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Every single madness is in my soul,
and fires like t'ose of a tempestuous sea-
are but raging within me;
scratching and tearing
t'is faith of mine so badly
Behind t'ese livid; and torpid
Dull afternoon airs.
Ah, stupid reasons, please go away-
and stun thy own flimsy day
But leave every one of thy bright promise
about thee;
Oh, just here-yet eternally-
everything t'at is as superb
as t'is often-hated hysterical world.
But only th' ones with humbleness!
And before thou retreat-imbue my soul
with silky greatness once more;
As I shalt salute thy carelessness
No matter what shalt happen
But steal not my love out of me;
let him stay like t'at and sleep by me
Until our tales come and greet
Unmarred evenness
And I; dare to spread my sore heart lazily
Under yon distant umbrella
of our oblivious heavens.

I hath the volition to touch th' stars,
And perhaps dream, dream highly
all over again
Of regaining thy love,
and rolling suspiciously
about and into thy waiting arms,
under our liberated celestial blankets
of clouds and its surfaceless haze.
Which might now and then smirk at us;
But before our ignorance rigidly
retreat away; and vanish pallidly into
its own threads
of prim; but unforgivable vanity.
Ah! I shalt but forever dream again
of all yon awesomeness,
and insist on devouring th' tasteful
Ye' immortal madness of thy princedom.
I imagine thy touches-and t'ose feverish scents
of thy fingers, and lavish hands
Free of boredom, but tainted with wisdom
And being sunk deeply in thy justice
Which insofar as it hath been enabled-
been hovering deafeningly in and about me.
Ah! I shalt be th' first one, and maiden
Who maketh thy irresoluteness decisive,
and turneth thy doubtful precisions
once more submissive!
I shalt become thy torch, and lips,
and guiding star!
I shalt bear thy ******,
and be thy own earthly phantom;
Be with me shalt be thy candlelight;
which is as strong as envious daylight
and by whom I shalt remove thy fright
As far as my dreams go with th' night
And visit and fend for thee
In thy portrait
and thy invigorating dreams.
I shalt be thy surprise;
and be a companion to thy delight
As how I shalt seek
and glory in thy pleasure;
Be lost in thy pride
and feel merciful to be thy treasure
I shalt deprave thy greed of its life
and make to thy grave,
one most beloved, and conspicuous wife.
Ah, thou art too striking!
Thy stunning voice fills me with madness-
and shakes my spines from head to toe,
But kills my sorrow and burns my sadness,
cleanses up my sins and blesses me anew.
Thou befriendeth my pride;
and my atrocious passion;
thou listeneth to my heart
and rinseth tears off its horizon.

Ah! So no wonder now
My madness loses its pride-
Overriding pride, t'at at times
becomes pregnant with such arrogance
So t'at despised it is, even by divine spies
sent down to t'is earth by majestic Lord.
What a delight within me it is to see thee-
and watch another brimful
of thy laughter-ah; thou art as captivating
as a little red-cheeked boy
Who sanguinely greeted me
Down th' farms
With a flow of madly auburn hair,
and smiles as agreeable
as t'at morn's bashful sunny air.
Ah, thou, who art even more adorable
than t'is lurid poem of mine;
stained with th' red colour-as it is,
of my own madness-and a tenacious judgment
of my senses,
T'ese merry dreams of thee are but too vicious
As they make me sweet-unbearably sweet,
in th' entire course
Of yon upcoming flirtatious night;
and tease me most whenst I'm awake
with loving chills so painstakingly crafted
about my face.
O, my lover!
My equanimious, long-sought, and
Sagitarius lover!
Thy naive, but sweet-spirited soul,
is as cheerful and frank;
but troublesome and scanty still
And within one terrific; yet ubiquitous
blink of th' hungered eye
Thou shalt sweep and slay away again;
my rigid; whilst disconcerted, charms.
And so how is at heart I am dreamily-
ye' desperately dedicated to thee;
Though far I am from thee-
as how thou defiantly-from me;
And so never may we sing-or argue in unison;
To utter neither choruses; nor grouped ballads
of marriage;
Dreams are but our sole tower and maze;
And morns all over th' earth, our single haste.

