"representations" poems
think of all the people you've ever met,
and all the conversations that have ever left an impact on you.
think of all the thoughts that those words prompted in you,
and all the actions they led to,
which went and touched more people than you can count.
innumerable words and thoughts,
little cosmic representations of the
souls of people touching us
every.single.day.
your life is forever and inexplicably interconnected with a million others.
Jul 10, 2015
Jul 10, 2015 at 7:34 AM UTC
the pictures all move in silent circles
forming messy representations of
thoughts, feelings, reality
turning mere images into
real art, like paintings
but it has taken over
everything around me
from a mile up,
peering from a window seat
lights of tokyo beneath us
and we're sat, soaring
amazing, isnt it?
like a looking glass
this little round window
on a way-too-big airplane
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 11:25 PM UTC
emerald, olive, viridian
oh how you perplex me
forest, jade, chartreuse
why do you tease me so
cyan, verdigris, moss
such excitement arises
to be a word
to be a meaning
is there such a thing,
to have a feeling
to see a vision,
phthalo, pine, teal
are you the same
mint, myrtle, laurel
you make me envious
to be blooming, to be healthy
to be young, to be clumsy
are you callow, how about credulous?
but such a conservationist
unquestioning, so trustful,
tenderfoot and common
the tree, the lawn, the willow
though ecological and crude
a sage in all but name
apple, spinach, pea
aren't you scrumptious,
lime, kelly, bice
are you nature, how about luck
you're pungently rotten
though with such dark beauty and hope,
love and lust ensues
you're the jolliness of balance
and the creative intelligence;
of evil, and decay of money and safety,
will you resurrect me, are you immortality?
such jealousy arises
high goals and honor
so so allusive
healing and vitality
you're calming though fast
lush spring stability,
abundant generosity,
vert vegetation; witchcraft
an aphrodisiac I hear,
are you youth or fading youth?
sunrise and life, growth and fertility
sacred ideology,
eroticized though shameful
so romantic and humble
I see the third ray
or is the the fifth ray, the third eye
are you truth, are you vision
it's becoming a science,
so much compassion
the fourth chakra, the heart,
the centre of us all
a higher consciousness
such a harmonious aura
a hunter, a nurse, a solider, an outdoorsman
villains and superstition
misfortune and prosperity
with toxicity, sickness and death,
recycle and reuse
oh so powerful
you exude auspiciousness
just a holiday
mystical fairies and spirits
though also devilish,
cancer in the stars
a renewal of paradise,
biliously tranquil
are you refreshingly soothing,
peacefully restful,
a naive novice,
very understanding,
is there truly a term for you?
what do you really convey,
countless representations
a definition of name,
or do you signify the feeling, the specimen
the aspect?
though some have no locution for you
here I am,
stepping around the issue
you are you, in any word
yet with a different meaning
Jul 15, 2012
Jul 15, 2012 at 10:01 PM UTC
Enzymes directing life force through biochemical processes - nutrients from bountiful soil fusing metabolic, synchronic pulsations and creating existential tonic
Developing a constellation of ideas; a symphony of fresh and innovative designs oscillating between various meditative and educative representations at increasingly high, metaphysical levels of vibration.
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 11:51 AM UTC
Summer would be the sunflowers seemingly blooming from beneath telephone poles as a reminder that love can travel upon the wires connecting long-distance lovers, the ropes that cling to trees as though reuniting after a twelve month absence as they bear the weight of two bodies more entangled in each other than the pattern of the hammock that they lie upon, the ice cubes that float atop the glass of sweet tea stealing quick kisses each time the glass is lifted as they melt together beneath the heat.
Fall would be the leaves clinging to the tree limbs whispering secrets to each other as they flutter in the wind and change color according to the lovers that will one day float to the ground beside them, a calm pond reflecting former versions of couples who have always desired to know each other before their time of acquaintance only to realize they never existed until the day that they met, the stone path that weaves through a graveyard that has felt the light footsteps of paired souls wandering the grounds during midnight strolls.
