once worn with pride
eat the wearer
up inside

they have wrinkles
lines of care
but a person isn't
what they wear

wether pink
or brownish lace
wether russet...
freckled face

wether taupe or
still ecru
wether me
or wether you

we all wear colors
on our bones
it matters not
their depth of tone!

let's take the rags
and by God's grace
make a quilt
of Jesus' FACE!

instead of hate
and wishing harm
this manifold quilt
will keep us warm!

wether you're
old aged or a youth
you're part of the quilt

and that's the TRUTH.


SoulSurvivor
(C) 1/8/2016

life goes on as it should wether bad or wether good
it can change from day today going on its own way
everyday it just moves on until another day as gone
it  revolves goes round and round passes by without a sound
wether bad or wether good life goes on as it should
it goes on and dosent stop just keeps going until you drop.

There's a door
In life
Its open to all
Who wish to walk through
It leads to happiness
And a better you
But to get to the other side
There's a decision to make
A choice to decide
Sometimes there's a sacrifice
Sometimes there's pain
But in life
Without losing there's no gain
It's give and take
It's love and loss
Just a random gamble
Gotta give the dice a toss
Because in the end
It's not what you had
Or the money you made
It's what in your heart
Even after your body fades
With every scary part
And every gory detail
Doing what feels right
Decides wether you win
Or fail

Walk through the door
Get to the other side
It's worth it all
Forget your **** pride
Choose happiness
And true morality
Nothing means more than family
Love and loyalty

The question seems to lie in

Wether we are
We are the physical computer drive
Or the transferable background programs

Wether we are
Tied together in networks or an internet
Or wether we are a lone, disconnected monitor

Wether this place
Was created intentionally by an experimenting programmer
Or wether it is just a bug, a byproduct of natural binary

And if we
Have the computing power and memory storage to download the truth
Or if we'd simply overheat our circuitry

he drank wine all night of the
28th, and he kept thinking of her:
the way she walked and talked and loved
the way she told him things that seemed true
but were not, and he knew the color of each
of her dresses
and her shoes-he knew the stock and curve of
each heel
as well as the leg shaped by it.

and she was out again and whe he came home,and
she'd come back with that special stink again,
and she did
she came in at 3 a.m in the morning
filthy like a dung eating swine
and
he took out a butchers knife
and she screamed
backing into the roominghouse wall
still pretty somehow
in spite of love's reek
and he finished the glass of wine.

that yellow dress
his favorite
and she screamed again.

and he took up the knife
and unhooked his belt
and tore away the cloth before her
and cut off his *****.

and carried them in his hands
like apricots
and flushed them down the
toilet bowl
and she kept screaming
as the room became red

GOD O GOD!
WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?

and he sat there holding 3 towels
between his legs
no caring now wether she lft or
stayed
wore yellow or green or
anything at all.

and one hand holding and one hand
lifting he poured
another wine

Moon dust in our lungs,
Stars in our eyes,
We are the child of the cosmos !
A ruler of the skies !!! :)

If we are made of stardust
And our skin matches land,
We're allowed to have volcanoes
That bursts red from some glands,

Every girl has it once in 28 days
Which bring showery red falls and stomach aches
But we should be proud it , cause it's the only blood that bleeds without violence
Then why should we be ashamed of it, or be silenced

So, let's be bold, let's be proud .
Let us realize , that we are the clouds,
That may shower inspite of being clean,
Don't ever forget the power of the Queen

Wether in chess or in life,
We are the one that posses the sharpest knives,
We have our dreams inside our eyes
We also have a place where the warrior hides,

Because girls, our born in the storm,
With thunder in their hearts,
Chaos in their organs and
Lightining in their souls..

Wether steady or slow,
They are rooted but they flow
Wether angels or ******* ,
They have a universe full of secrets ,
Wether in air or underground,
Each Queen has her own crown

THE STORY OF SARA

OR A REFLECTION ON OURSELVES

Ayad Gharbawi

Chapter 4: THE HALLOWED PURIFICATION PROGRAMME




  One night, Omar began to thunder on:
  "No more of the disgusting concepts and ideas created by the Pigs! We should eliminate from our minds every single Pig that is influencing you, and I must say to you all, that I'm not seeing any progress."
  The audience suddenly went all quiet.
  Our leader was not satisfied with our emotional progress.
  We were not purifying our minds in a manner and speed that was satisfactory to the Great Noble Leader Omar.
  "I am looking at you all. I see you; yes, I, Omar, see each one of you. Your eyeballs seem to me to be unsure of what's behind them – I mean, your brains."
  Omar's voice began to talk in a tone that was almost a whisper, whilst the vast audience strained their ears to catch his every precious word.
  "And inside your brains lies our minds. Well, I'm talking about your minds, my friends. I'm not seeing progress. Yes, you do this riot; you **** this Pig; you burn this Pig school – and all of these acts are crucial to our holy cause. But, what about you yourselves? What about your own minds? Maybe you, too, are tainted with some of the Pig mentality yourselves? Now, how about that? Yes? What do you think?"
  The audience gasped.
  Omar began to raise his voice again.
  He was taunting this audience.
  Mocking them.
  Sarcastic.
  "Why, you really are telling me, that you think and feel and believe, that you have the right to **** Pigs?"
  At this question, Omar stopped.
  The audience gasped louder.
  I knew what they were thinking.
  Is our Great Noble Leader questioning our faith in him and in the cause itself?!
  He screamed, almost blowing away the microphones!
  "Why, who gives you the right to be soldiers in this unforgiving, merciless and ferocious war we are waging every day against vastly superior forces? I'll tell you 'who' gives you that right."
  The audience waited in tense anticipation at our leader's answer.
  It was so silent in this vast stadium, you could hear a pin fall.
  "What gives every man, woman and child the right to be a soldier in this brutal struggle is when that soldier has the purest heart and mind. It's as simple as that. And to be 'pure', my friends tonight, is the one who has not a shred, and does not have one ounce of Pig matter. That's right, you heard. Pig matter. Any dog that has even a fleeting Pig thought, is a Pig him or herself!"
  The audience now began to whisper among themselves.
  They seemed to be receiving the light from the words being delivered by Omar.
  Many were saying among themselves, that, 'Yes, we do have Pig thought and ideas and emotions and feelings in our hearts.'


  Omar continued, in a soft voice, after allowing his audience to digest his last words:
  "Yes, that does come as a surprise to you, doesn't it?"
  "Yes!" roared back the audience who now fully submitted to his question and answer.
  "So, I ask you – who are you?" he screamed!
  And the crowds immediately screamed:
  "Pigs! Pigs! Pigs! We are ***** Pigs!"
  Again and again, the crowd seemed to be going a little bit hysterical.
  Some began tearing off their clothes, as if they were trying to 'cleanse' themselves from their Pig thoughts!
  "That's right!" screamed back Omar, furiously and wildly staring with those maniacal eyeballs, like some trapped, ferocious animal, at his audience:
  "Why you yourselves are Pigs! That's right! Come on now! So, what are going to do about you? If you give yourselves the 'right' to **** Pigs, then why don't I have the same 'right' to order my best elite troops to **** you too?"
  "Save us! Save us!" screamed back the audience.
  "Save yourselves!" Omar screamed right back.
  "We are filthy! We are Pigs!" the audience began to insult themselves in all sorts of words and phrases.
  At this point, Omar was shrieking!
  "That's right! You are filthy Pigs yourselves, aren't you now?”
  The audience continued to scream and you couldn’t understand what they were saying anymore.
  Omar went just as suddenly silent.
  He just looked at his followers, and allowed them the need to express themselves.
  After some twenty minutes o this chaotic screaming, Omar became impatient and quickly motioned his followers to be quiet.
  Silence.
  He continued, with a soft tone:
  “So, I hereby announce the following."
  Once again the entire audience become tense.
  What was Omar going to order now?
  "I hereby allow you all, and I mean all our soldiers and not just those sitting with me here in this stadium; I order all of our soldiers to purify themselves of every Pig matter. You will have three months. And then, after that term ends, we will establish courts, to decide wether you have succeeded in cleaning yourselves from these cancerous and murderous feelings and emotions you have. Our courts and our hallowed judges will next decide, case by case, wether you are clean or not!"