And such! Such a gaze of thine
Is addictive to me like white whine
For 'tis forever my melancholy tyranny;
In my selfish world-full of picturesque indignation
And its dearest remorse
and tranquil superfluity.
Birds t'at never fly;
And lilies t'at might not die-
ah, so after all cautious,
but in every way immortal-like thee;
Snoring and aging in thy deathless foreverness;
In which there art profoundly thou and I-
And I with my repentant dead soul
Unfreed yet of its cherry-like buds
Reeking of fascinated; yet disheartened
Longings; and horrors t'at
Unrevealed love canst soullessly take
Out its mortal mouth and sunless tongue-
From which my dissatisfied spirit
ain't bound ever to jump and awake.

Ah, but after all-all t'is suffering
and disruptive madness,
My corrupted freedom all along
shalt find justice
And whole confidentiality
In thy soul;
So t'at let me feel lethargic on thy shoulder
And rest my dishevelled mind for a while.
Perhaps, thou could let me sing t'at silent song
Whilst our dear God fixes everything
t'at hath gone wrong;
and imaginations and joy
t'at have been thrown away
shalt find every single way back of theirs
Into th' secure cage of love, within our souls.
Ah, and betwixt thy indolence
Shalt I laugh again;
For th' at length victories and images
so startling,
and pictures I am thankful of;
for they were formed so adequately
by thy stupendous name.
Ah, and immortality-yes, so which
shalt always be thy name;
With such frame and glory
trapped so idly within whose frame-
Like an odd; but fruitful summer game;
Within which I shalt ever thrive,
and civilly flourish;
Just like in thy love I shalt grow and live
And to our very last breath, rejoice.
Michelle E Alba Mar 2012
Lamenting lost love
hidden behind harmonies,
(synonymous to symphony)
resonates absently.
Like making love
to a stranger.
Like you make love
to me.
Void of all passion,
like revenge of apathy.
Apathetic entirely,
the emptiness that fuels you
emphasizes decrees.
Standard-less standards
validate your need
to dismantle the mantled,
and devour the diseased,
to command and to seize,
to exploit the exploited,
and explore every scene—
every pelvis, and every scream.

How did I fall for such a—
loveless being?
Better yet,
How do I disintegrate re-memories,
Or abolish aplitic fallacies,
and survive soullessly?
(How must I do these things!?)
Here I plead
surrounded, unattentively,
summoning recognition
for the being
whom resides in me.

Resurrecting old wounds,
(chore almost seems daily)
almost seems like it’s alive,
like maybe one day
it might save me.
More likely, one day
it will concave me.  

But without knowledge
there is no upset.
And no upset means
no you and me.
The purgation or Katharismós that was unleashed, all the imperfections were gleaned by the elevations that descended due to ignominies and pathogenic lineage that were falsified by the demonicity of one who does not walk soullessly to another who is immune. The dark and cloaked darkness slipped away through the first sense of the fifth son that began to become sensitized, being the hearing that agreed in Vernarth with its great hypersensitivity of the Eclectic Portal, in which they are disconsolate when listening in unison, and who are shielded from the noise of the night when crushing the souls in pain that they purged from their places at midnight and on the way to the third midnight that appeared at 03:00, when the spirits lined up looking with their faces in the first night, at the cessation of all objectivity of Aesthesia. All already emigrated from all the dungeons of the leprosarium with meager living bodies and crowded souls in purgation; The Manes Apsidas with the remote light of the night of the antelucan, preceded the dawn following the darkness of midnight and not the second, to protect souls in expiation, with the lightning of the four Xiphos crusades of Vernarth, Etréstles, Theus and Vikentios, when Wonthelimar and Vlad Strigoi lagged behind them from hours to minutes, until within the same night three septenaries passed by, illustrating the supernatural Hijra of the Apsidas, transporting themselves to the dark souls of Spinalonga. The living went in double rows from blind rationality and without words to mention, only souls in purgation followed the path of Marie des Vallés who was exteriorized with the Apofisi in her palm, as a written object, and of great passive sensitivity, to then activate what that exceeds a body and a soul incapable of self-help, with excessive darkness, only being transported by hearing as the only sense present before others, who were de-empowered when what deprives beautifies the eyes of those who have no light to see, but if to feel. The atonement continued, and from the altar archangels came down, making those who for different reasons exceeded the privation of the dawn, which is shone in the small spaces of the natural light of Crete, rejoice. The omega overcomes the darkness and the crossed swords Xiphos extended beyond what oppresses the emptiness and non-material belonging of his Hyletic or Hilética, but if from a synod of beings that were abducted from the Kidron Valley and the Beit Hamikdash to the unearthly silence that inked dawn with pale and slimy light in the ranks of the lepers on their way to Agios Andreas where they will reside. The light conquers the darkness of the understanding that only looks with light, but without it, it was upset in the figure of the entities, believing that the Apsidas could be beings of category that are born from a countenance that provides feet to leave without looking back. Thus they would be guarded and not be involved with animals with semi-human figurative characters, in the stubbornness that none of them make sense, being able to be oblivious to the obfuscation of confusion and purgatory, changing all the conscious senses before the authoritarian light and darkness, reaching levels from Isaías “Si non-credideritis, non-intelligetis”, this is portrayed like this: “If you don't believe, you won't understand”.

