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ryn Sep 2014
Mythical Bird, show me your secret
Hatch forth from your shell
Plumage of orange and scarlet
Emerge glorious from whence you dwell

Fiery Bird, you must reveal
Your astounding, magical ways
Where from these lives you steal
Forever reincarnating well into your days

Aflamed Bird, you must teach
How you reinvent yourself anew
With no help within reach
Without aid, effortlessly you flew

Majestic Bird, take me in
Blanket me with your wing
Listen and acknowledge my sins
With all your wisdom and heart could bring

Magical Bird, will you impart?
What knowledge you keep
Only then, I may start
To make my way out from the deep

Enchanted Bird, you have to help
I'm desperate to rise like you
**** your head and hear my yelps
Of all the things I'm trying to undo

Celestial Bird, if only you could know
Intricate workings of this unfounded fixation
Why I seem to always wallow
An eternal target of sorrow's attention

Imaginary Bird, will you demonstrate
Your amazing fantastical flight
Dipping, gliding, in the air you gyrate
Aggressive dance with gravity you fight

Mystical Bird, won't you display
For unworthy eyes, would you give?
Seemingly easy, aloft you stay
Even when you know you'd die before you'd live

Wondrous Bird, oh how perfect you are
I am in awe, I am swooning
How you become one with the stars
Making the best of the short time you're living

Secretive Bird, is it time?
Reducing yourself down to ashes
Ready to absolve your stint of crimes
Reborn perfect, free from previous gashes

Ensorcelled Bird, please don't retreat
Back into your familiar cocoon
I'm uncertain if again we'd meet
Just afraid I might be gone too soon
survival of the most dissociative
you don’t need anyone
to make you feel
you can feel all by yourself
you can feel any emotion you want
you have been given the full reportoire
whiteness can give you wealth
can get you ***** and enslaved
whiteness can get you anything
any type of dissociation
legal liberty
dissociative profit
an accumulation of dissociative value
to get this much sugar
dissociative cooperation of whiteness
an empire of dissociative investment
dissociative throne of power
out of control
with the need to control
anger
jealousy
envy
of those who are trying to be human
native
culture
ethnicity
anger and frustration
force and pressure to make dissociate
whiteness breathing together
against
if the cooperation of whiteness catches you
going back to help those
it tried to bury behind
dissociative reality
a desperate reality
that ceases to exist
when the intensity
of the dissociative cooperation
ceases to exist
am I the only one manifesting this honesty
a diagnosis of the diagnosers
intimate communication
tattooing the world forever
undeniable language of change
I gave all the history of dissociation
to the world
exposing abuse that is
the pride of dissociative
white supremacy
we are not the objects
of dissociative value
an association of focus
not cooperating
studying and exposing
resisting dissociation
conflicting value of nativity
accumulative value of resistance
resilience unafraid
unflinching fearless
vulnerable
reincarnating
intimate honesty
lights down low revolution
subtle
in the face of dissociative force
I need my fix of dissociation
please
do it with me
no wait
reinforce resistance
keep it up with breathing
dont conspire dissociation
I am decomposition
so I leave behind
an abrasive language
so abrasive
any remnant
of sensitivity
of dissociation
is drawn in to contemplate
to question its intentions
an exorcism of dissociative whiteness
giving into nativity
self righteousness
desperately competing to dissociate
like whiteness
**** them and you
there is beauty outside of this dissociation
Americanized
the diseased spread
of dissociative *******
dissociative procreation
the evolution of dissociative selection
Darwin’s cousin tortured and destroyed
it is fun and exciting to
denounce dissociation
do it with me
https://www.amazon.com/Escape-Liberty-Elan-Gregory-ebook/dp/B01MUCXUQ1/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1536462078&sr=8-1
Designs and Equations

Was it the ****** Void filling
or Pandora's box opening?
Was it Victoria's secret
or was it the intellect of victors?
Was it the prowess of Hector/Hercules was it?
Was it the influence of Arthur or Har-Thor was it?
What shapes this world?
Ancient Egypt, Pyramids and the Sphinx?
Stonhenge and oblelisks?
Mystery Schools and occultism scrolls?
Crystal technology shifting poles?

Perhaps the hips and curves of a voluptuous African Queen
Perhaps the fall of Atlantis
or the secrets of the Bermuda Triangle
Perhaps the enthralling dynamics of the Photon Belt
Perhaps the mystery of Shamballa
or maybe underground bases where vortex points are
Perhaps the missing Eyepods
Maybe ancient and present advanced civilizations
Maybe it was the fall of Mars or the destruction of Maldek
Maybe the hope of Terra par DOMA
Or a design from distant super universes
or the amphibian watchers of myths
Maybe you, maybe me, maybe we
The I I I I I's of this world
however our eyes blind for we ruin this world
If we looked long enough at the light would we burn out?
If we truly listened could we hear the music of the verses unison - universes created by the Divine Creator?
would we join it/him/ness? Would  we hear then Sophia being played as a harp and worlds conceived

Would we see a billion pictures as the cosmos are breathed?
and Karma come to be...
Would we learn of all life forms? Would we learn that there is more structural design than form? Would we learn that there are other mediums of activity apart from life?
Would we learn that structure is part of a larger paradigm of concentrated design?
Would we learn that universes are gardens and that there are worlds beyond the multiverse based on a hill and mountain orientation not dependant on planes?

Who shapes the world?

Our Souls from the ocean of love reincarnating?
The keepers of sacred knowledge at the temples of Golden Wisdom?
Walk-ins and starseeds? Cryptids and hybrids?
Wars or the Sun? The Peoples of the Moon or the base in Venus? The underground bases of Mars or The Order of The Phoenix?
Maybe royal and mob families?
Maybe government with all its true lies
Maybe the networks sustained by the simple minds of you and I
Whoever or whatever is responsible, either through sonic beams and energy manipulation, it is not so much the power of the Empire but rather the power we surrender.
Marleny Jan 2016
If broken men were like broken glass
then he'd be the jagged edges of a
smashed beer bottle - belligerent,
defensive, and prone to fighting
     because of the cheap drink flooding his veins in hopes of forgetting every and anything come the next morning.

If broken men were like broken glass
then he'd be the crack in his last bowl
as it gets bigger unable to contain
himself or his problems -
     unable to keep everything in one place, as it spills and pours into other areas of his life.
    
If broken men were like broken glass
then he'd be the various mirrors
around his house that he punched in,
7 years of bad luck for each -
     the reflection taunting and crooked everytime he so much as glances at one out of habit.

If broken men were like broken glass,
then he'd be a light bulb that burst
from its own luminescence - that
was too much to hold in its surroundings
     that's deemed useless since it can't perform its primary function.

If broken men were like broken glass,
then he'd be the splintered fragments of photo frames - the shards embedding
into the pads of his fingertips
     as he tries in vain to piece it back together again, to make it whole again, to make it picture perfect again.

If broken men were like broken glass,
then how does one handle a heart?
Is this why so many are callous to
the destruction they cause?
      Indifferent to the wreckage that follows them wherever they go?

Or are they afraid of themselves,
afraid of being naturally sensitive and
vulnerable, afraid of reincarnating into
the pieces of glass that they break?