  Later, when it appeared that our mostly pathetic, ***** and sick 'soldiers' were simply unable to cleanse their minds from the Pig establishment in three months – since they had no instructions or guidance - Omar, in his eternal grace, patience and humanity, decided to help them, by allowing classes to be held where one teacher would help each and everyone to 'cleanse' themselves.
  Personally, I thought that our Great Noble Leader was decidedly wrong in being so gracious to these so-called soldiers, because, in my opinion, this lot were not worthy of being in our party, and they ought to have been immediately expelled.
  "But, Sara," Omar would gently explain to me in his humble office, surrounded by his most trusted officers, "if we were to purge every undesirable element in the party, I would be left with practically nobody!"
  I took in his gracious words. and then thought about it.
  Why, he was correct, yet again, in his thinking!
  Indeed, if we did purify our party from the filthy ones, we would be left with little more than a handful of true, faithful and clean combatants and that, obviously, meant our self-destruction!
  "You're right, Sir; as usual, I think too hastily. That's why you are the only leader for us; my God, if I, God forbid, were leader, why I would have destroyed the party and our eternally holy cause years ago!"
  "Indeed, indeed, my dear," Omar softly said, but he seemed to have already forgotten my words, and, he was already somewhere else, thinking deeply about another problem.
  And so I, of course, went silent, so as not to disturb him.


  "You know what?" suddenly he asked me, his eyes sparkling with passion.
  "Yes, Sir?"
  "These 'classes' I was talking about. You've studied psychiatry, and I believe that we must use psychiatric methods to purify my subjects."
  Suddenly a strange feeling overcame me; I found the word describing the party members as 'my subjects' a little bit odd.
  Also, didn't Omar call psychiatry a Pig subject for all those years? Indeed, he said everything they taught us at university was evil, and that even the institutions of universities were dens of evil. And, yet, now, he was asking me to help him using what I was learning from my university days?
  "Yes, I can see the path I am talking about Sara. We need to get psychiatrists, like yourself, to tear out, yes, tear out, the filthiness in our party members."
  Suddenly, he got quite excited by his visions.
  "That's right, my dearest one, Sara. Yes, and I appoint you to supervise this programme of purification. That's right, and I shall call it by its simplest name, the 'Programme of Purification'!"
  Suddenly, I got excited as well, forgetting my previous disturbance.
  "That would be such a heroic move on your part, Sir." I gleefully told Omar.
  I feel that not only was he the saviour for our nation, but that he was also a personal saviour for myself.
  "Yes, I see my vision where it is leading us to. My dear Sara; you will set up these classes and you will bring the psychiatrists and you will purify the ***** elements in our classes."
  I got nervous again, for I just realized the magnitude of the job Saviour Omar was demanding I do for him!
  "And therefore, I Omar call for an immediate ceasefire against all Pigs!"
  Everyone in the office stood there in a state of shock!
  A ceasefire against the damnable Pigs?!
  Holy Omar could, of course, read our faces and smiled.
  "But Holy Sir," one officer softly asked, "how can we have a ceasefire against the most evil forces in the history of our country?"
  "And, Sir," asked another officer, "if we stop our eternally pure and humanistic battle against the disease-ridden pigs, wouldn't the latter take that as a sign of weakness on our part?"
  Next, saviour Omar raised his hand.
  Everyone went silent.
  He looked at us.
  There were no words from his mouth.
  We waited humbly.
  Geniuses take their time to formulate the right structure of words, not because they don't know what to say, but they do so that we fools can understand what they have to say.
  It is out of concern for us.
  Omar finally spoke:
  My clean, pure soldiers. We must declare a ceasefire, for I have no other choice. As a humanist, how can I allow impure elements from our party to fight and **** Pigs, when they themselves are still 'impure'? Where is the morality in that?"
  Suddenly, I couldn't help but feel such fanatical love for this man; I can only describe his man and his words, as pieces of Heaven coming down to us inferior beings, and if we are decent, then we must grab every shred and piece that he utters, so we can, in turn, save our impure souls.
  "Beautiful thoughts indeed, my Gracious Leader!" I said.
  Then I turned to the listeners:
   "What's wrong with the rest of you? If, one of our 'own' party members was impure, then by what right does he and she have to fight and **** Pigs? We must cease all out activities, until we have a purified party! It's simple and obvious!"
  Thereupon followed silence.


I was speaking the obvious.
  Finally, a voice spoke:
  "So, how exactly are these psychologists going to 'purify' the 'minds' of our party members?"
Good question – one that I had not thought about.
  Indeed, how, and by what means, were we going to purify the undesirables?
  And then, just at the right moment, Omar spoke his words:
  "Yes, that is a great question. There's no use giving orders that no one knows how they are to be carried out. You see, it will not only be the job of psychiatrists who will purify the filthy ones. No, we will force the filthy ones, to ***** out every filthy thought, feeling, and idea; and we shall make sure that all these impure thoughts and feelings and convictions will be screamed out of their minds."
  At that last phrase, once again, I found myself pausing and thinking, what an odd thing to say!
  I got lost in my thinking.
  After all, Omar always, and I mean always choose his words carefully, for he would always make it a point to be so careful with the choice of his words, so that his credibility would never be in doubt and so people do understand that that he means exactly whatever he says.
  I must confess, I was completely confused.
  On the one hand, I had such deep reverence, complete love and a total need for Omar, and then, there was a part of me, that simply didn’t understand what he was talking about!
  I remembered, once more, how everything was so nice and easy and simple with Tony.
  But, I assume, that Tony was a general doctor, whereas Omar was a surgeon, and so, with Omar, we had to face a far more complex situation.
  "What do you mean by that, Sir?" asked one of the officers, waking me up from my thoughts.
  "I mean, it shall be the duty of every party member to purify every other party member. We must all be psychiatrists! This will be done, of course, under the supervision of the leader psychiatrist in each class. He or she will guide you, as to how to get every party member to rip out every Pig attribute in our party members. It's as simple as that."
  At that, Omar gestured to indicate that the meeting was over, and so we left.
  I kept thinking that his idea was, I'm sure, utterly brilliant, but how in practice were going to do this?


  He left his office far too soon.
  We had too many questions to ask, and yet, by leaving us, Omar was, in effect, giving us a 'programme' to do, but without clear, precise orders.
  So, how were we going to carry out his orders?
  What did he mean that 'we must all become psychiatrists'!
  That was absolutely absurd!
  Untrained people cannot simply 'become' psychiatrists, even if they are 'led' by psychiatrists – or to use Omar's words, to be 'guided' by psychiatrists.
  So, Omar's idea seemed to me, to be really a recipe for a catastrophe for our party.
  The more I thought of it, the more I found my mind asking myself the question: why was Omar insisting on this 'purification programme' in the first place?
  Couldn't the party and its members simply continue the struggle, without having to enforce this ridiculous programme?
  And didn't Omar realize that his insistence on us carrying out his orders to do the purification programme, was going to cause absolute chaos, disruption and ultimately mass desertions and expulsions from our party?
  In other words, Omar's sudden 'need' to 'purify' our own members seemed to me to be a self destructive act that would seriously damage the party.


The ceasefire announcement was barely noticed by the Pigs – which came as a shock to many of us.
  The government didn't seem to actually care at our ceasefire announcement.
  Indeed, the Pigs declared that what they termed as the 'social troubles' was, in effect, 'over' and so, therefore, the country could breathe a sigh of relief, and people could now be 'happy'.
  I didn't believe what the government was saying.
  I was of course nauseated by the hypocrisy of the Pig leaders, because, their pronouncements were lies, as usual, and they would of course, continue their merciless war against us, while we had to cease our fire.
  Yes, Leader Omar was probably correct, but I was **** frustrated, because it seemed to me, for the first time since I joined the party, that the Pigs may now well win the struggle.
  It was obvious to me!
  For how on planet earth could we 'win' a war, when we were not allowed to fight, while the same eternal enemy would continue his war against us?!
  Also, to be very honest, I'm not sure that we could 'purify' Pigs in the first place.
  It seemed to me to be a contradiction!
  I would simply have to swallow whatever Leader Omar ordered us to do.
  God knows, he's proven to be correct every time before, and maybe, he will confound us once more with his superior wisdom.
  Have faith, Sara, have faith!
  Never question the Great Leader, for he is superior to all of us; after all, that’s why he’s the ‘Great Leader’ in the first place!
  Keep the faith!
  How can we understand what a su

