They found themselves in that part of the city by accident. Arguments and resentment can cause that sort of aimless wandering, but it's always strange when the two are too stubborn to pull away and wander as individuals. The smells and the sounds shook them out of their thoughts, nutmeg and incense, rhythm and laughter of an unfamiliar hue. In front of them was the source of the music and motion, dimly lit in a recess of the street, but with the unmistakable scent of life pouring out of it. Drawn forward, as if by some invisible force, they entered that bar we resident ex-pats call L'Serpent Rougue.

Cushions and carpets and hookah smoke, dim lamps and cinnamon and coffee, above all the beat of the drums. Drums of all shapes and sizes, Darbouka's most numerous, played by toothless old men and bare chested youths, pounding out sound that got into the blood and burned the heart. They had no words for it, this throbbing in the chest. Barely through the door and already they felt the urge to loosen clothes, remove shoes, partake of unknown sensations. They were seated in a corner towards the back by a middle-aged man who gave them that appraising look purveyors of delights save for those they recognize as novices. Hossam didn't ask their order, immediately brought strong Turkish coffee and a double hosed brass hookah. He also guessed, correctly, that both of them drank whiskey. They sat back in their cushions, closer than they had been for weeks, and drank of that place as they would have of a complex wine or the work of a master painter.

Faces gazed unclothed out of lamplight, shorn of the daytime business-as-usual mask, bidding the couple to do likewise and share in this freedom. This sheer, abject celebration of humanity was something they had never seen or truly comprehended, something more in the way of an abstract idea like physics or the Trinity. But to have it here, now, ****** upon them in such a place was such a shock that perhaps they may yet have shied from it and fled, but it was at that moment that the music changed to a new tempo. Hossam excused himself from the bar and, picking up the Oud propped in a corner, took his place among the musicians.

Simoom was said to be the most beautiful woman in the city, and to have seen her that night, anyone would have believed it. Eyes not quite midnight, but the kind of dark blue that comes just before the sun hints at it's rise. Skin that rich olive color which moves all people deep inside, reminding them in a round about way of the days when the abundant harvest was a reason for rejoicing. The very ideal of grace as she took her own sacred place within the circle of the drummers.

Hossam began a melody, so worn with time and use that one could see the years fall from his body, could see through time to the passion that had always driven his music. And the drummers, young and old alike, followed slowly, almost hesitantly in his wake, as if unsure that they should try and accompany the wellspring flowing from his fingertips. But Simoom, she knew this song, this timeless outflowing, and matched every undulation, every direction Hossam poured out of his instrument and his heart. He played like some Sufi dervish caught up in ecstasy, flames of music which she danced through as a Jinn of the Hejaz.

All of this, the two almost estranged lovers became a part of. In one of those mysterious and unquantifiable facets of human experience, their finite lives became something else. This warmth they had never known suddenly reached out its arms and embraced them. In the midst of that dark place they had found their love descending into, by some chance or will or what have you, they arrived at what some might call a...what's the term...oh yes, "Den of Iniquity". This is the miracle: the differences and petty quarrels, resentments hidden for months, the weight of mundane life, all of the pinpricks upon the heart that lovers unknowingly bestow upon each other fell away, just as the passion of the Oud shed years from Hossam.

They left L'Serpent Rougue with his arm around her waist and her hand in his back pocket, smiling and open to the world. The walk home was itself a new adventure. They danced arm in arm in the middle of the street to a homeless man who played the fiddle, sang the words to their favorite '90s songs as they climbed up the apartment stairs.

Who cares what the landlord says anyway?

She had one of those Chinese calligraphy sets, and she had practiced with it in the years since it was given to her. Practiced that art almost as if it was the only thing that truly belonged to her. As if her entire identity was composed of beliefs ****** upon her by some outside force save for this. Little did she know that this conviction about being an almost carbon copy of ideas not truly his own was a feeling also held by her lover.

That night at the bar and in the street, he saw something in her that he had never witnessed before. The moment when after they got home he took off his shirt and asked her to get the brush and ink was close to forcing him to recede back into a shell. The memories of a person he used to be, fallen far away. But then she smiled and pushed him back upon that rickety bed. She took that brush and ink, painted her soul onto his secret places, and he did the same in turn to her.

my only dream now
to return to the old preppy garments
and the boisterous hallway
with friendly arms around my neck
breathing the whiff of boisterous energy
to feel the brotherly armor
the friendly kiss of peace
the high jinks

the giggling and throaty beats of husky youths
the naive maturity of free thinkers
filled with optimistic hopes...

Save! what a misery it is to know
to know that my juvenile years
can never return to me.
I pity thyself.
Oh how  quickly time fades!
but memos forever remain.

I was only an invisible spectator.

IV. TO HERMES (582 lines)

(ll. 1-29) Muse, sing of Hermes, the son of Zeus and Maia, lord
of Cyllene and Arcadia rich in flocks, the luck-bringing
messenger of the immortals whom Maia bare, the rich-tressed
nymph, when she was joined in love with Zeus, -- a shy goddess,
for she avoided the company of the blessed gods, and lived within
a deep, shady cave.  There the son of Cronos used to lie with the
rich-tressed nymph, unseen by deathless gods and mortal men, at
dead of night while sweet sleep should hold white-armed Hera
fast.  And when the purpose of great Zeus was fixed in heaven,
she was delivered and a notable thing was come to pass.  For then
she bare a son, of many shifts, blandly cunning, a robber, a
cattle driver, a bringer of dreams, a watcher by night, a thief
at the gates, one who was soon to show forth wonderful deeds
among the deathless gods.  Born with the dawning, at mid-day he
played on the lyre, and in the evening he stole the cattle of
far-shooting Apollo on the fourth day of the month; for on that
day queenly Maia bare him.  So soon as he had leaped from his
mother's heavenly womb, he lay not long waiting in his holy
cradle, but he sprang up and sought the oxen of Apollo.  But as
he stepped over the threshold of the high-roofed cave, he found a
tortoise there and gained endless delight.  For it was Hermes who
first made the tortoise a singer.  The creature fell in his way
at the courtyard gate, where it was feeding on the rich grass
before the dwelling, waddling along.  When be saw it, the luck-
bringing son of Zeus laughed and said:

(ll. 30-38) 'An omen of great luck for me so soon!  I do not
slight it.  Hail, comrade of the feast, lovely in shape, sounding
at the dance!  With joy I meet you!  Where got you that rich gaud
for covering, that spangled shell -- a tortoise living in the
mountains?  But I will take and carry you within: you shall help
me and I will do you no disgrace, though first of all you must
profit me.  It is better to be at home: harm may come out of
doors.  Living, you shall be a spell against mischievous
witchcraft (13); but if you die, then you shall make sweetest
song.

