Is it a sin to let love go unnourished?

Once careers that furnished
A new terminology of unnourished
Years past there was longevity in how long you stayed on a job
Yet the reverse of jobs created no mob
Short term you might as well be a temp
The idea of long term is out the door it went
A recommendation passed from a Former President
The theory became an idea for U.S. Companies being evident
Long term had finally become the worse enemy
It was put asleep
Then filed away for sometime to keep
The new career is short term
It means stay 3 or 6 months then move along
Companies no longer want you to be employed long
But there is a catch
The applicant becomes the test run
Playing with someone’s career isn’t fun
The employer’s voice, “We want to see if you will work out”
Now you see what I am talking about
Imagine living career wise day by day
There is not much you can really say
However salaries have dropped dramatically
You live based on living scientifically
Created a method that will help you survive
Regardless of circumstance you have the power to continue to strive
Yes people need a job
However at what extend to one’s expiration
A career revival change
New policies need to be arranged
Terms with their own name
No time for the blame game
A new wave of short term to remain
Create your own long term being the aim.

We are just unnourished frail bodies,
overfed with white lies and short-lived-euphorias.
Books filled with black letters,
etching lurid images into our utmost dreams.
Veering us from the big picture...
the one we fail to paint ourselves.
Our fists much too busy with fights,
that we are bound to lose.
Too occupied in line waiting,
for creativity to be let loose like a stray dog.
As if we will find home in this pursuit of happiness...
but we only enclose each other in small rooms
with nothing but old laptops.

Missing keys,

Oh!

How many times I've guessed which letter could it be...
Which letter could it be?
To free us from havoc-stricken-thoughts?
They come and go, unending like 24 hour subway stations.
There's no break for this lonely man,
heaving every breathe of stale air
into my overused lungs...
Living in confined walls of flesh
held up with brittle paper-mache bones.

Which day is it that I will burst out from this cage of a life?
And hover with the Gods found in carefully binded books.
The ones "watching every move we make",
The ones not there when we take the wrong step.
Which day will I be allowed to sleep in,
through sun rise and sunset...
through night and day...
Laying forever in my cold bed.

Jagged stars cutting my bleeding brain,
mistaking them for a stairway to heaven.
The soft cumulus haven was too unearthly,
hidden from all to see...
Away from dry earth and mortal bodies.
We turn to man-made bliss; contained in inch-long plastic bubbles,
To fill the great gap between reality and fantasy.

Wisdom has always ruled the cosmos.
No sword is sharper than wisdom.
Good intentions cannot simply come forward,
Or progress sideways,
But must be placed with correct x,y, & z coordinates.
Not only that, but it must be met with a receptive person
for wisdom's fruit is sincerity, kindness, and tact.
What comes forward otherwise is met by fools.
All undertakings depend not on "wise-dumb" but wisdom.
How many a silence left a seed unnourished and how much has speaking killed the seed.
How many an act has made me a fool.
How many an act has made me a child of God.
How few an act has made me seem wise beyond my years.

Vases with flowers on countertops-
No good to those who wish for eternity,
or easy appreciation.

There is pruning, watering, replacement.
There are dead petals strewn among the granite,
drooping dying faces bending into gravity.

Beauty lasted only for a second and,
all that was left behind were holes in the ground.
Those roses left for dead.
Unnourished for but a moment.

Uncherished from muddled perception.
Like all the plastic primrose-
And artificial daises held up to mirrors,
Empty when it needed light.

It was not the lesser hand that took it,
and promised it forever,
but lack of understanding,
the message caught in friction.

Empty when it needed light.
Clipped from its roots before it had a chance to sing.

Did the thoughts inside your head
Compose all of the tears you shed
So much so that your daily bread
Seems soggy and you unnourished

Do sacrifices you once made
Seem like the sins no one forgave
So that you can’t be saved
As you wallow in the day to day

Do storm clouds just exemplify
Your not wanting to see the sky
Because you know the tears you cry
Just mix in with the rain

It seems bleak in the all in all
But you will rise from every fall
A little stronger, heed the call
And know it’s not in vain

I pray that my heart would never fall captive
To the lure of love’s exquisite calling.
In my weakness, its eternal trapping
clings steady with no hope of ransom.
If love returns to me, then I with haste
embrace my keeping. But all I know:
the vile passion of my soul, where with
love I wrestle, by love I am defeated
as one who waits alone in the quiet,
starving for love, but love would not feed me.
Will I be tortured to my death? Lest I
Should live the rest of my life unnourished
And the pangs of hunger return to me each hour?
Will in my weakness love always flourish?
Love’s lie has defeated all of my courage.

All about a term, it spoke of something very scientific and laboratory, and also something unrooted; romanticism, with sensitive tentacles.
I can already carry touching and beautiful phrases, praise, and embellish a living being.

The adjacent voice ...: Fool you will continue to the point of knowing yourself more foolish under your coefficient, and you will slowly know the lack of reach of your emotions ...!

Ludwig ...: I'm a good man, who doesn't put away bad things ... of course that's how it works. But I want to talk and talk, and I only know that the aeroform, the earthly and cave, the watery, perhaps diluvian, advising me by Deucalion, will make it possible for the answers to be answered to the void, to the mortal body and void at the same time; that only in his bony system does knowledge make us palpitate. Clumsy and dumb he was after everything got dark in that deluge of days. In this way, he was able to dominate himself by summoning his rebirth.

The Dream of Morals

“Night owl, with your hands in pockets you have to lean on the tubular celestial mountains. you will walk with your insanity covered in your zoomorphic legions. Antoinette, whole beauty will walk near your domain, catching your memory and her admirable gestures will dilute your ignorance. But get up, even if it is groping and in the midst of perdition, look for your Archangel, she goes to pinch his feathery navigation in the infinity of the Universe.

Oh, restless night how you want to see yourself on the path of the finite front and not in the infinite of the proximal Apocalypse. When the comfort of the field delays us, do not sit in front of me on the grass. Unnourished starvation, Bread, and Water that does not carry healing minerals. You have to suffer greater suffering than the great elements, wailing water from the Red Sea in its feverish situation. Behold, there is no prolific thermic, only igneous tongues of a monumental melting ***; that has to support you in the aeroform and will make you mourn your last hardships, on the rough and brick-like Earth. The great everything, what loves it, what leads it to cover itself with sharp impious pleasures, has to re-enter into nothingness, and you go to them adorning the new architecture of your Ecological City. Do not refuse to forget the past, since the present without it does not green the transit of your new home.

Grass and flowers, polar ship, loaded with hopes, will shelter your disharmonized meekness. Platonic and judicious to spell ...., On the front sidewalk, you will find your sanity! " At the end of Moral's dream, her wrinkled flesh emigrated, which after so much staying in the Lake was abandoned, looking for a new body to inhabit.

Before the imminent approach of the End, a form of Angel approaches ... :( This was seconded by Roberto Garroch).

"You will fall prostrate to me ... do not keep the secrets where we have taken you, since on Patmos John fell before me ..., you in the vicinity of Patmos will flee from your filigree and energetic being to the Messolonghi Cemetery ..."