Slip and shatter
What's the matter?
I can tell what's up
By the space of your mental crater.
Use your words
Eloquent or blurred
Use them all
There's nothing I haven't heard.
Bad for me
Bad for you
Make a point
That isn't true
Is this the best you can put me through?
Pour it up
Hold your smoke
The 151 frightens you
The **** makes you choke
Piling up on those mental notes
They don't match the words that you just wrote
You can't control what you can't provoke
My safety is my own
And you seem like a harmless bloke
So please
Enlighten me
Make me notice
What I obviously don't see
Wether you love or destroy
Wether I'm on a pedestal or just a toy
Wether we're clear for annihilation
Wether we keep the peace
Wether we walk the straight line
Or just on the crease
None of the damage will ever cease
But you'll be lucky to see tears from me
Make me hurt
Make me bleed
Make me worry
******* make me see
If the problem of the matter
Is indeed me
It's all the same to me
I keep it simple
Keep it honest
Calm you the best way I can
And at that, I'm not always the best
I'll be the one your head lays to rest
You be the wave
I'll be the crest
Just don't feel that I'm unaware
That the danger will slowly progress
You're not my guinea pig
And you say I'm not a test
Theories will be proven, though
And some slightly laid to the side
Never really leaving
Always within the corner of our eyes
Love or friend
Killer or foe
Tell me what's on your mind
I'll promise to be the only one to know

Loyalty...what exactly does being loyal entail? Well that is hard to put into words.
Some may say that being loyal means "down to ride " or even "Iwill never cheat " . Its easy to be loyal when what your being loyal to is at lifes mountain top...
   To me real true loyaltycomes when you see some one at there worst and/or lowest point. And you still stand tall by there side .loyalty is being there  when no one else will or even wants to be .loyalty is seeing helplessness and hopelessness and embracing it as a oppurtunity  to give a hand up instead of a kick down .
   Its loving some one the same amount wether its the superbowl or the tolietbowl .loyalty to me just comes naturally and is the absolute right thing to do. It means no matter what happens they know they have you.
    Loyalty is the foundation on which every relationship and friendship is built around . With out loyalty life is meaningless and feels as fake and lonely  as it .
   Loyalty at times can be hurting even withering but at that exact time be rewarding ..loyalty is shown at lifes highs n lows ,in all shapes and forms
..so in life if you can find another person that can be truely and honestly  loyal back to you ..it gives you the sense  that it was all worth it ..
We all need that one person. That no matter which of lifes path you journey either up or down wrong or right ..you know unquestionably  will with out doubt be there for you and when you see that the road traveled leads you to a dead end you have  them to point you  in a new direction

Plates of gold, hearts of steel,
keeping our secrets, never to reveal.

For wether we know it or not,
it is nothing more than a thought.

Plates of gold, hearts of steel,
keeping our secrets, never to reveal...

THE PROLOGUE.

When that the Knight had thus his tale told
In all the rout was neither young nor old,
That he not said it was a noble story,
And worthy to be drawen to memory;                          recorded
And namely the gentles every one.          especially the gentlefolk
Our Host then laugh'd and swore, "So may I gon,                prosper
This goes aright; unbuckled is the mail;        the budget is opened
Let see now who shall tell another tale:
For truely this game is well begun.
Now telleth ye, Sir Monk, if that ye conne,                       *know
Somewhat, to quiten with the Knighte's tale."                    match
The Miller that fordrunken was all pale,
So that unnethes upon his horse he sat,                with difficulty
He would avalen neither hood nor hat,                          uncover
Nor abide no man for his courtesy,                         give way to
But in Pilate's voice he gan to cry,
And swore by armes, and by blood, and bones,
"I can a noble tale for the nones                            occasion,
With which I will now quite the Knighte's tale."                 match
Our Host saw well how drunk he was of ale,
And said; "Robin, abide, my leve brother,                         dear
Some better man shall tell us first another:
Abide, and let us worke thriftily."
By Godde's soul," quoth he, "that will not I,
For I will speak, or elles go my way!"
Our Host answer'd; "Tell on a devil way;             *devil take you!
Thou art a fool; thy wit is overcome."
"Now hearken," quoth the Miller, "all and some:
But first I make a protestatioun.
That I am drunk, I know it by my soun':
And therefore if that I misspeak or say,
Wite it the ale of Southwark, I you pray:             blame it on
For I will tell a legend and a life
Both of a carpenter and of his wife,
How that a clerk hath set the wrighte's cap."   fooled the carpenter
The Reeve answer'd and saide, "Stint thy clap,      hold your tongue
Let be thy lewed drunken harlotry.
It is a sin, and eke a great folly
To apeiren* any man, or him defame,                              injure
And eke to bringe wives in evil name.
Thou may'st enough of other thinges sayn."
This drunken Miller spake full soon again,
And saide, "Leve brother Osewold,
Who hath no wife, he is no cuckold.
But I say not therefore that thou art one;
There be full goode wives many one.
Why art thou angry with my tale now?
I have a wife, pardie, as well as thou,
Yet *n'old I, for the oxen in my plough,                  I would not
Taken upon me more than enough,
To deemen* of myself that I am one;                               judge
I will believe well that I am none.
An husband should not be inquisitive
Of Godde's privity, nor of his wife.
So he may finde Godde's foison there,                         treasure
Of the remnant needeth not to enquere."

What should I more say, but that this Millere
He would his wordes for no man forbear,
But told his churlish tale in his mannere;               boorish, rude
Me thinketh, that I shall rehearse it here.
And therefore every gentle wight I pray,
For Godde's love to deem not that I say
Of evil intent, but that I must rehearse
Their tales all, be they better or worse,
Or elles falsen some of my mattere.                            falsify
And therefore whoso list it not to hear,
Turn o'er the leaf, and choose another tale;
For he shall find enough, both great and smale,
Of storial thing that toucheth gentiless,             historical, true
And eke morality and holiness.
Blame not me, if that ye choose amiss.
The Miller is a churl, ye know well this,
So was the Reeve, with many other mo',
And harlotry they tolde bothe two.                        ribald tales
Avise you* now, and put me out of blame;                    be warned
And eke men should not make earnest of game.                 *jest, fun

Notes to the Prologue to the Miller's Tale

1. Pilate, an unpopular personage in the mystery-plays of the
middle ages, was probably represented as having a gruff, harsh
voice.

2. Wite: blame; in Scotland, "to bear the wyte," is to bear the
blame.

THE TALE.

Whilom there was dwelling in Oxenford
A riche gnof, that guestes held to board,   miser *took in boarders
And of his craft he was a carpenter.
With him there was dwelling a poor scholer,
Had learned art, but all his fantasy
Was turned for to learn astrology.
He coude* a certain of conclusions                                 knew
To deeme by interrogations,                                  determine
If that men asked him in certain hours,
When that men should have drought or elles show'rs:
Or if men asked him what shoulde fall
Of everything, I may not reckon all.

This clerk was called Hendy Nicholas;                 gentle, handsome
Of derne love he knew and of solace;                   secret, earnest
And therewith he was sly and full privy,
And like a maiden meek for to see.
A chamber had he in that hostelry
Alone, withouten any company,
Full *fetisly y-dight with herbes swoot,            neatly decorated
And he himself was sweet as is the root                           *sweet
Of liquorice, or any setewall.                                valerian
His Almagest, and bookes great and small,
His astrolabe,  belonging to his art,
His augrim stones, layed fair apart
On shelves couched at his bedde's head,                      laid, set
His press y-cover'd with a falding red.                   coarse cloth
And all above there lay a gay psalt'ry
On which he made at nightes melody,
So sweetely, that all the chamber rang:
And Angelus ad virginem he sang.
And after that he sung the kinge's note;
Full often blessed was his merry throat.
And thus this sweete clerk his time spent
After *his friendes finding and his rent.    Attending to his friends,
                                                   and providing for the
                                                    cost of his lodging
This carpenter had wedded new a wife,
Which that he loved more than his life:
Of eighteen year, I guess, she was of age.
Jealous he was, and held her narr'w in cage,
For she was wild and young, and he was old,
And deemed himself belike* a cuckold.                           perhaps
He knew not Cato, for his wit was rude,
That bade a man wed his similitude.
Men shoulde wedden after their estate,
For youth and eld are often at debate.                             age
But since that he was fallen in the snare,
He must endure (as other folk) his care.
Fair was this younge wife, and therewithal
As any weasel her body gent and small.                      slim, neat
A seint she weared, barred all of silk,                         girdle
A barm-cloth eke as white as morning milk                     apron
Upon her lendes, full of many a gore.                  ***** *plait
White was her smock, and broider'd all before,            robe or gown
And eke behind, on her collar about
Of coal-black silk, within and eke without.
The tapes of her white volupere                      head-kerchief
Were of the same suit of her collere;
Her fillet broad of silk, and set full high:
And sickerly* she had a likerous eye.          certainly *lascivious
Full small y-pulled were her browes two,
And they were bent, and black as any sloe.                      arched
She was well more blissful on to see           pleasant to look upon
Than is the newe perjenete* tree;                       young pear-tree
And softer than the wool is of a wether.
And by her girdle hung a purse of leather,
Tassel'd with silk, and *pearled with latoun.   set with brass pearls
In all this world to seeken up and down
There is no man so wise, that coude thenche            fancy, think of
So gay a popelot, or such a *****.                          puppet
Full brighter was the shining of her hue,
Than in the Tower the noble* forged new.                a gold coin
But of her song, it was as loud and yern,                  lively
As any swallow chittering on a bern.                              barn
Thereto she coulde skip, and make a game                 also *romp
As any kid or calf following his dame.
Her mouth was sweet as braket, or as methe                    mead
Or hoard of apples, laid in hay or heath.
Wincing* she was as is a jolly colt,                           skittish
Long as a mast, and upright as a bolt.
A brooch she bare upon her low collere,
As broad as is the boss of a bucklere.
Her shoon were laced on her legges high;
She was a primerole, a piggesnie ,                        primrose
For any lord t' have ligging in his bed,                         lying
Or yet for any good yeoman to wed.

