag near the reliquary, hanging off some fringes of the Vexillum that had been placed near Vernarth. Immediately from the banks of the monastery, Raeder was walking with a lantern looking for those who might try to enter, he believed that it was his father from Kalymnos who came on another mission to be taken to the cinnabar, more on top of an encourage observing the quarters stationed in the sandbanks of Rhodes, Petrobus the pelican circling the ledges of the monastery, marking out the apparent slackness of his body and entreaties in case they ventured into Kalymnos for a good portent, in waters for tenth seeds and for all the rodines. From the cloister with one of its necessary dependencies, all were with white candles aggravated between the steps of each cell and attached friars they made an antechamber in the nave near the church on the hexagonal floor, being screened by the center of the garden where everything was dominated by the limits of the alabaster arcades, which only now pointed to the closet of the books, this time with plenty and saved voices with devotion. Chapter by chapter it was won..., for each cell, identifying each portion in identity up to the scriptorium and refectory, where this ceremony books were distributed to the infinite world of the Duoverse near the locutory to witness where Saint George and the Dragon raged, souring winepresses for the missal wine.

Sequence shot in Kimolos, Panagia Theoskepasti- Etréstles says: “according to what has to be said in this dimension, the word will be the Duoverse. Synchronically it will be aligned with the monastery in the Tsambika for the third hour after noon, reflecting on the unrevealed walls of the chapel on all the radiosities of the cinnabar, entering in electromagnetic lassitude through the trusses of the pulpit anchored in the Vox and mystical vortex, towards those who entered and left thousands of times through the counter shutters of the chapel, which collided crashing many times until by the glow of Cinnabar somewhat sulfurous, was mixed with the interlocking of some novas which also acted as a decoy for the Chrismón that Kanti carried the steed adjusted in the saddle on his back, as a mount in syntactic esotericism speaking with intangible brown colors of the Cinnabar.
Vas Auric
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2020
the grapes are still hanging -
i should be making my own wine right now,
but i'm not: because: i'm simply... not...
i'm sitting drinking some wine
from several years ago:
smoking my due...
looking at an eucalyptus tree
begging for a voice / movement
with a jolsting wind...
obviously "nothing"...
so i guess i'll leave these grapes just
hanging... the leaves are "gone"
dropped off... or simply migrated
for the summer with the storks...
but at least the grapes are not
simply falling...
the blackbirds are alright in keeping
up to my desires: not mine...
but what extends when you have
some grapes and you're not going
to eat them: or make wine with them...
but at least the birds are having
a fill...
blackbirds? well...
shpaki... magpies, crows... etc.
i was going to make some wine...
now i'm not going to make "some" wine...

joke: ante "contra" ad...
which implies hannibal...
    portas: and there are seven tiers
of hell...
hannibal /before/ the gates
    hannibal /at the/ gates...
no definite articles weaving with english
back into latin...

suppose who owns what:
except i ail with a voice that's also...
an illiterate X on the ballot...
but i don't grate voting...
looks like when people disagree with
me they just decide to:
pretend... it's mutually exclusive:
i don't exist they don't exist...
but the flimsy comic book is
uber-real...

democracy: amassing a sulk fest
already mattering on the verge(s)
what's already:
whether capitalism or communism:
it's bureucracy one way or
the other: the status quo of tongues
a money is grieviously
intact...

ancient lore of steel from
either die krupps or some other:
******* deserter fest:
bullet for a grain of sand...
here's to my... ivory tower:
although i don't play golf...
golf is hardly a ******* ottoman
couch - however well positioned...
i walk to ease
a claustrophobia of thought...
when i walk i require
the desirable shoe-fit...
who the **** needs
a pogo stick a ball and a concept
of a hole to settle scores...

why wouldn't these stubble brows
incoceive themselves
over a round of *******
ping-pong...

Kendal Roy... from HBO's succession...
when he buys a packet of
american spirit... steal a packet of
duracel batteries just to:
"drop" them off into a bin...
to steal in order to disregard...
all these modern names...
peaches geldoff...
why not a name like:
bob is already too.... too...
delivered at too frequently used...
rob roy son's of *******...
skurvysyny:

      pina colada...
       hic et hoc... here and "for this"...
little ol' england...
always terrible concerning
internet connectivity come a certain
hour, of, "need"...
pockets of isolation
i have a cat in my bed
attempting to claim miracles
with a coushion...
                but this cat is probably
best... since
there's nothing *******...
at best this... i can't make eases
for a chiral woah-man!
it's best to keep the cat
and never hollow myself over
an oyster's credo of ****...

and we're all luvvy-dubby will's the nuanced:
kneels... srgt. pepper and the first thrists
of charles dickens... blah blah...
queen lizzy is the shizzle and
bad drizzle... and thank you:
the show's over...

as ever a... "question"...
         a ****** under the premise
of the soviets... cul de sac of iron...
how the sstallite states
upon a gorbachev implosion:
safely done..
               who's feeding who?!
from under the curtail...
for spear in hand...
toward the h'american promise!
promise me lithuania or mongolia:
keep me... having already kept me:
it's not all cosmopolitan new yorker:
because it's not like it could
be translated via england,
the murk... the bogus... wolverhampton...
per se... e.g.,

mrs and mr quiff-bear...
high pride and the cheese tipping point
of: "blonde on blonde"...
leverage for the slaughter brigade!
thank **** i haven't
invested in beyond: the ***** towing
tissue ******* as paramount
for the worth of genocide... yes:
that's nice, nice gilded Assads...
thoroughly: from now...

