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"sacredness" poems
Purity is not just about virginity, It's also about dignity, Purity is not restricted to femininity, but requires the protection of chivalry, and regard for responsibility. Purity is not innocence out of ignorance, It's making a choice that's different. Even when facing a challenge. Purity is not just about hiding behind a white veil, Or donning a white spotless gown. It's about going through a season of waiting, even if it can be tough. Purity is not just a state of being, It's a state of knowing, valuing and protecting... The sacredness of a marriage. The loyalty to one's spouse. The unity of two to form one flesh. Not giving up one's body to all the rest, but leaving it for God's best.
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Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 2:40 AM UTC
Purity.
bathed in the cool light of the moon, my sweet puppyhead and me, sit. under the full soft light,  her ray’s illuminating the yard, the woods. footsteps crunch drying leaves, fox, deer or foe? waning canopy, boughs lighter each day. fall, majestic, peaceful dying for another year. plants and creatures,  taking refuge in the deep dark void of mother earth, of mother nature. squirreling away tidbits for a late winter snack, coats blooming, thickening. such delight,  each night, sitting outside, my puppyhead and me. quiet and solitary, no humans  annoying me. silent and still only nocturnal creatures meandering about. what magic, what sacredness. what mystical delight. never apart, only the ONE. such silly confusion, thinking a person, separate and small, quaking with fear. the big deep dark mystery laughing and jovial, always here, here for us all. open your eyes,  feel your nature, always here, never apart. fearing death fearing life, what a silly way to live this life! the moment you were born, you began dying, what a relief, knowing the score! relaxing into the madness, laughing at it all, pure and free, forever more,  and not…… being, not being, eons of reflection, sages and rishis revealing the truth, it can’t be done for you, only you can become  that which you are…. that which you always were. my sweet love, my sweet life, my puppyhead and me, sitting here in Fall. ~~~
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Sep 13, 2015
Sep 13, 2015 at 6:32 PM UTC
Moon filled, Early fall morning
Beneath the bends of Barrymore On the southwest winds she chants some more The clouds scoot by beneath the moon Some say she's crazy like the loon Dressed in black she cackles back Tossing ashes from a sack She throws her body down And moans and sobs into the ground A dagger she does draw it forth Holding it up for all its worth She shrieks and damns her birth And plunges it deep into her heart . . . So ends the life of the despised young **** . . . Now the owls come silently in Alighting next to still warm skin All walk around the disposed young beast Only uttering "Who" to say the least Then the great owl comes fluttering in He'd be a giant if he were made of men He collectively surveys the scene Takes a few steps before he says a thing "Take her body to Evermoor" The great one orders and implores And all the owls take to wing Holding the remains of the breathless thing And take her earthly shell away And as drops of blood fell from the flow to the earth a white rose would grow Leaving a trail To the land as some will say To the sacred woods of Evermoor Yes sacredness in evermore
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Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 9:19 AM UTC
Talking Owls of Evermoor
kanso infuses my eyes everywhere there even in a deer my heart recognised him skipped a beat in overwhelm the sacredness of the air touched everything the great temple the red shrine its emptiness so vibrant pure beauty my atoms turned into God's particle something in my heart misses him in the unseen puzzle surreal so beautiful and so it is kanso of the soul: I kept on dreaming to be a deer in Nara
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Feb 7, 2023
Feb 7, 2023 at 3:07 PM UTC
kanso
I couldn't believe the pathetic look you were giving me, As if I was the one who needed saving. Let me profess once and for all that I do not want your pity. Once and for all, that you never realized what I needed from you. Friends, He shrugged at me when the fiery arrows came, And he kept my secrets, but only when I was present. Friends, I gave him my utmost devotion and he dismissed it for the bat of pretty eyelashes Friends! He abandoned the sacredness of friendship For the sake of professionalism. It's "unprofessional" to care for someone Who sacrificed everything for you.