Winter would be the snowflake drifting in the wind quickly memorizing the patterns of each familiar one it passes in an effort to reunite with its match made in the heaven from which it has fallen, the steaming cup of tea that collects condensation in the hands of lovers who find solace in sitting upon their front porches when it's freezing, the parallel lines of sleds that have etched temporary tracks in the land as representations of the distance that once separated those who created them (but does no longer).
Spring would be the first sprout of the season persevering through the darkness of the soil and finally pushing through the light at the end to feel the warmth of the sun upon it, a bridge the connects flower-covered hills that houses the memory of two lovers who reunited after being apart for the winter, the daisy that he planted beneath her chest the night that he told her he loved her and promised to always water it.
Jul 22, 2013
Jul 22, 2013 at 6:38 PM UTC
Ever wonder what someone's sadness feels like?
Ever really see that there's a huge difference between theirs and your own?
What you understand as depression, may only be a blue day for another.
I suppose that's why we can't relate to all poetry,
Or truly understand much of it,
To its cold point.
How can we be predispositioned in good,
While surrounded by so much evil?
Call it human nature;
No such thing as corruption,
Instead it's all about purification.
Daily struggles, testing our patience and ability to remain on a steady path.
Each successful decision resulting in a step closer to personal sublimation.
So what if dreams are reality,
And reality is just the dream?
Who's to say life is what it seems,
And that dreams are only mental representations of our inner desires?
Life's a withdrawal and dreams are the drugs that stop it,
Yet equally prolong it.
Then you wake up again.
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 11:14 PM UTC
I always wanted to compose symphonies,
But my hands and my head could never agree.
I got the blue curse, because I always feel beats,
But my fingers freeze up when I get to melo-DIEs.
Recede. I want to live the nihilist's dream,
Smoke packs a day to intensify screams.
Maybe if I stare into the middle distance,
After hours I would build up a tolerance to listen.
IN THIS town, there are only 2 kinds of people
Girls who pierce their NOSES and THOSE IN the steeple
Walking down So. Auburn in bare feet and short shorts
Catching the gleam from the street (of course),
With their dreadlocks all up in auburn buns
And their eyes shooting diamonds in the autumn sun.
Bullet-belt vests draped lazily over their shoulders,
With double-zero earrings and squirt-gun holsters.
And the police-dogs and the SWAT cars are all powered by indulgence,
The doctors are up to their elbows in cadavers by self-expulsion
The men are splitting at the seams from over-eating obsessive compulsion
And the shameful deception of upward inflection to change my direction and wind
UP and the inanimate DUCKling with a large crank between its shoulders
In the shape of a black key to the black energy that makes the cold rooms colder
Is a disguise to the spoken word hurricanes brewing inside me.
Set me to zero then make me the hero so physicists can derive me.
If the sum of all forces is equal to mass times acceleration,
Maybe the sum of world problems is equal to vanity times irritation.
Jeans cutting up my legs, purpling due to lack of circulation
Are developing holes, as well as the soles of my shoes, I'm growing impatient.
The production slows to a halt, pouring salt into lacerations,
And as boys grow into drunk daddies, women resort to migration.
This country isn't democracy, just a ghastly and pale imitation,
These people don't have representatives, only half-assed representations.
Feb 17, 2011
Feb 17, 2011 at 7:08 PM UTC
Warning: This is not a nursery rhyme for the fainthearted.
The promise lit by life,
Was actually lit by your lies.
Owwwww!
My forehead is mine I am made to realize,
Realization comes painfully when I bang the wall.
Sssssssssss!
****** I am hurting myself but that's all,
Never stupidly brave enough to actually finish it.
FREE ME!
I request that entity to let me live my life,
Cursed wasn't how I wanted to survive.
Ouch!!
The misgivings are just that bit too much,
As though a beehive fell on my head as much.
BANG-BANG-BANG!!!
