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"unkindled" poems
father flesh your vows were made with certain good intent better yet the brows you raised could see no self dissent strong, you were a rock of sorts which seldom moves an inch long, you were on life of course life is but a cinch oh so brave to walk the fire the fire gone unkindled a smothered flame to breathe again once properly swindled conscience plays a partial part in stemming liability but time you'll find will rob your mind of valuable stability it's a tell-tale sort of story though no moral or no fable and if you'll kindly pay the ransom- the deed to my betrayal we shall climb this rugged mountain together we shall ascend and once atop the sound will drop "my father is my friend!" ©Jason Cole
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Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 10:53 PM UTC
Father Flesh
The knot, Perplexed at its simple complex elegance, tying two loose ends, The weaves and tensions that holds together, unifying bonds yet as far as they can be. A knot is all around, those who knot and those who not. I was not. I didn't know how to knot. Strings all around tangle but rarely knot, the simple geometry without angles nor shape, the beauty when a knot takes place, a consistent loop they make nothing spectacular for a circus but interest took pace. trial and error, the two ends are brought closer and closer, they pass and meet, the excitement and anticipation of the feat, to what will the knot take place; fascinating, dream or visualise but know not the form this knot takes. The strings tangle and tangle, the string beginning to take the form of a loop, success is always a thought and a want, but sometimes is what we seldom get sliding past and they untangle with such pace as to realise, the strings flew part. This interest this passion for a knot, as a fire burns its brightest the more fuel it use; if the fuel is not enough, this fire quickly tears away at its sustenance, leaving only a hollow hulk,empty. An ember that is burnt and unkindled.
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Jan 29, 2019
Jan 29, 2019 at 5:25 AM UTC
A Knot
My heart grows weary with the passing of each day as I sojourn on this seemingly endless voyage... a voyage through the seas and through the woods... through the hills that yonder stood.... Through dips and through  downs, it all comes around And even still as my heart grows thin, there's this urge that grows within A fire unkindled, a flame unfanned by mine own hands yet still it burns... A flame so strong that it carries a song as it spews its embers throughout this cold September... **(man it's cold & **** she's cold...)
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Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 5:20 PM UTC
... my heart...
sounds can testify the details of a picture whilst unholy orbs can earwitness the vowels and consonants beneath the smoke is an ibidem treasure nothing but the end of the line of the coincidence there's something about the heat, the taste, the texture, and the rhythm, that puts each creature in a strange addiction it draws me in a helix composition or a different compensation and most of all, i'm bottled up in a wild satisfaction my mundane hours would feel extra deserted just like my camel stick when it's unkindled i might hate seeing―experiencing typical things but never tired of this kind of habit that seems brittle or a sense of rage, not even a little because of every sip, my piercing thoughts became a whistle as soon as i light up a coffin nail my veins will finally ignite, once again the dark shack i'm in will be darker but brighter in my eyes then my lonely spirit will be lonelier but i'd have unseen friends in disguise the subdued toxins will shatter in ashes but it won't break like my positive qualities mixing in the air turns out i'm not sniffing the exasperating scent merely engulfing the ache and the rasp regrets my peeves shall drown in my foggy statements letting my weight float through the clouds mind's hazy, vision's blurry, tears shiny, and heart's happy, yet the sadness would still creep when the last breath's out the aftertaste should be really more ravishing similar to the catchy tunes of 'offonoff' feverless, manipulating, non-colorless and especially, not quiddity-vanishing the nicotine never fails to send me over in a mnemonic mess directing me in a festinate loop in so many ways the menthol touch wouldn't be as cold as the other people nowadays, but when they ask, they'd question; "what was the song, by the way?", i'd stumble and fall with my laconic disorder inside my head like a wounded cassette then i'll answer, it's cigarette
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Jul 12, 2018
Jul 12, 2018 at 9:45 PM UTC
"Cigarette"
sounds can testify the details of a picture whilst unholy orbs can earwitness the vowels and consonants beneath the smoke is an ibidem treasure nothing but the end of the line of the coincidence there's something about the heat, the taste, the texture, and the rhythm, that puts each creature in a strange addiction it draws me in a helix composition or a different compensation and most of all, i'm bottled up in a wild satisfaction my mundane hours would feel extra deserted just like my camel stick when it's unkindled i might hate seeing―experiencing typical things but never tired of this kind of habit that seems brittle or a sense of rage, not even a little because of every sip, my piercing thoughts became a whistle as soon as i light up a coffin nail my veins will finally ignite, once again the dark shack i'm in will be darker but brighter in my eyes then my lonely spirit will be lonelier but i'd have unseen friends in disguise the subdued toxins will shatter in ashes but it won't break like my positive qualities mixing in the air turns out i'm not sniffing the exasperating scent merely engulfing the ache and the rasp regrets my peeves shall drown in my foggy statements letting my weight float through the clouds mind's hazy, vision's blurry, tears shiny, and heart's happy, yet the sadness would still creep when the last breath's out the aftertaste should be really more ravishing similar to the catchy tunes of 'offonoff' feverless, manipulating, non-colorless and especially, not quiddity-vanishing the nicotine never fails to send me over in a mnemonic mess directing me in a festinate loop in so many ways the menthol touch wouldn't be as cold as the other people nowadays, but when they ask, they'd question; "what was the song, by the way?", i'd stumble and fall with my laconic disorder inside my head like a wounded cassette then i'll answer, it's cigarette
Continue reading...