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Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 7:29 PM UTC
Professionalism
I have walked these fields I have known this land And though the years have changed the face The memory still stands Of a time when things were simpler Of a time when hope was pure Of a time when changing weather Was all of which we were unsure And I have seen the sun rise Over fields of green and gold Now that view is just a memory And I know I'm getting old Can it be that earth is failing? Can it be that light has dimmed? Can it be that we've abandoned all the life that we once lived?      Is it any wonder      that our children can't get over      just the smallest of infractions      when the world falls all around them?      For constancy is foreign      in a land of no intentions      where a lost appreciation      for sacredness of life abounds. I cannot pretend To understand it all For as often as I wonder Equal am I inclined to fall For I am of a generation Which forgets itself began, Wanders aimlessly through atmosphere And defiles its fellow man And over weakness, few have triumphed; Through affliction, few have prevailed And reverence for creation Is an instinct we have failed But our days are not yet over For this one hope stands unmoved: We are still formed of the same dust Whose strength our ancestry has proved.      Is there any remnant      of the spirit deep within us      that might once again remember      the great faith we once achieved?      There is far greater meaning      found in one hopeful sentiment      than in a thousand shouting voices      denying all things once believed.
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Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 10:56 AM UTC
Of Dust and Dim Hope
I have walked these fields I have known this land And though the years have changed the face The memory still stands Of a time when things were simpler Of a time when hope was pure Of a time when changing weather Was all of which we were unsure And I have seen the sun rise Over fields of green and gold Now that view is just a memory And I know I'm getting old Can it be that earth is failing? Can it be that light has dimmed? Can it be that we've abandoned all the life that we once lived?      Is it any wonder      that our children can't get over      just the smallest of infractions      when the world falls all around them?      For constancy is foreign      in a land of no intentions      where a lost appreciation      for sacredness of life abounds. I cannot pretend To understand it all For as often as I wonder Equal am I inclined to fall For I am of a generation Which forgets itself began, Wanders aimlessly through atmosphere And defiles its fellow man And over weakness, few have triumphed; Through affliction, few have prevailed And reverence for creation Is an instinct we have failed But our days are not yet over For this one hope stands unmoved: We are still formed of the same dust Whose strength our ancestry has proved.      Is there any remnant      of the spirit deep within us      that might once again remember      the great faith we once achieved?      There is far greater meaning      found in one hopeful sentiment      than in a thousand shouting voices      denying all things once believed.
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48
Strong in her confidence, and confident in her strength, she graces the world with **** wisdom. The glow in her eyes matches the simple beauty of a sunrise. The art from her mouth and the wisdom from her fingertips educates my body and satisfies my mind. We are an ****** philosophical collision, as the world spins around us, blurry yet clear; and the sacredness of the unknown shatters. We are left breathing in beautiful, familiar air, and with the touch of a kindred soul.
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Oct 20, 2015
Oct 20, 2015 at 1:55 AM UTC
Kindred Soul
I. in this space without shadows, i was a witness how this world became stranger until it wasn’t mine. the memory of touch carries the torch, through a deserted island, an abandoned house, another girlhood turned ghost-town. his sour amaretto mouth closer, closer, closer. saturday mornings i used to watch cartoons on the tv, big goofy characters. these pictures come to me from afar and dissolve into black lava, at his hands cold metal sting. with the tenacity, i cling onto the hope of forgetting, monuments were built for gods and prophets. so it goes. somewhere in the world mouths move around the filthy word, forming the saddest companionship, like two orphans who recognise each other. II. once upon a time, i believed in a magic stronger than seduction. why don’t we try to be less entitled? after all, nothing was promised. those of us, attacked, assaulted, agonised, in the sacredness of home, in the public eyes wide shut, fade into TV static noise. how loud are the sounds of this realism replica, in bold letters proclaimed now available: FEMINISM! (sold at every fast fashion retailer) ALL GIRLS ARE BEAUTIFUL! (but we still need to profit off your self-hatred) LOVE IS HURTING (why don’t you try to see his side?) it’s nothing personal. shame just happens to make good money.