invalidating response:
because... the roman poets heaved rhyme...
oh sure...
rhyme was a pop phase from
those... lost pressure being kept
a continued effort...
**** me even the ancient greek
tragedists didn't bother:
come the nuance or... chance
to rhyme... otherwise: what use
is rhyme and geometry and
prison... rhyme is a ******* square...
it's necessary pork chops
and... xeno-
   prefix alone...
         who brought in the Zee Zed: Zeno?
i ******* know what Xeno
scientology and william burroughs looks
like... a skeleton...

phonetic nuances and this tongue
of a ***** and nuanced kings / queens...
14 days of self-isolation
and i haven't yet exacted a meeting
with an authority that might support
such demands...
so lies tip-toying more lies...
yes... let's pretend that from
the excuses we met!
"but it's the 20th century"!
suddenly we met up with the 21st...

the billionaire president is playing golf...
what's that in terms of "sccore":
one more notch on the belt of... scoreland?
by the ***** or via the fiddling
with oysters?!
i never... truly... ******* know!
who's who in the game
of shoving hard-boiled eggs
up the opponents ***...
at least... no one cited
the need for either fist or elbow:
i'm poor... the prostitutes i ******
have either pychiatrist or priest status...
i play hide and seek with god...
not psychopaths...

why is it that paedophiles are target
practice while...
psychopaths are: fair... game... lauding...
who gives these nuances of
revision...
it's no to the paedophiles...
but a yes to the psychopaths...
so... i guess that's...
yes to the meteor and ol' dino!
hello monkey brain freeze!

i am allowing myself an interlude
via this... ha ha... makeshift...
populis vox:
voice of the people...
oh no... the trough... the roughage...
i believe than skins
is an unbelievable concept of
claiming reiteration...
because.. there's no milking it:
only ****... thise hard heaved
glue of the excess of...
let's pretend this evil is merely
a teen's godot of ****...
it's not evil: it's not ****...
it's just acne...
and that's all it will ever be...
hush hush: cowardrice for the sake
of: "someone's looking"!...
probably a neighbour...
              who... one will... never
relate to... beside the already presribed...
guillotine of *******...
how does one... guillotine... a ****
the worth of a centipede?
all pretend wriggly like
an **** of parasites?!
just asking: i wasn't avilabble for you
to imagine how...
maggots sold for adventures
in fishing tend to...
to: zenith with...

i drink some ***** i'm tasting plum:
it's still that cosmopolitan hangover...
it's beside giving me the blues...
the nostalgia surrounding the 1950s...
but there's a sylvia plath and i know:
someone was giggling with
being unhappy...

               otherwise it was...
the 20th century: the best kept excuse...
the hebrew party became split...
some that became the affront
of the grey ******* sniffing crowd...
and some who escaped prior
and established the harrow-woo...
"quirk" "thinkers" and
the congregation of christ...
which, they were... sorry not sorry...

this was supposed to be a conversation
without the demands of the...
afro-choccy-cult of: reiterting history...
oh i love the adverts though...
shame i can't buy into the *******
ideology!
you know what adverts are...
for a person who can't buy into them?!
******* reading material...
brainwaves:
theologians from tigh-land...
thailand...
           i can't buy ****!
if i can't buy the **** you're selling...
to the people who are buying it up
like a ******* gulp of thirst...
what's *****?!
i'm the same ******* toad-see
of voyeurism... baseless ****-****!

yes... here come the "incredibles"
of the half-wits... halving-of-knotting...
barrel bounty of laughs...
some swedish existential feast of a movie...

a society overtly saturated with ****
and irish prancing luck: four leaf clover?
this? this is all i...
oasis from a stone when suckling toward
a deadening end...
for the ink that's my mine...
and me walking off a beach
toward the ***** of the sea...
and she's still... gesticulating:
oh god what might be, will be...
she isn't going to hurry when her
"plantagenant lineage" is
being... ****-faced with no...
inheritor...

             come the grandchildren...
i'm already a quarter...
so... what's the d.n.a. atheist argument
about... keeping solace with
a variation of eternity?
me up from an eigth? "you" *******...
solace rhetoric retribution "quest":
conjunction interlude that forever
returns to... ping-pong of a *******?!

come on! let's either celebrate
the tonsure... the kippah...
the *******... or the deciphered via
islamic floral pattern of the ****!
i will gladly approach
the needs for the dodo project like
some beta-buck-delux...
i'm out... veto.. ditto... what's the other
"word" for opting out?
a latin maxim?

per caput...            pre: joggular...
towing bite, and chew...
and mandible jaw... and elbow...
and knee... and...
a variation of: i told you so...
it's not like i didn't know...
up in that acorn tree...
oh i knew:
i would have kneeled but i forgot
my knees...

that "they" stop apparently speaking...
when you ears are too eager to quest
for hearing...

i knew that i could't prescribe myself
what could have been allowed...
how much of faking it...
leaves me with habitually promising
a sentencing of reality...
without an -ism...

come to think of it...
co-conspirator... in a time of authentic grief?
and later: a time...
how such an ingregious act, most,
subjective... untested...
will come back and haunt...
oh but i have something else
to heave: to borrow...
but... will it become apparent...
how... unlikely!

     who isn't tired... "these days"...
oh god... the sun's a bbq...
the moon a blistering tan-line...
forgive me not clinging to mind
the blue and... soultry;
beheld last: i know i never do.
Mariana Seabra Sep 2022
Não são os outros! Nunca foram os outros.

Não é o lugar! Nunca foi o lugar.

Sou eu!