(ll. 39-61) Thus speaking, he took up the tortoise in both hands
and went back into the house carrying his charming toy.  Then he
cut off its limbs and scooped out the marrow of the mountain-
tortoise with a scoop of grey iron.  As a swift thought darts
through the heart of a man when thronging cares haunt him, or as
bright glances flash from the eye, so glorious Hermes planned
both thought and deed at once.  He cut stalks of reed to measure
and fixed them, fastening their ends across the back and through
the shell of the tortoise, and then stretched ox hide all over it
by his skill.  Also he put in the horns and fitted a cross-piece
upon the two of them, and stretched seven strings of sheep-gut.
But when he had made it he proved each string in turn with the
key, as he held the lovely thing.  At the touch of his hand it
sounded marvellously; and, as he tried it, the god sang sweet
random snatches, even as youths bandy taunts at festivals.  He
sang of Zeus the son of Cronos and neat-shod Maia, the converse
which they had before in the comradeship of love, telling all the
glorious tale of his own begetting.  He celebrated, too, the
handmaids of the nymph, and her bright home, and the tripods all
about the house, and the abundant cauldrons.

(ll. 62-67) But while he was singing of all these, his heart was
bent on other matters.  And he took the hollow lyre and laid it
in his sacred cradle, and sprang from the sweet-smelling hall to
a watch-place, pondering sheet trickery in his heart -- deeds
such as knavish folk pursue in the dark night-time; for he longed
to taste flesh.

(ll. 68-86) The Sun was going down beneath the earth towards
Ocean with his horses and chariot when Hermes came hurrying to
the shadowy mountains of Pieria, where the divine cattle of the
blessed gods had their steads and grazed the pleasant, unmown
meadows.  Of these the Son of Maia, the sharp-eyed slayer of
Argus then cut off from the herd fifty loud-lowing kine, and
drove them straggling-wise across a sandy place, turning their
hoof-prints aside.  Also, he bethought him of a crafty ruse and
reversed the marks of their hoofs, making the front behind and
the hind before, while he himself walked the other way (14).
Then he wove sandals with wicker-work by the sand of the sea,
wonderful things, unthought of, unimagined; for he mixed together
tamarisk and myrtle-twigs, fastening together an armful of their
fresh, young wood, and tied them, leaves and all securely under
his feet as light sandals.  The brushwood the glorious Slayer of
Argus plucked in Pieria as he was preparing for his journey,
making shift (15) as one making haste for a long journey.

(ll. 87-89) But an old man tilling his flowering vineyard saw him
as he was hurrying down the plain through grassy Onchestus.  So
the Son of Maia began and said to him:

(ll. 90-93) 'Old man, digging about your vines with bowed
shoulders, surely you shall have much wine when all these bear
fruit, if you obey me and strictly remember not to have seen what
you have seen, and not to have heard what you have heard, and to
keep silent when nothing of your own is harmed.'

(ll. 94-114) When he had said this much, he hurried the strong
cattle on together: through many shadowy mountains and echoing
gorges and flowery plains glorious Hermes drove them.  And now
the divine night, his dark ally, was mostly passed, and dawn that
sets folk to work was quickly coming on, while bright Selene,
daughter of the lord Pallas, Megamedes' son, had just climbed her
watch-post, when the strong Son of Zeus drove the wide-browed
cattle of Phoebus Apollo to the river Alpheus.  And they came
unwearied to the high-roofed byres and the drinking-troughs that
were before the noble meadow.  Then, after he had well-fed the
loud-bellowing cattle with fodder and driven them into the byre,
close-packed and chewing lotus and began to seek the art of fire.

He chose a stout laurel branch and trimmed it with the knife....
((LACUNA)) (16)
....held firmly in his hand: and the hot smoke rose up.  For it
was Hermes who first invented fire-sticks and fire.  Next he took
many dried sticks and piled them thick and plenty in a sunken
trench: and flame began to glow, spreading afar the blast of
fierce-burning fire.

(ll. 115-137) And while the strength of glorious Hephaestus was
beginning to kindle the fire, he dragged out two lowing, horned
cows close to the fire; for great strength was with him.  He
threw them both panting upon their backs on the ground, and
rolled them on their sides, bending their necks over (17), and
pierced their vital chord.  Then he went on from task to task:
first he cut up the rich, fatted meat, and pierced it with wooden
spits, and roasted flesh and the honourable chine and the paunch
full of dark blood all together.  He laid them there upon the
ground, and spread out the hides on a rugged rock: and so they
are still there many ages afterwards, a long, long time after all
this, and are continually (18).  Next glad-hearted Hermes dragged
the rich meats he had prepared and put them on a smooth, flat
stone, and divided them into twelve portions distributed by lot,
making each portion wholly honourable.  Then glorious Hermes
longed for the sacrificial meat, for the sweet savour wearied
him, god though he was; nevertheless his proud heart was not
prevailed upon to devour the flesh, although he greatly desired
(19).  But he put away the fat and all the flesh in the high-
roofed byre, placing them high up to be a token of his youthful
theft.  And after that he gathered dry sticks and utterly
destroyed with fire all the hoofs and all the heads.

(ll. 138-154) And when the god had duly finished all, he threw
his sandals into deep-eddying Alpheus, and quenched the embers,
covering the black ashes with sand, and so spent the night while
Selene's soft light shone down.  Then the god went straight back
again at dawn to the bright crests of Cyllene, and no one met him
on the long journey either of the blessed gods or mortal men, nor
did any dog bark.  And luck-bringing Hermes, the son of Zeus,
passed edgeways through the key-hole of the hall like the autumn
breeze, even as mist: straight through the cave he went and came
to the rich inner chamber, walking softly, and making no noise as
one might upon the floor.  Then glorious Hermes went hurriedly to
his cradle, wrapping his swaddling clothes about his shoulders as
though he were a feeble babe, and lay playing with the covering
about his knees; but at his left hand he kept close his sweet
lyre.

(ll. 155-161) But the god did not pass unseen by the goddess his
mother; but she said to him: 'How now, you rogue!  Whence come
you back so at night-time, you that wear shamelessness as a
garment?  And now I surely believe the son of Leto will soon have
you forth out of doors with unbreakable cords about your ribs, or
you will live a rogue's life in the glens robbing by whiles.  Go
to, then; your father got you to be a great worry to mortal men
and deathless gods.'

(ll. 162-181) Then Hermes answered her with crafty words:
'Mother, why do you seek to frighten me like a feeble child whose
heart knows few words of blame, a fearful babe that fears its
mother's scolding?  Nay, but I will try whatever plan is best,
and so feed myself and you continually.  We will not be content
to remain here, as you bid, alone of all the gods unfee'd with
offerings and prayers.  Better to live in fellowship with the
deathless gods continually, rich, wealthy, and enjoying stories
of grain, than to sit always in a gloomy cave: and, as regards
honour, I too will enter upon the rite that Apollo has.  If my
father will not give it to me, I will seek -- and I am able -- to
be a prince of robbers.  And if Leto's most glorious son shall
seek me out, I think another and a greater loss will befall him.
For I will go to Pytho to break into his great house, and will
plunder therefrom splendid tripods, and cauldrons, and gold, and
plenty of bright iron, and much apparel; and you shall see it if
you will.'