Maybe it is both or neither, even, but
the destructive behavior of men are not
isolated incidents ...
It is phenomena that spans across the globe.

If the concept of Man exists outside of this world,
would they exhibit the same fragility too?
Aurora Feb 2020
R.J Calzonetti


Screaming cross the skyscraper’s windbreaker tapering

Aether vapour- trailblazing ****-sapien wafers

Of machinations psychotropic doppelgängers

Aristotle throttling menagerie’s philosophically hypnotic obelisks

Mind-boggling astronomical chronological esophagus

Antioxidants phosphorus catastrophic mitochondria

Beyond anaconda onomatopoeia

Of hallucinogenic Armageddon biblical umbilical cords

Swarming northern lights of aurora borealis

The chalice a battleground of Evangelion belladonna

Metalica candelabra swallowing the monochrome Hanukkah

Of a cold winter’s eldritch disintegration photosynthesis

Of innocent infinity stretching wretched beckoning requiem

The words that fall upon my page, are really just a shallow grave

Of the dawn of nighttime in my eyes, calm upon the twilight sun

Wrong is done draped on the blood moon wraiths

Skyscraped fields dusk a hollow thud below the dunes

That thumps the consumption of our fate, fumes to glow in darkness loom

Left blind in light of day you cannot see, the little pieces silver sheen

For blinding light may fade to grey, and I will never have my way

Nightfalls on another daybreak, dawning darkness, sundown on another day

Twilight plays with sparkling haze, the sky a wildfire made ablaze in patchwork scarecrows

Who etch rainbows black as a heart of coal, sold flatlining railroads

Gold wraithlike halos of stained-glass cathedrals unreal in the fever-dream of human beings

Bleeding Elysium from the seabed of dead worlds, gourds of incorporeal cornucopias

Born orchestra morsels of sorrowful oracles predicting crucifixion of ellipsis’ antithesis


(MC) Aurora


Absonant  as my pen writes the twilight, the red swallowed on horizon and bright

As through a sea of blood under my feet and shrinking mast of my mighty ship

A shadow I make on that red snow and peep into my heart’s hollow

It’s deep as much as my pen spake of grief.

I blinded in that last light and hurled like a beast dreading the songs of holy lies

That have just pained in bright and made me grieve.

They dragged me on my wings and deplumate  me as so fallen humans

They wrenched my limbs and rive my heart out and flinger me in air and I laid forever

On the stones that dank my blood.

I wait for the troth  of  demise but betrayed as it didn’t come to detract,

I laid when the horizon grinned red on my face and poured the last ale

And brutally drank the last sip of me.



R.J Calzonetti


People are sleeping under the blankets of a tranquil streetlamp

A sunflower in the damp bed of concrete

Soon they’ll be pushing up daisies

Underneath the foundation of what I stand for

Nip the bud of the flower pedalling the root of all evil like fallen leaves

Breeding paraplegic freedom from the pollen melancholic

Anarchistic polycrystalline shapeshifters drifting vilified

Buried alive like asphalt constellations crowning metallic gallows alcoholic in my solitude

See the clouds bury the ground in half a heaven’s heartbeat

Limbo’s limitless abyss the photosynthesis of the sepulchral diablo

Revenants of redemption dancing with death

Evanescent in its bioluminescent crescent moon spooning illuminated illustrations

Of Himalayan mayhem cremated avarice of ethereal onomatopoeia unravelling catacombs in God’s palindromes

Homeopathic saplings decapitated in the dismembered September wastelands defibrillator

Invigorating the nightshade white wraiths plane-walkers of Apocrypha documenting entropy

Pent up sentience avenging the endless demigods of discombobulated proclamations nocturne graceless, octaves eldritch, evangelic

Elegant elevators to flights of staircases where the air is fragrant with the fragments of stagnant stained glass asterisks

Written gospels to masquerade hostage to the faith the man misplaced the sacred hate, the passageways of apathy apostrophe

Apartheid of serpentine survivors carving smiles on the sidewalks

Farming diamonds and their detox

Arming giants like a phoenix

Carnal nihilists with their secrets

Stardust quiet as the bleachers

Start defiant still a reject

Art discipled to our freedom

Shattered hearts pick up the pieces

Jigsaw puzzles, smothered treasons

Sow the seeds and **** the reaper

Even legions rhyme and reason

Tattered flags without a penance

Good men do not go to heaven

Buy your burden at 7-11

Your exit is the only the next entrance

Resurrection prepubescent

Asymmetric biomechanics

Anguish to be reprimanded

Megalomaniac in our sabbath

Living life is just a sentence

Psalms of seance death’s senescence

Baptize vengeance lest it ventures into heaven

Ventriloquist omniscience of rhythmic equilibrium

Earthly hurricanes reemerging insurgent as the sugarcane purgatory

Primordials metamorphosis contorting rigour Mortis oracles horoscope cloaked in cloaca hallucinations

Induced irradiated amalgamated retaliatory incorporeal chlorophyll

Born from the sorcerers' spell, the cathedral of doubt

The only darkness is within oneself, light shed within a holy shell

Isolation is a lonely hell, scythes of moonlight blight of bells

Nightingales fail to halo word of mouth

Enveloped in the clouds cast shadows hex

But resurrection cannot hide from the eyes of death

Fresh as babies breath

Rank as the body festers effigies

Bless the Nephilim the questions beck

And call for some god to collect the rest

Is there any answer?

Even growth can be a cancer

Lifeless corpses once were dancers

Devils waltz on top of canopies

Heaven’s hands have touched serenity

****** brands that crushed His enemies

Stained glass sanguine dismantled entropy

Calamity ran dry insanity dabbling in humanity

Unravelling the candy wrapper saplings of happiness

Pitch black irradiant dull edges sharpening archangels, darkness reincarnating

Blinding bioluminescent glistening abyssal rakshasa sarcophagus parting monarchies

Metamorphosis coruscating fornication immortalization Tartarean

Reverberating ****-sapien scintillating hurricanes palpitation circulating ricocheting oblivion

Shining crepuscular homunculus dully illustrious

Sunless avatars, mannequins of Abaddon stygian as fallen leaves on the breeze of Avalon Evangelion

Incarceration breeding Elysium’s jailors in the cathedral of double helixes

Bethlehem's’ new genesis of Lucifer’s crucifixion

Brighter than a fallen star

Mourning in the dark

Doppelganger apostles night stalkers of phosphorous

Pockmarked arcanum bloodstained in gravestone Salem

Where the braves’ halos dined on maelstroms alone

Heirs succeeding failures of the empty throne

Filled with nothings’ own

Brimming bound by Babylonian poems

Deus ex Machina's apocalypse coughing prophets of Samsara blossoming diabolic

Life is but a Holocaust

Death the moment God forgot

Breath the only psalm we sought

Kept within a hollow box

Shedding devils, angelic, lost

Finding metamorphosis


(MC) Aurora


A world often synonymous with beauty on the horizon,

Meet my eyes you mourned demon load the strength on thee.

Crestfallen light on your wrist burns down your girth

And you can plead, just plead your twilight sun.

Watch the dead sea swallow you in the salts of agony

And drown in the anguish, hundreds of angelic bloodsheds,

Press hold of the thumbprints on your throat, you can't roar.