Then, of course, faith is a dark night for the soul, and in this way it gives light; and the darker it darkens, the more light of itself, because by blinding it gives light. This was pronounced by Marie des Vallées when it was admired that the graceful specimens of Spinalonga were already going away, losing themselves in the dark cloud of uncertainty until Agios Andreas, while more darkness was concelebrated in the private blindness of the night that watched him. Thus in this way, the Saint leaves with the Apsidas Manes in a long night that was allied with the perplexity of dawn, going through the clouds of mourning through each lapse, with the lights that were enough to make her his disciple, erected of a David ascended alongside them. An Apollo resurfaces from the mist overcoming the abyss of temperance, which creates sudden chapters of generating and silencing pain with howls of those who compromise in their aching souls, being able to migrate to slow dimensions with a sensitive voice superior to that of hearing. From this topic the exchange of Gehenna as a voice inferior and superior at the same time to the sense of hearing was closed, when the clouds were already serene with their snowy colors, leaving the lights that dimension everything and transformed into a rational colloquy, which predominates over classic stratagems that will err in those who are not led by error, but by the slovenly voices escaping from whoever conducts the hearing of those who are members of an unconduced purgation, but rather from the twisted fact of free will, burning what is understood not to imagine what would happen, rather what is proper to mortality without faith. The young night was transformed into sovereign dawn, each one coming closer and coming to each one who understands himself. Before a small night that was enlarged in the gloom. They all go to their rooms, going to the third instant of sensitivity, before the intuition of seeing and hearing, together with the aftertaste that each one was pairing with who is not his nature, and thought that was once again renamed in Marie des Vallées, the signage of Isaiah and Saint Paul, “what God has prepared for those who love him, no eye ever saw it, nor ear heard it, nor did it fall into the heart or thought of man”, this being the last message of the Saint when all were discovered from the perennial distance, in glory and submission where the just endures the most intrepid pain seizing their senses towards the Mashiach, alleviating the fantasy that disturbs any deconcentration that should not be admitted together with the halo of Marie des Vallées.
Katharismós of Marie
Edward VanHoose Mar 2012
For years
the square inner courtyard,
surrounded by sky-reaching apartment complexes,
accessible only through brief

openings

between the buildings
whose windows looked down
soullessly upon our child's play,
contained my entire world,

and I did not perceive any difference
in the hands, faces, and seasonal limbs
of my friends--

But when I returned
the openings had closed,

the courtyard inaccessible
to an unrecognizable Cincinnati child
whose white face and green eyes
brought only memories--
1884, 1929, 1944, 1967,

and angry April showers
that drowned disapproving windows
in curfews of 2001.

And I do understand.

But,

Would the windows open if they knew
there's black in my line,
way back in my line,
from a time when ships like the Delta Queen--

sailed the Middle Passage
monikered in false virtue
granted by titles like Henrietta Marie--
brought African queens instead of slot machines--

when the fields of mud ran with blood
hemorrhaged from Makhulu's
innocence forcibly stolen
by Grampa's lust.

Now I must window
watch my own daughter,
recalling the lesson
on the names of the week:

You know daddy,
someone just made those names up.