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May 14, 2019
May 14, 2019 at 11:30 AM UTC
we will talk about this
~ *Jara sang undaunted, Fet-Mats, turned to stone, dug deep, —as if a silent prayer in Latin, —as if the sacredness of wedding vows, —demonstrative as a water lily. There's a perpetually simple elegance to what water fallen words kept in a tinderbox stir, —bless the soft spoken and the loud cry. —bless the dead poet and the buried miner. —bless the nouns and verbs of a crescent bride about to receive her husband inside of her.* ~
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Aug 21, 2021
Aug 21, 2021 at 8:29 PM UTC
Plainsong
Under the sun, you shine like the incarnation of youth At nightfall you glow, like you just made love to the moon You are elegance, you are patience, you are reflection, you are still Your beauty shines from your inside out, Reaching outward upward into the skies, Your branches know no realm too high, Your roots know no soils too deep There are no limits to your courage Under the sun Your fruitful seeds spill out over your skin You are open hands and generosity You are selflessness Under the moon You are wisdom, enlightenment and truth You are humility and grace But your sacredness is undervalued at best, neglected and challenged They raid you, from your insides out Deep inside your mines and your waters so deep Scavenging for a dollar exploiting all they reap ******* the air right out of your lungs You are exhaustion, you are bare You are forgotten Yet still your tides rise and fall with the moon You are forgiveness, you are hopeful, you are inspiration In your image I will teach my children to grow Through your eyes, I will show them the world With your hands I will build their home
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Aug 11, 2011
Aug 11, 2011 at 8:00 PM UTC
In Your Image
I lay in awe as an angel lays beside me and I can't help to wonder if this is it, if this is the heaven-sent, God-sent miracle I've heard one has to experience to believe, to believe in God, to believe in heaven, to have hope, to believe in blessings. I wonder if she - this angel - is what one needs to believe in divinity, for It's impossible to meet an angel like her and not be tempted, and practically forced to, and be left with no choice but to believe in the celestial. It's impossible not to believe in God himself after you've been able to lay beside such holiness, after you've been able to watch an angel sleep in all Its sacredness, speak in all Its sacredness, revive you with all Its sacredness. You're left with no choice but to believe that those days you believed to be your last days of life, those shaded days in which you prayed to a God you never before saw, the almighty invisible being you believed was deaf to your plea, wasn't really all that deaf. It's impossible not to believe that God himself - the God you now only believe in because of the angel who leaves you no choice but to believe - sent you and angel, that he has heard you. I lay in awe, blessed I lay, as an angel lays beside me, for how can someone with those hypnotizing eyes that devour you every time not be an angel, how can someone with that majestic, goosebump-causing skin not be an angel, how can someone with that gracious walk not be an angel, how can someone with that spirit-grabbing yet spirit-giving touch not possibly be an angel? I lay in awe as an angel lays beside me I believe, as an angel lays beside me I now live, because this angel lays beside me                                                                                     - F.V.
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Jun 3, 2016
Jun 3, 2016 at 1:37 PM UTC
I sleep with an angel
I lay in awe as an angel lays beside me and I can't help to wonder if this is it, if this is the heaven-sent, God-sent miracle I've heard one has to experience to believe, to believe in God, to believe in heaven, to have hope, to believe in blessings. I wonder if she - this angel - is what one needs to believe in divinity, for It's impossible to meet an angel like her and not be tempted, and practically forced to, and be left with no choice but to believe in the celestial. It's impossible not to believe in God himself after you've been able to lay beside such holiness, after you've been able to watch an angel sleep in all Its sacredness, speak in all Its sacredness, revive you with all Its sacredness. You're left with no choice but to believe that those days you believed to be your last days of life, those shaded days in which you prayed to a God you never before saw, the almighty invisible being you believed was deaf to your plea, wasn't really all that deaf. It's impossible not to believe that God himself - the God you now only believe in because of the angel who leaves you no choice but to believe - sent you and angel, that he has heard you. I lay in awe, blessed I lay, as an angel lays beside me, for how can someone with those hypnotizing eyes that devour you every time not be an angel, how can someone with that majestic, goosebump-causing skin not be an angel, how can someone with that gracious walk not be an angel, how can someone with that spirit-grabbing yet spirit-giving touch not possibly be an angel? I lay in awe as an angel lays beside me I believe, as an angel lays beside me I now live, because this angel lays beside me                                                                                     - F.V.
