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Malin Nilsen May 2017
I remember the first time I saw him.
His radiance stole the breath from my lungs,
as if I was outside the atmosphere.
I got lost exploring the galaxies of his eyes,
and I got pulled into his pupils
like a pair of black holes.

His smile revealed a cluster of bright stars.
I wanted to explore his body,
as if he was the surface of Mars.
His laughter caused a supernova in my heart,
the strength of his gravity could tear me apart.
We danced and orbited each other all night,
then we went home to learn about the Big Bang.
Angel of the dark,

My night is lone-ly
-and I'm distended,
still find me comely?
Our world's upended.

Such a pressure
pres-sure of pain
Where is Lion?
I miss his mane.

Angel of the dark,

Spirit of night
holder of the mark.
Such a pressure
pressure of the pain.
Long dead my lion...
-no comfort-ting

Angel of the dark,

Angel of the dark,

Invite no pressure here
take away my pain.
Only a child soon
-only a name.

Angel of the dark!

Angel of the dark!

i l l u m i n t a t e d mark.
fall away my heart,

-still I have you angel...


-still I have you angel...

My Angel of the dark.
What is love? When the Woman of Revelations lies with the Beast is that not also love? When he leaves her to the wilderness after conception to carry their child to term, he abandons her; is that not love? For surely to walk around in public, woman with child, beast with hand, would that not invite destruction? Wonder how lonely and sad this woman, whom will affect the world in a way no woman ever will again, who carries such a burden, does it all alone; what is her swan song? The Devil is only with us because the Lord created him. Ever wonder why the Dragon would be waiting to consume his own child at birth? Would that not end the prophecy instead of fulfilling it? In ancient times, "dragon," was a synonym for, "king." Who might be considered the King of the World in modern times? Wouldn't that be The President of the United States? The so-called, "leader of the free world," head of the, "world's greatest christian nation?" Imagine the sadness of having the entire world seeking the death of your baby. Sacrificed to Moloch, a word which means, "King," and in the Middle East languages, "Angel." How ironic.
A branch of the tree,
split of the yoke.

Bee of the mouth,
heart thus bespoke.

New year crisis of men,
fire works, fire, smoke.

I have heard The Calling,
-anguish of The Woman.


"If You engage War and the spirit of the Lord is with you; then the wind of his spirit shall blow open the mouth of the Dragon bringing victory in order."
In ancient language the, 'Bee,' represents god's word or the divine message of the Lord. 'Branch,' is the descent of man from the garden or tree of life.
Marla Apr 2019
Hold the mystery,
Close your eyes,
And find the truth.
Christian Bixler Nov 2016
I wake in bed, 'neath twisted sheets,
full throated sings the thrush
and with it, the scrape of knotted
twigs, scratching at my window-pane,
which doubtless served to bring me
up, from that release of dreamless

I turn my head upon the pillow,
hoist me up the patchwork quilt,
but struggle how I may in lust
of the peerless prize of sleeps
recapture, I end, as well perhaps,
I might have known, with naught
to show but bated breath, and rest
lost, in want recalled.

Throwing off the strangling sheets,
pushing back the weighted quilt,
I rise, abandon hope of sleep,
shiver, in the morning's chill;
the dawns of Spring as
Winters days.

I move to light a candle,
watch the flickering flames arise,
draw up a chair to the window,
set the candle at my side. I
sit there, dreaming wakeful,
mind weary, gone, astray, as
the minutes pass in silence,
and the hours slip away.

At length, as long I lie there,
reclined in soulful apathy,
lost in boundless sympathy
as to the state of self and Being,
I rouse myself, and stir, eyes
red, begrimed and straining,
for I sense a subtle lessening,
in the aura of the dark.

Then at last, as I sit watching,
I and the herald thrush, at
last, oh long awaited! the
gleam of the dawning Sun.
I rise and gaze in gladness,
tears welling at the brim,
for it seems to me I never saw
more splendid a sight than
this; sublime, celestial
vision, balm to my hearts

I move towards the door,
all weariness forgotten,
push back the latch and
turn, forward in the
lambent dawn.
I stand amidst the sunlight,
golden gleam effulgent,
and all the dew-drops
glittering, resplendent in
the shine.

I marvel to myself in awe,
at the magnitude of
the world, as if the
colors' cool irradiance,
or the fragrance of
the vernal dawn,
were not but seeming
new, but were, verily
new-made in glory,
set to lighten paradise,
for the coming of
Thoughts firstborn.