I bang my head to the tune which I play,
And I am unable to bang it on a wall.
Peace is what I get finally
Cursed is how I live my life every day,
Talking to walls like concentrated prisoners.
I dare you to swap it with me!
Yes! Swap your life with me right now,
If you can't walk with me for the mile.
Whispers
The mile I dreamt with you,
The smile you promised,
The mile of my life.
Forget about it
I'm just joking about the swap,
I'm no Devil,
You can't live how I live because,
It's my life,
And I'm happy with as much I got,
I've to breath alone,
There must be some serious curse on me,
I accept that curse.
Loving people and then losing them is a ritual,
I must live alone like a hermit.
But you can live on talking only with the darker,
Idol-worshiping him only.
Enjoy with his pictorial representations & idols,
Only one darker idol can you find.
This is why I averse myself from idol-worshiping,
Because it destroys relations.
I lost not only my telephonic-best friend,
But also my real life best friends started avoiding me.
Not an idol-worshiper is a blasphemous term,
In her religion, in Hinduism.
It destroys relations if you start loving your idols,
And if you even start living like your idols.
You never did quite understand what Ishwar/Bhagwan/Rabb/God actually meant.
All the best with your Kanhaiya,
I wish you all the happiness,
And hope that He gives you what I couldn't,
Let your imagination work wonders for you.
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 2:08 AM UTC
Eyelids descend like a guillotine,
decapitating the visual stimuli
my mind engrosses upon in daylight.
Then there is a numbness as the
cascading representations of my
day are all rendered darkened silence.
"My day is colour, my dreams are black and white,
Feb 15, 2017
Feb 15, 2017 at 5:59 PM UTC
Portrayals of suffering -
Mine and everyone else’s -
What are your cravings for?
May you matter
Existing in this endless instant.
Voicings of my pain,
Do you matter if you save a life?
For a life is but a number.
Representations of my fears -
First aid or pitiful joke?
Sublime art or appalling misery?
Beauty or madness?
Tokens of life or death?
Pointful or pointless?
Does it even matter if it matters?
God doesn't either,
dead or alive,
in dreams or in nightmares,
Unless He makes you laugh.
Jan 16, 2022
Jan 16, 2022 at 8:12 AM UTC
Let's bury the lovely inconsistencies
Leave the intimate fallacies to mystery
Then my perception of your passion fits with me
Red brick to mortar
you laid your deceit in a building order
Despite the inherent wrecking ball tendencies you chose to utilize
Blind to my youthful eyes
Let's brush the displaced fervor for lust under makeshift throw rugs
Void of emotion until you know no love
As exhilarating as the love you left long ago as leaves of dogwood trees in a late Pennsylvanian november
Rigid structures that wait a season to return to the lively form they remember
Bare white bark and dead extremities
Bare as your stockpile of passion meant for me
The surplus became a short supply when I left your graces
Amidst the sea of faces
You encounter in the places
You replace me to fill the voids and spaces
My memory laced with traces
Of your gentle touch, a cool spring breeze to my sun soaked skin
Recalling the ominous climb before the downward spin
We always seem to find ourselves in
Perhaps the fact the rush of the climb washes my mind of the inevitable collapse
I all too often push the moment from thoughts of past
The sinking in my stomach peaking the point of no return
As I set my eyes to the horizon and watch us burn
In the setting sun of an Middle eastern summer
Your lightning fast decisions to leave never compared to the rolling thunder
That swept over my soul
When you tore the hole
In the hazel eyed sky of my perception
with your ill fated rejection
Casting projections
Of your likeness in the constellations
Trembling fingers wait patient
Making comparisons and relations
Between every aspect of you I savored
To Orion's belt, cassiopeia, ursa major
Every slight shift in its luminous glow
A subtle reminder to me of the love you will never know
Intergalactic representations paint the stage for supernovas
Expunging the lovely aroma
I grew accustom to
Coming to harsh realizations there's no reciprocal paid in full for the love I loved for you.