(ll. 182-189) With such words they spoke together, the son of
Zeus who holds the aegis, and the lady Maia.  Now Eros the early
born was rising from deep-flowing Ocean, bringing light to men,
when Apollo, as he went, came to Onchestus, the lovely grove and
sacred place of the loud-roaring Holder of the Earth.  There he
found an old man grazing his beast along the pathway from his
court-yard fence, and the all-glorious Son of Leto began and said
to him.

(ll. 190-200) 'Old man, weeder (20) of grassy Onchestus, I am
come here from Pieria seeking cattle, cows all of them, all with
curving horns, from my herd.  The black bull was grazing alone
away from the rest, but fierce-eyed hounds followed the cows,
four of them, all of one mind, like men.  These were left behind,
the dogs and the bull -- which is great marvel; but the cows
strayed out of the soft meadow, away from the pasture when the
sun was just going down.  Now tell me this, old man born long
ago: have you seen one passing along behind those cows?'

(ll. 201-211) Then the old man answered him and said: 'My son, it
is hard to tell all that one's eyes see; for many wayfarers pass
to and fro this way, some bent on much evil, and some on good: it
is difficult to know each one.  However, I was digging about my
plot of vineyard all day long until the sun went down, and I
thought, good sir, but I do not know for certain, that I marked a
child, whoever the child was, that followed long-horned cattle --
an infant who had a staff and kept walking from side to side: he
was driving them backwards way, with their heads toward him.'

(ll. 212-218) So said the old man.  And when Apollo heard this
report, he went yet more quickly on his way, and presently,
seeing a long-winged bird, he knew at once by that omen that
thief was the child of Zeus the son of Cronos.  So the lord
Apollo, son of Zeus, hurried on to goodly Pylos seeking his
shambling oxen, and he had his broad shoulders covered with a
dark cloud.  But when the Far-Shooter perceived the tracks, he
cried:

(ll. 219-226) 'Oh, oh!  Truly this is a great marvel that my eyes
behold!  These are indeed the tracks of straight-horned oxen, but
they are turned backwards towards the flowery meadow.  But these
others are not the footprints of man or woman or grey wolves or
bears or lions, nor do I think they are the tracks of a rough-
maned Centaur -- whoever it be that with swift feet makes such
monstrous footprints; wonderful are the tracks on this side of
the way, but yet more wonderfully are those on that.'

(ll. 227-234) When he had so said, the lord Apollo, the Son of
Zeus hastened on and came to the forest-clad mountain of Cyllene
and the deep-shadowed cave in the rock where the divine nymph
brought forth the child of Zeus who is the son of Cronos.  A
sweet odour spread over the lovely hill, and many thin-shanked
sheep were grazing on the grass.  Then far-shooting Apollo
himself stepped down in haste over the stone threshold into the
dusky cave.

(ll. 235-253) Now when the Son of Zeus and Maia saw Apollo in a
rage about his cattle, he snuggled down in his fragrant
swaddling-clothes; and as wood-ash covers over the deep embers of
tree-stumps, so Hermes cuddled himself up when he saw the Far-
Shooter.  He squeezed head and hands and feet together in a small
space, like a new born child seeking sweet sleep, though in truth
he was wide awake, and he kept his lyre under his armpit.  But
the Son of Leto was aware and failed not to perceive the
beautiful mountain-nymph and her dear son, albeit a little child
and swathed so craftily.  He peered in ever corner of the great
dwelling and, taking a bright key, he opened three closets full
of nectar and lovely ambrosia.  And much gold and silver was
stored in them, and many garments of the nymph, some purple and
some silvery white, such as are kept in the sacred houses of the
blessed gods.  Then, after the Son of Leto had searched out the
recesses of the great house, he spake to glorious Hermes:

(ll. 254-259) 'Child, lying in the cradle, make haste and tell me
of my cattle, or we two will soon fall out angrily.  For I will
take and cast you into dusty Tartarus and awful hopeless
darkness, and neither your mother nor your father shall free you
or bring you up again to the light, but you will wander under the
earth and be the leader amongst little folk.' (21)

(ll. 260-277) Then Hermes answered him with crafty words: 'Son of
Leto, what harsh words are these you have spoken?  And is it
cattle of the field you are come here to seek?  I have not seen
them: I have not heard of them: no one has told me of them.  I
cannot give news of them, nor win the reward for news.  Am I like
a cattle-liter, a stalwart person?  This is no task for me:
rather I care for other things: I care for sleep, and milk of my
mother's breast, and wrappings round my shoulders, and warm
baths.  Let no one hear the cause of this dispute; for this would
be a great marvel indeed among the deathless gods, that a child
newly born should pass in through the forepart of the house with
cattle of the field: herein you speak extravagantly.  I was born
yesterday, and my feet are soft and the ground beneath is rough;
nevertheless, if you will have it so, I will swear a great oath
by my father's head and vow that neither am I guilty myself,
neither have I seen any other who stole your cows -- whatever
cows may be; for I

Gather up, all you roaming and innocent true eyed youths,
the bells that chime the maturing of years will dictate.
And our minds, even in dreaming, are flashing,overloading,constantly ON.
Burning ourselves back towards the sediment,
back towards the eve of light and the horizon’s sweet ascent,
the hope of the bettering of Man (Woman, Child, Subject, Dependent, Enemy, Statistic)
to be played out by actors unsure all over again,
Plot, attempt, market research, unlikely success, unforetold rapid decline
Walk on down that road.

Twenty-Three years of Searching and Bafflement
I still walk on down that road.
The air smelling of leaking chemicals of exported decorative garden plants
the odd fir tree to remind me of a progressive upheaval.
I’ve read about Everything, I’ve sought out Everything; I’ve tried Everything
And yet still unsatisfied.
And yet onward I trot....
Left with the only things I still enjoy doing
Reading, writing about reading and writing about life
listening to music (Both new and the old, same old...cycle ending cycle re-entering brainwaves)
Thinking about ******’
and occasionally enjoying non-self centered ***
(Giving, once in a while, such unexpected joy, and who’d have thought?..)
And always at the back of my head
wondering how if I could get hooked on some supposed poisonous deity
Billfold notes stained ******* or some equally widely condemned non-popular pariah seal
And if I managed not to impoverish myself and become alienated from friends and family
And the moral majority
Then perhaps I could evolve to enjoy even that.
What is pleasure and its pursuit if not some guarantee of routine?
So I continue walking down that road.