Now, sir, and eft sir, so befell the case,                       again
That on a day this Hendy Nicholas
Fell with this younge wife to rage and play,       toy, play the rogue
While that her husband was at Oseney,
As clerkes be full subtle and full quaint.
And privily he caught her by the queint,                          ****
And said; "Y-wis, but if I have my will,                     assuredly
For *derne love of thee, leman, I spill."     for earnest love of thee
And helde her fast by the haunche bones,          my mistress, I perish
And saide "Leman, love me well at once,
Or I will dien, all so God me save."
And she sprang as a colt doth in the trave:
And with her head she writhed fast away,
And said; "I will not kiss thee, by my fay.                      faith
Why let be," quoth she,

Endless nights are passing, shadows lurking upon one another, one of greater darkness than the other, just waiting for pray alike a spider,
Fingernails possessed by a woman, sharper than knifes, almost alike claws they are an ornament to her delicate looking sweet body,
Her ****** devotion, driving her mad in a moment of distraction from deep within her split mind, time stands still, meaning is lost,
What's left to hunt in a place in which a monster causes rampage ?
Wasting no time, she seeks her next victim, drenched in impurity.
Approaching it the girl pretends to be gentle, caring yet worried but in truth she had only one plan, to feed of its despair, its infinite pain,
With crimson tears of both joy and fear of what she had become, the gal greets it to the end of its already shortened life after she gained trust, respect, maybe even a little love in this blazing hell with no sun,
Knocking it over she ramms her nails into the flesh of his face, piercing through while making sure he is not able to gain any motion,
Softly, in a slow cruel yet elegant manner she rips off chunks of it,
A distorted scream fills the room, laughter accompanies it as she loses herself to this waving melody of pain, questioning wheter or not to be replaced by the transience they have named life, or wether to live on,
As soon as he stops screaming she cuts through his cheek, getting stuck, breaking away her nail to set her hand free once again,
Nine knifes remain in there after all, surely that would be enough,
Clapping her hands in glee her next motive was a skillful punch to knock him out after her satisfaction of ruining his face had reached its peak in a riot of unexplored, absolutely undefined emotions,
Awaiting the awakening of her pray the lunatic sharpens her nails once again, now they would go on to the second act of her crime,
Tortured with true or false of this action she decides to take a stand
*******, simply to draw on the blood drenched body with cutting marks of the finest lines in an art of lunacy, a nightmare,
Recurrance in emotions, recurrance in her actions, for her it's "fun",
Act 3 has come close, it was time to rip him open and reveal his treasure, for what she actually wanted was a heart she never had,
Straight cutting to the mans chest it had been done, all what was needed now would be to break his rips to fully expose his insides,
Ah, phantoms of a long past, as the present burns away with cuts,
The symbol of hatred had achieved her final destiny, at last that is,
Each ***** was either ripped off and thrown out in fury or devoured immediately in her hunger she felt whilst working,
Hanging him by his guts she takes everything out till he is hollow,
Lifeless she watches him rot a little, having crushed his bones,
What was left when time is moving once again in a realm of light ?
Her crime goes unrecorded, unnoticed as the corpse became fuel for the fire alike hell, until her twisted mind drags her to do this again

~ Umi

Death he follows me wherever I go.
Wether it be in the depths of the forest
Or the deepest of seas death he follows me wherever I go.
He follows me in my dreams painted with the face of an angel.
As we dance on the dirt of the earth, death he follows me wherever I go.
He follows me into the darkness and covers me with sadness, I tell him I don’t want him while he screams that he loves me death he follows me wherever I go.
He lays next to me as I wake and sings songs of the days to come, death he follows me wherever I go.
He wraps his arms around my body and bores his fingers in my soul, death he follows me wherever I go.
He whispers in my ear when I try to speak and wraps his hands around my throat death he follows me wherever I go.
He lays on top of me as I sleep running his wicked finger down my body death he follows me wherever I go.
He pushed himself into my life and I fell in love with him. Death I follow him wherever he goes.

Every morning and every night
Srarting from the sunset to the sunrnise
Wether you are awake or sleeping
Wether you are near or away
With every second passing
I will always love you
In all possible and all ways
I will always love you
Till the end of my days

You are my dearest love
Of all the time
You are my one and the only
And I'm glad you are mine

I did believe in miracles
Still believe though
But never for me
You are my miracle and

I will always love you
In all possible and all ways
I will always love you
Till the end of my days

I worry so much about you,
About how you feel,
What you feel,
Wether it's pain sadness or happiness,
I worry all the time,
I worry or that fact that I will not always be here for you,
That one day you'll need me a I won't be able to come,
I worry that no matter how hard I try,
You will take the most painful route,
Of death pain and sorrow,
I worry all the time ,
I worry over little things and bigs,
But my worrying is justified because I care,
And I care with all my body mind heart and soul,
About you,
So I worry all the time.

He was a Grecian lad, who coming home
With pulpy figs and wine from Sicily
Stood at his galley’s prow, and let the foam
Blow through his crisp brown curls unconsciously,
And holding wave and wind in boy’s despite
Peered from his dripping seat across the wet and stormy night.

Till with the dawn he saw a burnished spear
Like a thin thread of gold against the sky,
And hoisted sail, and strained the creaking gear,
And bade the pilot head her lustily
Against the nor’west gale, and all day long
Held on his way, and marked the rowers’ time with measured song.

And when the faint Corinthian hills were red
Dropped anchor in a little sandy bay,
And with fresh boughs of olive crowned his head,
And brushed from cheek and throat the hoary spray,
And washed his limbs with oil, and from the hold
Brought out his linen tunic and his sandals brazen-soled,

And a rich robe stained with the fishers’ juice
Which of some swarthy trader he had bought
Upon the sunny quay at Syracuse,
And was with Tyrian broideries inwrought,
And by the questioning merchants made his way
Up through the soft and silver woods, and when the labouring day

Had spun its tangled web of crimson cloud,
Clomb the high hill, and with swift silent feet
Crept to the fane unnoticed by the crowd
Of busy priests, and from some dark retreat
Watched the young swains his frolic playmates bring
The firstling of their little flock, and the shy shepherd fling

The crackling salt upon the flame, or hang
His studded crook against the temple wall
To Her who keeps away the ravenous fang
Of the base wolf from homestead and from stall;
And then the clear-voiced maidens ‘gan to sing,
And to the altar each man brought some goodly offering,

A beechen cup brimming with milky foam,
A fair cloth wrought with cunning imagery
Of hounds in chase, a waxen honey-comb
Dripping with oozy gold which scarce the bee
Had ceased from building, a black skin of oil
Meet for the wrestlers, a great boar the fierce and white-tusked
spoil

Stolen from Artemis that jealous maid
To please Athena, and the dappled hide
Of a tall stag who in some mountain glade
Had met the shaft; and then the herald cried,
And from the pillared precinct one by one
Went the glad Greeks well pleased that they their simple vows had
done.

And the old priest put out the waning fires
Save that one lamp whose restless ruby glowed
For ever in the cell, and the shrill lyres
Came fainter on the wind, as down the road
In joyous dance these country folk did pass,
And with stout hands the warder closed the gates of polished brass.

Long time he lay and hardly dared to breathe,
And heard the cadenced drip of spilt-out wine,
And the rose-petals falling from the wreath
As the night breezes wandered through the shrine,
And seemed to be in some entranced swoon
Till through the open roof above the full and brimming moon

Flooded with sheeny waves the marble floor,
When from his nook up leapt the venturous lad,
And flinging wide the cedar-carven door
Beheld an awful image saffron-clad
And armed for battle! the gaunt Griffin glared
From the huge helm, and the long lance of wreck and ruin flared

Like a red rod of flame, stony and steeled
The Gorgon’s head its leaden eyeballs rolled,
And writhed its snaky horrors through the shield,
And gaped aghast with bloodless lips and cold
In passion impotent, while with blind gaze
The blinking owl between the feet hooted in shrill amaze.