Já quis partir em retiros para o Tibete. Ou em viagens espirituais para a Tailândia. Já quis correr o mundo à procura de algo que só podia encontrar em mim. Parece-me interessante, aliás, ainda o quero fazer pela pura necessidade que tenho de experienciar. No entanto, é inútil. É mirar ao fracasso, e é condenação interior a uma busca incessante que não traz paz, só traz correria desenfreada, sem meta final onde possa descansar, uma armadilha que me obriga a jogar por algo que nem vale a pena ganhar.
Prefiro a tranquilidade que me consigo proporcionar. Em vez de correr, prefiro caminhar. Prefiro aceitar a incompletude, para não ter de me andar a perseguir por lugares onde nem sequer passei. Prefiro pensar no que tenho. Prefiro aceitar o que tenho. Prefiro limar o que tenho. Prefiro amar o que tenho. Não me falta peça nenhuma! Só me falta descobrir uma maneira de lhes dar sentido... de me ordenar.

É inútil acharmos que temos de sair do sítio para viver e, consequentemente, evoluir ou mudar, ou correr de lugar para lugar, à procura da essência mais profunda que nos constrói. Quando as raízes são profundas, não há razão para temer o vento! O nosso cérebro não sabe distinguir entre a experiência vivida e a experiência imaginada, para ele é tudo igual. Somos biliões de informações! a que este magnífico pedaço de ***** cinzenta atribui significado. Experiências reais ou imaginárias, que se convertem em memórias, memórias que ganham uma nova vida de cada vez que as recordamos, histórias que repetimos a nós e aos outros, até sermos só pedaços daquilo que lhes contamos.

Prefiro esquecer!
Escrevo as histórias que nunca contei, para depois as tentar esquecer...

Só me oriento pelas minhas próprias pegadas e, quando escrevo é apenas através de experiência pessoal. Não recorro à generalização de vivências tão únicas, mas, como admito ser-humana, sei que por muitos outros são partilhadas, e sem o meu consentimento, generalizadas. Nasci para escrever poesia, mas não sei se nasci para ser poeta. A escrita é um dissecar do próprio íntimo. Escrever é sangrar para o papel. E se o que eu escrevo fizer sentido para um outro alguém, então ótimo, é como se partilhássemos o mesmo abraço enquanto o meu poema durar. E se o que eu escrevo não fizer sentido para ninguém, não importa. Escrevo para mim. Qualquer outra pessoa que me tente ler, irá observar-me através de um vidro duplamente espelhado. O que pensa observar de mim é, nada mais nada menos, do que o seu reflexo a acenar de volta para si. Porque a poesia é assim! dizem-me que não pertence a quem a escreve
mas sim
a quem a lê.
Sou do contra, não vivo à vossa mercê! A poesia é minha! O amor é meu! A dor é minha! E se a estou a partilhar, não é por motivos altruístas, não quero ser vista nem entendida. E se a estou a partilhar, é só porque estava sufocada, porque o poema já me estava a arder nas veias, muito antes do próprio poema começar. E se o estou a partilhar, é porque não tive escolha, era escrever ou morrer! e depois de estar cá fora, depois do fogo apagar, depois das cinzas pousarem e da ferida parar de jorrar... só depois, muito depois, é que uso o meu discernimento, volto atrás no tempo e decido se o vou partilhar, ou se é só meu, e de quem me veio inspirar.

Sou líder de mim mesma!

Sento-me na mesa-redonda do Eu e converso com todos os meus familiares, amigos, parceiros, desconhecidos, inimigos, anjos e demónios, todos com a minha cara, todos com a minha maneira de pensar, todos a olhar de volta para mim à espera que comece a falar...Quem diria, que de uma mesa tão cheia e diversificada, poderia comprimi-la, agrupa-la numa só pessoa, com uma única fachada virada para o exterior! Adoro a complexidade que de mim emana! Adoro ser várias, e ao mesmo tempo ser coesa. Ser o sol que mantém todas de mim em órbita, a força universal que me mantém presa,
Fiel a quem sou,
Com alma pura e coração digno de entrar na corte real da nobreza.
Entro em longos debates com todas as versões de mim, sobre qual de nós seguir. Creio que, desde tenra idade, tornei-me boa ouvinte para dentro. O dito mundo real não me bastava, muito menos me alegrava ou inspirava, então, recuei. Retraí-me para o vasto mundo interior da minha mente e, inventei mundos novos. Foi assim que descobri a melhor companhia que podia ter. Nunca me sentia sozinha, desde que me tivesse presente. Depois de aprender a escutar o que vem de dentro, aprendi a escutar o que vem de fora. No final do debate, decido seguir a mim mesma. Nenhuma de mim ficará para trás! Nem as que já morreram e tive de enterrar! mesmo que não saiba para onde seguir. Talvez em frente. Diria que, por esta altura, seguir em frente é uma especialização minha.  

Como qualquer líder, às vezes também me falho.

Como qualquer líder, debruço-me obsessivamente sobre as falhas até descobrir como as preencher. Puno-me por elas e, finalmente, permito-me aprender.  

Como qualquer líder, sou consumidora assídua de pequenas e grandes lições.

Como qualquer líder, cometo erros. E, como qualquer líder, tento não repetir os mesmos.  

Só não sou como qualquer líder. Não nasci para guiar outros, porque também eu estou perdida. Não quero que me sigam! Aliás, se for possível, sigam o caminho oposto ao meu. E não me peçam para vos seguir! Só me sei seguir a mim, e mal.  

Nasci para desbravar o mato à machadada, na exata medida em que for avançando nele. Não me ofereçam florestas já desbravadas! Fiquem lá com elas. Não me ofereçam sonhos que não me pertencem! Prefiro deitar-me mais cedo para ter os meus. Não me vendam a vossa verdade! É um negócio sujo, onde eu ficaria sempre a perder. A verdade do outro, que fique o outro com ela. Prefiro explorar a minha.  

Deixem-me ir!

Quero ver por mim. Ouvir por mim. Tocar por mim. Cheirar por mim. Saborear por mim. Cair por mim. Levantar pela minha própria mão. Vivam as vossas experiências e deixem-me viver as minhas!  