Away, away, soon to return another day
Fresher (hardly) enlightened, the same...
and still I cannot recommend to myself
anything else but walking.
For to which valley the wise one goes, who knows, who knows......
Turn left, turn right, only the principles of geography can begin to decide fate.
(Though I would suggest bringing an umbrella, every now and again, just in case....)
To search for others, who would bring a chance of difference, on that self-same route
who share jokes about this one man...
Who was walking down that road.

I'm waiting, for someone to care, for people to change, realize what they're doing and why. I want to stop thinking that I am alonee, want to know there's someone else that thinks like I do you and sees how the rest of these people are so shadowed and blind. I want to see the good times again, and I want to remember these moments, knowing there are more to come. But my hope is falling through my fingers, as each day passes drearily in the same **** way. Without Change. And I wonder why people think their way of life is Okayy. I want to fill the lonely emptiness and longing I have, but they continue to make me more and even more empty, leaving me a shell of the wonderous possibly I know I can be. Just held back by their thoughts of their reality. They can try to listen to me, like anyone should, but I know they just don't understand, and I just wish I could change that, and let them see what I see, how ugly they really are. Allow them to know what their actions really spell.

I want to escape to a place with passion, not passiveness. A place with spirit and soul and color and good vibes, full of true originality and heart. With NO INTENTIONS. Just truth. Just simplicity. Just happiness and laughter and love. No consequences. No melodramaticacy. A place where there are no fake smiles, only unstoppable dimples. Made by REAL and TRUE moments, moments so rare to me now I can hardly remember the last. I just want the truth, not lies. And I want everything the world can offer. Is that too much to ask? I want risk. Where did that go? I want to be and feel like an entire human being living for true happiness and potential, fulfilling dreams, no matter the circumstances.

But these kids, these future conquerors of the world, they continue to allow themselves to be completely controlled by the social norms of our ******* society. I refuse. But it has no mercy, society is a killer, high school it's ally. It controls, infects, then kills the soul. A sad death all too willingly accepted. It hazes the youths real priorities, and takes over the immune system, rejecting difference.

“When people move-when they travel-they look at where 
they come from,
not where they’re going.” -Martin Amis, *Time’s Arrow

*

Let us now take this chance

to praise those dancing demons 
of ambition,
whose feigned clairvoyance 
of fortune
and exactitudes of fame

burn as the smell of smokey fallow 
to the new-retired mare.



Travel, and all its takeoffs,

all its energies in skidding towards

an unopposed truth, makes its mince

by outlining all we ever look for

but leaving the chalkdust prints

of what we fail, at first, to find.



Yes, spaces contrary to the familiar exist
Carnivore cities of grind and result

cascaded above the floodwalls that save

the vagrant’s midnight search.

Coastal clearings of pacific civs,

best kept secrets where trees are still planted

and further kinds of nowhere that you never expected

to simmer with all the prospects of bored and implacable youths

who pine to efface the status quo, which ,after all, is quite the average,

is quite like “HOME”



Though I suppose, we eventually find

whatever space can be considered our own

when everyone grows up and stops

pretending they read Burroughs,
have a lot more going on, or are a lot less busy
than they make out over infrequent coffee meetings
(where it is also admitted

that they brew their own hot beverages,
or tell their own jokes)

Somewhere in the near-space continuum where Travel has

become for us what essentially differentiates
the commonplace in nature from 
that most human of neuroses,

the acceptance of a willing to improve the conditional.



And so to Ambition, and its fiery fops who make us refute

steadiness, accountability, the routine of the resolute

Who let our ships of sanctimony attack

implied with the luxury of steering back.

now that i am older,
i am faster,
stronger,
braver,
now that i am older,
i am wittier,
prettier,
probably,
possibly,
definitely,
shitier,

i can help it now i am older,
i will continue to get older,
till i am frail,
pale,
meek,
made obsolete,
they just want to press delete,
i am a burden to the nation of youths,
so wide-eyed and bushy tailed with determination,
endless possibilities,
that will come to an end,
because,
like me,
you will get older,
i promise like me,
pale and meek and obsolete,
someone somewhere,
will press delete.

But who cannot give the true world to true Christians? It's a great opportunity to learn the wiki/oh club, the patient's styles, the latest work and the smallest Arabic language. People all over the world admit that they go to a cold place. Begin to go to the owl. There are 16 colorful flowers in Mexico that are covered with ****** and wool ducts. By his hands, creator of the fire of his prayer to the green lunar lights in evergreen forests. The Simple and Simple ****** notifications show, from dark to modern, feminine and elegant ibid etu. In lunar month 60, the 60 lunar months are celebrated during the 60th month of the moon, the durability of the hills and other options. The father of modern philosophers, philosophers and biologists is the culture of his father. For example, on January 1, the male is floating in the river. Others are in deep darkness. They were attacked in California. Security The German form has changed. "In Saudi Arabia between 2016, 2016 and 2017, between 7 ****** and 100 dollars in Saudi Arabia and Africa from seven to five Latin American ****** and Lebanese psychologists in three African countries and Saudi Arabia, Azerbaijan, Syria and Saudi Arabia Arabia Azizar, Arabs, many Arabs, Arabs, Mexico, pharaoh in Palestine, Palestine ... in Syria, Arabia, ****** in Saudi Arabia and Russia, Rwanda and South America, from north to north, example, music, 1 things, 1, United States , Sierra Leone, USA, New Yasin, Hana, 2016, 7 prostitutes with *** / AIDS in Sierra Leone and ****** for about 15 years in the United States is the father of the modern physicist. "Piloviši āšitirononiši. "But who can not give the true world to Christians? It's a great opportunity to learn the wiki / oh club, the styles of the patients, the ****** and the Arabic language to go to a cold place with ducts and wool Hands, its creator on fire, its p Yer, the golden lunar lights, in evergreen forests Visualization of simple and unique notifications from dark to modern, feminine, legibidetu In the 60th month The lunar months are celebrated during the 60th month of the moon, the hills, the durability and other options.The father of the philosophers; philosophers, ****** and modern biologists in this culture of his. For example, the 1 January, the male is floating in the river., others are in Deep darkness, were attacked in California Security Security The German way has changed: "In Saudi Arabia, Saudi Arabia and Saudi Arabia, and between 2016, 2016 and 2017, between 7 ****** and 100 dollars is in Saudi Arabia ****** and Africa, fr seven to five Latinos, Americans, psychologists and Lebanese in three African countries in Saudi Arabia, Saudi Arabia, Azerbaijan, Syria and Saudi Arabia, Azizar, Arabs, many Arabs, Arabs, Mexico, Pharaoh in Palestine, Palestine ... in Syria, Saudi Arabia and Russia, Rwanda and South America, from north to north, for example, music, 1 things, 1, EU. United States, Sierra Leone, USA, New Yasin, Hana, 2016, 7 *** / AIDS Q Sierra Leone and the ***** ******, approximately 15 years in the United States and father of the modern physicist, "piloviši āšitirononiši".