Aug 2, 2013
Aug 2, 2013 at 7:04 AM UTC
These are human tears
I say,I say.
They're down my cheeks they roll
and baptize away my past
feelings suppressed.
These tears of sometimes joy or sadness
and everlasting human connections, connecting to my
inner worlds exposing outward revelations.
These revelations through my saline
liquid rushing down my cheeks;
soaked from my reddened eyes.
These my friend are feelings
both good and bad, these liquid representations
of hurt and gain
and of both joy and pain.
Existential to the core my eyes
do show my dripping soaked Windows
of my soul...
RW Dennen (c) 4/29/2010
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 12:43 AM UTC
A blank empty canvas
Pure as the winter's snow
Open as but a vast window
Seeing deep into it's soul.
The mind ticks in emotional frustration
Relics of imagination fly and form
Particles of atomic consciousness
Gathers and flows like an Astro storm.
White wash covers the surface
The first invocation soothing and mild
Then images gather before the eyes
Like a raging storm, fierce and wild.
The pallet is filled with rainbow mixtures
Here one joins to the alchemist's dream
Establishing upon board, paper or canvas
The unfoldment of the creative stream.
Brush in hand, Like an ancient wand
One casts the horizon like a spell
Summoning, coaxing, those tides within
Where the possession conquered, flowed and fell.
Dashes here, strokes there
Balancing the tones within each hew,
The thoughts so fast, mind captured
Projections all of that inner you.
Murky and shapeless at the start
But shadows enhance, inward glance
Light engulfs and shines but through
The eyes captured to the romance.
The artist gallant before his glory
Yet! Never fulfilled by its view
Playing upon its essence and structure
He draws upon images new.
One here becomes the timeless Shaman
Working the magic of natures way
Gathering the similarities and imbuing with fire
Elevating ever the thought to the creative day.
Or like a modern mystic
Grasped tight in spiritual bliss
subduing into but representations
The reflections of the heaven's kiss.
But all in all the artist is
whether by paint, sculpture, acrylic or oil
A voyager of the main stream existence
His vision of his own scared soil.
The goal is not unlike any science
To acquire that bridge of untold reason
For artist down throughout the ages
Have awakened the soul to its season.
The emotions arise, fly, excite
Those creatures of the inspirational mind
Poets, musicians, painter, writers
By what ever character there we find
All artists, All Magicians.
Alisdaire O'Caoimph
Mar 21, 2011
Mar 21, 2011 at 12:39 PM UTC
How to approach something so intangible, with little cellular to describe to my nerves
How to make verbal something so emotional, based on psychology and civil construction
How to perceive myself appropriately despite the eroding drips that pierce progress and old photos I cling to with such immaturity
These questions all are for the same goal, that progression of the self, all those substantial, cerebral, sensual and societal realisations that I yearn for
And yet... I sit, making delusional dreams come true in screens, I sit, making deep intellectual arguments for causes that aren't my own, I sit, researching complicated **** ups and ****** withs the powerful inflict in their attempts to balance a system born broken and biased
Screens are our new ****** it seems, as we reject religion our screens let us forget that the world continues around us, or encourage us not to care
And I come to this self consciousness, this ironic hypocritical reprehension
Because I really enjoy what all these creative minds and years of work and beauteous ideas have given me, but with the same hypocritical tone, despise my compulsion to stare into pixels
As I indulge this self awareness, I know I will continue with the same mental obesity of consumption tomorrow
And there will be no hypocritical self evaluation, just self involved enjoyment
Until the moments come when I am left alone with my mind
Self conscious, reflective, feeling as the time has been lost, but my mind is too tranquilised with pixel and poster representations of reality to notice
This won't change but...
