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Lauria Durrant Apr 2013
one day, on the highest mountains i will stand

i will leap through a valley of sunflowers

                            fresh breeze of the meadow winding  my hair

                                                      i

                                                   will

                                                  wade                                         out

for the finest galaxy

                                    a million years away

                                                        clouds of hope spur the abyss of space as they spur within me

                              brightest stars, illuminate the dark

radiant warmth, growing in my bones

                                     i will parade through mist of the ocean, prospering.
galaxy
lost
creative writing
Jordan A Duncan May 2015
My garden, bedded
in rest.
The roses bloomed like chiffon twirls
shine or shade
You approached with vested
Interest
Your neon eye-shadow, your black-tar curls
With intent like clumsy mower blades

You brought a dandelion from my neighbor’s lawn.
Its puff splitting, flying from your breath like a song from
Your lips, I thought a wish flew along.
There was no wish; just seeds, scattered. Gone.

You entered my home, keeping me captive.
I thought the walls closed every time you left.
Breath shallow, you told me I was maladaptive.
You found him, you were gone. Only the ring I gave you was left.

I was wrong; walls didn’t crumble because you were gone, but
Because you were here, my foundation crumbled from
Morning glories, untended, the vines grew too long, and
In and out of the concrete, my rose bushes crumpled.

I near let my home die
I rebuilt from rubble what’s mine

Late summer, I toiled, upturning rose root.
Piled the brush, for us, a pyre.
A former self turns to a pile of empty bottles and soot
My friends called it your wake, this bonfire.

Leaves fell, still, I toiled.
Killing the vines with water I boiled.
Tilling the land, laying rose-ash under soil.
Aching back, 56 degrees, sweat, too tired to pull the splinters.

Then came winter.
Ice blew over and all those weeds died.
It started to seem funny, all those times I cried
Over You.

I find my love was never a closet;
A trap meant for one, but
a well that runs deep and
the groundwater clean.

Spring comes, green growth peaks into view
I breathe the air, happy with the year in review.
I plant rhododendrons where  common roses bloomed and
A vegetable patch where grass once grew.

My garden flourishes with life and color.
I look to my garden wanting just to tend
my garden, it grows like feelings for new lovers.
I think of how it will look by summer’s end.

Grass like fingers reaching to the sun with new
life, prospering. As the rhododendrons rise from
the care I’m fostering and tomatoes will
ripen and shine when the sun gives luster, and

Fruits from the vine plump with nectar inside.
Sustenance for me, of course,
A boon to the birds, the bees
As She and her soft hands help tend my crop
Pulling stray weeds, sweating from the force.


The flowers will grow in colorful clusters like
July fireworks, a boom for every new bloom.
The difference, Rose, is I
trust her.
She will not turn my garden, my home
into another crumbling tomb.
This is an obvious extended metaphor about a break-up portrayed through gardening. It took some great pains to sidestep cliché when using themes of death and life. I really just wanted to avoid abstractions through the whole thing, since it's a year-in-review after being left by my ex fiancé of five years. Living together with her, my eccentricities were constantly criticized to the point I was silent, she literally called me worthless and said I never had anything substantial to say. So, when she left, I was without purpose. I attempted suicide, woke up from that and realized I had no identity. When that happened, I realized I had the opportunity to build one from scratch. A year of working day in and day out and I'm now a senior in college in journalism. I'm doing well, I'm proud of who I am and I won't let anyone take that from me.
Now long and long from wintry Strymon blew
The weary, hungry, anchor-straining blasts,
The winds that wandering ****** dearly rue,
Nor spared the cables worn and groaning masts;
And, lingering on, in indolent delay,
Slow wasted all the strength of Greece away.
But when the shrill-voiced prophet 'gan proclaim
That remedy more dismal and more dread
Than the drear weather blackening overhead,
And spoke in Artemis' most awful name,
The sons of Atreus, 'mid their armed peers,
Their sceptres dashed to earth, and each broke out in tears,
And thus the elder king began to say:
"Dire doom! to disobey the gods' commands!
More dire, my child, mine house's pride, to slay,
Dabbling in ****** blood a father's hands.
Alas! alas! which way to fly?
As base deserter quit the host,
The pride and strength of our great league all lost?
Should I the storm-appeasing rite deny,
Will not their wrathfullest wrath rage up and swell?
Exact the ******'s blood?--oh, would 't were o'er and well!"

So, 'neath Necessity's stern yoke he passed,
And his lost soul, with impious impulse veering,
Surrendered to the accursed unholy blast,
Warped to the dire extreme of human daring.
The frenzy of affliction still
Maddens, dire counselor, man's soul to ill.

So he endured to be the priest
In that child-slaughtering rite unblest,
The first full offering of that host
In fatal war for a bad woman lost.

The prayers, the mute appeal to her hard sire,
Her youth, her ****** beauty,
Naught heeded they, the chiefs for war on fire.
So to the ministers of that dire duty
(First having prayed) the father gave the sign,
Like some soft kid, to lift her to the shrine.

There lay she prone,
Her graceful garments round her thrown;
But first her beauteous mouth around
Their violent bonds they wound,
With their rude inarticulate might,
Lest her dread curse the fatal house should smite.
But she her saffron robe to earth let fall:
The shaft of pity from her eye
Transpierced that awful priesthood--one and all.
Lovely as in a picture stood she by
As she would speak. Thus at her father's feasts
The ******, 'mid the reveling guests,
Was wont with her chaste voice to supplicate
For her dear father an auspicious fate.

I saw no more! to speak more is not mine;
Not unfulfilled was Calchas' lore divine.
Eternal justice still will bring
Wisdom out of suffering.
So to the fond desire farewell,
The inevitable future to foretell;
'Tis but our woe to antedate;
Joint knit with joint, expands the full-formed fate.
Yet at the end of these dark days
May prospering weal return at length;
Thus in his spirit prays
He of the Apian land the sole remaining strength.
jonchius Sep 2015
entering year 2000
rewinding vhs tape
installing napster client
anticipating victorious gore
bursting dot-com bubble
blocking tomorrow's nostalgia
commemorating festival tragedy
examining supersonic concorde
watching election coverage
recounting inconvenient truths
puzzling interface design
booing nuc-u-lar president

rising black monolith
editing non-linear encyclopedia
feeling inaugurally bushed
reliving century's dawn
unchanging state flag
processing royal massacre
escaping insane asylum
sensing impending collapse
perusing city guide
collapsing contemporary structures
initiating quixotic peacekeeping
ignoring conscription threats

entering year 2002
reporting unfortunate pearl
relaxing shotgun porch
exploding roadside bombs
addressing thousand followers
hugging financial meltdown
writing resembling skylines
shocking archipelagic bursts
processing theatrical disaster
tightening homeland security

entering year 2003
proliferating elegant telegnosis
rejecting freedom fries
blazing wartime trails
toppling dictatorial statue
unfurling "mission accomplished"
handling continental blackout
ejecting coronal masses

entering year 2004
flashing multiple sobriquets
populating dorm-roomy website
high-grossing aramaic movie
generating tunnel vision
rushing national anthem
parading goth athletes
letting games begin
accepting soviet passports
continuing obscure flumadiddle
lunar-eclipsing world series
two-terming republican regime
declining personality cult
glowing orange revolution
eroding periglacial drumlins
inundating lacustrine basins
exciting geomorphological processes
enduring tumultuous tsunami

entering year 2005
blasting "galvanize" repeatedly
unforgiving cyclonic scenario
printing controversial drawing
sketching cartoon prophet
overturning hurricane alphabet
rigging medal count
preparing new horizons
rejecting flash sites

entering year 2006
setting plutonian destination
synchronizing new horizons
sighting stellar foison
maintaining feudal system
emerging microblogging service
reading ancient tweets
rotating golden statue
mounting social debt
protesting planetary demotion
forecasting catastrophic recession
executing "innocent" dictator

entering year 2007
declining share prices
building ruby railroad
lifting presidential term-limits
perpetuating oil-rich dictatorships
falling interstate bridge
slugging giant bonds
clothing blackwater mercenaries
disappearing internet personalities
unforgiving writers strike

entering year 2008
stealing variable thunders
relaxing domain names
letting games continue
exploding sunrise propane
requesting birth certificate
electing another suit
disappointing orthodox republicans
microblogging maximal meltdown

entering year 2009
inaugurating new president
encountering bear markets
cackling risible laughter
dying pop king
deleting neolithic internet

entering year 2010
collapsing presidential palace
prospering cinematic avatar
pronouncing eyjafjallajökull effortlessly
"kettling riot police
flaming cop cruiser"
blasting text-based vuvuzelas
leaking diplomatic cables
fading pre-twitter memories
self-immolating street vendor

entering year 2011
"enervating nine-point quake
propagating harbor wave
inundating nuclear plant
irradiating unclear fates"
raging mid-eastern spring
throwing body asea
locating trojan asteroid
penetrating financial throughfare
resonating oral amplifier
blazing verdant material

entering year 2012
rising chubby dictator
gentrifying weird twitter
exploding next month
intriguing "fake" passport
proliferating single-hued avatars
surging sandy cyclone
inhabiting alternate universe
manipulating another election
rigging people's ballots
perpetuating manipulated world
fulfilling megalomaniac urges
surviving previous apocalypse
surviving another baktun