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10
if I am to love you, I will love without expectation of return or reciprocation- neither acknowledgement nor honey sweet affection. I will love despite brutal response or dismal absence, regardless of wounds and abscess, and with no regret. I will love every part radiant and rotten alike, leaving no portion of you out in the cold of night. if I am to love you, I will love with conscious intent, not based in fleeting emotion, but grounded in purposeful action and ever-evolving spiritual awareness of the pure metaphysical essence of you- and I- as One. I will remember that love is a garden, and not an avalanche. I will love in understanding and trust that there is nothing that separates us, transcendent soul immanent in each bone. if I am to love you, I will love in tranquil tracing, in tender waves - ascending and receding. candid caressing peacefully pulsing pace of peeling back layers of my self-skin to return to the egoless origin. if I am to love you, I will love in humble gestures, sacrificing all before me not for moral glory, but to recognize shared sacredness. surrendering desire and attachment, equalizing all extensions of the you-me matrix. I will love stepping over self-interest and dancing into harmony in singularity, entire generosity sharing all the puzzle pieces of me. and, if I am to love you, I will love wild true and free. letting the universe continuously wash my eyes in new clarity. opening further each golden morning to share the light it has gifted me.
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Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 3:21 PM UTC
charity
if I am to love you, I will love without expectation of return or reciprocation- neither acknowledgement nor honey sweet affection. I will love despite brutal response or dismal absence, regardless of wounds and abscess, and with no regret. I will love every part radiant and rotten alike, leaving no portion of you out in the cold of night. if I am to love you, I will love with conscious intent, not based in fleeting emotion, but grounded in purposeful action and ever-evolving spiritual awareness of the pure metaphysical essence of you- and I- as One. I will remember that love is a garden, and not an avalanche. I will love in understanding and trust that there is nothing that separates us, transcendent soul immanent in each bone. if I am to love you, I will love in tranquil tracing, in tender waves - ascending and receding. candid caressing peacefully pulsing pace of peeling back layers of my self-skin to return to the egoless origin. if I am to love you, I will love in humble gestures, sacrificing all before me not for moral glory, but to recognize shared sacredness. surrendering desire and attachment, equalizing all extensions of the you-me matrix. I will love stepping over self-interest and dancing into harmony in singularity, entire generosity sharing all the puzzle pieces of me. and, if I am to love you, I will love wild true and free. letting the universe continuously wash my eyes in new clarity. opening further each golden morning to share the light it has gifted me.
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69
Analytical minds share symbols like currency, defining the present's possible. Tip an 8 sideways and infinity tumbles out, but sadly for us, there is no word for          , so it doesn't exist. Modern idioms can string together only hints of divinity: A Hebrew Prince raised by Egyptian Pharaohs wrote a book about the I Am. Our language fails pathetically, scarcely the words for what Moses saw in that burning bush. We know he saw God, lived to tell in writing. Grasp the Key for the 6th Angel's Little Scroll, unlocking his original Ancient Hebrew. Like math, each letter is a picture hieroglyph, and a meaning, and a number.   Add letters together, each word is a painting, and a poem.  One sentence is paragraphs of meaning, on four dizzying levels. One concise chapter speaks a vertigo of encyclopedic volumes. First to Analyze the most important hieroglyph in Genesis, so important, do not pronounce it, so its sacredness will never fade: At top, the sign of Life, then doubled, and the sign of Intelligible Light between. So becoming a unique verb; all other verbs derive from this, the Creator.   Then add the sign of potential manifestation, with foundation in eternity. IHOAH   a verb/noun signifying exactly The-Being-Who-Is-Who-Was-And-Who-Will-Be A vertical hieroglyph pictorially resembling a Man. Then: The letter with the sound of A looks like:     , and means the physical manifestation of   A= the physical manifestation of, D= man, A= the physical manifestation of, M= woman. ADAM, with its root word in red clay. A noun, collective humanity in physical form resembling spirit. (one meaning) Vertically hieroglyphic one sees a man; but it is smaller  (another meaning) Adam, a shadow of IHOAH. Let me explain how Moses reveals DNA....