The lonely fisher as he trimmed his lamp
Far out at sea off Sunium, or cast
The net for tunnies, heard a brazen *****
Of horses smite the waves, and a wild blast
Divide the folded curtains of the night,
And knelt upon the little ****, and prayed in holy fright.

And guilty lovers in their venery
Forgat a little while their stolen sweets,
Deeming they heard dread Dian’s bitter cry;
And the grim watchmen on their lofty seats
Ran to their shields in haste precipitate,
Or strained black-bearded throats across the dusky parapet.

For round the temple rolled the clang of arms,
And the twelve Gods leapt up in marble fear,
And the air quaked with dissonant alarums
Till huge Poseidon shook his mighty spear,
And on the frieze the prancing horses neighed,
And the low tread of hurrying feet rang from the cavalcade.

Ready for death with parted lips he stood,
And well content at such a price to see
That calm wide brow, that terrible maidenhood,
The marvel of that pitiless chastity,
Ah! well content indeed, for never wight
Since Troy’s young shepherd prince had seen so wonderful a sight.

Ready for death he stood, but lo! the air
Grew silent, and the horses ceased to neigh,
And off his brow he tossed the clustering hair,
And from his limbs he throw the cloak away;
For whom would not such love make desperate?
And nigher came, and touched her throat, and with hands violate

Undid the cuirass, and the crocus gown,
And bared the ******* of polished ivory,
Till from the waist the peplos falling down
Left visible the secret mystery
Which to no lover will Athena show,
The grand cool flanks, the crescent thighs, the bossy hills of
snow.

Those who have never known a lover’s sin
Let them not read my ditty, it will be
To their dull ears so musicless and thin
That they will have no joy of it, but ye
To whose wan cheeks now creeps the lingering smile,
Ye who have learned who Eros is,—O listen yet awhile.

A little space he let his greedy eyes
Rest on the burnished image, till mere sight
Half swooned for surfeit of such luxuries,
And then his lips in hungering delight
Fed on her lips, and round the towered neck
He flung his arms, nor cared at all his passion’s will to check.

Never I ween did lover hold such tryst,
For all night long he murmured honeyed word,
And saw her sweet unravished limbs, and kissed
Her pale and argent body undisturbed,
And paddled with the polished throat, and pressed
His hot and beating heart upon her chill and icy breast.

It was as if Numidian javelins
Pierced through and through his wild and whirling brain,
And his nerves thrilled like throbbing violins
In exquisite pulsation, and the pain
Was such sweet anguish that he never drew
His lips from hers till overhead the lark of warning flew.

They who have never seen the daylight peer
Into a darkened room, and drawn the curtain,
And with dull eyes and wearied from some dear
And worshipped body risen, they for certain
Will never know of what I try to sing,
How long the last kiss was, how fond and late his lingering.

The moon was girdled with a crystal rim,
The sign which shipmen say is ominous
Of wrath in heaven, the wan stars were dim,
And the low lightening east was tremulous
With the faint fluttering wings of flying dawn,
Ere from the silent sombre shrine his lover had withdrawn.

Down the steep rock with hurried feet and fast
Clomb the brave lad, and reached the cave of Pan,
And heard the goat-foot snoring as he passed,
And leapt upon a grassy knoll and ran
Like a young fawn unto an olive wood
Which in a shady valley by the well-built city stood;

And sought a little stream, which well he knew,
For oftentimes with boyish careless shout
The green and crested grebe he would pursue,
Or snare in woven net the silver trout,
And down amid the startled reeds he lay
Panting in breathless sweet affright, and waited for the day.

On the green bank he lay, and let one hand
Dip in the cool dark eddies listlessly,
And soon the breath of morning came and fanned
His hot flushed cheeks, or lifted wantonly
The tangled curls from off his forehead, while
He on the running water gazed with strange and secret smile.

And soon the shepherd in rough woollen cloak
With his long crook undid the wattled cotes,
And from the stack a thin blue wreath of smoke
Curled through the air across the ripening oats,
And on the hill the yellow house-dog bayed
As through the crisp and rustling fern the heavy cattle strayed.

And when the light-foot mower went afield
Across the meadows laced with threaded dew,
And the sheep bleated on the misty weald,
And from its nest the waking corncrake flew,
Some woodmen saw him lying by the stream
And marvelled much that any lad so beautiful could seem,

Nor deemed him born of mortals, and one said,
‘It is young Hylas, that false runaway
Who with a Naiad now would make his bed
Forgetting Herakles,’ but others, ‘Nay,
It is Narcissus, his own paramour,
Those are the fond and crimson lips no woman can allure.’

And when they nearer came a third one cried,
‘It is young Dionysos who has hid
His spear and fawnskin by the river side
Weary of hunting with the Bassarid,
And wise indeed were we away to fly:
They live not long who on the gods immortal come to spy.’

So turned they back, and feared to look behind,
And told the timid swain how they had seen
Amid the reeds some woodland god reclined,
And no man dared to cross the open green,
And on that day no olive-tree was slain,
Nor rushes cut, but all deserted was the fair domain,

Save when the neat-herd’s lad, his empty pail
Well slung upon his back, with leap and bound
Raced on the other side, and stopped to hail,
Hoping that he some comrade new had found,
And gat no answer, and then half afraid
Passed on his simple way, or down the still and silent glade

A little girl ran laughing from the farm,
Not thinking of love’s secret mysteries,
And when she saw the white and gleaming arm
And all his manlihood, with longing eyes
Whose passion mocked her sweet virginity
Watched him awhile, and then stole back sadly and wearily.

Far off he heard the city’s hum and noise,
And now and then the shriller laughter where
The passionate purity of brown-limbed boys
Wrestled or raced in the clear healthful air,
And now and then a little tinkling bell
As the shorn wether led the sheep down to the mossy well.

Through the grey willows danced the fretful gnat,
The grasshopper chirped idly from the tree,
In sleek and oily coat the water-rat
Breasting the little ripples manfully
Made for the wild-duck’s nest, from bough to bough
Hopped the shy finch, and the huge tortoise crept across the
slough.

On the faint wind floated the silky seeds
As the bright scythe swept through the waving grass,
The ouzel-**** splashed circles in the reeds
And flecked with silver whorls the forest’s glass,
Which scarce had caught again its imagery
Ere from its bed the dusky tench leapt at the dragon-fly.

But little care had he for any thing
Though up and down the beech the squirrel played,
And from the copse the linnet ‘gan to sing
To its brown mate its sweetest serenade;
Ah! little care indeed, for he had seen
The ******* of Pallas and the naked wonder of the Queen.

But when the herdsman called his straggling goats
With whistling pipe across the rocky road,
And the shard-beetle with its trumpet-notes
Boomed through the darkening woods, and seemed to bode
Of coming storm, and the belated crane
Passed homeward like a shadow, and the dull big drops of rain

Fell on the pattering fig-leaves, up he rose,
And from the gloomy forest went his way
Past sombre homestead and wet orchard-close,
And came at last unto a little quay,
And called his mates aboard, and took his seat
On the high ****, and pushed from land, and loosed the dripping
sheet,

And steered across the bay, and when nine suns
Passed down the long and laddered way of gold,
And nine pale moons had breathed their orisons
To the chaste stars their confessors, or told
Their dearest secret to the downy moth
That will not fly at noonday, through the foam and surging froth

Came a great owl with yellow sulphurous eyes
And lit upon the ship, whose timbers creaked
As though the lading of three argosies
Were in the hold, and flapped its wings and shrieked,
And darkness straightway stole across the deep,
Sheathed was Orion’s sword, dread Mars himself fled down the steep,

And the moon hid behind a tawny mask
Of drifting cloud, and from the ocean’s marge
Rose the red plume, the huge and horned casque,
The seven-cubit spear, the brazen targe!
And clad in bright and burnished panoply
Athena strode across the stretch of sick and shivering sea!

To the dull sailors’ sight her loosened looks
Seemed like the jagged storm-rack, and her feet
Only the spume that floats on hidden rocks,
And, marking how the rising waters beat
Against the rolling ship, the pilot cried
To the young helmsman at the stern to luff to windward side

But he, the overbold adulterer,
A dear profaner of great mysteries,
An ardent amorous idolater,
When he beheld those grand relentless eyes
Laughed loud for joy, and crying out ‘I come’
Leapt from the lofty **** into the chill and churning foam.

Then fell from the high heaven one bright star,
One dancer left the circling galaxy,
And back to Athens on her clattering car
In all the pride of venged divinity
Pale Pallas swept with shrill and steely clank,
And a few gurgling bubbles rose where her boy lover sank.