Deixem-me tirar as minhas próprias conclusões! Tomá-las como certas, só para mais tarde descobrir que estão erradas. E está tudo bem, crescer é mesmo isso.  

Deixem-me ser mutável! Não me queiram vendada, de ideias fixas ou radicalizadas. Sou adepta do equilíbrio, apesar de nem sempre o conseguir manter. No meu mundo tudo tem permissão para existir, simultaneamente. Todos têm permissão para ser. Há um espaço invisível sem paredes para o delimitar, um lugar inspirado no Lavoisier, onde nada se perde, nada se cria, tudo se pode transformar.

Deixem-me ser! Só peço que me deixem ser! E serei feliz, mesmo na minha profunda infelicidade.  

Nasci para ser uma selvagem autodomada. Uma líder seletivamente dedicada. Uma humana fortemente frágil, com uma beleza feia, como me dizia uma bela cigana, e obcecada com a sua própria caminhada.  

Posso viajar para o sítio mais lindo do universo! Posso deslocar os olhos pelas mais belas paisagens! Posso conhecer os seres mais fascinantes! Posso ler as palavras mais requintadas! Poderia até beber da fonte da juventude eterna!  

Mas se eu não estiver em mim, se não estiver comigo, não há nada. Não há nada! Não há coisa alguma que chegue até mim se eu não estiver dentro de casa para a receber, para lhe abrir a porta, cumprimenta-la com um sorriso, um olhar cativo de quem está lá para a acolher. Não há beleza que me toque, porque não há ninguém cá dentro para ser tocado. Às vezes, viro uma casa assombrada. Abandonada, com vida morta. Há o receptáculo! Esse fica, até que a Terra decida vir recuperá-lo e, com todo o direito, levá-lo de volta para si.  Há o corpo em piloto automático, só não há a alma que o irradia, ou que o faça completo.  

Sei quando estou comigo. Tal como sei quando me abandono. "Só não sei para onde vou de cada vez que me decido abandonar", isto foi outra coisa que aquela bela cigana que me disse, ou estarei a sonhar? A realidade e o imaginário tornam-se mais difíceis de separar.
Onde me escondo de mim mesma?
Sou mestre a desaparecer, sem aviso prévio de quando irei voltar...se irei voltar. Que péssimo hábito! Que mecanismo de defesa ridículo! Foi uma maldição que me deitaram e, agora, tenho de a conseguir quebrar.
Tenho de me quebrar!...
Abrir-me até ao meu interior, olhar para dentro do poço, mesmo que me dê vontade de vomitar, principalmente, quando me dá vontade de vomitar...por mais que me custe olhar. Não posso desviar o olhar! Tenho de remexer nas minhas entranhas, sentir nas minhas mãos o que está avariado, e descobrir como o remendar.
E quebro-me! vezes sem conta. E pego nas peças que estilhacei contra o chão, e corto-me com elas, e brinco com elas, e algures, a meio desta sádica brincadeira, há uma ou outra que decide encaixar, e dão-me sentido, uma nova forma, um eu mais polido, mais perto de nunca ser perfeito e completo.

Percebo quando me vou. Fica tudo mais *****. O vazio absorve-me. O mundo desaponta-me. A poesia desaparece. O barulho do silêncio torna-se ensurdecedor. O corpo mexe-se, mas não age. O olhar fica turvo e as lentes que uso não me permitem ver com clareza. A empatia vira apatia. A falta de emoções torna-me robotizada. Não há amor! É ensurdecedor! Não há amor...

A magia que me move decide esconder-se de mim. Não sei se para brincar comigo, não sei se para me provocar, não sei se para despertar a besta que dorme sossegada. Só sei que, de tempo a tempo, a minha alma decide jogar à apanhada e é a primeira a escapar. Alma rebelde e insurreta! Nunca te ensinei a ficar! Perdoa-me, por favor, também não me ensinaram a mim. Mas, ao menos, ensinei-te a voltar. Depois, como que por infantilidade, ou talvez por vontade de regressar a casa, começa a sussurrar-me...Ouço-a chamar baixinho por mim e, lá vou eu toda contente atrás dela, deixo o seu jogo continuar, só por curiosidade de desvendar até onde é que ela vai, onde é que ela pretende levar-me.

Quanto mais me aproximo de mim, mais cores se erguem à minha volta. A paz invade-me e reconquista o seu devido território no meu peito. A poesia ressurge e faz-me ressurgir.  O silêncio volta a ser música para esta alma sensível. O corpo age com intenção. O olhar fica cristalino e escolho ver o mundo através de lentes que o retratam mais bondoso, pelo menos para mim. As emoções retomam o seu percurso natural no meu sistema, com a intensidade de vulcões ativos. A empatia é reflexo do amor que sinto e que transborda. A magia mastiga-me e cospe-me para o mundo em forma de luz.  



De tempo a tempo, perco-me de mim.

De tempo a tempo, reencontro-me.  

E, deste tempo que se aproxima, só quero uma coisa: quero voltar a mim!

Quero abraçar-me! como se estivesse a despedir-me do amor da minha vida, às portas do aeroporto. Quero acarinhar-me e amar-me. Quero voltar a mim!

Quero ver o que vou encontrar quando a mim regressar.  

Perco-me de mim. Demasiadas vezes, perco-me de mim.  

Quando me reencontro, já não estou no ponto onde me perdi. Já sou uma mistura entre aquela que se perdeu e a que está prestes a renascer. Diria que passo muito tempo no limbo da existência e da não existência. 

Quando me reencontro, sou algo diferente. Quem sabe melhor, quem sabe pior...essas reflexões deixo para os que me oferecem opiniões não solicitadas. Sei que sou algo diferente, o resto é ruído.  

Nasci para criar. Nasci para me reinventar.  