And I can see
beyond her blonde pig-tails--
the darkness of her eyes
recalls the act of shame--

coupled with the sharp wit
of a chained matriarch standing proudly
on the auction block declaring:

These waterways are all connected.
thoughts to dump Sep 2021
i don’t think
i should grieve
over the ghosts
that lurked through
my whereabouts
when i used to
pass by their graves,
with names carved
soullessly,
coward,
born in july,
cancer vibes,
screaming impermanence
because
they should remain
as what they were,
the ghosts that
drifted without a might
like how august
slipped away
into a moment in time.
august slipped away into a moment in time
Jwala Kay Aug 2012
I REMEMBER.
It was not like any other moment.
I was standing in my ward.
The ever dark and cold closure.
My dampened single-bed room.
My four-walled medium.
While, it was outside, so calm and still
Must be hibernating.
But poor creature, it waited
Waited, just a handspan
away from my window pane.
And my bolted glass window
did not welcome it.
And so it waited, settled
Closely watching another soul like itself.

I stood more like a rock
Staring at that pallid one.
Communicating in dead-muteness.
A despirited eye-contact.
In a moment or so, I slash
Slash my burdened eyebrows
O'er my wet eyeballs.
Apologizing for my plight
Of unexplainable helplessness.
And it waited there, calm and still,
Hearing my unspoken Testimony.

Thus we waited staring at each other
And between us was the adamant
Glass Window - slumbering soullessly!

It was darker than me.
But was getting paler and paler.
And I stood at the same spot
Staring and blinking
Waiting for it to flutter away.
Afterall, unlike me,
It had a huge space to fly.
And I know that, for I've stared,
Out of the window before,
The whole world.
But it stayed there
As if, afraid of flying, like me.

Hands swept across the clocks
And It turned paler to a fairer one
Stained with frozen crimson red veins.
And by twilight
the fair creature broke its penance.
Got blown by the breeze
And laid on the soft snow
On the concrete floor.
Then there was voidness.
Nothing to stare at.
No more soul to share my story.

I stood there, calm and still
But this time a tear rolled down
From my sunken eyes.
And then I closed my eyes
in prayer and wished
for the courage to
Shatter the glass window
And jump out
To become a gravestone
For my li'l pal's corpse.
A moment before receiving NED.
Brandon Apr 2011
Slithering snakes from a false messiah's mouth
I call the desert my home until the scorpions fall from the sky
Maggots and flies
Maggots and flies
I search
Nurturing wounds
I search
The price to pay just keeps adding up til I’m broke
When gold runs out
We pay in blood, teeth, and virginity
Blood, teeth, and virginity
In broken English
I spoke
Soiled scriptures
**** the time I have left
The time I have left to **** the boredom
Hell yeah
Give the life I live to end the silence
Silence the life I give
Who's gonna save me when I’m an unknown
The stars quit shining on me
The stars quit shining for me
I am broken and left alone
Searching aimlessly
Searching soullessly
I beg for the hum of fluorescent lighting
Tears on the desert floor
Oasis
Traveler Apr 2020
You ate every last worm
Of my rotted soul
So...
Soullessly is how I roll
TT
Naomi Hartnell Aug 2010
Placid and unsounded vapour beauty.
Igniting the Starless gloom gracefully adrift.
I stand in awe entranced in her transparent, milky glow,
Delicate beauty, so fragile yet so swift.


Softly blinking a melancholic echo
Leaving a frosty dew wherever she roams
Beholden to the forsaken for eternity
Meandering soullessly so alone.
- From Half-Devoured Heart
Yani Nov 2018
Maybe we're supposed to be
each other's happily ever after;
for I was lost
and I found you.
Bit by bit, I became a part of you
and you, I feared you.
You washed away my tears;
my demons, you gladly welcomed,
then and there
all I wanted was to fall into you.