entering year 2013
descending rogue meteor
encoding festival weekend
obfuscating's very own
approving snow den
searching yaya island
soaking wet veld

entering year 2014
missing plane geometry?
annexing peninsular territory
printing powdered medication
forecasting meteoric boomtime
prevailing monochromatic identity
avoiding aviation accidents
determining auspicious date
revising deactivation plans
reliving years 2000-2014
From the depression of the distances with respect to the horizontal and the planes that separated them from the surface, below the references that came against, single sediment had been destined towards the high eminence, before the fossal of megatons of aldehyde below the bilges of the final base, where the seventh rings of the goat ibex were perforated, all in the antipode of the Constellation of Capricornus; where the goats were enraptured in the binary of Wonthelimar, behind the floods of absorption that took the Diadocos far from where they should never have left, in order to extrasolar wishes and never to come. From the node of the supreme and poked aldehyde of the horn of Amalthea, with the bizarre analogy of Zeus and Wonthelimar, both mammals with milk from goat's udders, one from goat from Mount Ida and the other from Aldaine in the Alps, with milk from ibex and In the face of Amalthea that appeared in the fossal, all the Seleucid generals had already vanished, starting from the Viper Typhon, who in the retracting sub-mythology of Capricornus was transmigrated to Wonthelimar, swollen with the aldehyde transmuted into this alcohol and into the udder milk of the Ibix that He lactored, while they were all carried away as in the chambers of Auschwitz, in distant lanterns and lamps of the Calypso that he dismissed them, leaving them with the escorts of the ibex or goatfish in laudable stratagems, which vanished them away from their desires from a new polis or Nostos Patrída, sprinkling them with goatskin and flourishing essences of the kashmar of Zeus' nurse; Amaltheum or Amalthea.

The Iberian rings from the medrones in advance reached the two final ring nodes, here Wonthelimar intimidated them with an accurate adjacent bleat of the kashmar that rubbed their back, before the newest and last lux of Amalthea that vanished into herbaceous fruits that always He carried the barefoot medron with him, to start with the antlers dumbbells and re-transport them defeated to the species of snake that frightened the pastoral god Pan who shepherded, and then he submerged in the water after becoming Capricornus Ibex Fish. Being aware of this and of those who refused to continue listening, Ibics rings were unleashed until the seventh medron, feeding back with Wonthelimar who ad libitum created Venus in triads of Zeus. Wonthelimar and Amalthea were remote in the eighth and ninth medron of the antlers, they appropriated to each the portion of the Parasha or Parashot of the Torah, and of the thirteenth Shemot so that their dualities and fumes from the unbreathable fossa would remain under the possessed surface of the pendular property balance and positive-negative gender correspondence. Right here Amalthea transmuted her mercy to save the world with her lactation of syrup and honey that was not in short supply, and that was extrapolated into a future abundance of food and nectar, making up for crusts that were uneven in average terms. From this bezel, both beings of the goat genome contributed to the pole of goodness for each one at the end of the benevolent cuirassiers of prospering, and not from the opposite that would lead them, even though they were dissimilar causes, towards a retrograde event that was not a consequence of the becoming of the plagues, and of the malignancy that does not flourish with the Shemot of the Parasha, to agree and lavish themselves on blessed virtues or deliberate wicked ones.

The meaning of a relative synchronic and factotum coexisting does not redeem the disintegration of an existential relativism in Skalá, the Hexagonal Primogeniture from one of its angular visions, metaphysically transfers from its temporary contingencies after its arrival on Patmos, while the temporary Seleucid temporality vanishes, It was affirmed from a contradiction since its truth was distended in the arena of Skalá not implying being welcomed, rather it was victimized by the absurd political dimorphism in a meta spiritual state, abdicating its dispersed retrospective, and now contemplating a compromise of the Hellenic genre, to gradually rebuke the virtues of their banners, twice as good for the purpose of reinforcing the will to accede, and not perish in the attempt to lead Alexander the Great. The criticism of founding the memories are of a revived past where it was not, marking the anthropological fact and false truth judgment, in meaning and contradiction in the polarity of both axiomatic genres, but that is saved when quantifying in who has to defend himself, if seeks to abrogate itself, in the entity that is characterized by induction and attraction of egonies and not of exo-egonies, thus describing it in the theme of "Do not support egos that recriminate other characters of frustration and empowerment of a Vernarthian logic split into Vern-narth. Vern has etymology of Bern or Bern olive tree of Gethsemane and narth of the ordinal scale that speculates its nickname in millions of northern sections of its origin, which subsumes the truth and the criterion of apocalyptic parapsychology, re-life of quantum historicity of the metaphysical and sub-block. -Mythological of Vernarth in his identical.

Everything seemed a strange self-annulment from a clear and understandable limit, but Wonthelimar rose to the surface of the Állos kósmos, finding himself in atmospheres of truth and reality of a Cantabile, who decided about the horse Kanti coming with him towing him from the Erebo de Chauvet Bilocated. As a musical and festive ending, he received them on the upper plate of the happened gestures, where a cabaletta rendered parts of a Cantabrian aria, in sulfurous and remorseful cavatina married with the cross emotions of a finale who sponsored expressions and festive Templar tales, with the descendants of Zeus or minor children, or grandchildren after this had to give him milk and honey but with báchkoi. Among the couplets that received him, some came about the smoke of terror that was confused with the dustbin of a Cavallo or horse acclaimed Kanti, with gasping bustling from a cardex, containing all the repertoires of a cantabile if this scene were to be repeated in The same epic allusion, and in random consequences, that go after a cavalcade that is not abstracted in real characters, but more in conformity with the well-deserved place of epic imaginative beings or in the operatic psychotropic of a duet, which would go flagellating in individuality and in each which is not content from another section of the Cantabrian.

The Universality of emotion and feeling is a tragic Parodo emulating voices of all those who sing from a cantabile galloping in their voices to the beat of the heart in some, and at the same time chanting stanzas and antistrophe in reverse epic and tragic lines, for the purposes of the coliseum that diametrically obstructs the Hellenic choir, which is attached to the intervention of the Hexagonal Primogeniture that was already beginning to rise in height, and in the prayers of Saint John, the Apostle and Prochorus from the captaincy and the ode that would begin to stanza, from the west to this and the antistrophe would follow with Vernarth, Wonthelimar and Alexander the Great from east to west. Ad libitum of their enjoyments, they were eating Greek snacks or Katogorias on the way in bases of Almonds, cinnamon, olive oil, sugar, and sweet wine that they carried on their backs in Rhytas shaped like the horns of Zeus and the Ibix of Wonthelimar, which the same Procorus carried on his golden back. The meaning is affirmed as a meaningless infringement of laws of temporality, and truthfulness at the expense of short evidence, and of facts that vanish in the light haze of causalism and not of effectism, when the adjective or noun is made of a strong verb in the Metabasis and in the imprecations that Vernarth gave.

Vernarth's metabasis: “the verse and the adjective will be subsidized by the noun in the construction of Állos Kosmo Megarón, from where mathematics will immaterially explain sap suckers under the noun in liquid milk of the color white and of the high nutritional value in female lactated, and of mammals to feed their goats or ibex. The soul of this prerogative implies that the verb will be to promote species rather than a nutritious milky elixir for Zeus, and the candor of his **** will tend to the bipedal or quadruped subject self-procreating from a Milky Specie. (Milky species).  Being ****** into milk by self-procreating snitches. Vernarth says (give me some milk, and I will be the son of Zeus, perhaps as a means in everything and not a whole of which I never thought...!)

Amalthea in rituals and relics from prospects of demigods was purposely cordoning them off in Mycenaean deities, from a contemporary Westerner comforting them near a hippocampus; with signs of ibex Capricornus, rapt at the nymph that spoke from Mount Ida in Crete and that she made congruent with the constellation of Capricornus, more precisely in the Cornucopia making this heraldry of Wonthelimar with Fortune, Abundance, Occasion, Liberality, Prudence and Joy. In a woman sitting on a throne, a young nymph with a flower crown, a naked woman with one foot on a wheel and the other unstable, a woman with sunken eyes and an aquiline nose dressed in white, two faces from the past and future, a woman happy with the exuberance of the Cornucopia with children and a palm leaf. Being the abundance that in serial Amalthea bordered all the ladies in different esoteric and Mycenaean prosperity, constantly shining with radiations on the present in the Unicorn Ibix, which Zeus left after breaking its antlers, unleashing kindness and plethora in fruit buds, and vegetables that were appropriated in the Fortune of Wonthelimar reissuing what in their domains they can do, and now in Patmos with its Cornupia being transferred from that liquefied shaft honey and milk cultivated with attributes of herbs contributing to the leisure, peace, and relaxation of the cosmic world that ascended in Wonthelimar as Ibix in advance of Capricornus, from where the Auriga always broke into his expeditions with a trajectory towards the eighth cemetery of Messolonghi, where he brought it from the Capella Star for the femurs of the Diplodocuses who seconded Drestnia to watch over the hydraulic pits of the Koumeterium from Messolonghi, before traveling to Tangier.