Dito isto, acolho a destruição e o caos que vem de dentro como parte do meu processo de criação pessoal.  

Disto isto, quando me reencontrar, é só uma questão de tempo a tempo para me voltar a perder.
A efêmera existência
No tênue fio entre a vida e a morte
Busca a razão na essência
Chega ao fim sem entender a sorte

A mais simples dúvida
No mais complexo ser
Se ainda resta muita vida
O que temos que escolher?

Se é tão fácil resistir
Onde estão os que sobraram?
Se todas as portas vão se abrir
Quantas já se fecharam?

Mas viver é tão bonito
Que não há quem resista
Mesmo encarando o risco
Mesmo quando não há terra à vista
O fulgor do ódio incauto, a devastação em chama ardente, faz cambalear o ser andante. Carrego o que fiz do destino como se embalasse um filho morto. Um aborto deformado e coberto por repugnância. Engendrado em ventre seco. Fruto interrompido de um estupro incestuoso. Esquartejado pelo bisturi de um hospital clandestino e imundo. Levo as partes dilaceradas deste feto hediondo à boca, devorando-as, freneticamente saboreio o sangue ainda morno e a carne mole desossada, elas descem entalando pela garganta, me engasgo, tropeço, vou de encontro ao chão, superfície áspera de concreto, me fere a face queimando minha pele, me observo nu enquanto vestido, vejo transeuntes vivendo suas vidas pacatas, com suas roupas da moda, seus farrapos, com seus carros de passeio, populares ou de luxo, com seus apartamentos, suas casas, sobrados ou mansões, os vejo em bares, em igrejas, no trabalho, alegres, tristes, esperançosos, desiludidos, preocupados, já não pertenço a este lugar.

Ando léguas sem freio em meus devaneios, meus pés estão em carne viva, os calos sangram, continuo a caminhar carregando um destino morto, estou sozinho em uma estrada deserta, me desfiz de tudo. Abandonei qualquer esperança, qualquer desejo, o impulso me movimenta.

A estrada de terra levanta ao longe uma nuvem de poeira, a nuvem é carregada pela ventania em minha direção, a poeira adentra aos meus olhos como vidro cortante, tento me proteger me encolhendo em posição fetal, está escuro, e mais, meus olhos não conseguem se abrir, a tempestade de poeira já passou, restando apenas uma bruma que permanece sem alvoroço, mas que se misturando com a noite transforma-se em uma parade opaca, intransponível, impossível de se enxergar através, algo parece se mover dentro dela, e trazer de volta a tempestade, está se aproximando de mim rapidamente.

Um ônibus velho e cheio de ferrugem pára ao meu lado, escuto o ranger metálico estridente das portas se abrindo, todos os meus pêlos se arrepiam, sou derrubado novamente à realidade, à estranheza deste evento inesperado, mais uma vez o impulso me guia, pela primeira vez desde aquele dia sinto medo, pânico. Qual ser atroz faria ali, no meio do nada, esta parada insidiosa? O interior do veículo está completamente coberto pela poeira e a escuridão.
Tu fus une grande amoureuse

À ta façon, la seule bonne

Puisqu'elle est tienne et que personne

Plus que toi ne fut malheureuse,

Après la crise de bonheur

Que tu portas avec honneur.


Oui, tu fus comme une héroïne,

Et maintenant tu vis, statue

Toujours belle sur la ruine

D'un espoir qui se perpétue

En dépit du Sort évident,

Mais tu persistes cependant !


Pour cela, je t'aime et t'admire

Encore mieux que je ne t'aime

Peut-être, et ce m'est un suprême

Orgueil d'être meilleur ou pire

Que celui qui fit tout le mal,

D'être à tes pieds tremblant, féal !


Use de moi, je suis ta chose ;

Mon amour va, ton humble esclave,

Prêt à tout ce que lui propose

Ta volonté dure et suave,

Prompt à jouir, prompt à souffrir,

Prompt vers tout, hormis pour mourir !


Mourir dans mon corps et mon âme,

Je le veux si c'est ton caprice.

Quand il faudra que je périsse

Tout entier, fais un signe, femme,

Mais que mon amour dût cesser ?

Il ne peut que s'éterniser.


Jette un regard de complaisance,

Ô femme forte, ô sainte, ô reine,

Sur ma fatale insuffisance

Sans doute à te faire sereine :

Toujours triste du temps fané,

Du moins, souris au vieux damné.
Chapter III
The Roosters crow in Persepolis

His disloyal mortals came from 70 km from the Iranian city of Shiraz, Fars province, near the place where the Pulwar river flows into the Kur (Kyrus). Its construction and destruction would be provinces that will be submitted until the conquest of the Persian Empire submitted in October by Alexander the Great. Persepolis was converted into harem rooms and bizarre magnet *** between slaughtered Gods. The transitions from the porticos to the sides are joined by angular towers in the Apadana of profane knots. The two great doors remained open for eternity, moaning salts of endless assets of predefinition and recharge in their ill-fated destiny.

Here were Vernarth's comrades groggy with preparations and attire from the slabs of Mars upon their shoulders, after tempests of oracles from the scorching sun on their heads. Anahita; goddess of nature, pouring out the blessed waters of nature that washed with morbid rains the bodies of those who died in the cheating battles with the roosters of Zoroaster, slicing the palanquin where he sat enraptured in polytheism Ahura Mazda almost like a cloister and hat, ad portas to wear the monarchical robes of Macedonia, before his kingdom defeated by the subjugated constitution of golden blood of Alexander and Vernarth linked to his Macedon or Zeus, fully Hellenic that ran the vast paths strolled by its reefs of muted streets, of basaltic cobbled stones and obsidians between vintage havens and fans. Accurately to reside later in the house of Hera and its windmills, of the fertile blood of the Aegean and death, or a narcotic poppy capsule, for matchmakers in the mills of the south pole of Tel Gomel, as a new foundation of their new lands for Hellenic Macedonia and the matriarchy of Hera.