But who cannot give the real world to true Christians? It is a great opportunity to read the wiki / ice clubs, the patient's styles, the ultimate work, and the smallest Habubi. Youths from around the world are welcome to go to a cold place. They begin to go to an owl. In Mexico, there are 16 colored flowers covered with leather and wool. By their hand, their Creator with their fire, their prayers in their prayers, the lunar green lights, the invented forests. Simple, unique notification display from dark to modern, female, legibidetu. If the 60's moon lunar months in the city (if necessary) in the 60's moon lunar months, the hills are sustainable and other options are granted. Modern philosopher father, philosopher and biologist is his father's culture. For example, January 1 male males are floating in the river. Others are in deep gloom. They were attacked in California. Security Safety The German way has changed. "Haiti in prostitution in Saudi Arabia and Saudi Arabia in the USA, and in 2018, 2016 and 2017 between US $ 7 and US $ 100 in Saudi Arabia and Africa, seven to five Latinos, the US, psychologists and Lebanon In Niger, Syria, Saudi Arabia, Azerbaijan, Syria and Saudi Arabia, Azizar, Arabs, many Arabs and four Arabs, Mexico, Pharaoh in Palestine, Palestine ..., Syria, Saudi Arabia and Russia, Raw and South America. It is connected so we travel north to north, for example, music, 1 things, 1, Italy US, in the United States, in Sierra Leone, in the United States, New Yasmin, Hanna, 2016, 7 *** / AIDS / *** / AIDS in Sierra Leone and ******, has 15 years in the United States. He is the father of modern physicist "Plovts Astronomes".

However, who cannot fail to ignore the true Christians for the realm. It's a wonderful opportunity to read the prayers of the Wizards / Snow Clubs, the Patient Styles, Finally the Great Work and the Little Honey bun. Worldwide, young people are the cool place for young foreigners to get in. They begin to go into the dazzle, and in Mexico there are 16 colored flowers that are covered with skin and musk. Professionals with their fire-burning creations for their own hands, with their prayer hands, the moon's apple-lamps, the inventor's jungle. Simple, unique notification screen from dark to modern, woman, legibidetu. In the city, the nickname of the sack (if the need is greatest) in 60 consecutive lunar months is given to the nomadic hippies and other options. Modern philosopher father, philosopher, biologist father is his own culture. For example, on January 1, sweeteners of male breeds are floating in the river. Others are in deep darkness. They were attacked in California. Security Safety The German Road has changed the way. "Haiti was born in the United States to prostitutes in Asia and Saudi Arabia and in 2012 in 2018, 2016 and 2017 between 7 and 15, 100 USA in Saudi Arabia and Africa, from seven to five Latinos, USA, psychologists and Lebanie Newman, FBI in Africa, who belongs to Syria, Latin America, Syria and Saudi Arabia, Azizar, in the city many Arabs and four Arabs, Mexico, Pharaoh in Palestine, Palestine ..., Syria, Saudi Arabia and Russia. , Raw and South America cover ******, and my pacifier is in line with the mountains. So we're moving north to north, eg. . . , Music, Things with 1, .. 1, Italian, Spanish 1 Things to See in the Night, March 1 and 3 Set / European allergy in the United States, USA, New Yasin, Hanna, 2016, 7 ; *** / AIDS / AIDS in the Sierra Leone and ****** prostitutes. In 2017 in the United States, in Sierra Leone there is 15 years in the United States. A father of science is the father of "Presbyx Astronomos," the father of modern physics from the United States.

However, anonymity cannot ignore that it is not separate from the Christian, which is required for the true identity of the club. It would be a great opportunity to read the prayers, not to reopen the tolerance of the quarantine / desert of the yeterk'otechiwuni mountain club, the ****** of patience and finally smoking ****** of great work and a little honey. It is a cool place in the world with winds that allow young people to enter, young foreigners on earth in general. Before it starts, the ****** and finally begin to get to the forefront: 16 colored ****** covered in skin and muscle of ****** in Mexico. Made for you The experts who set themselves on fire at the same time to mix their hands in prayer, the lights of the apples of the moon, the Forest of the Facilitator. Simple, without any intelligence screen in the dark forever, the brand's favorite woman, legibidetu. The origin of the experience within 60 lunches in a city called nickname if it is strange (for a great thinker, as needed), told the umpires the ****** and the Advanced Options tab, then the celestial body for fields of artificial origin natural, the name of the father of modern philosophy, philosopher, biologist is the custom of his own. For example, on January 1. Sweet tables of ****** and floating in a river. Others, however, in the greatest, are in darkness, light. Given an attack struck in California by victims of violence. 1 .. .. .. Safety has changed the German mountain road. "Haiti was born in the United States, prostitutes from Asia and Saudi Arabia, as well as in 2018, 2016 and 2017, from 7 to 15, 100 in the United States, which can be found in Saudi Arabia and Africa, seven or five. Latin America, the United States is a leading psychologist and Lekeridinal Newman, Division 1 of the FBI in Africa, ****** and Syria, Latin America, Syria and Saudi Arabia, Azaz, many of the ****** and four ****** in the city, but in Mexico, pharaoh in the river, Palestine ..., Syria, Saudi Arabia and Russia, ****** and South America cover the ***** and protect her PC compatible with the fields and mountains. "Three to the west, to the north, for example. . . , music, way of seeing things from the religious 1 .. .. 1, Italian, Spanish 1, which happened during the night, ****** and I know that the woman from 1 to 3, regardless of the risk of / European allergy / blood in States AIU (blood red), G Female blood lobe / 6 2 / *** virus (***) degree of transfusion Secret of abu one year in the United States United States, New Yassin, Hannah, 2016, 7; Sierra Leone for 15 years in the United States, United States in 2017 in the prostitutes of Saudi Arabia and ******. Poppy seeds from the United States, such as biology or scientific research Praedictionibus Astronomicus, "father of modern physics", father of scientific knowledge.

Converse shoes and sometimes vans.
Most of them aren't worn up because there's always new ones.

Skinny jeans and crop tops.
Whoever understood these shrinking styles?
This generation of despair and confusion.

Teens who look up to eachother more than their family.
Teens who find satisfaction on the side of a sharpener's razor or the end of a cigarette.
Teens who live in their young lives more than their parents ever did.

We're seeing chaos and ****** of little children.
Wars in countries that hates eachother.
The oxygen thats thinning right in front of our faces.
And how much poison being thrown at us, brainwashing youths and toddlers.
Making them miserable without them being aware of it.

But this is the generation that knows the power of loving eachother.
The generation that uses that power to stay alive.