The entire herd went back to an ancient promontory that was halfway up the mound towards the black styes or abscesses, in the central intuition of the fossa that began to dissipate towards their backs. Amalthea extends into the Állos Kósmos, which came in zoomorphic receptacles collecting the announced blood of the animals that flowed in black planks from the vortex of the fossal, towards the liminal or transitory sleeper of the fossal that oozed acetosities of the Aldehyde to be transmigrated after the bilocation of the Chauvet cavern. All wore willow halos on the crowns or diadems of their caps, including the proliferation of phantasmagoric Allies that went in rows from 780 to 680 BC. C., with fortunes of the Cornucopia that arched in magical arches due to the dissociative changes of the universe, as well as the circumstantial creed of some omnipotence that will cause emotional transgenerational transgression, in the rain vessels that they made fall from the Ombrio de Zeus, in a daily latticework closing the spaces, and only leaving for some intruders and onlookers to see his flashing Astrepé. Right here the diádoc fossal vanished, when it rose above the horizontal that poured into the Chronic Vernagrams of parapsychological personalities of ingenuity classicism and in Astro-concomitance, which would rethink everything that is past and future from a Vernagram, which is more than a compression of a mere future of the quantum spaces and the sacred medrones of the Ibixes with their direct relationship with Capricornus. Diverse capital moments were treasured in the breeze of the Vas Auric that was traced from the opposing moraine that fell in lapse-time, through the labyrinth in storms and thunderings that became planetary with the Lynothorax cuirass that Alexander the Great accommodated in the festoon border of his Aspis Koilé, kicking copiously as a sign of shaking the head of the gods who deceived him to be alive, and who was now reborn in the faith of Saint John the Apostle, favorite of the Mashiach and where he will have to wipe his face with the shroud of Veronica Before entering the Állos Kósmos Megaron that everyone built, in favor of a Panagia or Temple, unlocking the majolica that seeped out from the rest of the transmigration, and his own in the configuration of a corpse with a tricolor gesture.

The presumptive eradicated the side of the forearm rots that was being restored in Wonthelimar's laps, which helped him get up and catch his breath while the Katogorias snack filled his mouth with nectar and almonds with Macedonian Psiloi combat tactics with serum and flames of Alcohol dripped from her nostrils and sinuses in the sweet wine, which in pompous dilemma defied the judges of her life in the choir of the Bilocated Epidary Theater on Patmos, and in the ***** dry Kashmar of the orchard with the pale faces of the grotesque, that rested in the memory or Mnmosyne and in the fauna of the Thracian and Thessalian helmets.

Alexander the Great says: “here I agonized and now in the fresh waters of the springs of the Lerna, I will also marry the glorious mystay and bákchoi, in the memories of Vernarth seeing him besieged by Achaemenides in the stooped position of Dario III, to come purifying and sustaining of my limbs, learning to walk and speak in Neolithic techniques, which extruded me from the Lerna by barriers of the moon that shone from the bronze of my Leonatus helmet. Thus I could see that Vernarth, fought alone against thousands throwing fire through his mouth and his eyes, separating the waters of the Falangists, who plowed like ships deforesting the Persians, and leaving them in their mud, imposing glorious Hypaspists who unbolted from their back some arrows with heads of snakes and Hydras.

Vernarth watched as everyone climbed the Profitis Ilias mound, two hundred and sixty-nine meters above sea level, where the monastery of San Juan is located; here he was suspended in his solitude after everything that happened at the end of the moat that definitely I would return without the Diádocos, with a hint and its functionalities. From here Helios became genealogical, who snatched him from the kingdom of dead flowers, which were to be assumed from the Olympian where he will join him to the essential of Aïdoneus; immaterializing in the darkness of dizzies and the flowers that died in the genealogy of a new species. The scenic swept its cognitive and ferns with more than three hundred frank species that frowned like the enemy of an evil friend, with seedlings that expectorated from the resonance of the bushes that invited to thrive in the salty ripples that made a dreamer fall asleep on top of the kerchiefs or brambles that memorialized Gethsemane, burning his face and hands with psalms, telling him about his Baba. For when it is a luminary by night and by day, they will compare it with the white grayish drupes and mops, like those of the Bern orchard of Olives, in aqueous and resinous colloidal, which was crowned in harmony and syntropia in Vernarth activating intellectual conscious plantations, which will restructure its balance of ultra Hoplite, in metabolism of the Lentiscus flowers, with great brotherhood in the Olives that each time exercised the gift of bending their oleaginous self-species, towards planes of the Cornicabra olives, with large branches and high tree altitude that fruit within of the Cornucopia that he now carried on his back, supported by an oiko spin, juxtaposed with the fibula on the right shoulder of his lymphoma, which with large branches and high tree altitude fruit within the Cornucopia that he now carried on his back, supported by an oiko line juxtaposed with the fibula on the right shoulder of his lymphoma, and with polyphenols in scale geothermal energy that still leveled the Ponto Sea towards the tectonic plate to give it the flavor that was owed from remote prehistoric times.

Patmos was aborted from an immanent consent and new force of the impending enemy in Pythagorean perorations and an offending thought. From this prerogative is born the generalized punishment of sub-mythological ethics in favor of legacies of allusions to reorder or defragment the enslaving and demolished bio culture, which would begin from the establishment of the Vas Auric found in Limassol, which took possession from Rhodes with clean scenes from Tsambika monastery. The epic ran like icy cold down the shoulders of all those who sweated for the generation of cops, and in domestic evasions in superior lordships to Hades or Wonthelimar itself, both sons of flocks and goats that nourished them by providing them with a mountain perspective, as a magnetic pole towards gothic energy that ruled more in the Magnetic North Pole, and the geographic oversize that reviled latitudes in riches that would dismiss Borker and Zefian, as masters distributors of the ethics of the Áullos Kósmos of Patmos, redeploying thousands of dead from pre-Hellenic times, so that they recirculate through the roots of the Kashmar, re-sulfurizing cinnabar saps as the germ of the subterranean Acheron, which consecrates the living and the dead in the eternity of the infinite Duoverse Universe. The order will lie in semi-shadows that even in the dark provide the pleasant warmth of camphor, with advanced Horcondising formulas, which will appeal to hungry souls by suppressing gifted energies, and by inseminating them with ovules without originally conceived organisms.

From Hylates, Cyprus; Zefian came by order of Vernarth, assisted with the extension of the earthly laborers of the Attic Calendar on the twenty-first of September, from the device of Apollo at the site of Boeotia, and especially of the Boedromion. The arrows that Zefian brought had an instant Boedromion crossing the lines from spring to winter, with seven arrows that Zefian threw into the sky and never fell, but if portentously received in the virginity of animals. The flora with seven golden arrows of the Chauvet de Wonthelmar cavern, condoned the exhaustive end of the fossal where they still remained, in a gesture of tenderness and relative Mycenaean genealogy, from Crete the contravention of Apollo and Artemis towards an olive tree was approaching, originating in the Zefian's arrows, to mark the new cardinal points, begin with the first two arrows that they put on the string of the bow, each one flying north and south trajectories and the other two that were once again attacked with the east bow, to shoot the arrows of east-west with southern magnetism limits. Zefian's imagination was of proportions that were not limited without wandering from their phalanxes when they pulled the string, like joys of a ghostly existence that pushed him in each bolt, presuming that where they fell would be the beginning of the storms that would originate the Állos Kósmos Megarón, for belated courts imposed from a cosmos, which he led by insisting on his will and from a doubtful Vestal god advocating the association of the hospitable Canephores, such as Vestal Virgins of Roman bilocation, and quantum parapsychological of the feared inter-tale alive that rebels in the arrows that they had not yet fallen and did not know their whereabouts. As plates or serial hosts, they were evoked from where the origin of the Universe was broken, to open towards the organic, vigorous, and anti-burn contravened Duoverse to the divine celestial origin as a parameter of *****-ovule, rather in aeonic instances in the fireplace of Hestia, running in eternities towards vast volumes of light-years, where eternity has no measure, let alone the existence that begins and ends born from a homozygous arising without a Universe, to hatch from the branch of the Heterozygous Duoverse, bringing different unions of eternal cells by universal divine decree, and not the union of disparate cells. The science of the Mashiach came in these divine arrows that marked the points of the cardinal in the numinous and exclamatory expansions of the exiled universe of Vernarth, towards the perenniality in itself, but being heterozygous for a world that would begin to live in non-organic cells, but yes of divine composition, over saturating the limits of the origin, and destiny of syntropy of the conscious actions of the metabolism of the Alma Mater and of the great doors when losing the bodyweight of the physical-ether, but yes from the platform of the Mashiach that will take them hands without leaving them abandoned, showing them that they were no longer children born of ovule-*****, but rather in the luminous matter, envisioning expansions of prayers beyond from the universe, where it will accompany them in a multidimensional plane..., and will have no end from a human scientific conception.