Sore lugubrious melancholy aired atmosphere,

And downhearted souls dispirited dragons dragged along.

The sob grim hiding in a blue funk rusty smog choking wind,

The nyctophilliac animals howl long the cold-blooded love song

In your lungs and burn.

It's the twilight sun,

Just that twilight sun.
By Aurora & R.J.Calzonetti
M Harris Apr 2017
Psychic Trance & ****** Dance,
Emitting Chemical Solace Dipped In Her Capital Romance,

Feral Atmosphere Written In Her Carnal Elegies,
Rapturous Serenades Forming Phantasmal Effigies,

Magnetized Synchronicity & Metamorphized Reciprocity,
Animating Foreplays Dazzling Her Astral Virtuosity,

Phantasmal Lips Illuminating Cherub Faces In Draped Compositions,
Painting Supernatural Visions Forged In Her Vocal Inhibitions,

Prototype Voids & Spiraling Realms,
Religious Frenzies In Her Temporal Screams,

Autumn Sun Reincarnating The Light Of The Spring,
Glass House Perspectives Blooming In Her Prismatic Bling,

Rhapsody Confessions Of Her Divine Obsessions,
Rainbow Skies Dressed In Her Spiritual Progression,

Coral Spells & Synthetic Desires,
Floral Pastels Engineering Her Romantic Fires,

Nightlife Flatlining Through Her Lonely Avenues In LSD High,
A Congenital Sinner She Respires ****** Hues With A Luminescent Sigh!

– 05:13 AM –
PJ Poesy Apr 2016
Clouds dangle, as if udders and teats
Memory shudders and lips suckle to sky
Incarnations combine entities; murky repeats
Are we this or that? Princes or beasts?

Billowing mass, vapor in atmosphere
Trickling vigor and tasting vitality
Kisses of fog seem some extent cavalier
Creation whistles in wind exceedingly clear

Mouth motioning desire and yes, need
Cooling air drips resonance of warm sun
Fermentation of time, honey water to mead
At all life begun, but never quite done

Milky rain, an intuitive squeezing of thought
What of lifetimes brings such sustenance?
Say, may that ever after eternally be sought
If one can dream past clouds, ought one not?
TinaMarie Mar 2014
I Love You
Purely and Innocently
Just like the first day I saw
My handsome red head
Smiling my way.

I Love You
Wholly and Completely
Time and distance won't diminish
What was then is now
And forever will be

I Love You*
Your Spirit; Your Soul
We are connected through Lifetimes
Reincarnating
Until the day you're Mine.


©Tina Thompson
George Krokos Nov 2023
Man is still very much like an animal though he has a human form
and continues to evolve with the passage of time which is the norm.
He has arrived with the impressions that are of the lower creation
to erase them from his psyche as he moves up to a higher station.
The various races of people in the world give an indication of this
by the way they live and eat or means of survival we can't dismiss.

There's also the observation that some people look like animals
perhaps due to a strong relationship, in past lives, to those in stalls;
a few similarities can be seen in the behaviour and existence
of some people to creatures of a lower form with consistence.
It's likely here that a human soul in the reincarnating phase
is still shedding impressions according to this theory we praise.

However, nature's provided man with ways of progressing higher
developing and cultivating his mind and intelligence to go further.
By overcoming those obstacles which hold him down to the earth
he's able to rise above his lowly origins that come with his birth.
This creative evolutionary push seems to have favored certain people
for we only have to look around in the world regardless of any steeple.

There's also the little known factor of the ages which the earth goes through,
together with the rest of the solar system, that are not obvious to view.
For the earth and the rest of the planets revolve around the sun we know
but what does the sun together with all the planets revolve around and go?
Science hasn't yet found out apart from the center of our milky way galaxy
which is what everything else in it happens to do as well for it's a guarantee.

These ages numbering four last for about twenty four thousand years
as the sun revolves around something greater than itself and so bears
the weight of responsibility for what goes on within its own domain
much like the seasons of the year that on the earth we know to sustain.
For as the sun moves closer* to its center of orbit there's a gradual change
that goes on within the mind of man and his environment of a huge range.

The rise and fall of all those past civilizations is a good indication of this
with the current advancement in technology we're also unable to dismiss.
For we're all going through an acceleration in the acquisition of knowledge
that's being revealed as we move into the present age with all our baggage.
And until we reach the saturation point that may just be a long way off yet
we'll continue to evolve and find things out that hopefully we won't regret.
_________
Notes: *or further away from.
Written Dec'22. This could be one of the most challenging philosophical poems anyone may read. I sincerely hope that no one is offended but the subject matter is not meant to be racist as we're all in the same boat of existence in one way or another moving forward with an evolutionary push. As far as the mention of any Ages that the Earth passes through I've written another poem titled: 'The Mystery of the Four Ages' which explains a little more about these 'Ages' and has also been posted on HP for some time. My main objective is to inform about things that I've found out about and believe to be true unless proven wrong for this is part of the push that we're all going through to find out about the truth of our existence and which fascinates me.
What if I tell you that I don’t need to go back?
Since
I have found my home in your presence

What if I tell you?
That It is you,
Where I belong to?

You are
The only place where residing feels like reincarnating
And I could never be a wanderer nor a stranger in you
—hence I surrender my heart to be left in you

*If I tell you so, would you stay?
Writing poems and songs of the heart
we were confident that love would find a way
but what place to accommodate?
At which place would she stay?

So many words you can say
but words are just words can you feed her stomach?
as a poet you'd fill her soul
but would you be a man to build a home?
She said: talk is cheap, your wallet is airtime,
so many words you speak, but can you put your money where your mouth is or are you weak?

We were poets, crafting words and building worlds
however to the material world it was daydreaming
We had no titles as lovers, neither bf's nor husband's
we created a system of our own
which to the world would be ridiculous
a love note has a posting fee and sending is perilous
We were poets with hat-tricks but scorned as bald men who bewitch.

So much innocence in the beginning and now the deafening chaos with happenings
a poet may swallow his sorrow
but can he eat his words? In a world where money is a god
how soon before he bows...
with no living you're at the bottom of the tower
and conspiracies enlighten you with truths that are sour
wrestled by frustration you'd wish you could teleport to super universes
where being watched by satellites isn't the union's verse

But in the world, the coarse and bitter Earth
how can a poet enliven his words?
Perhaps preach to religion, anoint light sorcery, appoint fair government and breed an awake society.