In Tel Gómel vertical hope, fraternal Alikanto in addition to Beelzebub, were encouraged to leave towards a rough road of the encounter in the stormy and cloudy morning, even of discouragement and morality were alone in the footsteps. From Persepolis, once sacred, in great splendid rows, the calm of the Cosmos could be seen disturbing, of how the earth sowed the rigor of reign to delimit the overwhelming Fold of the Macedonian.
She stood ***** over the fire warming her mitts and shields, she thinks of her beloved wife Valkerina, and sets out to ride her steed that shook her head disconcertingly from so much cross rein on her long way to Gaugamela. After mowing down so much grass and chewing dream poetry, he thought about his beloved Valkerina, how he would wait one day to be together with the windows open, and then to be with the doors closed. From upstairs to the mandrake at night after drinking Convital wine, setting fire and cooking, talking until the greeting is mistaken for a sunrise with deep feng shui disorder. And from the magenta drunk night the constellation of Orion with the image of the candlestick that rests in its angular and calloused hands. Valkerina did not demarcate to stop incense spaces for her Hellenic warrior, go to her offensive in a fair fight.

As Persepolis comprises an enormous palatial complex on a monumental terrace that supports multiple buildings that had precise protocol, ritual, emblematic or administrative functions: audiences, royal apartments, treasure administration or reception, Valkerina always assisted the wounded of great confrontations. Near the terrace were other elements: royal tombs, altars, and gardens where she lay in the afternoons near the base of the graves of her cremated ancestors at the expense of the vultures' claws gargling acid. There were also the houses of the lower city, of which almost nothing visible to any visiting eye left today. Many bas-reliefs carved on the steps and doors of the palace represent the diversity of the peoples that made up the empire. Others consecrate the image of a real protective power, sovereign, legitimate and absolute, where Xerxes is designated as the legitimate successor of Darius the Great. The multiple royal inscriptions in cuneiform script of Persepolis are drawn in Old Persian, Babylonian, or Elamite. They are recorded in various places on the site, intended for the same purposes and specify which kings ordered the removal of the buildings. Especially in the arms of the ****** of Alikanto that run almost inciting to leave from where they should be, as an anti tatoo, enemies of their own being of the true protective gods.

Only 52 kilometers away, in the surroundings of Nurruguma that could be identified as Gaugamela, from the Neolithic to the present Ottoman period to the present day. Since then, so many lines of numbers of attendees could not be seen with their legitimate blessings and indulgences for this great event of warlike promise. Vernath on Alikanto,  as a single rider facing the horizon. He rode awake when his horse galloped; he rode asleep when his horse walked slowly. With only one eye open when the sand wind hit his face and his great War Animal presence until this great feat that is his regression session of man in several lives incarnated from the current periods until 352 years B.C.

Before reaching the neighborhood of Alejandro Magnus, you have to go through 36 oases where you will be attended by odalisque angels. They will place the energy probes of Macedonia of the immortal lineage of Macedonia, with extensive alchemical probes of the Bumodos River, on the front of his breastplate, to assist him in the conflagration of his existence placed at the great risk of being degraded by some arrow with poisonous of sudden physical death.
The great celestial umbrellas were opened with their straps on their backs, their arch stretched by Hera when I consecrated his espousal to Valekiria in the pilgrimages of Saint Corinth with its substantiated liturgical Doric columns, of which cycles, characters and before the recipe of poets are mentioned tragic, alluding to Theban cycles in the presence of Oedipus to Corinth son of Zeus.
Alikanto comes from the Blood of Horses of the Cordillera of harsh winters in the transverse valleys where the Amazon Luccica; her mother fed the herds of hazelnut and oatmeal lace to the herds of Chilean Thoroughbred Horses. Alikanto means "Fire Hoof". Its ceremonial premise is the back room, before leaving the ritual of insulting Judas in Lenten periods and preparing trips with resinous black flour, Patagua tea, bacon and two sentries with winchester on the massive cord to the adventure sands in Horcondising. He had wide legs with fever and his elbows were like ratchets to cut through the masked enemy grievances. On his forehead is the sphinx of the Mandragora; species of florae anthropomorphic irregular pom-pom, which every year took him from his head and took him through the black forests to shout howls of new lives to save eternal glories of endless agonies by the nine moons of Sudpichi, raining lagoons on the back of their embraced ancestors.
His namesake Beelzebub means "The Lord of the Flies because in the sacrifices the meat was left to rot until it covered itself." He is, among other things, the lord of darkness, the unmentionable, the very demon of the Philistines Beelzebub!! ... Its name means in Greek Ox head, nickname that the animal apparently received for the rounded appearance of its dolichocephalism face and the considerable width of its forehead, where a white spot in the shape of a pineal star also shone.

To be continued… / under edition
From Patmos the illustrious San Mikaiyáh or Mija-El could be seen. Him being chosen and predestined for the nations of Patmos and Horcondising endowed in the Ingratia Mol Pétalo de San Miguel for the patronage of the World. He brought the sword Xiphos that shone leaving more than half of the universe without light other than the one that emanated from the Sword of Vernarth. In the honorific aspect, it was shown around the Áspis Koilé that protected Vernarth and all the Hexagonal Progeniture, protected by a Lynothorax and with two Gold cnémidas that protected the tibias of both tired legs, ad portas of the Quattrocento of Dürer of the Sun-Apollo , holding on to this quadrature of the disc or medron of the Ibico 7, to then ignore the cult of Primitive Christianity with the various manifestations of Mikaiyáh for the protectorate of the pontificate between Patmos and Sudpichi being the Sun that will never set in the sunset, as Institiae de Mikaiyah and Vernarth.