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Dec 20, 2012
Dec 20, 2012 at 2:14 PM UTC
The 6th Angel's Little Scroll
Analytical minds share symbols like currency, defining the present's possible. Tip an 8 sideways and infinity tumbles out, but sadly for us, there is no word for          , so it doesn't exist. Modern idioms can string together only hints of divinity: A Hebrew Prince raised by Egyptian Pharaohs wrote a book about the I Am. Our language fails pathetically, scarcely the words for what Moses saw in that burning bush. We know he saw God, lived to tell in writing. Grasp the Key for the 6th Angel's Little Scroll, unlocking his original Ancient Hebrew. Like math, each letter is a picture hieroglyph, and a meaning, and a number.   Add letters together, each word is a painting, and a poem.  One sentence is paragraphs of meaning, on four dizzying levels. One concise chapter speaks a vertigo of encyclopedic volumes. First to Analyze the most important hieroglyph in Genesis, so important, do not pronounce it, so its sacredness will never fade: At top, the sign of Life, then doubled, and the sign of Intelligible Light between. So becoming a unique verb; all other verbs derive from this, the Creator.   Then add the sign of potential manifestation, with foundation in eternity. IHOAH   a verb/noun signifying exactly The-Being-Who-Is-Who-Was-And-Who-Will-Be A vertical hieroglyph pictorially resembling a Man. Then: The letter with the sound of A looks like:     , and means the physical manifestation of   A= the physical manifestation of, D= man, A= the physical manifestation of, M= woman. ADAM, with its root word in red clay. A noun, collective humanity in physical form resembling spirit. (one meaning) Vertically hieroglyphic one sees a man; but it is smaller  (another meaning) Adam, a shadow of IHOAH. Let me explain how Moses reveals DNA....
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28
she comes to me, open, wanting. baby...please... she sighs. these two words, more than the sum of their syllables, distanced from strokes and lines; beyond mere utterances; desire. words whispered in sacred prayer. this offering up of all that she is. and i go to her heed her calling, for she is home to me. every beat of my heart echoes her name. she is a promise, kept time and again. whispers of salvation; this sacredness, begging to be worshiped. what have i done to deserve this grace? there are no gods greater; her skin, silk beneath my fingertips, burns away my sins. i bend my head at this alter. her curves are highways leading me forward. i close my eyes in worship. raise up thanks, soul deep in her temple; absolved. she opens to me; sighs. breath balanced on bread, her holy sacrament tastes on my tongue. i inhale her incense, the scent penetrating my hands, as time stands still. she is all i ever want to know, nothing before, no one after. i have found my deliverance within the contours of her mouth. and i trace, in reverance, line to form; memorizing every inch offered to me. she becomes imprinted within my core. i tremble at her trembling. then i shatter. i want to offer up to her something akin to the gifts she has bestowed on me. i open my mouth but words have fled. instead, i lay upon her calla lilies, tumbled from my tongue. ribcage opened; in my most vulnerable state. i lay exposed, stripped naked of this skin i inhabit. i am but muscle and sinew; tendons, taut cover bone. these four syllables; expelled breath baby.....please.... strip away the excess, leaving only noisy bones. to her, i give all that i am. hang hands high in ancient trees, the frame of my being, surrounded by elysian fields.
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Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 4:49 PM UTC
tending to grace (before the breaking)
she comes to me, open, wanting. baby...please... she sighs. these two words, more than the sum of their syllables, distanced from strokes and lines; beyond mere utterances; desire. words whispered in sacred prayer. this offering up of all that she is. and i go to her heed her calling, for she is home to me. every beat of my heart echoes her name. she is a promise, kept time and again. whispers of salvation; this sacredness, begging to be worshiped. what have i done to deserve this grace? there are no gods greater; her skin, silk beneath my fingertips, burns away my sins. i bend my head at this alter. her curves are highways leading me forward. i close my eyes in worship. raise up thanks, soul deep in her temple; absolved. she opens to me; sighs. breath balanced on bread, her holy sacrament tastes on my tongue. i inhale her incense, the scent penetrating my hands, as time stands still. she is all i ever want to know, nothing before, no one after. i have found my deliverance within the contours of her mouth. and i trace, in reverance, line to form; memorizing every inch offered to me. she becomes imprinted within my core. i tremble at her trembling. then i shatter. i want to offer up to her something akin to the gifts she has bestowed on me. i open my mouth but words have fled. instead, i lay upon her calla lilies, tumbled from my tongue. ribcage opened; in my most vulnerable state. i lay exposed, stripped naked of this skin i inhabit. i am but muscle and sinew; tendons, taut cover bone. these four syllables; expelled breath baby.....please.... strip away the excess, leaving only noisy bones. to her, i give all that i am. hang hands high in ancient trees, the frame of my being, surrounded by elysian fields.