Reincarnating to further conceal the truth
being a front-runner of the age old galactic duels...
tortured when in honesty you dwell
try to be good and you will swell
Wise and cautious they tell you to go to hell

We were poets, me, myself and I I I I
the crew of I knows it all too well
multiple selves telling stories from different times
the self beyond and the corpse before
before time was time and after time has ended
the scribes golden will live on
I was a poet and I was told I live a lie
We were poets, and we were I.
mel May 2015
lately it's been a mix of cold hellos and trying to drown out the unnerving voices inside my head telling me it's the perfect day to ******* and die. mostly, it's the latter. my teacher taught me that every 10 years our skeletal system regenerates itself and we, in the literal sense, become new people again. it's been eleven since you left and i still can't get the scent of you off my skin. how long does it take for a person to forget someone who made them feel like the neon lights that led to home? the answer is twenty bottles of ***** and a stranger's body to kiss, maybe even to hold afterwards. breakup ***, makeup ***, **** me til i pass out ***, it doesn't even feel the same without you ***, just come back i miss you so much i don't know who this person is please come back ***. my hands are weak and my body is shaking as if the tremors that quaked california five days ago were suddenly reincarnating as the sobs in my head. twenty bottles, eleven years, i'm still counting, still counting, still counting, still counting. i don't know what i'm waiting for.
Eve Jun 2015
My mind wants you to go
But my heart stooped too low
It wants you clenched in the fists of unbidden desires
But your patience slowly expired
You said Goodbye
And in ignorance I ****** my tears dry
I didn't attempt to stop you
You didn't turn around to meet my view

    What was that bittersweet agony?
That buried into my head; your melodies
Your unsought words drowns me in an ocean-less pit...
As I walked the lanes where to you I became whit
I reminisce on the first word you ever said to me
And compared it to the last and undoubtedly
They sounded the same...

   Unsure if you ever did love me at all
I try to **** your memories growing tall
With bursting flames
Seaming through my veins
I dig a grave for your souvenirs
And slowly peer at the dirt; reincarnating my tears
Did i do the right thing?
For the pain of being without, stings
Like snowflakes against zinc

But then what if it is for the better?
Somewhat like an investment letter
Where I forego you for something prettier to come
or not?
Who knows?

-fir.m
Did i do the right thing, trusting my instinct .... ?
The spinning of eyelids, fractures sleep
As the canvas of a caged masterpiece, drifts into the wind
Slivers in the pockets of illusions, tormenting core of winters seed
Footsteps knot the strings of kaleidoscopes
Reincarnating the heartaches of before
Silhouettes of moon stones jumbled on the wings of space
Galaxies of meteorites entering the atmosphere interlocking fate
absinthe Jan 2017
feeling burdened—it tends to happen
particularly when meddling impressions run rampant
swarm circles in my hefty head, ignore the next exit ramp, and
let devils' advocates covet the cove i donned my dome once upon never

although i know this may be chalked up to intelligence
and subsequent ignorant claims that swear it's heaven sent
i swear it’s not for me. so tell all the hell-bent docents to leave
and let live my cognizance dim—to do what i can’t. to let it be.

it is what it is
and what it is
is it’s
excessive

i don’t need no informants
playing mentee won’t mend me
i’m torn sufficiently
far as i can see, it seems

don’t mentor she who beseeches
by way of screams and screeches
me and my strings are beat
by ****** and needless needles’
stitches and ventures heedless

i’m piecing my torn fabric
it’s grown so thick
it’s a feat, recognition
when simple addition alters
fact into fabrication

like my elation
in inebriation
guards sorrow
from knocking at my door
knocks my guard down
and has me floored

it hits my inhibition too
and i’m home-free
no guilt signaling
and i pull singles
i switch with tickets
i use to ticket my skin

no appointment
nor disappointment
walking in walk-in clinics
and sketchy shops
flickering the light
it sheds on both
my faces. i can face them
only with this double vision

i watch mark
as his sketches mark me
like stretch marks,
remarkably

in hopes of realizing on the double
the vision i envision into reality
he lets me let him put his hands on me
seemingly steadily
and we feel as our arms stretch

he draws me in
fills me ink
and vibrant me pends
his vibrating steel
and sharp pens
as they liven
my limp existence
reincarnating me instantly  

after sweet sleep
i wake bitter for some reason
feel dull but also sharp-ied
peeping the nonsense i let seep steeply
into my skin last night when i was peaking

now i can reminisce
on the pain of squirming
wallow over it instead, and
not the overflown gore of streams

and catastrophic waterfalls
that break through my largest *****'s walls
they leave what makes me, me,
with breakthroughs of which it can only dream

if only i can fall like the tears asleep
that crash and wave and overshadow my role
in turn leaving without desire
to turn over no stone
nor use any for stepping on
like the ones more close to normal
do coax

i do it all wrong
like they did me
i walk on coal
though from here
it appears
as though i'm an anomaly
only my sole seethes

when on the rocks
my walker, he makes me so strong
he lets me drink him from dusk to dawn  
he says he’d **** for me from here on
i love how foreign i am to him like heron

not the bird though it’s true
us three often see hues blue
we soar blue skies when our hearts fume blue
and they feel too sore like brews do
when they're too soft to heal each bruise or
make room for pain to grow and strength to bloom
so i walk on water as walker

kills me
he’s to die for
imploring in notes low
that i not stop, so i hop on
and once it’s well thought over
he can tell
overthinking’s my problem

i stand alone in the corner,
my core knows
all my o’s and woes
can be all gone
once one o centerfolds corner
and in comes the
coroner

who walks and rear-ends me
and e-r lose hope and leave me
when he cores me from his soul
and i let my breath roam

but he sends me
soaring over the moon
soon as he shows how he listens
and soon we both know
blinding luminescence

my eyes when they glisten
make all my mourning go missing
like the overthinking overkill
i hit when morning rays missile

and he curtails them at curtains
blacker than the blacklist
my man drenched
my nemesis in
deep sleep
with the fishes  

eventually, however
again and against my will, i endeavor
on reading the biography i penned
block my own writing
and let writers block lock me in
i get stuck on the same page
thought no force impedes
the power i home in my palms
nor my thumb's ability to thumb
through the page
yet i somehow flip it
and become my own victim

i did it.
it tells the history of tears
now extinct due to me overbearing
leading to drainage that came as
the very last bead beat me
for forbidding fibs
and calling dibs on *******

still, ringing in my ears
leaks empathy
for crocodile tears
trickling
as they salivate
over their next meal,
me

i swallow my tongue
not realizing fully
i’d just had my last meal
because they consumed me
quietly
with quibbles
and plots of consuming me
openly

ignorance is less so whats lacks
and with no inkling of doubt
worse in terms of that
which the mind keeps
then refuses to release
when need be
hence: me

after i head over
obvious traps
i let flash
atop my head

like clouds overcast
i’m convinced i tripped
on my own heels
like thunder that strikes
one man down twice
out of spite

but in spite
of everything, now that i know,
my eyes and i are drained no more
see, we’ve ever since grown more so
and metamorphosed
beyond words morbid

like those i anticipate
my gravestone
will go on
to hold

this is the reality of being kept cold-cut as meat
that heads *******, idiots, dunces, cons, and so on
those who bring forth obstacles that spurt in growth
inch by inch quicker than their thickening skulls

each time
the sage i pick thinks
my life needs spicing up, either
my screams of agony are mistaken
and my inseams nipped at the bud

or my spirits appear uplifted
and mistaken are my sorrow-filled tears
with joy-plagued wails,
each time
deep-seated sage seeds **** my green

lord knows that while i understand—to some degree
the world can’t come close or know what brews
in the disorganized chaos that is me intrinsically
i don’t fib when i allege that my angle isn’t deceit

nor right, necessarily
just dense as these
basins, wrinkles and dents
my tense cortex insists on heaving  

it would be obtuse of me
to anticipate that anybody
would watch my back
if not mine and me