I breathe deep, in and out.
Thoughts clear I gaze,
out still, amidst the reaching
light, yearning ever to glimpse,
into the heart of the Sun,
and see there, as I know I
shall, the patterns of eternity,
Imprinted upon my eyes
and memory, full-writ
in endless time, before descends
the final black.

At last, I sit, back straight,
against the old and ivied wall.
Eyes farseeing, gaze lost,
beyond the reach of mind
and men, I waver not, from
that point of infinity, lost to
the horizon, and yet near,
so near...I am lost, adrift,
in a golden sea of light,
and of nothingness,
which is everything,
and eternity.

Lost, amidst the bright expanse;
peace, in endless change.

And I sleep, amidst the
dawning light, at last,
in blissful solitude;
and my soul is far,
and gone from me,
gone, within the fractals
of infinity, and in the
sempiternity of joy,
and of endless light;
for a moment,
and for forever,
in Time.
These are my spiritualities, my convictions, such as they are, unpolished yet, of the universe, and of the soul, and of God, and Time. Comment, if you will. Thank you, if you have read this through, to the end. Thank you, with all my heart.
“And the first beast was like a lion,
and the second beast like a calf, and
the third beast had a face as a man,
and the fourth beast was like a flying eagle.”
-Revelation 4:7;

The Sun is the same…
The Sun is the same…
The Sun is the same man as me,
The Sun is the (Say-Ame) Man as me,
No, the Sun is the same…
The Sun is the same…

The Sun is the (Say-Ame) Man as me,
It follows the path of culture’s dream.
The southern skies aren’t what they seem.
The Sun is the (Say-Ame) Man as me,
Yeah, the Sun is the (Say-Ame) Man as me,

The horns of god stab through the trees,
The wings of the bird, -now it’s trav-el-ling,

The Sun is the (Say-Ame) Man as me,
The Sun is the (Say-Ame) Man as me,

A screaming Eagle punish-ing,
Judgment of Lions sets you free,
And the Sun is the (Say-Ame) Man as me,

The Sun is the (Say-Ame) Man as me,
Sky of light, -his shining sea,
Horns of the Bull pierce through the trees,
Eagle, Lion, -Man and Ox you see?

The Sun is the (Say-Ame) man as me,
The Sun is the (Say-Ame) man as me,
The Sun is the (Say-Ame) man as me,
Yeah, the Sun is the (Say-Ame) man as me,
Yeah, the Sun is the (Say-Ame) man as me,

The Sun is the same…
The Bible contains a riddle that is a clue to the origin of the works contained in it. This clue is the multi-faced angel found in the beginning and end of the Bible. Each, "face," is a face of the sun in mythology. Greeks saw the sun as a lion, Egyptians as a bull, Sumerians as an eagle and Celts as a man. Therefore the Bible is a collection of Sumerian, Egyptian, Greek and Celtic mythology. Greeks were, at one point in history, the world's inscribers and would often times write books for other cultures in that culture's language to make it appear authentic as coming from said culture. It is a possibility that Hebrews collected works and had them written in their language as the Bible.
Alyssa Underwood Feb 2016
stark revelations
return me home to true love
new life birthed from death
Nat Lipstadt Aug 2018
The Instigation:
Edmund  Black, commenting on “weary weighted,”

I agree with Kim; This is poetry at its best :)“


both of you shush!

there is no “better” in poetry

mine yours theirs, alive or not,

just gasps tears and blood
whimsical smiles and isles
cuts and burns of pained revelations,
hidden in fog,
that words try to delete away,
through the shrouded mists of
human tissues,
unconstrained by the
bounded shape
of the human cell,
our first, our own
self-imposed jail

tissue, too,
baby soft, or,
purple beating majestic bruised blotches
by those weaklings whose
kindness never
fully developed;  
or old man mine whose
skin cells erodes, so poems and light
weary weighted, lightly flake off
for your “betterment”
mostly tho for worse

good humans all await,
in patientce lightly hidden,
residents of dark sunspots
in the glaring existence exposer
of the unlit lighthouse whose time will come

they get it

how we get there unimportant

get there


get there
that is the poetic
mission critical

no path best or style preferred-
no compare just, but,
any path that
lifts and elevates,
to the commonplace

the common place

where all costarred, universal,
where common is the temple mount
of highest praise, holy smoke rising,

a place that
that discloses and closes,
is scribed/described honestly as
a connective,
which is the simplest

call my poems,
blessedly common!

that an honorable,
so gladly accepted
so much more meaning-full
than merely best or better

for that,
I’d gladly weep,
for no praise
ever been

8/2/18 406pm
on the jitney to my isle
the instigation: Edmund black › “weary weighted, I agree with Kim .... This is poetry at its best :)“
Dor Aug 2018
What has she done?
Her Wasp like abilities.
Are very expert.