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73
Her faraway skin Lavishes me, Her eyes like kin Marvels mine need's, She fufilleth all dream's A pathway to God, Her lingo like a traveler Of celestial pod's.... Her spaceship cometh from afar The sun she rest's her feet. We linger on Mars. Her tongue is a miracle Speaking unknown verb's Her house is mi casa, Her place is mine world. Her sacredness is hidden Though open to me Maby one day mine true queen Wilt marry her king...?
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Jul 11, 2015
Jul 11, 2015 at 8:32 PM UTC
Mi casa su casa( my house, your house) spanish tongue
I would break a thousand mirrors To draw the dark away from you Break them with my palms And grind them to glittering dust between my fingers. I welcome the shadows with the sacredness of ****** hands. Let them come. I am not afraid. I am ready For war.
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Sep 28, 2018
Sep 28, 2018 at 11:49 PM UTC
I Rush Into The Secret House
Let’s wait for eternity We shall meet there With all these fleeting moments We will create our world Every moment will come alive Never to fade away from our life Life after this life, we look forward to True love will wait for eternity Beyond everyday love and phrases Our silence will speak love from the heart Walls of profound sacredness will protect Lovers from the illusion of time Let’s wait for eternity True love will live throughout in our soul We cannot be impatient now Our time will come when true love will prosper
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May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 11:17 PM UTC
Wait for Eternity
Subtle the presented lie The remnants of truth Artfully buried We Are eagerly anticipating An escape route to appear Freeing us (again) From any actual responsibility ----- Oh my Love what have we done? ---- What are we now in our bitter Lonliness? -------- ••• -------- We know Even in the high school corridors (Our infantile thinking processeses) That we have become Cheap False Duplicitous Afraid To stand up To stand our ground Against real and not merely imaginary Enemies To protect Real and not merely imaginary loves and lovers And love's creation ( the children of the world) - -•- - I SEE YOU! YOU SEE ME! ----- True nakedness ----- Midst the corpse embraces of alienated youth Who make love to their slit wrists and the memory Of meaningless kisses And empty words meant only to hurt and enslave •••• Bombs are falling from every orifice Of body Mind & Sky •••• The drug of choice ------- If you'd be real then you must really be What you are As intended From any beginning that you percieve As the moment of creation --- In truth It is only we Who are known For fierce fire and loyalty To the Power of our Perfect Form Our undying gratitude fore mere existence And the grace of love and its possibilities Who dare shape the days ahead Into a viable home for a Tomorrow That may nurture and give shape To the intended heaven-to-be-here Haven for the dreamy eyes of our blessed children THIS is the responsibility we may take And not avoid as we have done before If we'd in truth become as human Become as gentle creatures who Are no more afraid of death than afraid of truth Who only live to be here with all You with me I with you In the embrace of the sacredness The sacred words The sacred breath
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Sep 5, 2013
Sep 5, 2013 at 2:25 PM UTC
Resting easy once more
Subtle the presented lie The remnants of truth Artfully buried We Are eagerly anticipating An escape route to appear Freeing us (again) From any actual responsibility ----- Oh my Love what have we done? ---- What are we now in our bitter Lonliness? -------- ••• -------- We know Even in the high school corridors (Our infantile thinking processeses) That we have become Cheap False Duplicitous Afraid To stand up To stand our ground Against real and not merely imaginary Enemies To protect Real and not merely imaginary loves and lovers And love's creation ( the children of the world) - -•- - I SEE YOU! YOU SEE ME! ----- True nakedness ----- Midst the corpse embraces of alienated youth Who make love to their slit wrists and the memory Of meaningless kisses And empty words meant only to hurt and enslave •••• Bombs are falling from every orifice Of body Mind & Sky •••• The drug of choice ------- If you'd be real then you must really be What you are As intended From any beginning that you percieve As the moment of creation --- In truth It is only we Who are known For fierce fire and loyalty To the Power of our Perfect Form Our undying gratitude fore mere existence And the grace of love and its possibilities Who dare shape the days ahead Into a viable home for a Tomorrow That may nurture and give shape To the intended heaven-to-be-here Haven for the dreamy eyes of our blessed children THIS is the responsibility we may take And not avoid as we have done before If we'd in truth become as human Become as gentle creatures who Are no more afraid of death than afraid of truth Who only live to be here with all You with me I with you In the embrace of the sacredness The sacred words The sacred breath
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82
She offers up stolen kisses, Of pilfered lust from other men, Of lips of empty promises, To bare her nothingness again. She clothes herself in nakedness, Her basic need is to entice, Her body is her sacredness, Inviting men to paradise. She has beauty misunderstood, Her ugly inside permeates. Skin deep she’s mistaken for good, By fools that she humiliates. She’ll gift a night of fantasy, And all she’ll ask is for your soul, She knows you’ll give in willingly She’s mastered lack of self-control.