We're living on the edge.
We're seeing what the world is becoming.
And we are the only hope, to get **** back on track.
Hell even adults say that.

With ghastly cries the clock doth bound
Every sound to earth and ground
Only it sees times grim rounds
Clock! Have mercy on this soul
Once a child now I'm old
The grave outside will soon have bones
Let death not vist to this home
Clock! Go to time and plead my case
Let this life be not erased
Let me slip through times cracks untraced
Let me keep my youths young face
Clock! You tick without a word
Do you not comprehend whats heard?
And earth! For time you must have cure
For you stay pure and so unturned
And I grew weak with thoughts absurd
Clock! I understand your chains
That time may only have reins
But still I'll look to find a way
To cheat on time and shed my fate
With ghastly cries the clock doth bound
Every sound to earth and ground

Well It Seems Nowadays...    

THAT..." Black Lives Matter "..... ?
Well I'd Say THE HUMAN Factor...  
Is What We SHOULD RECAPTURE... !!!!!!!!  
IN FACT What I Mean Is... "Capture"... !!!  

Because My Lifes' Chapters...  
HAVEN'T SEEN Too Much Data...    
That Humans In Their Manner...  
Are Living By... That Standard...    

There's NO Doubting THAT... !!!  
When It Comes To ATTACKS...  
That Are Made Against Blacks...  

Humanity LACKS...  
What It Is To RETRACT...  
And.... RECOGNISE....  
That Di-vi-s-ive Vibes    
Are... TAKING Lives... !!!!!  
And DIVI-D-ING Tribes... !!!!!  

You See SUBJECT MATTER...  
I DEAL IN.... HAMPERS....  
Those Who Hanker...  
To Work With FAKE DATA...  

FAKE Like.... TANNERS....  
Standing By Standards...  
Doubled Up And Captured  
By Their...  Actions... !!!  

STICKING To Factions...  
Thought Waves FRACTURED... !!!  
BELIEVE ME Sadness...  
Forms Their MADNESS...  

Anger Now S C A T T E R E D ...  
TATTERED And SPLATTERED...  
Like Matter That's SHATTERED... !!!!!!  

You See... Subjects I Factor...  
In Thoughts That I Capture...  
Within My Lyrical...  
Are Criminally Cynical... !!!  
According To Political...  
Subjects INADMISSIBLE... !!!

In Verse of Mine EMPIRICAL...  
Because of THEM I'm CRITICAL.... !!!!!

Via Subject Matter That Simplifies Data...
They Use To Confuse Through NEW AGE Tools... !!!      

Where Matter Is Subject...  
To MUCH That INFECTS...  
Todays' Internet Heads...    

From Online ***...  
To Conspiracy Threads...  

And OF COURSE A WHOLE SET...    
of... " TERRORIST Trends "... !!!!!  

Now Police Have Been Left...    
FEELING Bullets Instead...  
of... Dishing Out DEATH... !!!

Whose Matter Will Be Left...  
To FACE Bullets of LEAD... !?!  

Or Bombs That NOW Defend... ?  
By Blowing OFF Peoples' Heads... !?!  

Something Like ALL These Rappers...  
Who CLAIM That They Are GANGSTERS...  

AND ****** Like Gun Clappers...    
Well Now Its CLEAR They're ACTORS... !!!!!
Whose Chatter Runs... FAKE Data...  

Their Lyrics Deal In... DEATH...  

" Bringing The Pain " ... Like ****'... !!!!!  
But NOT TO... RACIST Feds'... !!?!!  

So MUCH Like... " Them "...  
Things That They STRESS... !!!!  
In Their... " Poems "...  
Are In Need of YES.....  

... Auto CORRECT... !!!!!!  

For LIES They Tell...  
About How They FLEX... !?!

While Blacks With SENSE...  
Face THREATS From Them... ?!?!?  
For... Dealing In TRUTH...  
Instead of Tools...  
Just To Get Some Street CRED'... ?!?  

So Like Bernie Mac' Said...  
TOO MANY Black Youths...  
Are Becoming NEW FOOLS... !!!

They Just FOLLOW The Trends...  
To Get Themselves AHEAD...    

YES... Subjects I SELECT...  
May UPSET CERTAIN Heads... ?  

But NOT Quite Like... !!!  
The LOSS of A Friend...  
OVER... IGNORANCE Bred...  
From A DIFFERENCE of Opinion... ?  
Religion or Dominion...

Or The Skin That People Live In... !?!?!  

This Piece Has Got Me...    
........ " THINKING ".........  

That Things Are NOW...  
...... So SICKENING...... !!!  

That People REALLY NEED...  
Some Form of UPLIFTMENT'... !!!

Well YES That's TRUE... !!!  
But FACING The Truth...  
Has To Be The FIRST MOVE... !!!!  

But THAT With PROOF... !!!    

NOT Media News...  
With Views AskeW...  

Cos' I'm TELLING You... !!!  
They're Making Moves...  
...... AGENDA Fuelled......  

To Confuse And Sep-a-rat-e....  
Through Religion And RACE... !!!  

It's CLEAR There Are Scales...  
That NEED TO BE BALANCED... !!!

And Leaders Whose Actions...  
NOW NEED TO BE CHALLENGED... !!!!!  

So Let Me END This Chapter...    
By Simply Saying... THIS...  

REMEMBER There Are FACTORS...  
Beyond Feelings That... "Capture"...  
Your ANGER Into RAPTURE...    
That's MADDER Than The HATTER... !!!!!  

And FEEDS Like VELOCIRAPTORS... !!!!!  

So DON'T Deny The Crimes You See... !!!  
Because of PRIDE Or A COMPLEX That...  
You CHOOSE To.................. "hide"...................  

Take The Time To TRY...  
To... OPEN UP Your Mind....  
To TRUTH, Falsehoods And LIES...  

And DELVE INTO The DATA...  
Where The ONLY FACTOR...  
That REALLY Matters....  

Is The QUALITY of...  

It's....  

....... " Subject Matter "......

The crest of solemn ocean wave
So early breaks on windy beach
Where fairest Phoebus struggles sadly 'gainst
Triumphing clouds.
His horns, his blares to no avail:
Fall deaf on Egypt's Temple crushed to sand
To make this morning beach where sail
The looming gulls.
They hunger as they soar, their lonely cries
Are swept away by dawn's uncaring breeze.

That shore I wandered all alone,
Apart from you in restless dreams,
Disturbing sand-crab holes with stepping shoes
Sought lenses lost.
Possess'd of power to see without
Refinings of their frame, my need mere want,
I walked, a pool, and filled with doubt
That proud waves tossed.
Would sharpening vision truly help me find
That which I knew was only in my mind?