Wonthelimar says: “Since the omphalos was swallowed by Cronos, Hera's elegy was unleashed, for not raising her son Zeus in free clumps of goats and Ida's honey. I in the Alps went to the herd of the Ibix like a Zeus saved from the darkness of Chauvet in the mountains of Gaul. There are chisels that cut stones in beautiful whirlwinds, but I know that a lot of cosmology would not speak of the Mediterranean Cornicabra and its olive drupe, nor less of the Cornucopia that sinks with sumptuous and ephebian flavors in the fruit, and the greenish heraldry of the binominal that is disturbed in its phalanges eating and sipping honey, in antler pots with pride of the Ida and the Vercors massif”
Wonthelimar Amaltheum, Állos Kosmos Megaron
Just for a handful of silver he left us,
Just for a riband to stick in his coat—
Found the one gift of which fortune bereft us,
Lost all the others she lets us devote;
They, with the gold to give, doled him out silver,
So much was theirs who so little allowed:
How all our copper had gone for his service!
Rags—were they purple, his heart had been proud!
We that had loved him so, followed him, honoured him,
Lived in his mild and magnificent eye,
Learned his great language, caught his clear accents,
Made him our pattern to live and to die!
Shakespeare was of us, Milton was for us,
Burns, Shelley, were with us,—they watch from their graves!
He alone breaks from the van and the freemen,
He alone sinks to the rear and the slaves!

We shall march prospering,—not through his presence;
Songs may inspirit us,—not from his lyre;
Deeds will be done,—while he boasts his quiescence,
Still bidding crouch whom the rest bade aspire:
Blot out his name, then, record one lost soul more,
One task more declined, one more footpath untrod,
One more triumph for devils and sorrow for angels,
One wrong more to man, one more insult to God!
Life’s night begins: let him never come back to us!
There would be doubt, hesitation and pain,
Forced praise on our part—the glimmer of twilight,
Never glad confident morning again!
Best fight on well, for we taught him—strike gallantly,
Menace our heart ere we pierce through his own;
Then let him receive the new knowledge and wait us,
Pardoned in heaven, the first by the throne!
Tessa Craft Feb 2015
Alright,
He doesn't
Really have
Everything
Figured out.
But he thinks
He does.
And that's
Doing
All right.
Niveda Nahta Dec 2016
Dear FutureMe,
I hope you are happy. Your mom is still with you and Anuj, well I hope he's with you as well. I hope you're ready to go sailing with your Sailor. I hope you were successful in all that you did even though you had some bad times and tired ones too. I hope you worked hard enough so as to make your mom's new school prosper in all ways. I hope you're still in love with coffee and him. I hope you have more confidence in you and still like wearing all that you love to wear. I hope you tried loosing the pooch ahaha well if you did have the time to do that. I hope after seeing this you'd be a little more happier if you already are and a little more hopeful if you're sad. And even if you're not following your dreams I hope you've made new ones and prospering in that too! I hope you still love yourself as much as you do now. Be strong you!
Posted:2016
To be read again after 4years!!

Update: 2020
I've lost people in life for good, still struggling yet I know I'll keep loving myself even more. Strange how life changes with time.
Ronald J Chapman Jun 2015
Dreaming, of you every night,

Nights of seeing a rabbit riding on the moon,

Dreams of waking to your the words, “Good morning dear one.”
Waking to the smell of roasting coffee,
Hungry for fried rice and Doenjang soup,

Dreams of us living in the palace of prospering virtue,

Dreaming of watching the sunrise in this ancient place,
While holding hands and walking through our secret garden,

Dreams, of a beautiful dark haired woman,
Dreams of us growing old together,
Watching our grandchildren fly without wings higher than magpies,
Dreaming our dreams come true.


Copyright © 2015 Ronald J Chapman All Rights Reserved.
Changdeokgung Palace Secret Garden
https://youtu.be/xUZRQG2bDTY
Soft rhythmic ticking of a mechanical heart,
You scream for silence,
But she ticks on.
You stand still,
Bathing in the winter sun,
Burning in the blinding snow,
Which way do we go?
Which route do we take.
It's a straight shot to the other side from here,
Formless spirits tempt you with dreams.
Break enough rules,
And they will crown you Eagle King,
Soaring above the common man,
In self appointed wings,
You watch everything,
You look down upon the lesser flightless creatures.
Dust covered unopened books fill up the library,
Once a prospering civilization,
They have been reduced to brainwashed moths,
They go where the light takes them.
Watchful eyes cover the walls of this city,
Every movement tracked,
Every voice heard,
Everyone watched.
The night offers the promise of freedom,
Climb the wall and escape,
The world is new,
The world is you.
Three hundred miles away,
Your ****** feet leave a trail,
The vultures are waiting.
Feast your eyes on the magic of a new power,
A golden city with candles afloat,
Sand haired women with velvet dresses
Watch you from across the street,
You're a stranger among them,
Prepare your eyes for the fall of life,
They hold a banquet
To celebrate the meeting of the wolf and man,
It starts to pour as they touch.
Unanswered prayers hum in the air,
Suspended on the strings of doubt,
They have been returned to the sender.
Across the firepit,
Six sick savages mock the fiddler,
The music stops, words are exchanged,
And there's blood.
Six shades of red fluid,
Creeping slowly to fuel the fire that stares.
I've had enough.
I retire to my tent and someone's waiting,
I am the eagle king,
Her red hair paints the sheets red,
My thoughts go back to the six shades
I witnessed moments ago.
There's a murderer on the loose,
I didn't ask for this.
Set off into the night
Towards the temples of the East,
I may find my peace,
In a little corner of the marble city,
Bow down to the idols like sheep in the crowd,
The blade comes swiftly,
I felt no pain.
The sacrifice has been made,
There's no more waiting now,
You'll have your answer in the mail tomorrow.
S Olson Oct 2017
Love will grow in me sideways, a supine pine
sapling, shoveling mountainous glaciers of stone

embedded into my boiling erosions, melting
the anaerobic hot mud into a calmer froth.

We may kiss at the precipice of the abyss
our love has inevitably chewed through itself.  

And I will likely palm our weathers
into a river-swallowing sea

and you will hate me; desert of a future
companion’s ship—can I

swallow my dominance; that devotion
could bloom from this love’s wilderness,

foresting in perennial fullness,
prospering in the shared bed
rock we have carved into orchids.  

At the place where I will bury my bones
in the murderous entrancement of another,

taiga could storm from the soft ring of fire
between twenty interlocked evergreen fingers.
Ben Meraki Jun 2019
Look kindly upon us
As we stand in your shadow.

Limbs outstretched,
Calm but forever reaching,
Searching,
For new things untold.
Prospering in unison.

Unspoken harmony.
Sharing,
Communicating
Not through words,
Nor war, nor wares.
But through feeling and knowing.

Loving in purest form.
Ever-embraced,
Entwined as one.
Everlasting.

Take back what is yours.
But look kindly upon us
For the few will stand tall in your honour,
And your world will rest once more.
On an evening walk in the woods
madelyne knoll Apr 2015
You are peppermint:
Red hair, green eyes, white skin
peppered with polka dots.

And I, a pagan, passive and pathetic,
whose paramour is a ******* paladin
with a perfect face, parted pout and
perfumed persecution, perpetuated by
parliamentary parents who prevent you from prospering.

And I have to pitch a poker face
Pretend that your painted pair of lips pressed on my cheek
do not paralyze me, peach turned pink
over a precious peck.

So what is the purpose behind your pretense?
The pointless promiscuity, part time passion,
and I'm patient--
but god--
let me pamper you, pageant-curls princess,
forget the prestige in your pedigree,
let this penniless pauper into your palace.

You are picturesque, purely portrait-worthy,
But your painted claws perforated my paper skin,
and all I wanted was to make you purr.


*(but I don't have a *****)
Towela Kams Feb 2015
For quite a while you've been questioning my understanding of how things have come to be.
You've been wondering why my so-called love is not prospering and you don't lie when you say you've tried everything. So you keep coming back like a new-born baby dying for love from daddy.

It appears to me
That your insecurities and flaws are all results of my wrongs but I'd never admit to being the one at fault if it had to cost me kneeling down on the floor and confessing that the minute I walked out on you, my whole life went on pause.

And even though I was crowded by many, I felt discomfort in the midsts of applause. My lust for popularity gain had strangled me up again the wall and I was left with no one to call.

See, after the last time you saw me I took matters into my hands and asked the devil for a dance because he seemed like the latest trend but the second he swept me off my feet and removed my blindness to see, I had my conscience open to a Towela severely broken.

It had been a while since we had spoken so I didn't know whether to reach out or stay speechless. Because the sight of the broken you took my breath away and hardly in the good way because I felt guilty. Tell me, how else was I going to be able to swallow my inequity rather than practising ignorance?

My soul is filthy and reeking of deeds I rushed into without thinking. I attempted wishful thinking. I pushed you out of the way and tried going on dates with darkness and she introduced me to wicked play. But Towela, don't hate the player, hate the game.

I'm sorry for not being able to be sorry. For depicting the direction of your life story and forcing you to cope with such deviation.

Last night, in a dream I saw you. And this time you looked amazing. Your once teary eyes had healed and there was no sign of what had once been. For the period of 11 years I lived with you, I had never seen you smile the way you did with the One who was with You. I'm not love but I can tell what He has for you is real. I reached out my hand because I envied what He was doing to your heart - renewing it and teaching it how to love.