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Feb 10, 2019
Feb 10, 2019 at 6:01 PM UTC
The Seductress Of Stolen Kisses
He walked briskly into a dull light A soreness on the bridge of he and his being Strength and Grace has left the eyes And a long locked up flame is menaced by the cold Leather hangs from the ghostly gladiator Sacredness fumbling into degradation A peaceful generation takes the younger duty And washes away this beastly frame His heart was drowned by the greyness No more a beautiful engine The dawn is taken A darkened robbery This struggling old guard Forged with secrets behind the eyes A final humble word And a mind is done tonight
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Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 5:28 PM UTC
The Veteran
Free love is unaccomplished by humanity dismal strangers to the union of everything in its completion capable of congratulating eachother for our beauty our success of being alive giving the inspiration to make ourselves thrive survive we crave the eyes, the arms of a cleansed spirit to grasp us tightly studying our similarities there are so ******* many of us dying to hug one another sensing eachothers sadness drinking our soul away due to the madness of it all it all the world and its biggest mistakes taking away the ultimate freedoms replacing them with work hard earned money selfishness ignorance replacing the freedom with lies and we know we are being manipulated but we do not do a ******* thing about it I always wonder why this is Fear let it be clear to us all that we are being treated unfairly as if we are dirt being brushed away from the shoes of the ones who keep us shackled the ones who are unblemished consoled by ultimate security let us know one another let us feel eachothers minds let us express our love let us disregard our hate let us be free let us be ******* free we are beautiful we are equal only nature owns us only nature loves us the authorities have rabies that are destroying their logic we are rising with intelligence and awareness of this I only wish to comfort those who feel they are alone I am here to protect the sacredness of unity we are not alone we are not alone
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Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 3:04 AM UTC
WE ARE NOT ******* ALONE
In the morning, she spins circles around me like a small child gleeful. At noon, she's drunk on life, swooning love. And by suppertime, she's strung out, overdosed on the sacredness of another day.
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Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 5:55 AM UTC
She Overdoses On Sacredness
In the absence of you, what have I left to pursue? Everything I know is nothing but an unattainable end: The hunt for perfection in what is flawed, The search for beauty among the mundane, The crusade for sanctity and sacredness in all that is profane. Hence, everything I seek is only madness, and all I say is meaningless. Simple musings of a man whose mind succumbed to a broken heart Driven to insanity when he lost the only thing he loved.
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Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 10:52 PM UTC
The Wind
Another session greets me for another beautiful day. I flow effortlessly, from one position into another, breathing prana, in and out, my hips reach toward the heavens into a nirvana-state, rock hard & perspiring, I am connected to the sacredness of other kindred spirits engaged in similar activities, a million miles away, in their own sacred places, exploding.
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Feb 7, 2014
Feb 7, 2014 at 7:45 AM UTC
Rock Hard & Perspiring
Your kiss is euphoric. When our lips meet, a warm glow floods over me. I am intoxicated with the movement of your mouth & the motion of your tongue, it dances with mine, so Heavenly, so divine. My heart rate reaches astronomical levels, it is hard for me to catch my breath. My skin melts in your embrace, you have the sweetest look on your face when we hug like this, one of desire & submission. I can feel your fire smolder & it sweeps me off my feet. Your fragrance is of lilac, mesmerizing, so alluring are your dreamy-eyes. I cry with joy when we touch, when we kiss. Your touch is angelic, full of electricity, it shoots jolts of primal need throughout my entire body. One is never the same after such an episode, you are forever smitten, bitten by sacredness. The nicest thing on this Earthly realm is to be jolted by an angel. And you are sweet Darling, certainly one of those beautiful beings. I must confess, I miss you terribly, I wish you were mine.
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Feb 4, 2014
Feb 4, 2014 at 9:38 PM UTC
Jolted By An Angel (I Wish You Were Mine)