Maybe if I take some time to turn pages rather than press buttons, and stare at sunsets rather than screens
That self evaluative journey I've ignored and returned to sporadically in the reflective yet warm darkness would be less intimidating
And if nothing else, on those days where reality lies next to me filling my cerebral stomach with the undeniably existential
I might feel a bit better about those days lost to other people's stories
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 7:24 PM UTC
There is a machine
it's hands driven by no singular man
nor collective of men but by the subconscious desires of whole societies,
possibly by all mankind.
It's will; perhaps passed on in our blood
but I suspect a more devious actor at play.
The augmented reality of language ****** upon us in our youth
with such tyrannical force it makes the rule of King Leopold
hardly a murmur in the heart of darkness.
It's reason as noble as it is useful. It aims to connect;
to help share the eloquent, heavenly images
that reside behind our eyes in our most sincere and naked moments.
Noble indeed are the intentions of language but they deceive,
make it hard for our pupils to see what needs to be seen
thus we live as Thoreau has said 'lives of quiet desperation'
blind to what our hearts cry for in the black of our deepest silence.
We deny them in the name of acceptance and comfort
for the fear of failure wear upon us like a heavy robe.
These words they echo such violent doubt
and in days past I had triumphed this lingering hesitation
with holy regard as if it embodied me with some super power.
What lunacy, what madness I endured;
twisted about by the contradictive nature of logos.
No more shall I wear this weight upon me,
cast off the coercive syntax and again like a child;
I think in images.
I may still write, even speak in fictitious representations
but I shall live my friends,
live to see these fiery reflections of light manifested into reality.
Live so that I am not remembered in words
but in the hearts of other men...
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 9:36 AM UTC
i used to play hide and seek with my querencia
(or did it, with me?)
games are captivating for the young soul
where play is forever and
pain is a dream upon a dream
and perhaps
i hid behind too many walls
and stole away from its heart
one time too many
and one day- i lost it. my favourite spot
(loss tastes like the colour of the rain.)
wirra
that is how you describe the goodbyes that were never said
(and even that is not enough)
so you try to forget and the walls you used to play behind
become shields. and barriers.
physical representations of my farewell.
then one day i discovered a different wor(l)d
the bonjour to the au revoir that querencia never left me with
it is all i could ever want
(words are not enough and the dictionary lies)
because my definition of serendipity,
is you.
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 9:26 PM UTC
Frustration is only a sensation
Don't let it change what you think
If you do so,
then it only shows
where you're weak.
Your motivation
will shrink
when you feel
you're on the brink.
Regroup, get in sync.
Sensation comes
and goes
with a blink
of an eye
Hold your breath
and continue to try.
Why are you frustrated?
It's because of how you've
decided to classify.
What do you think
that signifies?
Identify then simplify.
Irrigate your irritation's
stimuli.
Instead of frustration,
look towards it with
gratification.
Nov 5, 2016
Nov 5, 2016 at 12:25 PM UTC
Through the fog and through the rain
and the midst of my escape
to seek a hope of rescue I await
that though I fell away
I become the master of the energies I once believed could not be tamed
And So I thank you
Thank you, for setting forth instruction, fufillng the indulges of my desire to be taught
In my adolesence
I listen to The Order of Your Word,
carried out through training
adhereing in self-discipline
I now had learned to crawl..