And so I wept. I wept because I would've wanted to be who He was to you and do the responsibility He gave me to You. As I speak to you, I'm in this state of regret-filled thoughts like "I could've, I should've, I would've."

We've switched lanes. You have fulfilment and satisfaction while I suffer from immense pain. You may think I'm insane but trust me when I say I know that for the first time, you're secure Towela, you're safe.

On that note, there's another confession I'd like to make. The so-called love I supplied with you all these years was fake. You were so caught up in my game that You never thought to seek God's face so by default, I always won. No one would blame you if you began to call me a con.

The One you're with is love and in him there is no wrong. So you can sit back and relax because in Him, there are no traces of insecurity or inequity - there is no sin. There is no heart that bleeds or soul that roams aimlessly hurting and seeking for love from anything worldly.

But wait, I just caught sight of Him embrace you. And half a smile was what I could offer at this view. He took up my responsibility, paid whatever debts I had been owing you, destroyed the one who tried destroying you and resurrected your life so it could be brand new.

And if I gained permission to see Him, I'd tell Him 'Thank You I've seen the way she's happy whenever she's with You and I know that without You, my daughter would have been gone before her time was due.'
I'm just one of those teens dealing with having a distant dad. Hahaha, I have what people like to call, "Daddy issues". He doesn't communicate his feelings much so I kinda wrote them for him. /.\ lol.

Sometimes, my poetry doesn't make sense. ._.'') I know. xD

Oh by the way, I kinda wanna venture into Spoken Word poetry. So can any of you guys give me tips or something? Kthanksbye. :)
lauren Mar 2017
i love you.
so much more now than i ever have.
for the incredulous love, passion, and sentiment that you have held.
for the heartbreak, self imprisonment, and emotional torment you have
been dragged into.
not because your soul has made it out even more beautiful than before,
but because of how you have grown.
i love you.
for prospering in a world where others only told you
that you couldn't do it
or it wasn't practical.
because you are growing older now,
and it is no longer about the outside voices.
it is about what makes your heart throb
your body shake
and your bones rattle.
because someday,
you will look back and regret
every moment that you did not cherish.
so stay here
right here
where i can always
love you.
i feel incredibly empowered today. and finally feel as if i am beginning to grow again.
Where the blue of sky
tosses the dream within ones eye
and opens the pastoral fields of life
amidst the strife, the rife
that here upon the land bears
shares
the tormented moments, the smiles
that crossed the miles and miles
where frontier pried open the dream
upon these wildest green
fields of their prosperity.

They journey a faith
a belief
and took life as would a thief
into their own rights of being
seeing
freedoms expanse there abound
gathered round
the old stories of their homes
Miles away, miles away
from where the root and birth
did inspire
here within them that desire
to reach out and there grasp
the very breath of which they gasp.

Time draws fast the privileges few,
herein drew
the straws of fate
the opened gate
to shower as best destiny it can
the prospects within each human hand.
History retells the story
praises the great with the holy
and draws the prospering fields a plenty
of the days of man threescore and twenty.
To cry into this wilderness , here their name
forgotten sons of forgotten fame.

Birthed now the dream
where grass of blue
filled the hue
of the Kentuckian.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
Carmelo Antone Feb 2013
Strife wields the knife after your rifles raise high,
No need for a biblical sign since it takes only a few to steal the spot-light
And only one to spoil a life,

The notions of potentially prospering a home,
Planting a peaceful place,
Where pigmentation does not define your days,
But the way in which you prove yourself,
Because this is truly an extraordinary species,  
Hindered by man’s inherent ignorance,
An internal enemy described as grace,  

Barbarians breeding thieves,
Inhibited from sanity,
Inebriated with fury,
Incubated in hatred,
As you continually cultivate such cruel beings,

Some individuals can defy the trend,
Some of Adam’s relatives rose because they knew the knuckles could do so much more than listen to a serpent,
From their roots of savagery,
It’s in the blood to be a parasite,
But it is in the genes to eradicate these devilish deeds,

Imaging the possibility like a dead-head hippy,
The chance to see a society,
Distancing itself from the armory,

Poverty pushes people to find relief via a knife,
Causing those governing eye’s to raise their rifles high,
Forgetting to sight the white of their eyes,
And turning bystanders into enemies.
as we're planting the seeds of love
we'll harvest a bounty
ah how rich it will be
reaping love's field of plenty

our seeds will be
in a well furrowed patch
so our juices of love
will finely hatch

sowing the seeds of love
a surplus we'll fetch
there will be a booming bonus
in our love ketch

the time is ripe
for our sowing
to begin
our seeds of love
are in the touch
of our skin

seeds
of
love
prospering
seeds
of
love
we'll
be
fostering

in our bed
a harvest
shall grow
as we plant
the seeds of love
in a fruitful row
Ston Poet Dec 2015
No you don't wanna **** wit me mane..
No you don't wanna mess with my team.
No you don't wanna **** wit my gang
No you don't wanna **** wit me mane..
Aye..(no you don't 9)...

(No you don't wanna **** wit me mane..
No you don't
No you don't wanna mess with my team.
No you don't
No you don't wanna **** wit my gang
No you don't wanna **** wit me mane..
/No you don't
2/..Aye..No you don't )2

No you don't..Yeah..you ******* don't want nothing wit me mane, no you don't..I'll tell yall straight up one wrong move then its (bang
2)..to yo dome, & I ain't wit gun violence mane, I believe in a fair one on one,  but if one fight then we all fighting that's just the rules of my gang homie, Aye none of these stank ******* is getting a dime from me, no they won't..no these major labels won't use me like a dummy,.. no they won't..Aye
I'm creating new waves like Jonesboro beach, Only For The Real Entertainment, theres only one real one mane & that's me,Uhh..I'm not soning none of these ******* so don't claim me to be..Aye, Yeah mane..No you don't wanna **** wit me lames Aye, just stay away..its gonna be alot of problems if you do **** wit me mane, so please don't play wit me, I'm saying that nicely, don't try me, because you don't wanna fight me..(no you don't4)..,aye I'll take yo **, & **** her just like Tupac did Faith  then feature dat ***** on a song wit me..Uhh,Yeah boss player status *****..Ayo..I gotta stay pimping, Never simping..
Noo I don't trust these **'s my *****, I learned that from Snoop man..Ayo

The game should never be sold just told, & Noo I ain't just selling dreams I'm blessing the streets..Yeah dawg, Uhh, I gotta get my bread up dude like a Sara Lee truck stocking up, so noo I can't pay attention to all these **** ******, &  I can't pay attention to all of these thristy ***** **'s Noo.. young *****...I'm on go,no slo mo,OFTR, work fast pace like a crack ****** in a race, mane..Aye.
OFTR, we made it to our destination, even tho the Feds was steady watching me plotting tryna stop my plans to succed,..We still prosper, mane..Yeah we still prospering, Thank God, we made it to the the top, Yeah ***** we in the sky, We so high..We so fly.., like a Jet, in stealth mode, we came outta no where guns blazing destroying anything in our way man..Aye man
**** being famous mane, I hustle tryna attain wealth, yeah I rather be rich than famous shoutout to the north side thugs man..Uhh..

(No you don't wanna **** wit me mane..
No you don't
No you don't wanna mess with my team.
No you don't
No you don't wanna **** wit my gang
No you don't wanna **** wit me mane..
/No you don't
2/..Aye..No you don't )2


Aye..(no you don't
16)..
Aye.., I always knew that I was gonna be big dawg, Yeah I was a star way before stardom,Yeah..in my mind I was living like I already dun made it to the big leagues man, that's how you should think too..Yeah I was a Rockstar way before I was rocking alot of stages..yeah Imma professional at this , Aye man..these other ****** had music out way before I did, but they still under me,no competition, they so amateur, Yeah I'm way ahead of all of them busters..
They suckers , literally my *****..Aye,Yeah..

Uhh, **** being patient, chase after yo attractions full speed, ****** gonna hate always especially when you tryna do better mane, **** em..forget em, let the hate just motivate you Yeah..keep yo head up do what ever that you gotta do to feed yo fam, but don't be a ***** *** made *****  *** *****, be your own boss, Yeah build up your own corporation & teach others the ways of becoming a boss player too man..
Yeah..
I been dreaming & thinking about my future , & I know its much brighter than the present is mane, I'll be so grateful when I can finally live in it homie,..Uhh I'm staying up all night I'm just too excited for it, like Christmas morning so Imma keep putting more work in, Aye..versatile lyrics Yeah man they say practice makes perfect well I'm a good example of it..yo, I  thought of these lyrics not on purpose but subconsciously my *****, Uhh Imma g, a genius,...Yeah mane

No you don't wanna **** wit me mane..
No you don't wanna mess with my team.
No you don't wanna **** wit my gang
No you don't wanna **** wit me mane..
Aye..(no you don't 9)...

