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"unmodified" poems
Our love is natural, organic. Our love is raw, our love is wholesome. Our love is local, from scratch, unmodified. Our love is kosher. Our love is a nutritious part of everyday's balanced breakfast, lunch and dinner! Our love is just desserts. Our love is cage free, free range, fair trade, home grown, the 100% real deal! Our love is not for sale.
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Mar 10, 2016
Mar 10, 2016 at 1:38 PM UTC
Our Love
belie the notion that one is complete uncompromised, unmodified, in thought and in motion. as we reenact and memoralialize ourselves with our past and our wholesomeness of ego we walk towards a chasm of chaotic disruption put there by our inner consciousness as we progress we are filled with trepidation, avoidance and reticence our thoughts sidling around the task at hand procrastination taking its cold grasp upon our reasoning our forward compelling movements appear unnatural and stilted as we slowly progress our inner bearing pretentious all thought and motion merged into a lifetime of physical mental torture a prison of our own making so who in this blinding darkness dares to step forward into the unknown future that we have woven for ourselves with the strips of blue and crimson flesh we have flayed from our own portals entwined into the tapestry that depicts the epic battle that we have fought and won over time immeasurable who will take the double edged sword from the lady in the lake and strike it once again into the backbone of our mother where we will lay cradled against her bosum till she weans us from her suptle breast and sends us once again to do her bidding without our capacity for love our understanding and compassion are tools we still have yet to master
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May 3, 2010
May 3, 2010 at 8:45 PM UTC
the prodigal
a fog of uncertainty or mist of opportunity discouragement of the fearful passion of the pathfinders boredom of the erudite opportunity of the ready despair of the overcome pride of the calm conqueror crumbling of the thoughtless savvy of the thinker rebellion of restless seas wisdom of the calmer waters coarseness of the unmodified rocks refinement of a rare diamond sage repeating dirge of the pessimists excitement of the optimists shock of the confronted pragmatism of the realists dissatisfaction of the takers fulfillment's flame in the givers empty shell of the ever selfish and balm of those who to the bewildered smile kindness
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May 1, 2020
May 1, 2020 at 12:30 PM UTC
Our Choice
Like an omen, I'm free now, Body yearning for it, The vigorous tenacity of love, Whispering its promises of blood, soothingly singing. - Well animated, atmospheric, He never arrived home, The strange figure that pursues, Question how a man turned red. He can't get home, Make it rain, make it rain sad man. - Bring back memories hidden inside the shell, Earlier attached, Unmodified. The rules are simple: win. ~March 25th 2013
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Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 2:26 AM UTC
Some Old Poems I Found
belie the notion that one is complete uncompromised, unmodified, in thought and in motion. as we reenact and memoralialize ourselves with our past and our wholesomeness of ego we walk towards a chasm of chaotic disruption put there by our inner consciousness as we progress we are filled with trepidation, avoidance and reticence our thoughts sidling around the task at hand procrastination taking its cold grasp upon our reasoning our forward compelling movements appear unnatural and stilted as we slowly progress our inner bearing pretentious all thought and motion merged into a lifetime of physical mental torture a prison of our own making so who in this blinding darkness dares to step forward into the unknown future that we have woven for ourselves with the strips of blue and crimson flesh we have flayed from our own portals entwined into the tapestry that depicts the epic battle that we have fought and won over time immeasurable who will take the double edged sword from the lady in the lake and strike it once again into the backbone of our mother where we will lay cradled against her bosum till she weans us from her suptle breast and sends us once again to do her bidding without our capacity for love our understanding and compassion are tools we still have yet to master
0
May 3, 2010
May 3, 2010 at 8:46 PM UTC
the prodigal
Night, street, streetlight, store Pointless glow in misty cloud Live a quarter century more Nothing changes. No way out. You'll die - you start all over twice And all repeats unmodified: The night, canals with rippled ice, The store, the street, the light.
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Mar 23, 2017
Mar 23, 2017 at 5:14 PM UTC
12 October 1912