And the mast shuddered as the gaunt owl flew
With mocking hoots after the wrathful Queen,
And the old pilot bade the trembling crew
Hoist the big sail, and told how he had seen
Close to the stern a dim and giant form,
And like a dipping swallow the stout ship dashed through the storm.

And no man dared to speak of Charmides
Deeming that he some evil thing had wrought,
And when they reached the strait Symplegades
They beached their galley on the shore, and sought
The toll-gate of the city hastily,
And in the market showed their brown and pictured pottery.

The pad of my thumb sits on your face
It fits in that place
where your brow and cheek bone meet.
Your mouth submits to the taste of my skin
It gets my attention.
Those thin lips harbor a chase to cure
The abstention you know I endure
Until I retire the entire set of rules
I've laid out, wether weeks or months,
In this case, hours, your goal will be completed.
Because defeated isn't in your vocabulary
I'd even consider it rarely.
You win.
Which is a win-win.

By the time as it passes endlessly without coming to a halt.
Each human has been gifted with wealth, wether that be material or
not is of no importance, some possess more, some do possess less.
However, the most valuable wealth which is in a clear recording,
Is neither chosen to be owned, nor can one choose to abandon it.
Some tend to waste it, according to others by their individual opinion.
For some it is a cruel fate, as it runs out quicker until the life has reached its destined point, fades away into the embrace of death
Some use it for their advantage, to gain success, renown, luster.
Are you able to guess what it is, has the obvious been pointed out ?
Tick, tock, time passes, to never to turn and change it's path
As I am getting lost in emotions, such as tremor in my thoughts, I have stared into the pocket watch, its motion which gently calms me,
Thinking about the seconds which pass, I am locked in this angel's
sight with no chance to flee, digging deeper into the structure of my mind without minding the time which is escaping before my eyes.
Tick, tock, self reflection, thinking through actions, this time I spend staring is far from being wasted, far from being thrown away.
Until finally, I close it, sighing in relive

~ Umi

The bars had opened just that morning
turned him loose again
he wandered blindly down the street
just lookin for a friend

The tombstones filled with empty graves
were drinking in the park
so he sat  to quench his thirst
and lingered well past dark

THE BARS ARE ALWAYS OPEN
EXCEPT FOR WHEN THEY'RE CLOSED
THE DRUNK TANK SPINS IN CIRCLES
YOUR FREEDOM COMES AND GOES

All the barkeeps know his name
they've tossed him out before
so he cracks a pint in silence
next to the corner store

He's drank with everyone in town
they all pay for his drinks
a legend to both young and old
at least thats what he thinks

THE BARS ARE ALWAYS OPEN
EXCEPT FOR WHEN THEY'RE CLOSED
THE DRUNK TANK SPINS IN CIRCLES
YOUR FREEDOM COMES AND GOES

The rising sun must weigh a ton
pins him to the ground
inside his skull a screaming hell
that never makes a sound

He always smells like whiskey wether
day or if it's night
a bottle stashed inside his coat
the daydream goes allright

he lives a dream thats long since passed
he toasts to a full cup
the nightmare there when he awakes
he simply drinks it up

THE BARS ARE ALWAYS OPEN
EXCEPT FOR WHEN THEY'RE CLOSED
THE DRUNK TANK SPINS IN CIRCLES
YOUR FREEDOM COMES AND GOES

Nobody likes me
Im fat
Im skinny
Im ugly
Im unattractive
Im stupid
Im dumb
Im short
Wether i wear make up or not
Whether when i was kid or adult
Wether is my boyfriend
Co workers
Mom
Dad
Sisters
Brother
Aunt
Or anyone
Wether is strangers
Or not
Im unwanted
By everyone

Hellfire do not go out!
Please just stay as you are
Once in the flames I wander through an answerless world
All the embers burning all the people are turning, trying to get away..
Hellfire do not go out!
Please just stay as you are
No matter how much they walk, no matter how far...
In the end they are consumed by these merciless flames
Burnt away, until not even their names,
Are remembered here, in this world full of shames
As the fire burns I ask myself wether this is a nightmare or not
And as it consumes my very soul and makes me then rot
I begin to then understand my very purpose, my destiny
Just being fuel for that fire to burn is what was planned for me
Oh Hellfire, will you go out ?
No, once you are about to go out, you just keep roaring loud
Come back hotter, more painful than I can take
My body is burning up, I think my mind is going to break
And as this torture goes on
I wished I would be gone

~ Umi

She's a thousand miles from where she needs to be,
With a hundred and seven things to do.
And the only things she manages are
"Wince, breath, hold it in, and turn blue."
Exhaling,
She turns to see a path carved of her own destruction

In her wake.

Unaware of how she got here, and now:
Her heart is torn in two.
You think it's wether it's him or wether it's you.
But it's wether it's to sleep forever or stay 'til forever gives up on her.
Involuntarily,
She stumbles on the trail of bodies

In her wake.

It's months or maybe millennia later,
Time has no compassion here.
Her immortal face is as unwavering as stone.
But the scars she's counted have undoubtably grown.
Her bones hide secrets the whole world knows.
And though she'll burn from the heat of the stones they throw.
Everything is still drowning amongst waves

In her wake.

But she knows how to make time and all of everything stand still.
She can ease the world of her venomous touch.
With a single bolt of lead and palm full of small white relief,
At last,
All of us can be put out of her misery.
Only the obligatory tears will fall
When the guest books from her history spill from the celebratory halls

At  *her wake.

Feel free to hate me.
Feel free to love me.
You can insult me.
You can give me compliments.
As much as you want.
But please tell me.
Stop talking behind my bak.
Stop pointing.
You can just tell me what you think of me.
I am strong enough to hear the true.
Hate me.
Love me.
Tell me but please respect me.
I am just like you only different.
And you can hate me or love me.
But I am still a human being.
Sick of all the laughing, whispering and pointing.
So just tell me what you think.
I am strong enough to handle the true when you say it in my face.

wether you are fat wether you are thin
wether you are skinny or have a double chin
inside you have a heart and have feelings too
no matter who you are theres love inside of you.

outside dosent matter the inside is the part
that gives its love to you from within your heart
love is there inside you, love is for us all
no matter what you look like love it has no wall.

looks they count for nothing its what inside of you
love it is for all for the whole world through
something that we have something that we share
no matter what you look like love is everywhere

We once burned witches...

No.

We burned people who were accused
of being witches or practicing witchcraft...

never proven but still burned....

burned alive...

wether or not they were witches
will remain unknown
and why should it
have mattered if they were,
what excuse was that to have
behaved so maliciously hateful and cruel

I will tell you this though
if I had been a witch
or knew any kind of witchcraft
the first thing i would have done

is work out a fire proof charm
perfected an unburnable spell
an I can walk through the fire
and feel a hell of a lot better
after doing so spell
a my blood and bones
burn hotter than the sun spell
a you better get that
little matchstick outta my face spell
before I show you how to burn
THE REAL MONSTERS here spell

the monsters with the lust
to watch flesh turn
to cinder and ash monsters
the monsters who feared
the unordinary who showed
any kind of extraordinary monsters
the monsters of the masses
with crosses that burned
like torches monsters
the monsters who screamed ******
in the name of....

monsters

the monsters who could not see
their own reflection
for the hideous creatures
they were monsters

the same monsters that still live today
on this side of the looking glasses
under our thin skinned social structure

still burning witches

subtly now

with words of disdain
full of pernicious intentions
towards the lost and the lonely

with the cold staring eyes of indifference
and hearts without an once of compassion
towards the homeless and hungry

with the revulsion and abhorrence
towards those who love
the ones they love

the witches being any unordinary
that show any kind of extraordinary
still being feared for their difference
still being hated
reduced to nothing but
pill size suicides
red ribboned wrists
rope neck ties
for feeling too much
pushing too far
flying too high
dancing in cinder to ash
being burned
burned for being alive

you always told me the littlest things
that you loved about me,
wether it was the spark in my eye
or the way i smiled in between
our make out sessions.
usually we'd sit and talk for hours,
trying to understand half
of the things you said.

you told me you loved
most of the things that i couldn't
figure out. it was like solving a jigsaw puzzle.
you loved the way
the sun kissed my face, so you'd reach out and touch it in the most
un expectable way.
you loved the way i teased you
before you leaned in to kiss me,
we both laughed because you
ran out of words to say.

so i told you all of the things i loved
about you.
as i told you, you tried hard
to make it clear that you were listening
and that i had your full attention.
i told you i wasn't good with words
and explaining my self.
but you understood anyway,
you still listened.
i couldn't find a way to
tell you
that i'm in love with you and everything
that you do.

maybe it was in the way
that you put your hand on my face
or the back of my neck,
when you leaned in to kiss me.
but i know that i wouldn't change it
for anything in the world.