(No you don't wanna **** wit me mane..
No you don't
No you don't wanna mess with my team.
No you don't
No you don't wanna **** wit my gang
No you don't wanna **** wit me mane..
/No you don't
2/..Aye..No you don't )*2
(no you don't *16)...
stonpoet.tumblr.com
Some people don't always know what they're doing
Including me in the congregation
But some know exactly what they're doing
Down with the tunnel snakes
Looking to shake
The acidic bottle
To see how chaotic the peace becomes
I see you, watching how you swindle the naive
You're brilliant, aren't you?
Brilliantly distorted
Eyes like a Hawk
That rarely gawks
At what is in front of me
I see it everywhere
From the mountains of Nepal to the cold, harsh cities of Delaware
People look forward to impair
The full circles, the healthy plant in the desert
Prospering like it should
Don't make me laugh with your intent
You'll make enough dents
But everything will hold like a steel tent
I can jump over any fence
And penetrate any defense
You're able to implement
Don't lower your guard
Regardless of being a race car driver or a Bard
I know sinister yards
and I'm growing in disguise
You won't see it
Until you find yourself in a completed cat and mouse game
How is your game working out now?
Ston Poet Dec 2015
/I gotta (Thank God2)..(everyday2)..Aye..,(Imma Thank God2)(Thank God2)..(everday2)...Thank you so much Heavenly Father for always being with me , keeping me strong & surviving..(Thank you so much2)../2
Aye...
/(I prosper
6)..
Thank You so much...God/3
Aye..Imma thank God (everyday
2)..I gotta (Thank God3)..Yeah, Thank you so much Heavenly Father for always being in front of me, guiding me from wrong & keep me away from harm..,You keep me aware..You keep me strong..That's why I had to write this song to..(thank God3)..(Thank you so much Father2)..Yeah..because of you..


(I prosper
6)...I prosper through ever trial & every tribulation..(I prosper3) through all of my stresses, (I prosper3) through all of my sadness, (I prosper3) through all of the depression,.. (I prosper3) through all of the drama.. (I prosper6)...I prosper when they said I wouldn't,..(I prosper3) when they said I couldn't.. (I prosper6)..when nobody ever even believe in me mane Yeah I still, prosper Yeah man..(I prosper3)..because I always believed in myself,.. (I prosper3) with me having hope Yeah.. (I prosper3) because my faith wouldn't let me fail again mane..Yeah..(I prosper6)..

Thank you so much God for giving me so much worth man, we all are worthy of doing something that's life changing...Aye, I always knew I had wealth even when I didn't have  a job mane, no income was coming in at all man..so many arguments wit my mama, like babyboy..get on yo grind now.. Uhh writing is my life, writing is my grind dawg..I always knew one day, like right now, it would get me paid by the graces of God..It happen too  man,Yeah..(thank God
2) because of God..
(I prosper6)
So Uhh..I (gotta thank God,
2)..(Thank God2)
I gotta give all the praise to Jesus Christ..Yeah..(Thank you so much Father
2)..Thank you (so much2)..for always keeping me strong, protected, healthy, & alive..because of you I prosper, I strive..I rise..Aye..

(I prosper
6)..,Aye..I prosper so I can educated yall & bless yall spirits with wisdom & knowledge dawg..I'm only giving out blessings through my songs , forget brainwashing, the youth, I want all of my people to fly up to Heaven  dude..(& prosper3)..(Yeah prosper3)..Dawg, Yeah we can all prosper if  we fight together then..we can. start gaining back our full control,..Instead of living life the wrong way dawg.., let's live life (right2)..Stop letting the Devil attacks make you weak & distract you..just (listen to God2)..make sure you stay on his path dawg, don't let these demons continue to take over your life, with lies , confuse you or get to you mind mane..Just cast em away..The Lord will defeat them..he already defeated Satan..mane..The government is liars they been plotting a big human extermination, they blinding us wit  material lusts so they can do what they did on 9/11 but even much more terror..Yeah Its Time to wake up, rise up & fight back today ..Ayo..Shoutouts to Malcolm X, & Martin..because of them my music is prospering..Aye

(I prosper6)...I prosper through ever trial & every tribulation..(I prosper3) through all of my stresses, (I prosper3) through all of my sadness, (I prosper3) through all of the depression,.. (I prosper3) through all of the drama.. (I prosper6)...I prosper when they said I wouldn't,..(I prosper3) when they said I couldn't.. (I prosper6)..when nobody ever even believe in me mane Yeah I still, prosper Yeah man..(I prosper3)..because I always believed in myself,.. (I prosper3) with me having hope Yeah.. (I prosper3) because my faith wouldn't let me fail again mane..Yeah..(I prosper6)..

(I gotta thank God.. Thank God..Imma thank God..Thank God,Yeah2)..mane..(thank you so much Father yeah2)..for always being there for me protecting me, keeping me strong & alive..Thank you so much Father..because of you.. (I prosper12)..
(Thank you so much God
2)..Thank you so..Thank you so much..Thank you so..Thank you so much..Heavenly Father.. Yeah, Aye..I gotta (Thank God2)..Imma (thank God2)..(everyday2)..Yeah..I gotta (thank God2)..(everyday2)..Imma (Thank God2)..everyday..

(Imma thank God, Thank God3)... Mane..Yeah..(I gotta thank God..Thank God3)..Thank you so much Father Yeah..Yeah I thank you so much Father, for protecting me, keeping me strong & alive..Yeah..Aye your so awesome.. Because of you (I prosper6)...Ohh..
(I prosper
6)..Ohh..Yeah....
stonpoet.tumblr.com
I H Σ
IHS HOMILIA

In the natural fatigue of everything created, the Duoverse presented its IHΣ, falling on the eighteenth letter of the Greek alphabet and on the duo hundred changes in physical memory. The PH (Hexagonal Primogenitor), is conceived in the presence of the Chrismon, but Hellenic with the Vexillum banner, to rescind the fatigued and depressed winds, since the quantum of memory was lost in its integrity of aerophobic to the earth, and therefore the subsequent one would be air-water, being for this reason, preceded the ceremonial that begins by stripping before the abenuz Diospyros, with its stamens usually in sixteen plus its hypogines or inserts at the base of the corolla; like those of the female flowers, being part of the gynoecium of the Tsambikas part, and of the androecium that will have to be of the Diospyros in Theoskepasti; with ovaries generally tetra ocular adapted, to be inseminated for the raids of the demigods of the Horcondising and El Duoverso, with the monogram HDD (Horcondising-Duoverso), for those who trace the bifurcations with Zefián; chaos computer, all the way to modulated Theoskepasti. Making the changes that have to be reborn in the stamen, being almost sterile, aborting in the memories of Galilee, signifying the pollination performance of the Diospyros and sprouting in the same stem of the whorl, even more in each hand of stigmatized Vernarth and Etréstles , bearing the IHS candles, the monogram and the Mandylion-Vas Auric, as a sign of the Olives Bern. Before the seams of the carved heels are erected and the one of the gutters of the annelids going up through the alabaster, to the chalice with the chrismon hat.

Filling the warehouse of Anemoi himself, and forgetting his deposit of the empyrean breath on the synaptic abbreviations, the argument of Saint John the Apostle continues in the network of Rhodes and Kímolos, for the cortex of the sensory past and the consequence of the gusts of falls by the trisomies, affecting to be regenerated on the oxygen-nitrogenous bases, from the activation of nemo-genetics, to specify the loss and egregious gain of channeling between the Cyclades and the Dodecanese. Carrying memories of Vernarth's cerebellum stuck and not trembling towards the lake of the hippocampus, where the Zoroaster carried the Magi, at the end of the span and first-last border in the vicinity of Ein Karem. On the evolutionary scale the weak air masses fluctuated, in the flood of the Meltemi over the Aegean, taking them to the bay of Dekas, on the knees of the colossus that impregnated with its fennels so that some delirium could replace its articulation. Remaining like this, on a scale of emptiness reminiscent and tacit ..., it continues to be and not, occupying itself and not, but it does rise towards the colossus from the ground of Vernarth, which had split bipartite from Rhodes to kímolos, like Verthian neuroscience, whose prose they emanate submissive glaciers of Intuitive Hypermeditation (as a technique of knowledge and meditation, for functional links of inspiration, purgative insight and yogic memory). All the nonsense is alluded to, breaking the rationality of the Vas Auric ceremonial, in its phenomenology, making curvilinear pauses to re-captivate phraseological keys, diminished in condensed memories equivalent to approximately ten terabytes, from a homologous half, almost surrendering when exhausted before both scholars and their debts exchanged when driving ..., thus recovering wave dips before reaching the bay of Dekas, Kímolos and ending 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 of not altering the  IHS homily monogram, and of the association in remembrance, which may affect the conduction of the mediumistic trance, almost prostrating him in the house of forgetfulness and frenzy, if he is to recover not stabilized. The sulfurous and mercurous component of Cinnabar proceeded by acidifying the essences of Vas Auric, already prospering in the hands of each auric conductor ..., Archpriest and Saint John the Apostle, each with the sulfur from the mountain and the arc of the Aegean Sea, as genesis volcanic for its diametrals towards a change of chemical prisms, to the multi-angle of the topaz that Saint John the Apostle wore in his air, close to the reliquary, hanging from some fringes of the Vexillum, that he had arranged near the Vernarth. Immediately on 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, the ones who came on another mission, to be carried away by the energizing power of cinnabar, more than a breath for those who observe by the quarters, stationed in the sandy areas of Rodas.  Petrobus, the pelican…, circled around the heights of the monastery, delimiting the laxity of his body's memory, in prayers in case they ventured through Kalimnos for a good portent, in waters for the tenth seeds for all the Rodines.

