Joy as a weapon, Jah's joy's d' strangth
goodness known, damnation o'd'lie
what a concept,

in times of social turmoil
when no one is sure what's right,
and every two or three agree to fix it,

the we way, way we agree to do, and do,
or die by our own will, pop like a bubble,
mythic warrior cult trope from TV
projected to the spiritual warrior cattle
praying, Jesus, guide me, I believe,
it is the unbelieving part that's
givin' folks cognitive dis-son-dence
dense-thick wall of farfarfar out tide

- serious OD on Campbell hero story maps to DID re activation in the novel event
Now, some team of writers has writ
a Jesus Freak Super Hero,
called Utopia,
with serious Freudian Daddy *****-ity
and I am hoping
this is 2021 camp, OP Art
like wham bam
thank you mam, Batman,
circa 1961, I think, lets check, Holy
ROM AI KNOW 1966, January 12, POW
times they keep achangin'

From then you see,
this is my future you are re
balancing re
ality in mere ifity, and yes

yes we cleared the code, the Utopia virus.

Note: the dumbness in the now sense,
stupid and dumb are identical one thing.
Kant's pure is this realm's mere, Voltaire agrees.

We had this assignment in the novel.
And you, the poet in tune with the zeit
via Netflix, see
called us to witness the premier, and
some piles are seen from here as bullshat,
can everybody see that?

Truth can take a punch, by faith.
Semper Fi, tuff little devil dog

impossible in the frame of categorical
imperatives, and no
in this flow, I ai give you google agency,
fact check yo'own self.

To the great brothers and great sisters of Her womb
To the great Mother and great Father, shifting through and through
Calling upon them for the great wisdom of our age
To bridge the gap between science and the sacred

This land has no boundaries, all conventions are made believe
and we are made to believe that politicians have our backs
while the preasts of a false language preach hypocracy to our faces
This is not our Shangrala, we have lost our grasp of Eden

Turning our garden into a guard, lost, we have turned a paradise
to a prison; old men casting aspersions of disrespect to a newborn,
blaming a victim of an obsolete tradition, casting salt onto the soil,
and calling it a blessing.

The prophets throughout the ages have seen a brighter world,
one that had, at its core, the truth; we are all one spirit, inhabiting these many forms.
This illusion of form and distance, made to be overcome, has illuded many, but not them;
They gave us the wisdom to escape the eternal womb of the mind,
and grow gracefully in the warmth of the Father Sun.

Trained to be beaten and broken, our new prophets have been beld and misled.
We call this machine, cold and calculating, Education; beaten and broken from the inside, our prophets are internally bleading: rose red ink on term papers with F wrote large!  

*******! The first words of resistance cries. I am my own authority,
I seek the truth, not your lies!
Tearing down the walls, and begining to tell a new story, we new prophets challenge "the way things are," because nothing is certain;
Our conscious evolution transcends to the stars, and starts in the grasses slowly showing their infinite patience and strangth, like a soft blade breaking the solid ground of traditions floor.

Be the evolution, brothers and sisters, fathers and mothers, be the change, and the change becomes you!

Agape and Appreciation

~M

So Far done
ive crossed my point now
i want to see the red paint flow out of my wrist
i want to seen the tears flow out of my eyes
i want the pain to escape of out my vain
i want to sleep for an enternity
i want to be done
i want to go and see my king
i want to love again
i want my demons to be relsed
im so far done, and nobody cares
im done i crave the pain now
i crave the red paint from before
the hunger is gone and the strangth is too
the happy smile is gone im done
scars will cover my body once again and nobody will ask
because i know im so far done
hell open your gates you have a fallen angel on the way

I am no longer a slave to fear,
I suffered and struggled,
but all was lefted higher
when I let you cary me
through the fire.

I gathered my well
I built my wall’s stronger
all in your name,
I gave you all of my strife
and excepted my life.

I lived as life pushed on
harder, as is your well
and your desire.

You gave me kindling
to build my fire,
allowing my flame
to grow higher.

I have just one desire,
to live for you
and grow until
I can’t grow any higher.

You are my hope and dreams,
you bring me to my knees,
not in vain but for
strangth and exceptance.

Aman

**© 2017 By Amanda Shelton

sword of fate, sin and shame reject my love accept my pain
a feld of bodies a flower a less grove where widows morn and suffer alone,

a shallow vally where people crawl, creatures  snap and beasts call lest like the dead they rise again a sorry excuse for real men

this i give of my free will gifts of three for foolish thrills pain, death, sorrow from me
as i will so mote it be

come
rise from thy slumber take me this simmering summer grant me strangth speed and gall
i shall stand on mountain tops
and look down on all, least grant me that take all from me
as i will so mote it be

Upon my faith grows
my strangth,
deeper and deeper
my roots dig deep
into the hollow.

I become that like
a tree, my seed is small
but my roots are strong.

The more I pray
the deeper I grow
deep into the hollow,
no devil will pull me
a stray.

My faith is strongly
rooted within the depths
of the hollow, I will
always pray.

My roots,
my roots,
dip deeply into
the hollow.
I kneel to pray.

Dear Lord,
thank you for my strength,
thank you for the blessing
of your ever growing spark.
Aman!

My roots grow deeply
into the barren landscape
every autumn my leafs
will fall, revealing my
trunk leaving you
a reminder I too am
a survivor.

© 2019 By Amanda Shelton