-b.m

By the soul and it's order and porportion given to it
Inspired by it's wickness and righteousness each spirit strives
for it's own clear goal, wether that be nihilistic in some eyes,
or of great worth to others, each soul has been brought with
the greatest of purity at its time of birth.
Corrupting it is as simple as purifying it, but the evil, shades,
seduces tempts and leads astray to which a soul poorly responds.
Desires, wishes, hopes and dreams of them differ in many unique,
fantastic or irritational, preculiar and dark.
However, each spirit of a living being shares one similarity,
It is, as simple as it may appear, just the wish and dream to live
a life in carefree attitudes and a happy manner.
Of course, wealth too is amongst those shared desires, but this
world is cruel, brutal and shows no mercy as others have too much
and others have almost none at all.
Oh you of humble birth, patience, tollerance, compassion, love are
making this world a better place.
So give from your wealth and purify your soul by such,
in the remembrance of the poor, oppressed, depressed, abused,
starving human beings, whom could at least have it a little better.
And each soul runs on a clear course, determined to meet it's fate
when the sunset of its life has arrived and death becomes a cover.


~ Umi

The majority of humanity thinks and believes that the mind-body is the whole being.

The majority of people today are stuck in dreams,
in characters.



Ever since it has become clear to me that i am not this body-mind,
i can do absolutely nothing this whole lifetime and still have so much fun peacefully observing every-single-thing.

And from the very moment of realization,
aside from learning as much as possible from this body and this world,
the wanting to share this experience has been tremendously irresistible.

Life and this entire world is so nice and beautiful and fun,
but it is all temporal,
it is not for ever,
it does not last for ever.

It is absolutely clear enough to see that every-thing that lives, dies.

My question then is:

Why are we so attached to the things of this world,
and why are we taking it all so serious?

It is the goal of Life for every-one to come to experience the Truth

A life-time is enough to touch people.

In this life-time,
threw Esteban,
i can demonstrate to others how life should be according to human nature.

But threw Esteban,
only a few years will be available.

Hence in these few years,
not a day will go by in which i am not following the heart,
and the Way of nature and Life.

It is threw my enjoyment of life,
threw my exploration of life,
that my true message is revealed.

I have thought about writing books;
but there is already so many books,
each expressing truth in different and unique ways..

Jesus was killed because he wouldn't stop expressing his truth.

And ever since the time of Jesus,
there have been so many books,
so many great books,
inspiring humanity to wake up.

So wether i write just another book on Truth or not,
it is the book of my whole life that will leave a mark on eternity;
not just a few truthful words,
but a whole truthful life.

And the funny thing is,
that it is such a simple thing to do..

It simply requires that one lets go of the image that has been created in the mind about who you think you are.

In other words,
the ego.

And not only who you think you are,
but also of who you want to be,
who you are struggling to be.

And that can be a hard thing for some people,
because they have been working ******* this image.

But this individuality,
this believe that you are separate from existence,
has to dissolve.

Because the whole effort to be famous and known in the world is only satisfying the ego.

The satisfaction is of your own mind,
and it comes when you can repeatedly tell your-self:
I am this. I have done this. I have achieved this. Look at who i am. Look at what i have done!

It is a silly idea that one has to let go of,
because truth is,
that we are not separate from the universe,
we are not divided from nature and existence.

The ego wants Life to be according to its own made up plan..

Forgetting that the whole evolution of Life and consciousness has been in it's process way before humans were created.

Therefor,
separating one's self from the whole of existence is a very silly thing to do.

Because every-thing that exists,
every-thing that lives,
is all working together,
as One,
according to Nature,
in accordance to the flow of Life.

Clearly enough,
all sufferings and all negativity,
arise when this separate image appears,
and tries to create its own personal way of life.

This imaginary identity desperately demands from life and says :
"Ok no! Why are things like this? Why are they not like this??"

In its own personal ignorance,
it asks for the impossible.

Ego is greedy.

It wants to be the owner of things,
it wants to be in control of everything.

It wants to control the weather..

If it is raining,
ego complains:
"****, why is it raining??"

If you have a girlfriend/ boyfriend,
ego wants to be in control,
bringing onto you,
self created conflicts by wanting things that can not be,
that can not happen.

One needs to understand how things truly are and begin to accept their reality.

Accept the things that we can control and the things we can not control.

The things that we are responsible for and the things we are not responsible for.

You are responsible for your life,
I am responsible for my life,
We are responsible for our lives,
and that is all.

As i see it,
life is a deep study of ourselves.

A challenging opportunity to analyze the things in us that have to be fixed,
that have to be balanced.

We can not keep going with life unconscious about our un-balances,
habits,
addictions.

We have to work on the things that are not right in us.

And even though we all have different un-balances,
in the end it comes down to knowing who we are.

When i say "we",
i am not talking about the mind-body organism;
When i say "we",
i am talking about the awareness.

So when i say "we",
i am referring NOT to the one who is talking right now using words, symbols, sounds, and language,
but to the silence from which all sounds come out of and eventually return to.

That silence i refer to as awareness.

It has no shape or form.

Awareness is formless.

And once we start to see that we are that which has no form,
we can then dis-identify from that which consists of form,
and this brings total freedom.

It means freedom from the things that come and go,
freedom from all that is temporal.

One begins to enter the realm of eternity.

One begins to understand how we are eternity itself.

What is the eternal?

The eternal is that which IS without any form.

And as it is clearly seen,
everything that has form at one point turns into no-form.

What ever has a form will eventually dissolve into no-form.

What is that inside of the form that allows the form to move?

What is it that gives life to the form?

The form disappears,
but that invisible force of energy always remains.

As far as my understanding goes as of now:

Just as we are not the creators,
the designers,
of our whole body,
we do not bind our-selves to the body either,
that is a job of God.

It is God who designed the body,
we are just the awareness.

And the awareness is everywhere,
in every-thing.

But as the awareness,
right now we are experiencing ourselves threw the human body,
and in the capacity of this human experience,
we are able to know our true selfs,
coming closer to God than ever before.

And the human life-form is the only life-form that can go so far in this understanding.

All other life-forms are incapable of this understanding.

The very same awareness that we are,
that is also in plants and animals,
can not have the same experience that the human body allows.

And that is all part of the goal of life and evolution.

That is the journey of consciousness,
to come to this point of being a human,
and here by,
totally allowing the understanding of who we are.


Now this can not be understood by the mind,
hence one must go beyond mind.

Because the mind is part of the body.

It is not the whole.

By my own understanding:

We can not rely on the mind.
We can not believe the mind.
We can not believe our thoughts.
We can not believe the thoughts of others.

We can not believe in believes because believe is not truth.

Wether one believes or does not believe,
truth remains truth.

The mind is an amazing tool,
provided by the human body,
to help and serve the human being;
To  learn from the past,
and to plan for the future.

But we can not count on the mind to tell us what is true,
because mind is a huge storage room,
it is all memory;
Mind is like a computer full of data with so much information,
so much knowledge.

So much that the whole history of humanity is there.

But it is impossible to see ourselves threw the mind,
for the simple reason that WE can see the mind.

WE are aware of the mind.
WE are aware of thoughts.
WE see all images that happen in our head.

When we are thinking,
we are NOT the thinker.

This is where things went wrong.

When we started to believe that we are the thinker.

We started thinking so much,
that at some point,
not even realizing it,
we started to think and then believe,
that we are the thinker.

And this is the mind-trap that drowns us into confusions.


If your heart is speaking to you,
if something from within is pulling you,
it is going to happen.

If you are in the world,
and something does not feel right,
as if something is missing,
as if you are incomplete in some way,
and something has to be attained,
found,
you are going to find it,
as long as you stick with your feelings.

And even though it is a sucky situation,
even though it is not a totally peaceful struggle to figure out what is true and what is not true,
it will be impossible to run away from it,
because it will continue to haunt you.

It is always going to be there,
pulling you,
pulling you,
pulling you.

If you are feeling pulled into something great,
out of this world,
my advice,
is that you follow your feelings.

Forget all about this world.

Do not be concerned with what other people tell you.

Discover life on your own.

Discover truth for yourself.

Learn what you can from people.

Listen to people,
but do not believe people.

Flow with life,
and where ever you are,
be there as the observer.


If you are with people,
just watch people.

If you are by yourself,
just watch yourself.

Keep following your feelings.