When then in heaven's light aloft
I spied a weightless patterned kite:
I called not to my glasses, but to Thoth
To aid my sight.
The soaring toy like silent hawk
Without the weight of sadness flew so light
Beneath the clouds now heard to talk
Instead of fight.
It seemed to catch a fleeting floating bliss
As pillars of the firmament it kissed.

The time was chill, the morning swift,
Where icy waves brow-beat the shore,
Impassioned blew the wind and kite did lift,
Yet hues endured.
What children tugged upon its string
Wishing to live capricious life, to soar,
Bemoaning birth neglecting wing
And all allure?
Yet came a haunting cry, in winds was clad,
Reminding me that still the seagull's sad.

I reach the crest of rocky fold
Beholding barnacles held fast,
Sea grasses over corals bare and cold,
And broken glass.
Sight has no sway of nature's spell:
I ponder Neptune's endless shoals
And whether glimpse of youths should tell
Me of their souls.
Can ever we catch sight of inner form
Reliant on the jelly of our eyes?

I turn to face my sandy steps,
Triumphant Phoebus clouds did rout,
I feel there's folly in my aided sight
So leave without.

We are us

Who are we?
We are the waters that create the seas
No need for modernisation
Civilisation oversees
United on the same path
Individually rare roads
Through bushes and gravels
We are the history that begins
We are the heard of new ideas,
That showers from forebears
To conquer now nature declares
Born with flares
All of us,all of us all of us we are one

Stumbling in failures
Triumphs directly delivers
We soon to stand like creepers,
Brothers and sisters
Learners to teachers and doctors
We are us

Or morning from dawn
Bravery at spawn
Flexible tongues to questions
Scary responses for answers
Who knows who are we
We are us, we are us
We are the Youths

Written by Kabelo Mthembu

In our youths
Sundays were dreaded
We mourned the death
of weekends
Now, on Sundays
we reflect, quiet
on the continual
struggle

Oh heroes of our youths, drawn in
splendid colors and panels or flying across
screens for sake of justice, you stars
of infinity and all realities sparing us
from the scourge of boredom while you
saved the day with ease, right vs wrong
clear as the cerulean sky, for you we pine!

Your winsome smiles soothed housewives
and maidens and doe-eyed youngsters
even as your capes became faded
and tattered and no longer were draped
over bedposts of intrepid lady reporters
willing to overlook, like we all did,
the familiarity of your unspectacled faces!

Your somber tongues gravely implored
us to redeem our grimy criminal cities,
lighting our fervor by spotlight against
darkest sky and even in the absence
of grappling hooks or alone with only
the latest fashionable belt, with no
hot young bird in the passenger seat
of your improbable nocturnal sports cars!

Your responsibilities and power came
all woven together, kept you from looking
out of any of your eyes the wrong way
either up or upside down, holding
the universe together with chivalry
and astute entomological acrobatics!

Your master kicks rivaled any other
rat or amphibian, and it was pure art
how you would karate chop through
our mutated melancholy, radical dudes
freeing us in every dimension
from maniacal brains and threats
of shredding our dignity like pizza cheese!

Your ecology was right as rain,
bio-available when we'd ring you up
and always giving back the power after
cleaning up some toxic mess, blowing
our adolescent minds as you flew about
kicking *** and spouting corny puns
long before oddly-dyed hair was trendy
and when Earth was a few degrees cooler!

We mourn you now more than ever,
remembering you with longing
as true villains appear, their green rocks
growing heavier and more radioactive,
their twisted jokes severing us
from one another, spewing venom,
bidding us conquer this land
and scorching the world for spite.

We mourn you now, our heroes, gone
but not forgotten and barely evoking
this nostalgic sense that you never left,
summoning within us the courage
to claim our inheritance, to finally discover
those ancient powers you've bequeathed;
to finally step up and save the world.

To the opera house the happy youths went
Two pretties, each strolled with a handsome gent
Four friends with every good intent
Of having a grand old time

Fair Marjorie dressed in sapphire blue
Her Alfred was wearing the same color, too
While Charles and Francine matched a crimson-y hue
The ambiance was feeling sublime

The lights of the theater were bright, but romantic
A large chandelier straight above made the ladies feel frantic
Violins started tuning, like strange waves of Atlantic
The grandeur of curtains opened, as the stage was undressed

But what humored the bunch was the old lady in peplum skirt
Two seats over from Alfred with birds embroidered on her shirt
She was peculiar, came alone and looked hardly alert
As the actors took position, she yawned, unimpressed

The old lady's antics continued for over an hour
She snorted at the singing, with boisterous power
By intermission her nose-blowing had turned each love scene sour
Our four were straining, containing their laughter

And during the intermission everyone got up, bought a drink
But the old lady just sat there, like she wanted to think
Beginning to stroke the dark fur of her wraparound mink
She nodded, falling asleep shortly after

Charles saw it first--"the old girl's dozed right off!"
Alfred chuckled and Francine, beginning to scoff
Proposed they prank the lady, but Marjorie coughed
Saying, "shame on you, wicked child!"

So they all sat back down and awaited the second unveiling
Two seats over from Alfred, the gray one's slumber unfailing
Act two and act three ended, the hero prevailing
At the final bow, the audience was wild

Everyone clapped and cheered loudly, some whistled or threw roses
Everyone but the one in the third seat over, under all the guests noses
Who slept though each applause and the actor's last poses
The theater was clearing out quickly

Four waited--Alfred, Marjorie, Charles and Francine
To see if she would wake and depart from the scene
The last five in the balcony, the gray one serene
The fun was over and they decided to help her get up

When Charles tapped her shoulder, they all finally knew
How tonight's show had smothered a moment so true
The old lady was found dead in the presence of those few
Still in the same seat, they never helped her get up