These feelings, I know
should be kept in a casket;
I am starting to need you too much,
I don't want to rely on you.
You make it so easy to love you
even in the absence of harmony,
like mosaics on display.
Prosaic, we talked way too much;
we're  not soulmates, but loving soullessly.
Gladly, I found you
and I'm not hoping for anything more
but for us to stay like this forever.
Maybe we're meant to touch each other's lives, to add fuel to each other's fire. Maybe we're meant to meet to make each other whole without giving a piece of us to each other.
Phoenix Rising Feb 2015
All I ever wanted
was a moment where
tomorrow and yesterday
didn't exist


I wasn't chasing my slippery hope
and you didn't manifest scenarios

Prosperity was around the block


For a minute
I saw the sky as it was
For a minute I could breathe
the air that was meant
for you and me

What have we been hooked on?

Songs sound better when you hurt
and I never want you to be capable
of singing this song as well as me


Do you remember when I'd lay in bed
for hours on end
and you'd pretend
to be dead with me
and our bodies laid soullessly
our thoughts connected
our hearts in sync?

I didn't know
those would be the constant memories
I'd sob most over

And I'd remind myself,
day in and day out,
when I'd turn to my left
feeling the cold dent
on my lonely mattress

You said,"You did this to yourself."
I did, you're right
God, I was scared
I was petrified

I left myself with only spite
when I had the courage
in the drawer of my nightstand
and I chose to look the other way

Now, I am in an abusive relationship
with my loud, stubborn ego
It's time to stop grocery shopping
So many deaths I witnessed in my life.
So many lives I saw demolishing,
So many bodies I've seen, lying down soullessly,
So many close persons I've lost,
So many corpses I saw burning,
And so many times I've lost myself in their memories....
Olivia Apr 2018
Feelings
They come trickling down
Washing like waterfalls wonderfully whispering white lies in your ear
“Why don’t you listen?”
Enticing,
“Come closer, dear.”

Feelings
They come angrily,
Stomping like soldiers soullessly
hurling daggers at your heart
Waiting for it to start
Or or maybe to stop
Beating

Feelings
They envelop you in their embrace
Eagerly reaching like they need attention
or they will die
Yelling
Until everything else
Becomes a lie

Feelings
They are why we live
Holding fast to us like they will never let go
We know they won’t
For fear of leaving us lost, wonting
In a world without beauty

In a world without

Feeling
I’m posting some of my older poems that I’ve had stored on my phone for a while just to get them out there. This one is from March 9, 2018.
Mustafa Oct 2018
not this time will i shut an eyelid
knowing that those slithering servants
soullessly sent by Thanatos to steal her soul
still linger
not this time will i let him take her from me
for i am not ready to live in this world
without her
Ivy Jul 2020
I choke on feelings, then just stop
existing for a little while
and half-dead, suddenly, I drop,
devoured by the minutes vile
that lead me to my gruesome fate,
thus written by your hand, dear Love,
with ink of sorrow, without hate
yet soullessly - up in the sky above.

I stand there in the starless night,
discussing with the rainy storm -
Will I expire out of sight,
or maybe craters I will form,
when all these feelings ill suppressed,
a little ugly and a little stale,
explode and fall out of their nest
turning into a vicious gale?

And in its anger will it then,
begin to rage upon the earth,
or simply choose your face /so zen/
and you - who started his rebirth,
who after stepping on my heart,
squashing it like a nasty bug,
then tore my breathless soul apart,
and drank my essence from a mug?
Nomadic poet Jul 2021
Nomadically
Motionless
Poetically
Awkwardly
Lonely
Happily
Sadly
­Soullessly
At least she didnt **** herself
Yenson Apr 2020
The stars wait for the dusk to shine
because the sun claims the noon till set
in universal mandate as held in nature divine will
my life is not yours to ban as its destiny is tuned preset
you are heirs to scourges you lash soullessly in your pain
your hearts in reprimand as the ethereal Collector owns the offset
and your hollowed demised minds cake the absurdity of you in vain
   you your children's children harbors horrors from above with no let
Already in us
The lifespan
Diminished
Dominion
Of domino theorists
Unfinished
With business abroad
And the world market
Over
Still pumping
And dumping
Their waste
Down our throat holes
And goes into veins
A cocktail
Of their chokeholds
And cold
As the pulse grows
More soullessly
Blood flows
The poisoned
Polluted
Precluded
Provision
Nutrition
Omission
Produces
Submission
And we are but lab rats
Experiments
Testing
Their chemical
Compounds
Of boundless
Ingesting

— The End —