that in the giving of free will, I be given way to step my foot in straight directed forward path, to spread the power of your Love
Thank you, for the Wisdom to know choice
for even though evil ways I crossed
you granted opportunity
to raise me up and walk
Thank you, for the Wisdom that's your Son
Who descended from the heavens to
to guide the way in sacrifice
that our hearts may see the light, never growing cold, to be overshadowed by the darkness, that fades into the night
A Knowing, Through Jesus, The Law Fulfilling Christ
That in Wisdom we come to know the Truth
Truth that set forth Wisdom descended from the heavens to carry out the Truth
A spreading of the seed that through Wisdom you come to know the Truth
That Truth may blossom like the flowers of the field in hopes you be carried out by Wisdom
To the land that fosters only Truth
Truth that is of Wisdom
Because Wisdom is of Truth
Because Wisdome is the truth
Because Wisdom was The Word guided by the Truth
Because Wisdom is The Word Of Truth
In Ascention, to once again unite
The Trinity
The Infinite Divine
Cause the only path To Truth is Wisdom
because only Wisdom knows the Truth
Because Wisdom is the Truth
And Truth resides in Wisdom
Like Wisdom resides in Truth
And To Find Truth You must Find Wisdom
That it takes,
Wisdom to Know Truth
The Truth that is God
Thank you, that my loving you was my absolute and greatest fear
Whether I be right or whether I be wrong
It was in my sinning That I found the Fear of God
doors that led to my refuge
that I may know liberation
offerings he presents, to represent, his representations, of representatives
In that, Rising from submeregence
Thank you,
Blind that unblinded I became
I come to know the penalty,
A life without a cost, without cause
For such name I could not bear to hold
dissenigration of the deepest realms that had been placed,
For the Angels of the Fall..
I'm not meant to be here
Secluded in my hiding I find death, and death cannot be bought
To act against in Sins of He whom I Fear Most Loved,
That I once more come to Thank You,
For it was there, that I was found to find my self dwelling,
In the Shadows of The Lost
Dec 25, 2018
Dec 25, 2018 at 2:02 AM UTC
*oh, and advertisement, καπριτσιολογια's natural ******* offspring works well with the perfectly pitched representation of the dynamism on the scales of cross-parallel social strata (i.e. "psychology" / social standardising en masse): a new york grid system: square square square, rectangle, square square square: shoeshine popsicle goldfish pig's trough.*
i found the investments of psychology
all too unfathomably capricious,
where the ratio of theory
to full-extent concrete proofs is a solution:
in that when one theory fails
another two emerge, and so on and so forth,
in that great existential ******
of dream interpretation, the golden cockerel
of freud glees with anticipation
to sprout a gigantic volcano gush of microscopic
life to enter the great **** eye that
cannot peer into itself and consider
both being and nothingness, as the great
ego eye of man does from the fully formed foetus
nimble footed and thumbs on the ready
in the grand coliseum of life - just a great
fishing net where once the mighty fisherman
st. peter caught fish, now herr anti-sanctus freud
catches foetuses of frogs - the womb the water
of these paradoxical amphibian representations;
psychology, the study of dreams, the extinction
of soul - apparently even asthma is unaccounted
for, the way in which thinking becomes
what thinking always was: a malignant capricious
medium pulverised by five vectors, and
the sixth a form of two selves: the selfless and the
selfish... dragged down to the molecular
degeneracy of explanation using genes,
but not protons neutrons or electrons - that's
reserved for the sun, the planets and the cosmos.
indeed, if psychology is the study of breathing
and not the study of thinking: imagine
what a hot snarling and wet breath raising
a voice in anger does to a cosy psychologist sitting
in his office, surrounded by ******* figurines
and african voodoo masks... sends him running...
the inverse form of asthma, asthma with words,
the angry asthma, of uninhibited thinking,
pure vocalisation of emotion...
no, i think less and less of psychology...
i think i'll just call it καπριτσιολογια:
the study of caprices, the study of whims -
e.g. a guy walks into a McDonald's, orders
a big mac in the following way:
- yes, but no lettuce, no mayo, no cheese, no
onions... just the bun the meat and ketchup.
Feb 26, 2016
Feb 26, 2016 at 7:34 AM UTC
Is what we perceive truly subject to the constraints of our linguistic and conceptual phenomena?
Our ******* assertions are provocative, as they proudly stand and penetrate the depths of prevalent and superficial exaltations.
We perch upon the thin branch of various tenses in the plight of our eclectic articulations, whilst the irregularity of the shape does not hold significance.
Our cognitive representations of reproductive and anatomical semantics are like gothic architecture, where flamboyant and erogenous zones of liberation succumb to transcendental towers of majestic hauntings.