50
A heart grounded by Earth's beauty.".True" emotions flow like Water...My wrath an unkindled fire..cool as a breeze blows I continue like the unsettled Wind!
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Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 11:17 AM UTC
The Nature of Man(self insight)
Frustrated by the weight inherent with trust Too many words written in stone turning to rust Nonsensical as it may seem Everything fails eventually Heart, host, body and mind Time and reality, Rather unkind Mimic those that do it best Failing to succeed Puffing out your chest Laugh and smile in the mirror you bought Unkindled by the spirit of rot Everything is everything Until it's not
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Feb 16, 2017
Feb 16, 2017 at 5:50 PM UTC
Monkey 2
Talk to me hold me. Tell me what u feel . My heart yearns for your touch, Your laugh it runs through my veins, like a drug, my addiction is unkindled, unharnessed, unbelievable. I want to know your name, who you are But for now i wait in silence for you, my drug my addiction my nameless face and faceless name
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Mar 16, 2013
Mar 16, 2013 at 11:54 PM UTC
Future Tense
I bide my time Living a lie Till I can find A safe place outside my mind But its all empty words And lines blurred By my unsuccessful incurring Of my lifes worth Into anothers heart Hoping for a new start But the burden Of past lovers blundered The lighting and thunder And mustered the spark that remained That remains unkindled to this day
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Oct 6, 2015
Oct 6, 2015 at 11:38 PM UTC
Spark
What’s the point of love? You only get hurt in the end Traumatized and broken Left to feel unwanted Begging to understand What exactly happened Why you are left alone Why they chose to hurt you You fear the loneliness Yet you also accept it For it’s the only thing That won’t leave you The sorrow and emptiness Is almost comforting It surrounds you Holding onto you tight Yet at the same time You feel a urning A urning of love But too afraid to grasp Tossed in an endless torrent Of back and forth emotions Wishing with all your heart Things would have been different Darkness clouds your heart You turn away from love Knowing that in the end It’s only going to hurt No matter how much you beg No matter how much you wish No matter how much you cry They don’t see how bad you hurt They don’t see how much you love They don’t see how much you want them How badly you need them to be there How badly you crave their touch You dream of the past Wishing the love was still there Then remember the pain And begin to cry again
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May 16, 2021
May 16, 2021 at 9:28 PM UTC
Unkindled Love
#And Jacob sware by the fear of his father Isaac.                                                [Genesis 31:53] Sharp trauma must have lingered on for good in Isaac’s silent dazed humanity halted by heaven; trembling laid on wood too young to question father’s sanity. Was it a light thing? To be thus withstood by Jehovah’s awful benignity… Faltering further up life’s mountain, would he carry the damage with dignity? This just might explain the forty-year wait, meditating on the ram, on his fate. The paralyzing laughter of his name even after life unveiled in his tents. A certain hesitation does make sense in the son laid out on unkindled flame.
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Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 9:52 AM UTC
The Fear of Isaac
As seasons contract minds change from barefoot kindred spirits to old ghosts unkindled colours fall quiet at winters call love Beyond skin is beauty within
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Apr 13, 2019
Apr 13, 2019 at 12:56 PM UTC
Skin
My    Sense of self                Is wearing down       I feel the corrosion             In my head                               My body                                     And soul Like               an unkindled fire Amongst               a sea of flames       The 'thump thump'                                 of my heart                      Slowly drowned out By       The thunderous boom                Of those around me Self actualization             On the tip of my tongue
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Apr 8, 2017
Apr 8, 2017 at 12:18 AM UTC
Self
Musing with Laura, sleep is denied Dreams wait unkindled —darkness on fire (Dreamsleep: January, 2022)
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Feb 2, 2022
Feb 2, 2022 at 3:02 PM UTC
Insomnia