Thus began the shoulder of the photoduct of the Ibico 1, which would bring the lustration with Mikaiyáh for whoever was in need of help and remain under his patronage when the Empyrean descended illuminated undermining all the caverns. For such interdiction he would be escorted by Aionius who would lead him through the insensitive darkness escorted by the balenids Kaitelka, and Borker as a demiurgic power tuning the vital stimuli of Demeter, Persephone, and Hestia. Further from the chance of the unknowable that he prostrated himself in the restless souls of Prometheus and Vernarth with chains that would wander through spurious tenors of the uncertain end that is not finite…!

Mikaiyáh as Archangelos will reflect the eternal silhouette of his shadow more enormous than the theoretical universe of Archos "which prevails in the new messages of the perfection of the Celestial Hashem message whose syntax will predominate in the hegemony of Aionius of the Eggelos or Eternity of the angels" with their goodness they multiply themselves with the unification of the pontificate of Patmos and the Horkondising. It would be pointed out in the exegesis how Creation is more than a God, and God more than Creation or Dimiurgia”

Spílaiaus says: “Mikaiyáh has been seen dressed as a soldier with the plumed Phrygian helmet and with his buckler to take the side to predominate all the protectorates of the alpha and omega in his angelic series with the flaming sword Xiphos saying Quis Sicut Deus, we will follow God !! from where Spilaiaus is stunned when he sees that the flaming flames that came to devastate the Empyrean turned towards the Mercurial Ambrosia that spread sulfur throughout all the armored columns that tried to ambush him and attack the antiphon of repercussion for each flash that was launched as siege before Vernarth totally eliminated his retro purging, behold, from the speleothemes rose to the Kardiá of all dens. The second Ibico was approaching turning as sermons through the universe of Patmos and Horcondising beheading all the tricks of the demons of darkness that I will defeat I Spilaiaus "

Mikaiyáh says: “Vélus, from the volatilization of its waters that came from the Eygues, the power of the discomfort will rise in the four Arrows of Zefian, making him the God of Zenit that would attract the semitones of the opacity of the sunrise that he left in his wake when leaving its orbit letting the third Ibico unleash the solemnity of the Castalia in Delphi with tripled water from Ruthenia or from what is today Ukraine for the apothegms of salvation saying "Who is like Me Mikaiyáh". It will be like this for centuries to make my elytra the souls that protect all of Ruthenia from the Impious Invader, burning their homes and the entire generation of their ill-matched ancestors”

Mikaiyáh as it may be will elaborate the egregious defense of all Ruthenia and will redouble the divinization of all the Archangels. Vernarth as Apollo flew with his Laurel wings displaying the grenades of lies that were not able to balance in the hand of the god Ibicus who was extremely shocked. Then Mikaiyáh stares at him and intellectualizes his hasty passing through the centuries and centuries beginning to notice that his flaming flames began to devastate the evil oppressors from the sixteenth century onwards, so that he finally parks in the fortress together with the Ibico four to the quadrature that will be of the perfect Heliacal Ortho in the fourth Ibico with the quadrature of Aurion commanded by Leiak in the cardinal Dyticá, carrying the oikos or Golden threads of Orphi to protect the celestial choirs towards Ruthenia in what was propitious as the final harangue of Vernarth, before being abducted by the Iridescent Nimbus groaning fearlessly on the heights of Ruthenia as Prince of the angelic choirs in Ukraine.

The deity Azofar was dismembered from all the metalloid rows of space to decant them on Ruthenia, and after the fifth element, the universe and the Hyperdisis galaxy would contract to extol him from the neurological hyper brain of the Duoversal of Vernarth, brothering the Mashiach and exemplifying the duplicity of Apollo-like Azofar. The ibico five of his fold would caress the hands of Hector and Achilles to rearm them and join Mikaiyáh as a figure armed with his cuirass, greaves, and his right club that was upset in gestures of fury by the bizarre reddish air that ascended from Kyiv. He would take off his clothes to commend his lieutenant and Vernarth to the primacy of the sky that absorbed fumes of unknown puerile blood with great infants parading headless towards the Limbo of the little ones. Their surnames and pubertal trades rose first to be admitted in the very strong storm of Soul that received them all united by their hands together with the archangels to crush the heads of the atheists who disdained themselves in the murky but implausible believer heights...

The incarnation becomes princely in Mija-The Talmudic as a rebellion against incarnating in the Slavic apostates who evaporated in the presence of the Prince of Yavhe who took up the care of the dignity of creation. His extraordinary power was expelling those who besieged Ayia Sophia, prostrating them to judgment that does not allow second options before the tables of the law. The Ibico six from Kafersesuh traveled at great distances and speed by order of the Lepidoptera deity; being this one that brought thousands of tons of liters from the Red Sea to burn the Slavs and divert them to the Armas Christi for the day of judgment that will make the humiliated exalted in the synagogue that carried Lepidoptera on its elytra before burning the empire of the Slavs, under the shadows of Helleniká and Theoskepasti, where everything was entailed by the greater Ibix called Wonthelimar carrying the Signifiro and not the Vexillum, since the former was a strategic bastion so that Mikaiyáh, together with Lepidoptera, emptied everything from the Slavs, killing them as a vexation of the execrable antichrist, as Slavic swindler angels who appeared to be benevolent but would be revealed behind the wall of Miles Coelestis as a charred Slavic Fallen Angel.