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 11:08 PM UTC
I got so much **** that I want to get done today.
My bodies so worn down that I cant come out and play.
My hips move so fast that I should be a stick shift, churning and turning every which way and I cant slow down.
Consequences of the rain.
Its raining so hard that i cant seem to see, but thats alright cus' then no one else can see me weep.
i scream so loud so crystal clear.
I tell my fears to sit down and grab a beer.
Chill for a second and make way for love.
Cus' I need to cut these strings attached to your hands above.
You make me go this way, near way, that way, here.
****** me all around and tear my cares out...
and rename them fear...
So every time I reach for em they'll burn and make me hurt.
Then I'll shoot em down and make another frown...
They're discomforted, disgusted at my lame disposition...
Of not shinning like a lion staring towards the sun...
In stead Im just ammunition without my gun...
Apart from all apart from the other halves that makes me a king...
The thing that sets me off and remove the problem...
I'm that dollar bill in the back pocket of my robber...
I'm bothered...
No way to get out...
I should be racing the wind and tearing wild in my dreams flesh...
Swallowing hard while others grunt....
Waiting for me to finish so they can eat away the scraps...
everything that is left over...even the crap...
Watch them eat it up and turn their smirk real sour...
and watch them fools devour the tired representations that aren't so true...
Instead I'm there bent over eating scraps for food,
I got so much beauty, intelligence, and truth..
I am the the god or goddess of our youth...
I will be king and shall rise again..
The dark night rises ready to tear out the flesh...
Prepare ye men and I will take them away...
Its time for the brave in me to come out and play.
Dec 24, 2012
Dec 24, 2012 at 7:19 PM UTC
You, that flower barely blooming; I bear thy pollination.
It is my purpose solely to cause the fruit of thy creation.
Nano art, my pantheism is objective idealism. God is in the details:
the stamen, the leaf… all is fractal, some charmingly chaotic,
All scenery composed, each part of reality is a representation;
a word of the language of reality in her garden.
Her voice is sweet like the honey suckles. Pale like her petals.
All a play, a dance, a game to the night and the sun, and to all her beloved travelers.
And while I watch her, this star behind moon and trees, behind all that I see;
behind my very being. Reality, her character is through and through me.
And in the act of creation, flower and I are as her representations,
There is no thought to our most profound desires.
Innate will to live; our mother is the essence.
Death and life are her androgyny displayed
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 9:32 AM UTC
I Remained silent vacuum
without daring shapes
to show unrecognizable parasites
sleeping in your ******* and your smiles.
I said that no matter,
who despairs,
that incinerates,
that choking...
is flawless silhouette of your everlasting forms
of your solidarity equine representations
doing frills over my magnetism of heat-dog
corrupting my virginal research
and breaking the enthusiasm of my seaquakes.
It has fallen thy angel of the thousand forms,
masks jump over spaces of infamous digital corpses.
shadows refuse to remain shadows
and the big destuctor starts to devour 12-penises little girls.
The actual search of thirst
-Sobre, hombre, cumbre, hambre...
ride furious over my back
spur my libidinous thoughts
memorize my pre-meditated ejaculations
break your ***** against my gloomy loser fingers.
We are alone
lost
but
i
have
said
that does not matter
that choking...
who despairs your absence ...
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 12:01 PM UTC
I saw you again last night
in my dreams.
It's been some time since
you've visited.
How are you?
We went all around
this dreamscape,
from lovers and friends,
to nothing
so quickly
as before.
With experiences irreplicatable,
irreplaceable,
even in this world,
the only place you live
in my life,
anymore.
How you touched my mind
as carefully
as you tore through my past,
and wreaked havoc
upon my future.
With your irrational expectations,
my sleep-induced brain
turned them into monstrous
representations while I dreamt,
still,
all this time later,
trying to find out what went
wrong.
Knowing, that
still,
where ever you are,
you still love me.
Mar 7, 2017
Mar 7, 2017 at 7:55 PM UTC