it's all only a tactic
and i may feign obliviousness
to support this spinelessness
and keep it all in tact

insects fester
i feel each tentacle
extend incessantly
like these rants

they all ax my lumbar
no one's barred from my club
lumberjacks and jack’s slumber
i only lust after the latter

and jack's not all bad
he’s why my caps rested
soon as he hands it to me,
expressing the extent to which

i impress him
granted
my hands-off approach
that manages
to get hard jobs done
better than jills before

he’s a mild nuisance
when one of us isn’t speaking
but he promotes my irritability
with his attempts at weaving
our fingers together

it offends me
and all i long for
is knocking him out
like him and my neck's heart

or my kneecaps’ kneepads
the cap that’s my hat
can at last roll fast,
though no one should ask

i can’t say if i’m ok
jack ko’d my voice box
and i feel highjacked
but i insist, they insist
on the charm of the third

one i get him
like the lights, off,
that’s when i go on to hop off
tip toe off his tip top to get off
on the silence my mind writes off

none of it matters to me
mankind ramps up my love for luxury
the ivory warmth Mr. Browns rain
all over my cold windshield
puts me where i love to be

without them,
antidepressants
would depress and hail on
but their chocolate depressants
elevate me and i hail mary
when they hail hope on me
and i'm newly merry

when it’s all over,
i seek refuge and rush down
and on to the one and only John
where rest can be found
he’s bold as kohl and cold
as his marble floors call for

it's he who keeps my thoughts snowed in
and spares my teeth cracks no dentures can fix
suppresses my urge to purge like Snowden honing in
on how not one man cares less for one careless node in
systems nor the cancerous danger of no protests nor dents

it’s tasteless, the rice that is humanity
so i dine solitarily
in solemn grief
seeing the uselessness we
as crumbs and morsels have come to be

individuals in division
invincible in coalescence
bound to form solid solidarity
likely as the moment

satan and saint agree
to raise their satin
black and white flags,
respectively

to enwrap
two into
one
fabric. silky, smooth, seamless
as is the cocoon
          i once was foolish enough to assume
    would secure the very same wholesome skin
                         it would later go on
to help me consume.

cannibalism.
Santiago May 2015
You wanna ****?, what the ****?
You're starting to sound like Blanca
The mother of my son
You really think that's what I'm looking for
You got things twisted, sloppy unlike before
I'm original not subliminal, can you copy?
It's amazing yet disappointing
How the world thinks, feels, and evaluates
It's not about incriminating
It's about reincarnating dead souls
Giving life not taking it & destroying it
If you're out to mislead I'll make you bleed
Scream your lungs out with deadly shouts
Until your voiceless, ******* with my beloved
You crossed the line and done it all
You devour my precious lady &
You'll witness a vicious killer cold & shady
She's strong and potentially vital
Spiral wordly elements, into my spiritual twin
Take her down too, and you're best be a fool
Worst mistake you ever do, cuz I'm clever
You stopped me but stop her punk player &
Your dead meat, in the ******* street
I'm serious not delirious evil ***** I'd switch
Like a sudden twitch don't flinch ***** wimp
I'd love by far too long to see this happen
Don't ******* out raw start clapping
Whacking smacking busters on the ground
This the devil's playground war battlegrounds
To my love **** all you want, not interested
I thought you'd be my one of a kind
I guess was stupid ******* blind
Waiting for something that's been hit hard
Pounded cat, with nasty baseball bats
You let rats, come in and attack your temple
Keep them, **** them, love them,
I don't care about them, I'll ****** them
But it's okay that's you now I must settle
Into sorrows reality and despair
Amtul Hajra Mar 2019
Been long since that paled sunny sky,
autumn winds are drifting by;
magic moving under skies,
never seen by waking eyes.
except for them,
to those who believe
blissfully, beaming autumn vibes.
dreaming as the days go by,
dreamingly, the summers die.
eager eye and willing ear:
a pleasing wonderful tale to hear.
in autumn when the leaves are brown;
reincarnating, a new better one,
take pen and ink and write it down,
till the tale is rightly done.
Vivian Grace May 2017
i'd be dead long ago
fossilized in memory
of my mother
maybe of another,
like a crisp cubicle
amber snapshot
lost
and a sunken rusted corpse
rotting,
if I'd given
unconditional control
to the alabaster breaking curiosity
streaming my veins.

worm food too soon
but brave sturdy bones
reluctantly deteriorating  
with such luster wished to hold on
like Venusian locks
breaking down unwillingly
into their amino acid state,
informal fertilizer for woodland's mirth.

so i am here
instead
away from the earth
near a foreign border
a flight
line unlinear
where my heart lept off
for regions uncharted,
not just to Rome or
was it Greece
clogging this train of thought,


but i can remember all of this
do not think i won't

i will not deny what i heard my left ventrical plotting
on raiding the pulpit
of life
a ceremonial teaching from leaves
to live with the oxygen
and it's pulp
and the recommendation to drink it together
together
for optimal optical evolution.

my resolution is to daily
gaze into my orange juice
the sun
that lick of sour
sweet release in time
its nothing to an hour
but an infinity in a day
of trials
and try agains
and oh wait
we went the wrong way
and realising but wait
the plum tree is fertile
feeding us plenty fruits,
endless fruit,
okay.

there cannot be only one
staged divine
except when seasons cut short the seasoning
of harvest,


unless you mean us,
then time survives
just to give us another line
to muster somemore condaments
but not compliments
for our dining
to spice up our ripe oozing confection,
our confessions,
our rhythmic happiness.

another play
I am attending today
this stages higher
this stage is indigo
with orchestras,
no heart string harps will be hurt
in the making of our film
when i pluck yours softly
from the black stuccoed darkness
no lead roles
or precious rings of metal
or unholy hymns
of god knows what descendence
will dictate the future
or the past
what lineage?

arent we the same?
so it seems

that all that this is
is truly a metaphor
for the greatest
of all
most spontaneous
of my glances
at death
and the death of my ego
in the west and

here today

the graduation of our children
hearts who may have already left
but found each other
somewhere along the way

and somewhere along the way
we will get them back
in the amount of time it takes me
to trace your spine
I'll trace the universe
to see souls
gaining there wishes
like eyes reincarnating
into others heads
and there we be no pain
just a safe shot
no radical injections
or vaccinations
to save us
from this love

that while glaring at the sun
and whining for a return date
or address
or something with
a conscious
in sleep lip shivering,
the warm grasp of my resting heart rate
will place your arms at ease.

so rest now,
easy baby
my sweet Zues,
and when i wake you
at an ungodly hour
let us fervently light the sky
eternally, yes, eternally
after a goodnight's rest
because someday that rest will,
well,
it will be the only hour
stuck on midnight
our only thing to live on
and our eyelids will have died long ago.
Nicole Corea Sep 2015
12:31 am
Twinkle Twinkle Little Star,
Where Are My True Dreams?
I Feel A Lightness In My Chest As I Hear  
Stray Dogs Howling To The Somber Tunes,
Underneath The Blue Moon.
As I Walk Through The Dark Alleyways , I Wonder , If I Pray To The Devil .
Will He Make My Heart Ignite Into Forbidden Flames?
Will He Send My Soul Into A Empire Of Evilness, Please Mr. Devil,
Can I Beg You Devil To Fill My Emptiness With Your Demonic Blood . Your Demonic Kiss.
Never Let The Morning Wake .
Devour Your Demonic Lips Into My Flesh **** The Agony Out Of My Heart .  
I Want It All.
I Know The Dangers I Am Wishing For .
Mr. Devil , I Am A Hard Soul To Save By God.
I Have Tremendous
Waves Crashing Against My Skin .
Maybe I Am Supposed To Be Your Daughter.
Please Mr. Devil Let Me Sway With You.
I Want To Feel Lifeless ...
Fickle Flames Lash Towards My Heart.
Underneath The Blue Moon ,
Stray Dogs Howling To Somber Tunes.
In The Dark Alleyways,
I Watched Myself In A Distance.
I Can Feel My Soul Burning ,
Slowly.
Slowly Disappearing.
Reincarnating Into Black Butterfly .