From the monastery with one of its necessary dependencies, all were with exacerbated white candles between the steps of each cell and their attached friars, they made a room of the nave near the church on the hexagonal floor, this being screened through the center of the garden where everything was dominated by the limits of the alabaster arches, which only now pointed to the closet of the books, this time being fed up and sparing their voices with devotion. Chapter by chapter it expired ..., for each cell, identifying each portion of the world in creation to the scriptorium and the refectory, where in this ceremony books were swallowed for the infinite world of the Duoverso, near the parlor, to do the times when He was teaching Saint George and the Dragon, vinegar the presses for the wine of the missal. Even so, Eurydice, organized the fragrances of the cells and intermediations of the southern called in the voices of Proserpina, coming dressed in proclaimed black, but with the appearance of Persephone in reality wedged into her face as a goddess woman, but with a hemiplegic collapse.

Sequence shot at Kímolos, Panagia Theoskepasti

Etréstles says: “according to what has been said in this dimension, the word will be the world of the Duoverso. Synchronously, it lined up with the monastery in Tsambika, by the third hour after noon, reflecting off the undisclosed walls of the chapel. On if,  in the radiosities of cinnabar. Thus entering electromagnetic lassitude through the trusses of the pulpit anchored in the Vox of the mystical vortex, towards those who entered and left thousands of times through the counter shutters of the chapel, colliding and colliding many times, until by the iridescent Cinnabar, somewhat Sulfur rial, mixed with the radiosities of some novae, which also acted as a decoy of the chrismon, which Kanti carried the steed adjusted in the saddle on his back, as a mount of syntactic esotericism, speaking of intangible brown colors of cinnabar, almost human. I know that the scrolls will write themselves, and that no word will have to be written or pressed by a mortal who protects it, the Diospyros, will exert anticipated redemption from the imbalance of the proximity of the Universe that slowly fell on Greece, while in the hegemony of the abenuz, everything looked with its graceful synchronous stamens that were usually sixteen, plus its hypogines or inserts at the base of the corolla; that attracted the essences of the Androecium with ovaries generally tetra ocular adapted, but according to the word Ebreh Ke Dabra, for those who carry it under a state of extended ******* and under a possession of psychopathies, to delegate them in non-demonized existences, if not emerging from the syntax of the verb, close to the intellect that works for the grace of the subsequent. In this way, all demonization would remain in the distractions of the annelids, who travel the coast of Kimolos, from Dekas to Hellenika, where they will finish the alternation of the gifts of the Vas Auric, teleporting in the vessels; or vehicles rolled to the chapel, to later be forwarded to the necropolis.

At three o'clock, after midnight in its antipode of noon, the psalms will shield with the wings of Petrobus all the government of Theoskepasti, and with its golden, feathers ..., and the heraldry of Vernarth with its Aspis Koilé, lavishing it in those of Saint John the Apostle, in the Shaddai that acts as a temple, towards the lower funnel of the Hetairoi, confined to the elect devotion of being protected towards the gates of the Savior, in lands of sand removed over the naked and reddish bodies of Archangelos and of Psathi with mega gallons of papyrus, falling like the blooming chrysalis of Diospyros on the litanies of the archpriest, who was interrupted in his syntactic diction, when permeating the sequence shot Cyclades-Dodecanese, Tsambika-Theoskepasti, Anemoi-Meltemi, Vernarth- Etréstles , low the Vexillum or mercenary banner of the Peltasts that in legions gathered to assist together with Vernarth in both chapels for the chalices of the fish that welcomes the dead in battles and takes him from his nets and enables him with his gills…; "Tel Gomel, Gaugamela and the Gordian knot in the hands of Saint George and the Dragon"

In the aftermath of the memory loss of Vernarth's body, he already had his chest full of Cyclops, St. George appearing to venerate his litany and wide pain, common to the one who, even in that state, can sustain the world like Atlas, but like Epimetheus of afterthought. Being triumphant in his imaginography, appearing with the snowy horse, in total synchronization at the moment in which he is seen appreciating Etréstles, on the bulbous clouds that enveloped the chapel, and haughty and shrewd the knight Saint George of Anatolia, Roman and Christian was seen . With his mother; Polychrome, having already been trained here in the town of his mother's origin, in Lydda, he was trained as a military tribune knight, and was later appointed as a Diocesan personal guard.
Vexillum
James Ellis Mar 2012
In a minute, I figure everything out.
I can't believe they want to do this again.
They're still trying to clean up a mess.
Not to mention there are problems over here.
Do they really think they're International Police.
Do they like being the world's biggest gang?
Do they find enjoyment in world wrestling?
Oh, you didn't know that's what it is?
Surely if you look in the past you can see.
Everytime we enter a region it happens.
They plan to "help reform" but create motives.
These motives keep them from prospering.
So they decide to leave.
Leaving behind death, famine, poverty, and hate.
I hope this stops, I really do.
I made a promise long ago.
I won't point fingers.
I won't say names.
But I don't think I need to.
It's not hard to see.
I've figured it all out.
And you can too.
It's not the world thats bad.
It's them.
They run, but ruin this world.
Cody Haag May 2016
Determination strikes so occasionally for me,
As if prospering only in the strictest of conditions,
But when it does sprout up from nowhere,
My head is filled with so many visions.

I see a course ahead of me traveled by many,
But conquered by very few,
And my probability to succeed is not greater,
That seems to be true.

But I feel like no road worth paving
Will manage to pave itself.
A book does not find its own way
Onto the tall, looming bookshelf.

The pavement must be my doing,
For the result to be worthwhile;
I have not always accepted this,
But then I was in denial.

If you are complacent,
And expect your road to unfold,
You will grow very frustrated as nothing happens,
And you will only become old.
Jade Mikaila Feb 2016
Playing cards, a time out of mind...
'Playing with embers', he said,
filled with sun,
in my mind I am already Hell-ward,
to hell.
My cheeks enflamed,
a burnt offering of shame.

As my own darkness engulfed me
I looked to the Archer of Light,
whose blunt bolts (belonging to the bow),
and shrouded, virile, animus intention
has already bore through mine own virtue.
And whose prospering scepter of ambition
I felt, once,
in a dream somewhere,
pressed, blistering against my form.
Sebastian Macias Mar 2018
The body is useless
If the mind does not control it
Manipulating its creative power
With an educated compromise
Between lust and intent
The latter to this equation is
That the mind becomes stale
If your body does not enjoy it
Prospering from it's fruits
Becoming an energetic spark
Heat radiating from the skin
Touching water with power
Such knowledgeable freedom
Ken Pepiton Mar 2019
Benine benine be nine seven

crap. Betcha two more more mores for
one more chance at that

Aha! We imagined…

… mean pause if then else ifthen else to the tenth,
take it
don't missit, these thinks happen

rare, raw and dripping re

ish itch tar Ishtar and two snakes

while, recall, Moses, lawgiver and guide,
trumping Lycurgis's lawgiver only,

Moses had one for every eye to see or die
and one for every other heel to stomp.

Old Arizona Cowboy Preacher Proverb
Some times… ya'hafta…stomp yer own (goes unsaid)
[dam'd] snakes.
[ever bodies gottem by the plenty]

One of the Robin Clan of whitemanlan
Theodds, down the Hasayampa
Odd fellows, I remember there was a lodge…

… also means, when no point persists in being made despite the el-elucidation,
light's prime directive clarifying

the principal paring of time to the tenth and
you dear reader, if temporary times are

familiar, to you. Like, family,
a truncated simile metaphor word compact,

like jot family, familiar, family spirit,

house gods and goblins and lit-t'le ***-p'le in blue triangular hats,

… selah … be still … listen … listen

no threats of madness, nor vengeance or conviction
no act-use-ations fraying threads

neither curse nor cuse nor demn 'r'here,
life-central,
pretend you can practice real is ation

as you read. Dear reader, you are magi,
you know words hold powers, yours
for the reaaching beyond,

trust me, errors are far fewer than you have been led to believe.
Entire cultures set spelled-out prophecies swirling
into imagined infinity
withnaryaperiodjotortittle with no discernible weakening

of the original thread of thought that has us taking
these chances with madness

Philosopher Poet Sophist Cabalist Prospering-liarist

Hawthorne's Man in Black works for Sam Harris's God's
Master Baiter

--- not off track, side-tracked, to let two-way traffic happen---
---flowing systems, despite inevitable turmoil swirling
---this way and that--- cloud shape oaks framed in
twisting, tugging, pulling-pushing, lifting-dropping,

rocking-rolling, the old man is snoring
clapping and clanging waking the dead

oh, wait. not yet. wink. Swallow the bait.

see these threads, these delicate xylem tunnels,
cellulose cathedrals, when you see re-al close,
and, watch this, oak-speed,
California Black Oak speed and deegree of strain
zingle point
a branch maywillshallcanbe tugging a reaching out
rootical radial fractaling famous form

seen in silhouette
California Black Oaks are the Cumulus Nimbi of trees,
in my tiny bubble
five hundred drys gone by pushing cool away so
there ain't
no mo' mo'nin' dew

Woe, blues is fo' some oth ah time. You see.
We make peace here.

