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Rhiannon Feb 2014
cottonball lights
white
         pure
                 clean
        radiating
they bloomed and had beams
halo rings

it was so dark and town was so empty
like my black grey sky body
and i still looked both ways
when crossing the street

unimagineable light
wish I could open my mouth
and my words came tumbling out
coated and shining

i was in the clouds
they came down with god and he asked my to join him
i said no
drove faster
and more careful
than ever
The beauty which we cannot see
has been thrown away at sea
Along with all the hopes and dreams
We have ever had for our planet.
The beauty of the morning mist,
Untouched by the destructive hands
Of humanity!
Wanting to make but will never be able
To create..
We are killing the beauty which we cannot process,
We pick the flowers for their unimagineable grace,
Instead of observing it in its rightful place,
Where it can grow further and create more.
We don't understand
That by trying to construct
We are breaking down
What was made,
By God's hand.
Neil Mcpake Jun 5
Those calming voices that soothes my heart. Turning me away from the depths of whispering winds that plague my sins. As I lie in the mist of grief wollowing in my own sorrow. Fatherless without his love in the realms of pity. As I live in the unguided world of a ghosthood in a new fangled home. While I m steadfast as I stop running from my past I just hope us humans are built to last. Knowing these facade lines cross my path. Keeping me on the straight and narrow. So the only one should follow me is my shadow. Away from borrowed time in a sinuous presence over shadowed by loneliness. In a stream of visability showing wayward steps that burdens my soul.With hieroglyphs of life in a unimagineable perfection through space and time.We should keep away from fake personalities that tries to con us in a insulet world. To engrandize and modernize then to have our faiths try to control us. Even in front of holy eyes without unquestionable doubt this to me is a evil cell of terrorist louts. Knowing this will never be there last bout. As they look like smartly dressed hobbo's from a distant ghetto. Only after death will there spirts languish in limbo. Waiting for god to cast them all to hell for being under the devil's spell.
This is a poem about soul searching and the shifty characters that try sway our minds with faiths and lie.

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