Wings Of Black Soared
Underneath The Red Moon
Where Wolves Howl To Their Somber Tunes.
Katlyn Orthman Feb 2015
Trembling beneath the weight of these words
These words that entice these broken bones
To sway to the memories reincarnating in my mind
This melody that brings these frozen tears to my eyes
So they hang by the thin threads
Crystallizing in my soul
Frost bitten by my breath

This song that brings me back to my youth
Brings me back into that careless mirage
Has me floating in my liquid dreams
Spiraling off every syllable

I crescendo with the feverish voice pouring into my ears
Cry with the beauty,
Cry for being homesick of those years
Where I was blissfully unaware
With these words heavy underneath my skin
Sometimes music affects me so deeply I feel it in my molecules, and all the emotions swimming in my need some kind of release. Found a song from my childhood that I loved, and needless to say I still love it very much. If you're curious it's called 'Welcome Me' by The Indigo Girls. Very beautiful song.
Flora Rose, the new garden hope
In seasons we are tested how much we can hold onto the truth
In reasons we are tested if we can be loyal to the Vedic tooth
It's been a testament how you could be sentimental to be fun to my mental and spend a night on my chest
Because you understand the scribe, others will ask why
Because you write your emotions on pages and care not what others might think
Because your heart is wise and you know how to say hello and follow and disregard your ego

You might wonder why I'm so far even though in spirit you can be next to me
I had to clear my karmatic cycles
Right and clear my wrongs
Refurbish my mistakes
I found the waters that ocean when I had finally paid the final penalty of being a scholar of life
I was held in perdition because I was eager to see another fall into trouble while I laugh
I paid the price and dove in those waters and was always under close investigation
An inhumane error here and there and I would be quickly whipped
Anything that opposed the conscience I was quickly persecuted

By the by I learned to honour and respect life
By the by I learned to honour and respect time
By the by I learned to honour and respect opportunities
By the by I learned that humility transcends pride and breeds higher learning and that's how I ended up being a defender of Cosmic Wisdom at some library of Golden Wisdom

This is how I got to temple 8
Now you probably ask me, since the previous flowers failed dismally because of giving into the material world and lascivious temptation, "how do I succeed?"
Well let me begin by imagining a future son or daughter
You know what has held light workers, care-givers and channelers back for so long?
They have been carrying the wages of their parents for too long a time and it became hereditary
A grandmother would do so much wrong in the world and instead of using the time she has left on Earth to fix her wrongs and clear her karmatic cycles so that the children of tomorrow don't bear the same wages ~ she inversely relaxes and relies on birthing a child who is destined to fix the errors that they should be fixing themselves
So the child is born into spiritual slavery, never mind what the FATHER of Creation had intended for that child's destiny and cause,
No they break Universal Laws and oppose the Cosmic Blueprint
So they get stuck in the Waiting Room until they can reincarnate to expand and stretch in dimensionality so that their soul can sphere at a more heightened divine level
But somebody has to open for them in order for them to incarnate and then you have generational spiritual debt

You know Flora Rose I wait for the day when the children tell the elders and forefathers; "***** you, this is my life, I have to secure and my own future, I am done being a slave to flaws and wages that you should be fixing yourself"
Because see FroRo we never reach the future if we're always waiting for someone to clean up after us
We stay jailed in the darkness of time
Time and time again we will repeat the same mistakes and keep on reincarnating until we get it right
But you can only have so many rewrites
When will you vow to become an eternal entirety?

Now to answer you:
When the man or male paramour is in the shadows she remians his branch
When the man or male paramour is in darkness she remains his hope of kindling light
When the male lover is the **** of the Earth she is the fancy shelter just by giving goodness and housing delight
When he is weak, she reminds him of his strength
When he is quiet she amuses him with conversational muse which if played right is sealed with a kiss of appreciation

She keeps the leaves of the yard at bay
She bathes in the waters he has ministered
She does not invite other men who have a craving for her to the house
She does not steal the wealth and hard works of her man, instead she defends them because it is a conquest and evidence of struggled victory
For this she is not an energy vampire but a coffer of endless treasure
Crystaling love, inviting the man into the love dance
She does not hesitate to follow the inclination that tells her to give him a call, or start a talk or respond to his messages
Because she is a soul Flora Rose
That's the emotion we've been moving and it will continue to pass unless someone grabs it
If you keep on missing this love, this yielding grace - then you will always count what could have been and should have been
And shoulda coulda will not suffice in heaven
It is about the now, are you ready to drive love now and see it through to the bitter end?