This is is our family farm or fact-or-knoting
Knott's Berry Farm being the birthplace of Boysenberries
has always seemed prophetic to me,

here's why, no wu wu, jus'thefax. done d'done done, now

Henry Boysen.
A chapter. AND nada. Same with Paul Lomasny, as
portrayed by Sal Mineo, in The Longest Day.

Despite the scars he had to show, I haven't found his
cred fact checkible, these days

that means
conspiracy, though spiracy sans con is also rumored

probable, should there be another

anti matter bubble develop in the biome blowing bubbles
from gmos bonding

with swallowed double bubble
and in'n'out doubledoubles

in the guts of children returning from a day with
a de-programmed boomer

relativity plays a roll. Snake eyes. Wanna bet?
2019.1-9
This coincides with a rock concert with snakes in Dallas... collective sub sistent concience science, I believe.
Mateuš Conrad May 2016
don't harangue my life with care for pity at woman's idiocy, not having adopted Caesarian birth as universally adequate and prospering her, to instil this barbaric guilt in me wondering why women, of all mammals had no natural anaesthetic produced when giving birth... **** your little guilt-trip argument! Caesarian or no argument!*

to be robbed of a glorious death, and be given an
inglorious birth, esp. when women were given an ease
with a Caesarian birth diplomacy... what's there to retain for man?
ardency in labour? old age? i too was robbed of what
Caesar described as the ideal death: the sudden one...
am i to wait for my sickbed...
if i only chanced the thrill of life
within one sunset and sought no night
to encompass my life as worthy compensation
of nothing.
a life lived to the bell-tone of a replaced
uvula, no care for charity asserted...
in that one momentary exception of all life prior,
to have lived it, and hence entombed,
readied for the element acquiring me to
further its signature... as sustainable...
i'd rather die a painful death that live
a comfortable life: pain is eased with its short-lived
establishing awareness when the glory prior is "prolonged"
ascribed to the fates akin to Achilles... and indeed pain is
merely pain with its prolonging on the sickbed...
counter heroism, so defeatist;
how many times am i to be robbed? to thus experience
such shallows of thieves with cheap constantly
expedient thievery? i've had enough to concede to a juggle
of fates and fortunes! one smooth stroke of the ace
rather than the many axe-hackings of the neck
of ****** Mary. bothersome agitations via pride, honour
and braveness, only if they do not happen,
and should they, they'd be undertaken, but to no quest
of celebratory non-enactment, i.e.: farting rather than *******
prior: to be given a wave of the standard acupuncture
of infantry: as guarantee of mythology; and a nobleman
on his horse without a stirrup prior to the *** intervention.
Antares Jun 2018
What are kings, if not selfish cruel creatures,
thrones built of sacrifices,
the blind lambs of faith.
Their misdeeds,
their whims being the guiding path.
Will, paving the concrete path of others.

But,
though brow beaten,
the knight cries.

"To what shalt we be if not without the guidance of kings,
kissed by the angels of the holy,
blessed beneath the stars?

What of the olive branch they provide?
Of the prospering and the peasantry."

Oh,
how they cry within their armoured shells,
suffocating under their oaths.
Unspoken promises to their god,
their king,
Hi this is my first poem on this site.
Everyday I wake with a pain,
Forever in my chest, it will rein
The feeling so cold, it freezes my soul
A payment I must give, a living toll

I have never felt so alone
In those few seconds that are known
So many before me have lived this lie
That life is some mysterious high

But for the rest, each day is a test
To see who will overcome being suppressed
Living a life of lies and deceit
Trying to be accepted, but becoming effete

Some people that have lost all hope become weak
Giving in to the decision to perish, they die in defeat
Those critical seconds of choice
One of the few moments when some have a voice

They could decide to just give up and die
Or to choose to continue prospering and fly
Or curl in a ball of loneliness and sorrow
Questioning their life and hating tomorrow

I wish I were saved from this life changing decision
So I know there is some sort of provision
Stopping me from losing hope and ending it all
I want to die when the time is right, a willing fall.
Breaking, pressing, slipping beneath undeserving skin
Shadows inhaling secrets
Seeded wounds painted unconsciously on the landscape of me
Remains discovered beaten and burnt unspoken exhaustion
Strangled mumbles splintering my prospering expectations
Not sure what to do with this it feels incomplete, but then again so do I.
Enola Cabrera May 2016
A place greater than the mind
Filled with color, grace, life, energy, radiance
A setting that is always growing and prospering
Except one flower
The flower died, the petals shriveled up, the stem slowly went from a bright, vibrant green to a dark, musty brown
The petals fell from their home, separating, drifting, slipping
Into a black oblivion, until they find themselves again

-EC
The Darkness once enveloped me,
The memories of my hardships haunted me,
Oh the memories,
How they made me wince and ache in pain,
Slowly the pain has faded,
Slowly the happy girl I was comes back to life,
The light begins to peak through the dark that had trapped me,
And finally I can see,
True hope,
It exists,
And it's growing in me prospering each second,
One day I believe and I hope,
The darkness will fade completely,
And hopefully the light will shine bright once more.
Caitie Sep 2014
The constant feeling of drowning
suffocation.
No regeneration, and no hope.
Waving goodbye to dreams and prospering amenities.
Nothing can hurt you anymore,
you've felt it all before.
Nothing in this ******* world gives you chills
upsets you, or scares you
the way it did the first time
your problems bluntly ripped off your skin,
exposed your skeleton and poisoned
your organs,
exposing the hurt you
expressed in the little journal that fit in your pillowcase.
You no longer have fear that tomorrow you wont wake-
it's become more of a dream than anything.
Wishing that you wake up with your loved one
by your side
but wondering who would care
so much as to comfort you... scarcity?
Addicted to the brain washing pills,
or the hurt one inflicts on you.
You feel good about your poor decisions,
and with no direction, take the path to hell.
but that's normal, that's all you know.
and its not your fault,
though fully aware of your mistakes.
Twisted destinies among the greatest of people,
who knows where we'll end up.
Isabella Oct 2014
How long does it take until you begin to realise,
Until you remember just how much of a fool you really are?

Do the heavens have to open and release all hell,
Do the gun echoes have to ricochet right through my heart?

Does the sun have to take a morning break and delay it's early rise,
Does the moon have to shy away into the depth of the clouds?

How long does it take until you begin to realise,
That something isn't right?

I've been an idiot,
A prospering-now-spiralling-into-decline-fool.
Adam Robinson Dec 2017
Collected punk neon girl
Pixie goth artsy boy
I could read you both anytime
I'm a stickler for a problem
So enough of the courage
Enough of the bravado
I love things I cannot fix
So drugs, mental plague and festering narcissism are the things I like
A secret to only myself
My friend brings on lovers
Who are scared to touch
They look on with pearly eyes
And mouth out words.
With only silent prayer they have --
No action.
She lies there ashamed.
Too pure too touch
Too perfect to be near
She's a gyroscopic girl - a dancing queen of flowers
Too thunderous to tame
Must be nice, I say.
Hell, she replies.
It makes her grow black thorns
Which makes me show her my black moths
In my own brain
Another friend is in a mix
She cannot feel her teeth
As she digs on into cruel flesh
Endlessly --
Prospering off of the mania.
Madness in us all
Sparks only to blame.
Get Out Of My Head
Lover of Words Apr 2014
I would like to go back a thousand years ago,
just to sleep.
For I'm drenched in thoughtlessness.
I ache for some relieve.
And I'm trying, solely not to burn up.
and I do not mean to over dramatize, but I'm lost.
Which I guess is usual for being 20.
Only 20, as I eat myself up in tv shows and confusion.
And I watch the world get married and have babies, but I don't want that,
No I don't need that.
Nor do I really want that.
As profs talk as if I care, about their useless pieces of info they throw at me, except the one about dinos. I like that.
But anyways I sit and here they look at me as if I really give a ****.
I want a job. Don't they understand.
And I parked in the wrong spot today,
and the critique went bad and I overpaid on an earl grey latte and wasted my day watching friends all day.
But we all have those bad days.
And I'm trying trying trying so hard not to think bad thoughts.
But the weather is rainy, and I'm still tired. This ever longing tiredness. But I drew today. I drew my sorrows away, and no matter what those stingy profs say, I can draw. I draw to keep myself together.
I draw so I don't think the bad thoughts, to keep my jealous thoughts back at bay. So I quit making a fool of myself, the only think I know how to do is draw.
And I have a wide open summer, of no plans, or prospering, or any real progress.
Isn't that sad?
To dread your own summer.
Maybe after having summer so many times, it loses it's freedom quality. It becomes just another season to endure.
And that's sad. It's sad when you can't look forward to summer.
Cause summer was once a fantasy.
A sense of adventure accompanied summer.
And I look at summer now with a dread and inability to really be ready or excited for it.
That's really sad.
And I'm not writing to make you sad, but I'm writing out of my inability to understand this sadness.
I'm trying to hold on to something...
Maybe this sadness will pass into something I can hold onto.
And coincidently were talking about the blues...in class.
Not really helping my melancholy frankly.
I think teachers are so wrapped up in their own cynical life they like to spread it onto others.

— The End —