She searches…
She probes…
She listens…
She hopes…

To find something

She explores…
She wonders…
She has found…
An answer.

“This is all becoming too real,"
She thinks.

True identities are realized.
Even more impressive
Than she could have imagined.
The Garden of Gethsemane takes many forms,
All different from our usual norms,
Reflecting was and what will be
As was and are translate to me.

Surrendering self on this sacred ground,
Is perhaps one step that I have found
Hard; to disengage the self that was
From the self that is before the cross.

Understanding helps us know
Humility, so that we can grow
To replace old ambitions
With new ones, in the same traditions.

The Garden allows the Revelations
That help us make these translations
From old to new, so that in repose
We hold true to purpose and resolve.

David Applin
August 2018
... recovery from unexpected misfortune.
Marla Apr 2019
We were all born into the wild
Only to be tamed by society.
Our minds designed to be unmild,
Yet they're restrained by propriety.

Expand your glowing horizons
Along the soul's eternal reach;
Our mortality is but a humble liaison
Bridging us to an ethereal peace.
Ira Sep 2018
Down, down won’t ya hear the vibrations?
Welcome to your demonic damnation!

Hear the demons cry!
And you will be mine,

(He-he-he-Hellsing Yeah, Yeah)
(Hellsing Yeah, Yeah)

Hey, Hey hear the revelation,
Hear the demons cry from there damnation!
We all one day die,
But you didn’t wanna abide!

So welcome to your eternal damnation,
A true hell of your own making,
A true fantasy,
A place for heresy.
So just say ya love!

(He-he-he-Hellsing Yeah, Yeah)
(Hellsing Yeah, Yeah)

Oh, down, down won’t ya hear the vibrations?
Welcome to your own damnation…
Say hello to me,
The one named for Hermes.
Hey, Hey Hear the revelations,
Welcome to a hell of your own making.
Just say hello to me,
Some hellspawn with no pity!

So just say ya love!
Based off the Hellsing Theme song, Tiss quite quality
Marla Jun 2019
I've been gone a long time,
My leave more an odyssey  
Than a vacation.
Though lonely,
The beaten path
Has shown me my worth.
Though I was lost,
It's demarcations
Did at last guide me.
Many a stone have I tripped over
And yet many a fall I have risen from.
Dreading the isolation of every dark night,
Epiphanies shone unto me so as to bask in their light.
I understand now that I was never truly lost in this world,
I was only ever lost to myself.
will19008 Jun 2019
enmeshed growth, mirrored love
bottomless new negative behaviors
old sourly hostile interactions
that one happily relies upon:
the consequence of our icy distrust

truly sorry about being in conflict
complex situations deteriorate still
discontented and sheltered by nothing
my will corrosive, my promise blinding
acute hunger for love sensually expressed
abecedarian Sep 2017
he said/begged,
make love to me just like a woman!

kiss me toe to head, linger on my neck,
trace my waist, begin at my lips, pause at my hips,
quibbles intersperse, quips and licks on eyelids,
nibble me, near me, close and closer yet
unto the glorious victorious near death experience...

whisper me sweet everythings
before during after and over again,
when you must pause to exhale, blow all their warmth
upon thy fingers and bring that warmth inside

me with tongue and eyes,
take me slow then again,
even slower, for thy pleasure,
than execute summary judgement upon me

falsely accept, then deny, deny, deny
my every appeal to
oh my god
for anyone's mercy!

adjudge me then guilty yet again,
and to the tower take me
to drown in mine own lashing lamentations,
thy incontrovertible evidence,
mine own uncensored revelations
execute me twice,
slowly, goodly with lengthy and lovely measures

she said,  and so I shall, eventually,
do what you beseech, what you most excellently seek

but you may recall, somewhat earlier, I called out
so you must start my dear by following
all the precise driving instructions you just stated,
and bring your GPS^, and, oh yes,
I'm waiting...

too wit and sod this!
he gruffingly huffingly, hurrumphingly, replied,
all hell and damnation,
treat me like a woman just once pity-please!"

can't can't can't -
she be-witchingly cackled!

then sang to me the lyrical words of a
Nobel Prize winner!

You fake just like a woman
Yes you do, you make love like a woman
Yes you do, and then you ache just like a woman
But you break just like a little boy
^GPS is a permanently attached male guidance system.
The P does nots stand for Positioning.
Kabelo Maverick Aug 2019
"Better than rude to ask…
Break the deluding flask
I’ll never elude this task
Wait till I remove this mask!
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