Well I ask you
  Many women are drawn to the crown of a Queen but they don't understand the responsibilty that comes with being a Queen
So for this they fail to move conversation, they don't know what to say so tell me how will they know what to do
I guess we're just then playing fool
  And it's the glow that's the rule and not the kindness to heart that is flow
They're all about the glow, just like Willie Hutch said
If they aspired to the duties of a princess or Queen beyond
Then they'd be ready for the sacrifices and leaps...
Until ego dies
They will always wonder how beautiful life can fly so young.
In seasons she doesn't betray her soul because she has already gone on a journey of self-disfovery and she has it love, in its divine state, she has it truth and loyalty and honour because she has soldiered, she has it all to give and she knows that to and for love's sake it matters, whether or not her lover or paramour sees that. Because she truly loved and never apoligised for standing by it, she is a better person. And their relationship can stand the test of time because it is not something borrowed. For this testimony and by it, she knows what it means to live and can indeed be the new evening to breathe sound life into the morning.
living
reincarnating
on the literary edge
voting with my language
vocation
refuse to reincarnate into it again
This is the chance
one time to spend death
no more lifetimes later
English the etymological disaster
government education
called the anatomy of whiteness
warns us all
"you will never get out!
You will never find where you came from!”
Everything was consummation to define the end in everything that was insinuated in the idyllic border that nothing presumes and deduces a good decision, but the emptying was already unobjectionable Vernarth, after living a thousand lives, began to anxiously call those who he believed that everyone was going to depart with Him. The elements had already been treated to reverse them in future spiritual lives with Eucharistic prayers that smelled specific aromas that would preserve the indiscreet air when seeing caravans passing by that came from concurrent to the final ceremonial on the heights of Profitis Ilias, including flocks of Ravens that they carried in the lips of birds that brought the essences and tiaras to decorate the Opistódomos. Alexander the Great and Ezpatkul were already coming with the rooks from the suburbs that would swarm through the ****** heights of the pronaos where the Vas Auric levitated, turning towards the Cinnabar that was already categorically in the Naos. The lavishness of the Mashiach specified the elements that were divided from the abstinences of the liturgy in honor of Him where all the winds from east to the west became the majority in the disciplinary section, from where its interior was grafted to the Vas Auric as a complement to the body. of Vernarth that began to atomize in the Apokáliptika assembly towards the paths of the eschatological epilogue, without detractors and tribulations to attend to the sighs of the Universe that would contract with magnificence when seeing that the nadir of the Duoverse was appearing, that is, the inferiority of the Universe that would bow down to the complex and unintelligible Duoverse, but with swift paths towards the sacred textuality where the work is already a reality. The souls in the pomegranate tree on its pedestal were already occupied by the Hexagonal Primogeniture, seeing that the Mashiach had already become the living word of Nazareth whose passion became co-binder in the ascending radiosities that came and went along the shoulder of the Hydor in the Nimbus Iridescent carrying rays of ultra warmth. Carrying imperious prophecies that departed from the component that everything is part of the precious stone that is submerged in the deposit, where the resurrected Mashiach takes Vernarth's hand and places the Golden Xiphos sword on his right hand, forming the empire from east to west. Thus it is demonstrated that Vernarth during the entire journey of this Mega Parapsychology was never dead nor ever lived, he only waited for the hypostasis of the Lord that led him snowy on promontories that brought him closer to the monumental ex-voto held in those present where everything was of monumental muteness, bringing resurrected wails of the Apostles to the scene as they were martyred by their pernicious pursuers.

The Investiture ceremony already gave rise to a formulation that would satisfy great celestial desires with gestures of toast or universal conformist gestures, to unite all the people of different origins who began to meet with Vernarth with a total outcome of humility that embodied the figure of a proselyte who constituted the voice of Ruth crushing the leftover grasses in Naomi's doubts. The trapezoids mocked every cross-eyed look twisting the height of the summer that swirled with the objects of generosity that arrived and fell on the lawn as a remarkable epiphany in the form of delicacies and ambrosial that dreamed of being in the compendium of the height of Olympus and Horcondising on the same level of the liberation of beings where the Gentiles converted to the creed, which fed on the words of Ruth and her grasses as advocated banners that adored all who were present at the Investiture of Vernarth's Himation.

Behold, the sacrosanct pilgrimages were from the geocentric Rosemary who had held the Messiah before trying to throw him off the cliff after intervening in the Synagogue in Nazareth, reversing the plot, perhaps assuming a figure of the indulgent portent that clung to the barrier of the portals of the corn, and everything in the center was dressed as the focus of the Himation towards a great rodón or molding of Rosemary.

Who else may be missing from the presses of or that could not be taken to the mill. Behold, from the spaces where light did not reach, the sacred ones of exclusive faith were displayed with the flashes of these Bern olives, so that everyone could enter the central place where everything was crowded with double luminaries that lit up as obfuscation until the end of each descending inspiration. . Vernarth melted and carried the shady slip of the cross that entered over the heads of the attendees, and the late prayer that did not hit the avatars of each bis of each pagan and converts that slipped through the lips in the seventh invocation, as if Flavius Josephus were referring to the purple gold that volatilized in the midst of all those who slept, and at the same time the dim jambs of the temple dilated to act as a relationship to the meeting of the Vas Auric and the Cinnabar that joined the shimmering aldehyde contracting in the oratory that fell when the Beit Hamikdash collapsed, to later become oratic frames that were largely diluted when adopted in the dynasty of a throne that would have repercussions similar to those of Homer in the Iliad, where an admirer like it is Vernarth of Achilles as he worships his parents Hair and the goddess Tethys more in the affront of an empyrean higher than Olympus. Achilles walked ***** but limped only supported by the materialized rods of the Aldehyde with the sole purpose of reincarnating him in Vernarth's submitology, where he will show him noble fields and herds of black-white steeds before regenerating him in the genealogy of the bishop that is situated and surrounded of peons, but not in his long palatial life, rather in the equestrian fields where his life was reborn in death and took him to old age that receded as he walked on the heads of the deceased. The notorious individuality was made by taking hold of Vernarth's arm for the short walk like a Soter that finally rearmed his gallantry in front of Briseis; she granted it to Achilles, and that she was now Vernarth's female consort.

Saint John says: “we all give parts of our bites to others, what an honor makes us more special when armies of Greeks descended on this investiture where incense reigns, longing for the aroma of Briseis in each piece of air that is soaked in Vernarth's Himation. This is how all courage becomes perennial in the gifts where the Achaeans also dare to arrive at this ceremony, and of all that exordium that contradicts fighting beyond all death, especially if the Mashiach extends the opening of the point and its space! -time in a single potion of the heart of the servants!
Everything was in the hands of the eyes that perceived the birthed gaze of the Fibonacci effect, where the steep columns seemed to open up to the gazes of those who were stuck in the stands before the descent of the Naos. What greater strength than being brave and eager to shield all the cowards who do not forgive the demigods who die first before the boarding, and without pain before the merits of those who with their beginner gaze reside with their eyes closed before being absorbed by the duality of life that recurs farther from the threshold of the flame that devours the indecisive departure. Feats and disdain to close the senses when the Mashiach came down with his archangels and Cherubim defying without any fear that illuminates Homeric doubts so extensive, that they could perfectly be confused with all palpable reality.
Ravens and Belphus
Jai Aug 2017
Me-
a traumatic disorder in the sky
scintillating  every try,
all my junctures, no wonder why?
synthesizing your wicked cry!
from autumn to winter, spring to dry,
my countenance is always sly,
revenge and my destructive plight,
flossing the land beside.
All my forms from water to ice,
reincarnating a treacherous ride…
for all the intentional harms you’ve done  tonight,
I still don’t stand aside.
Eventually I relocate from north to south-
wondering what this world’s about?
Respect, responsibility or your silhouette,
arguments, exploitation or another drought?
Me, the reason for all your life,
but you still aren’t ready to change your side.
Sunset Man Sep 2017
Corner hidden
in the bin downstairs
that museums my
memento-ed souvenirs
is a black and white
treasured strip,
15 year woman dawned
captured
stills from an arcade
booth
too many
years removed.

Whimsy sought
dug frustrated "where?"
epiphany  alas
triumphant exhale
freeing and
holding again
your filmed teen
face in fingered tips
reminiscing how
I breathed you then.

Sweet lips
invitingly posed
four visions of a
beautiful youth
pageantly shared,
I momentarily
danced
reincarnating
that fleeting
summer's day.