The watchers carried wands of command that were joined to the cinnabar and the Mercurial Ambrosia for the fast of the Antiphon Benedictus so that the divine mask of the Áullos Kósmos is uninterruptedly unleashed. The Ibico 7 in the maximum symmetrical hierarchy was synchronized for the formal solemnity to fulfill the triad of Itheoi Astrágalus, Scabaradeiae, Nothofagus, taking their feet to all the tops of the world hanging and leaving them abandoned with the Himation, destined to the decline of the Scabaraeidae Aphodiniiae as subtractors of all the waste of the souls that have boiled in malignancy, and to the Scabaraeidae Dynastinae as fair larvae that ascend from the imaginary soil to feed on the roots of the Astragalus and on all the flowers and leaves of the Dynastiae. From the Nothofagus it will be the bread of the log with brittle in the souls of the hydrangeas that would lie in wait over Ruthenia with all their physiognomy of trees that would settle in the new root of an emancipated and sovereign town, under the excessive glitter of the Xiphos and the Dorus that would give with brief loans to Vernarth for the immortality of the Watchers Chosen by Mikaiyáh to save Ruthenia.
Mikaiyah from Paradise
Mariah Tulli Apr 2020
Sabe quando a gente ama sem nem ver? Tem acontecido por aqui! Sempre que avistava ela há anos atrás eu ficava nervosa. Naquele restaurante que era bom mas também não era nada demais, ficava querendo dar um oi, perguntar quem é você? O que tá fazendo da vida? Adorei seu crachá do cartoon! E passou... Um tempo depois eu estava rodando meu Instagram e boom, foto dela com uns conhecidos da minha cidade... fiquei sem entender nada, mas naquela época eu tava em outra e passou.. Depois de um tempo a encontrei em uma aula da faculdade por acaso e a vontade de falar continuava. Tu não vem nunca nessa aula né, qual seu tema do tcc? Você ê muito séria!... Ela tem cara de brava, amigos, eu gostei dela, mas ela não tem nada no Instagram, como que vou começar a falar com ela?... E passou... Então o famoso tinder veio, só pra confirmar nosso match e abrir as portas pro diálogo. E eu já tinha bastante coisa pra perguntar e falar... Ficou! Dessa vez ficou, porque já tava na hora de ser. E que bom que está, me faz feliz, sorrir, dançar na cozinha enquanto cozinho, me faz acreditar em mim, me traz aquele amor leve, sem nem ver... Acolhe, me deixa confortável pra deitar no peito e chorar, me abraça apertado pra ansiedade ir embora, me sinto segura. Sem contar as zilhões de diversas coisas que ela faz, cozinhar, organizar minha casa pra tirar obsessor kkk, arrumar meu pc, vixe, essa mulher tem feito de tudo por aqui. E é nessa bagunça organizada do amar que vou terminar... ficamos!
The disloyal Ghosts came from 70 km from the Iranian city of Shiraz in the province of Fars, near the place where the Pulwar River flows into the Kur (Kyrus). Its construction and destruction would be provinces that will be submitted until the conquest of the Persian Empire submitted in October by Alexander the Great. Persepolis was turned into harem halls and bizarre magnet *** between slaughtered Gods. The transitions from the porticoes to the sides are joined by angular towers in the Apadana of profane knots. The two great doors remained open in eternity, groaning salts in endless assets of predefinition and surcharge in their ill-fated degree.

Here were the comrades of Vernarth, harassed with preparations and garments of the slabs of Mars on their shoulders, after storms of oracles of the scorching sun in their heads. Anahita; goddess of nature, you scan the holy waters of nature that washed with morbid rains the bodies of the fallen in the rags battles with the roosters of Zoroaster, slicing the palanquin where they are sitting, and enthralled in the polytheism of Ahura Mazda almost like cloister and hood, ad portas to put on the monarchical garb of Macedonia before his kingdom defeated by the subjugated constitution of golden blood of Alexander and Vernarth linked to his Macedonian or Zeus, fully Hellenic who ran vast paths striding through seams of silent streets, of cobbled stones basalt, and obsidian between harvest paradises and fans. The Eritrean Sibyl shows her veil not only gathered but significantly knotted over her womb, which alludes to the pregnant state of the ****** in the Incarnation (scene of the Annunciation). The ascension footage is decisive, the first 103 meters of climbing hint at the names of Erqia, Eriflam Herifle, and Riquea.

Song of Stratonice: "in the white Apeiron pernoct marble of infinite matter, indeterminate, devoid of quality and that is in the eternal movement of the Eolionimi, that a snowy savior has to dwell in its womb, from the Áullos Kósmos or paradise of Vernarth , the word will say what rescues the life of mortals, the facets of the Katapausis will redress the Hebrew effluvia, in the weighting of the prop of the ferrule that embraces the Zefian arrow, falling from the altitude. The double-sided solitude will cross the rocky embankment at the top of Profitis Ilias, thus with tender meters that will cross the Absorption Fero of His Holiness and Salvation of Humanity "
Codex III - Quartzite Tectonics
yaretzy soto Mar 2020
nunca había conocido a una persona que cambia tanto como cambias tú .
eres tan lindo y cariñoso, y luego de repente te portas tan culero,
y me tratas tan feo .
y pues la culpa es mía porque yo deje que me lastimaras así,
yo deje que me trataras de la verga sabiendo que yo no merecía eso .
me deje llevar, and i feel so stupid .
Lawrence Hall Apr 2022
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com  
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                                    G­oodbye, Spooky Old Shopping Mall

I’m only here for the restrooms, foul as they are
          Employees Must Wash Hands
At the end of corridors which end in corridors
Darker and narrower as they go along
Empty spaces, empty stores, emptiness

Someone is sleeping on a decorative bench
          No Firearms / Prohibido Portas Armas De Fuego
Outside a nail salon that closed years ago
And a bookstore that closed years ago
And a boutique that closed years ago

The geriatric mall-walkers have arrived
          Hide Your Merchandise and Lock Your Car
The few remaining stores don’t open ‘til ten

— The End —