A crow never stole corn
   that the earth didn’t give freely
The man too often takes
  too much credit for what
    he puts down into the dirt
Wether it is a seed or a body
As if he alone made
  life sprout and grow
As if without him
   the earth would not be green
    the sky would not be blue
As if he himself is
  the very GOD he prays to
The man forgets his place
  when murdering the crow
   for nothing more
     than being a crow
Mistaking black beaks
  and black feathers
    and black eyes
  as things that must
    always be up to no good
A bird that is no good
  for anything but a target
    for his hate and fear
As if the crows heart
   was meant for nothing other
     than to give his bullets
        something to bite into
The man becomes something
   less and less
 every time he murders
    another crow

it's hard to tell
wether what I feel
is something real
or just a fantsy
in my head

imagination
and daydreams
create feelings
that aren't real

it's often hard
for me to
separate
these false emotions
from those of truth
and decide
what i feel
and what i thought up

because when you live
with your head in the clouds
things become confusing
dreams and imagination
mingle with what's real
and it drives you mad
because you can't tell
what is real

-r.y.s

See the sadness in my eye, if you took the time to look
But most people believe the lie, sinker line and hook
Embarresed to talk bout the feelings in my mind
So I internalize it all, get used to it in time
But the darkness never fades, it is always on the edge
Looking at these lines, that are dropping A from read
The scars will never disappear, remind me of my past
Even though I have moved on from that, fear that they aren't last
Still plague me in my dreams, wether waking or asleep
So I try to ignore the demons creeping out of me
They escape in time alone, but surrounded I'm no better
Short sleeves it's apparent, kinda like my scarlet letter
D for depression or M misunderstood
People say they're here to help, but tell me how you could
Do you get the pain I live with? Is it something you understand?
Do you lay awake at night, with a razor grasped in hand?
Does your arm run red, when the worlds too much to bear?
Or do you have another means to get you out your head?

So don't tell me you get it, sympathy for me's no good
Rather when you see me with my headphones on and hood
Don't tell me that it's nothing and don't think that you know better
Cause chances are there's reason behind wearin long sleeved sweaters
I don't mean to be scarin kids or give the wrong impression
It's just the more you know, the more you'll understand depression

It's sad how no one gets it, get judges it's so offensive
Like an expletive instead of answering a question
It's me, my scars my life
Not you, your kid your wife
Your ******* a bit too tight
Try to loosen up inside
Cause it's not your life that's ******
Not your problem you're in luck
Never wish this **** on anybody, no ifs ands or buts
Tormented by day, live with terror in the night
Cause the shade envelopes me no matter how I fight
Just gave up, my wall collapsed
Defenses didn't last
So I caved in let the darkness have a blast
Say it's just phase, **** I wish that **** were true
But it disappears then returners stronger in a day or two
The numbness creeps up higher, reaching for my brain
Then finally it's became part of every nerve and vein
Encompasses my body and it takes over control
Until the days fade together, looking like a blur
This is not a joke, you just probably don't know
Ive been dealin with this it's begun to take a toll

So don't tell me you get it, sympathy for me's no good
Rather when you see me with my headphones on and hood
Don't tell me that it's nothing and don't think that you know better
Cause chances are there's reason behind wearin long sleeved sweaters
I don't mean to be scarin kids or give the wrong impression
It's just the more you know, the more you'll understand depression

I get so **** frustrated when I hear these people hate
About how weird those scars look, they don't take a second or wait
Try to figure out the meaning, or the reasoning behind
All the anger or the sadness that could cause the kind of drive
That would force the decision to drag across your skin
A razor or a knife or a lit cigarette end
But to me that **** means something that to you it never could
Because livin it myself has brought me closer to
The truth that lies beyond what these people have forgot
It's not your place to judge anyone who's cut
Cause chances are your wrong, and you probably make worse
Cause from experience that won't make them think first
It's just another reason to be done with your surroundings
To disappear inside and become hard as granite
To live to die to choose
Some alleviate with *****
While others turn to pills or *** to get them out the mood

So don't tell me you get it, sympathy for me's no good
Rather when you see me with my headphones on and hood
Don't tell me that it's nothing and don't think that you know better
Cause chances are there's reason behind wearin long sleeved sweaters
I don't mean to be scarin kids or give the wrong impression
It's just the more you know, the more you'll understand depression

In these times we live in-Never has it been morE crucial to realise wether  you are a true child of God...or a servant of the world!At the eve of Good Friday ,take a moment and think.Jesus Christ bore the blame and died for humanities sin-we were truely without hope-we deserved Gods punishment...yet Jesus became our mediator between us and God!His death gave us the salvation to one day spend Eternity outside of damnation...yes free from damnation in the pits of Hell!Jesus died-so that we could live!He left us His Peace!....We need to become aware that the Devil is out to destroy Gods true children-and Is perpetuating the lie that the Peace of the Lord is off this world!If you ever felt restless inside-know that the PeacE of the Lord Jesus is the deeper peace we must look for-and that the  peace being "of a state of mind" is off this world-and there to mislead the true children of God (wether it be financially,emotionally or even reliGiously)We as Gods children need to know that persecution will come against us,for being Gods children!Jesus made it clear that if the world come against us-we should know that it came againSt Him first!Taking a stand may mean facing resistance and being "outcasted"(from relationships,your current work environment etc)But one day when the time of Jesus"s coming happens-judgement upon all of humanity shall happen(for we shall be held accountable for our every deed,good and bad,)The oppression we will face will be because we proclaim Jesus to be the one and only entry unto God-and that He is the only salvation from damnation!For if we profess with our mouth-we profess out loud.Decide in your heart now:if you are ready to rEceive Gods offering-and know that we are like sheep sent out amongst the wolves,yet have a shepard who will watch over us! Jesus has risen from the grave-He triumphed over death and this world!and herein lies the wonder of Gods love:WE have been pardoned by HIS death!!He will come for His true children!!Be Blessed!

Your trying too hard to make me invisible.
Yet there's something left in that head that makes me irresistible.
All ego set aside...
I'm not the one to run and hide.
Your stuck in this moment that doesn't even exist.
It's too bad you fell in love with a realist.
Started making things up, to make that pedestal seem higher.
But the world can be an ugly place...I'll let you in on a secret, your not the only liar.
That pedestal has been stuck in that hole you continue to dig.
I have been trying to work around it, but you have my world rigged.
My beautiful dragonfly will lead the way around.
Knows you just as well as I do, so it's got me flying far from the ground.
If you want to continue to live behind the scenes...
Carry on, by all means.
I tried to convince myself it was all derived from respect,
Like you never pulled the trigger, but with the coldness of your heart I don't know what's left.
Just remember the world will keep on turning.
This is the only fire still capable of burning.
With the lack of words, it should need its oxygen fix.
I guess in light of you, it has it's own tricks.
Your not the only one slowly sinking in quick sand,
Looking around...in need of a hand.
The fact is, not everyone is that weak...
Having to file the most difficult into the "problems that don't speak".
This is more real for me, than it is for you.
Yet you can't get it through your head that it's even true.
There is beauty in all evil, & now it resides right by my side.
The weight of it grows heavier as the days roll on, may as well have some pride.
The worlds evil can transform, if you care enough to mold it yourself.
The thing is you were never there, so you are clueless how it feels, or how it felt.
My beautiful dragonfly,
Never got the chance to walk along side.
Never had the opportunity to leave footprints in the sand.
Not even a moment to reach for a hand.
But eclectic wings have spread,
Ever since the sky shattered, some light has shed.
All I need is me, myself, & my dragonfly.
May not have been born to the real world, but the soul is encrypted in my mind.
Wether you come to terms and face the facts, or continue to hide.
At least I will have evils beauty, forever flying by my side.

How many times do you want me to say such poisen to the heart?
I love you, I love you, I love you. (528473)

I'll kiss  you,
a million times.

Just step from the cliff,
and take the gun from my heart.

And love me  to pieces.

i love you
with welling emotions that pour over my cup
i dont question these feelings
niether do they waver to another persons

but i question wether it will be returned
this feeling towards you
i also doubt you'll be happy
with the future that's in our presence
i dont know wether we'll die together
or be torn apart by faith
i love you the most

but is it enough to bend worlds

Life isnt measured by likes on a post,
Or followers, friends, or tweets.

Life can't be counted by people we meet
Or losses we face.

Life doesnt keep a tally sheet
Marking down our scores.

Life isn't measured by the breaths we take
But it isn't counted by the moments that take our breath away, either

Life can't be drawn out for us, and counted on a graph
It can't be explained or sectioned off into days, months or years

We carve our own paths, and we don't need to count the steps

Because wether you use 0 or 26 letters,
Wether your heart beats 2 or 200 times
We are not numbers, we cannot be counted. We are so much more.