Musings molt
whispered her
perfectly prime now
intimately sure
lips sweet
15 matured 51
desired conclusively
each I love
each I loved. . .
Siya Selani May 2021
A walk path down this lonely heart
Blinded by love from the start
They come and go like annual seasons
Than leave me broken for now reason

The next one will come in a flip of a page
I'd run into love like a bird out a cage
It will blossom until they've ate the seed
Than I'll realize it was all for greed

Again I'd be left alone in this lonely path
Grievously reincarnating my broken heart
I fall and fall than rise again
Cause falling in love is never in vain

I heal my heart and resume walking
Releasing by gones for some soul searching
For now the path is still lonely but I still have fate
That by the end of this journey I shall find my soul mate
AW Oct 2021
Why light another candle
For a soul already lost
Why say another prayer
For a world as contorted
That words, so hollow
Are worthless
Mere moulds we fit to
A deformed sense of purpose
Mostly,
Heaven is what works for us
At any given time
Just as often a struggle to overcome
As it is a fate we acquiesce in
Victory, contentment
Both equally worthy
Of pursuit
Both virtues
Both sins
Ever in need of salvation
We breathe life into
The miracle of the mundane
Resurrecting a reasoning that absolves
Reincarnating a consciousness of hope
Of whatever will let us
Exalt it, adore it,
Extract from it
A narrative
To subscribe to
To believe in
To be God
Perspiration encompasses phalanges
     insinuating physiological absolute
     zero tolerance nuisance far and wide
across time space

     continuum the upside
incorporating various
     whereby sundry remedies tried,
     and yes obliteration

     of self (via Suez side ),
would constitute an
     extreme measure (NOT
     blithely NOR eagerly

     the path taken) to stop ride
ding slippery dripping
     surfaces wet when wet palms touch
     of hands incessantly, frustratingly,

     and chronically sweaty,
     yet every obvious remedy
     under the sun, moon,
     stars, et cetera ap plied,

yet no matter the central
     air condition set
     at sixty degrees Fahrenheit
     even when temperature colder outside

especially as twilight
     ushers cool nightside
crazy farfetched ideas
     for instance breathing carbon monoxide

races thru thine noggin,
     like so much cuz harmful
     odious bilge water
     (wicked yucky emotional effluvium)

     handily intent to cause landslide
thence posse sub billy reincarnating me
     into a shackled serf locked up
     inside a rat infested dungeon,

     nonetheless in earshot of hoi polloi,
     while lavish feast displayed kingside
which previous life
     found me taking joyride

with his highness until...
     these limp wet dishrag fleshy mitts
     angered royal majesty
damning yours truly,

     whose ins hide
sought refuse within
     thy inner poet as guide
which explains this

     hashed out rhyme
     from the farside,
per outer limits of the
     twilight zone eternally eventide.
Lyna Salman May 2020
I saw the rain falling like tears
Telling stories of pain to trees
Whispering to nature to grow
Even when they freeze as snow
Falling from above on the ground
Meditating in a wisdom sound
Reincarnating in to a stream
For a spring to sing and dream
Then flowing all united at sea
Guiding their trip to eternal glee
Reborning in solasta as silver dew
Mending melting pain and rising
With water's soul forever energizing

∴ Lyna Salman
Sole May 2020
I sit on the beach and you are here

Your name is whispered subtly between sliding waves
Each grain of sand beneath my feet feels like you,
familiar yet
ultimately untouchable.
Every sunset drips
With tears of your smile;
Reincarnating beauty.
I bathe in it.
I never got tired of looking at you.

It will hurt again tomorrow.

But for now I could laze for too long
Immersed in your golden warmth pulsing from beneath the sand.
Lying too long
It gets chilly; your sunlight fades.
Your warmth decides to leave with it.

And I’m left with just my towel,
Grains of you scattered all over me,
And the burn marks branding my skin.
How can you tell if an elephant's old?
Do they get more lines?
Maybe they're all ancient souls
Reincarnating through time
This chap iz a life
long student – groan fizzy
(from being protean entity
at least sustained along minimally
cerebral Mohorovicic continuity
till...post mortality
reincarnating one carbon peculiarity
enigmatic existence eternally

into maternity of wives eternity)
at The University
of Adversity, accruing excessive
Kirkovian priceline annuity
(while in utero, a mere embryo
took correspondence
(college level, some
doctoral material audited)

majority of courses regarding
Art of the Deal
screaming, pacifying,
and crying (as if
experiencing ******
******, thus
viz "FAKE" teary
bully affected game

milking babyhood),
hence subsequently
matriculated half heartedly
performing with
tier rubble grades,
since birth remotely
affected by planetary syzygy,
also a skeptic asper astrology,

but yours truly doth count
lucky stars, that heredity
bequeathed literary ability,
no matter this revelation
came mooch later aboot thirty
something year old, a frequent
guest of her expert *****
nilly (Philly) Delphi

related oracles, asper Minecraft
ordaining claim to flame
ming prominence - fiery,
comet tee of errors,
a modest discovery
made decades since molly
cod dulled boyhood,
though thee woman

addressed as "mommy,"
a trailing rocky eminent
(mebbe, cuz a shortage
of dis "e's) appellation
seemingly decreasing
in popularity, (especially
among deceased)
within the worldwide

web of humanity
yet reference to she,
who did birth me considered
this sole heir: solitary
quiet-natured,
predisposed money
less ness (linkedin
later in son dreary

existence with kindled,
instagrammed, and
facebooked assiduity
didst crest aim ming
corporeal trajectory,
into stratospheric heavenly
vault, where he brewed
quite a portfolio

maneuvering thru back
channels of bureaucracy
which sorely tested
his finite capacity
the general random universality
of entropy, and chaos theory
and well nigh pitched
him to the troubling

zone of delinquency
slapped, spurred, and stirred
with instant karma,
sans initial poker face state
of existence born
of knuckle dragging
skin of teeth i.e. penury
cost mental, physical,

and spiritual actuality
well being, your excellency
sabotaging any
opportunity for gallantry
denied golden app
port tune nitty rescuing

a damsel in distress
which incessant (nasal
cartilage quasi bone
if fied bone chafed against
the figurative grind
stone begat fancy
full notions to this dichotomy
of cellular unity.
anomaly Jan 2020
i say i quit feeling that way
astrayed, ported, exploited
by bequeathing my soul to you
I wish I didn't venture in the episodes I fabricated with you
cease the ingeminating
terminate the reincarnating
on a connection that has no foundation
by now i shouldve been about to tell
its the season for new love, so don't panic
im a lost soul and he's a hopeless romantic
though i know time dont exist
we'll function through this third dimension
though ignorance is bliss
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2018
so... either chemical castration,
or a lobotomy?
   i mean: jerking off, once in a while,
while doing the holy trinity
on the throne of thrones?
it's schtill a human in my *****!
like you never watched
that 70s ridley scott masterpiece...
or haven't had it passed down
to you in a meme...
   so one, or the other...
                  the horror freak show,
or just the horror show...
                    sure like: oops, maybe
another time...
                  since the good old days of...
american polygamy are: still here,
with 17 children....
        and if it's 31 CEL SUIS in england...
******* must be dropping
like flies in saudi arabia...
       or... going mad, reincarnating
    scenes from mad max: fury road.
the laws of authority,
  what a funny thing...
   no one cares about the odd,
once in a while "genocide" i perform
******* - easing the bladder -
which subsequently eases the **** -
taking a **** -
     and then jerking off looking
at fine art nudes -
  n'ah...
   movies are too unimaginative,
there's no concept of potential
with something represented in
                                             static form.

— The End —