And then went down to the ship,
Set keel to breakers, forth on the godly sea, and
We set up mast and sail on that swart ship,
Bore sheep aboard her, and our bodies also
Heavy with weeping, and winds from sternward
Bore us onward with bellying canvas,
Crice’s this craft, the trim-coifed goddess.
Then sat we amidships, wind jamming the tiller,
Thus with stretched sail, we went over sea till day’s end.
Sun to his slumber, shadows o’er all the ocean,
Came we then to the bounds of deepest water,
To the Kimmerian lands, and peopled cities
Covered with close-webbed mist, unpierced ever
With glitter of sun-rays
Nor with stars stretched, nor looking back from heaven
Swartest night stretched over wreteched men there.
The ocean flowing backward, came we then to the place
Aforesaid by Circe.
Here did they rites, Perimedes and Eurylochus,
And drawing sword from my hip
I dug the ell-square pitkin;
Poured we libations unto each the dead,
First mead and then sweet wine, water mixed with white flour
Then prayed I many a prayer to the sickly death’s-heads;
As set in Ithaca, sterile bulls of the best
For sacrifice, heaping the pyre with goods,
A sheep to Tiresias only, black and a bell-sheep.
Dark blood flowed in the fosse,
Souls out of Erebus, cadaverous dead, of brides
Of youths and of the old who had borne much;
Souls stained with recent tears, girls tender,
Men many, mauled with bronze lance heads,
Battle spoil, bearing yet dreory arms,
These many crowded about me; with shouting,
Pallor upon me, cried to my men for more beasts;
Slaughtered the herds, sheep slain of bronze;
Poured ointment, cried to the gods,
To Pluto the strong, and praised Proserpine;
Unsheathed the narrow sword,
I sat to keep off the impetuous impotent dead,
Till I should hear Tiresias.
But first Elpenor came, our friend Elpenor,
Unburied, cast on the wide earth,
Limbs that we left in the house of Circe,
Unwept, unwrapped in the sepulchre, since toils urged other.
Pitiful spirit. And I cried in hurried speech:
“Elpenor, how art thou come to this dark coast?
“Cam’st thou afoot, outstripping ******?”
        And he in heavy speech:
“Ill fate and abundant wine. I slept in Crice’s ingle.
“Going down the long ladder unguarded,
“I fell against the buttress,
“Shattered the nape-nerve, the soul sought Avernus.
“But thou, O King, I bid remember me, unwept, unburied,
“Heap up mine arms, be tomb by sea-bord, and inscribed:
“A man of no fortune, and with a name to come.
“And set my oar up, that I swung mid fellows.”

And Anticlea came, whom I beat off, and then Tiresias Theban,
Holding his golden wand, knew me, and spoke first:
“A second time? why? man of ill star,
“Facing the sunless dead and this joyless region?
“Stand from the fosse, leave me my ****** bever
“For soothsay.”
        And I stepped back,
And he strong with the blood, said then: “Odysseus
“Shalt return through spiteful Neptune, over dark seas,
“Lose all companions.” Then Anticlea came.
Lie quiet Divus. I mean, that is Andreas Divus,
In officina Wecheli, 1538, out of Homer.
And he sailed, by Sirens and thence outwards and away
And unto Crice.
        Venerandam,
In the Cretan’s phrase, with the golden crown, Aphrodite,
Cypri munimenta sortita est, mirthful, oricalchi, with golden
Girdle and breat bands, thou with dark eyelids
Bearing the golden bough of Argicidia. So that:

Spread the word , the Machine is coming. A circus of steel springs and combustion all grinding to the drums. Watch them waiting, every color, every clan; all wanting to be part of the system as it begins with a roar like a turbo charged engine they rush the door.

Inside, heads swim in a new found sea, unconscious are the dancing sparks and gay revelers in their glitter coated world. Limbs pumping, pounding pistons running full blast through the night. Up creaking stairs into the radiator, cooling chamber, thick green haze passes over innumerable points of light; oxygen restriction. Drums persist pouring down white rain on melting minds. Thrilling, rushing euphoric rhythms flow like wine from fine crystal. Speak and you will not be heard, listen and you will hear no voice, for the machine stops for no one until morn.

Wasting away in the exhaust of a comatose state are some, eyes open seeing new worlds in clarity are others, while a select few crawl through Hell blinded by visions of terror. Still the electric pulses have yet to slow, numb to the deafening watts as they are now winding their way to the surface of a sleeping city. Whimsical youths will lay until afternoon, their internal timing chains hours slow, yet only eight rounds of the gauge have passed. The beating motion is still lingering as weary heads fall upon waiting pillows, headlight eyes switch off near six am. The last sounds fade for these who now dream anew, yet still worshipers of the dance rage against the coming of the light, would they be consumed in the warehouse flames before they saw the dawn?

Spread the word the machine was here and they called it the Rave.

Drawn to the privacy of the quiet beach,
And the deafening roar of the waves,
To the mangled shells, and seagull screech,
We surrendered to our bodies, like slaves.

For that seaside was our wild and secret love place,
With our toes we drew hearts in the shale,
A bunch of seaweed she smeared in my face,
I splashed water on her bare bosoms pale.

The sea spray bit cold on our naked skin,
As she teased and taunted so well,
Her magnetic curves how they drew me in,
Like the ocean I did seethe and swell.

Goose bumps crawled on our bodies entwined,
As the harsh wind caressed from the South,
We groped for heat from desires combined,
And the warm saline taste of our mouths.

The moonlight danced high as the sea did ebb,
Our spent bodies now bared to the sky,
The traces of our love play on the rippled sandy bed,
Not even the waves could deny.

We lay starkers on the strand, no madding crowds,
Still flirting in the naughty nip,
Our only company the shadows of the clouds,
And the drone of a distant ship.

Alas ! Our bliss was destined to fade,
Ne'er again to converge in the tide,
The moon no more a ****** to lust displayed,
When mad youths their pleasures not hide.

Memories now so vivid, I could nearly touch,
The tangles in her wild windswept hair,
Or taste those lips that I miss so much,
As across the barren beach I stare.

(Start)
Divinity void at birth, grace gifted through a parents love, bestowed without warning, maintained without fuel. Security measures drawn, placed on potential porcelain tombs, and entrances unfit for entry. Soft spot guarded with a proficient level of tenacity, insuring life, and the maintenance of its quality.
(Stability)
Speech found, dolled out first in small dosages, replicating familiar terms. Footing discovered, despite quaking legs, still unsure of their design. In combination, a wonder tumbles forth, and empowers its creators with a sense of responsibility, and the need to secure a path in the world for their embodied prosperity.
(Dissolution)
Understanding drawn on a newly clarified society. Building and grasping onto fictions established to promote grounding and self-sufficiency. Day in, day out, the world expands, never contracts, overcomplicating itself among the generalities of everyday life, and everyday struggles. On the other side comes a curiosity in the form of confusion, demanding a translucent pictograph of intention and purpose.
(Reimagining)
Class starts with every other date, then expands until it consumes all but weekends, providing young, attentive eyes, with simplified understanding, all while slowly working to whittle away at the delightful fancy once taken up for the sake of fun. Aligned thought found in fellow participants working their way to the front of the feeding line, struggling to maintain the self as different views collide. A decade later, time to move on, and be separated from acquainted normality to draw from a new pen, and learn from a new set of rules.
(Disintegration)
Social circles established instantaneously, as a coping strategy for life in the wild. Evolutions of ideals and traits occur overnight, percolating to the surface before necessarily ready, as expansive thought draws away from fact, and onto experience, merging itself with a blue print stripped from an old socialites attic. Transgressions worth more than grades, as misconceived youths wander about for momentous occasions, misspelling and speaking in their retelling.
**(Re-entry)
Tempered blues played over megaphones in the high school gymnasium, as latent minded aristocrats, mocking and forging the appearance of Asperger’s, time out the cadence to meet without accord. Catatonic assembly line of carbon based replicas march in a circle, out of tune, winking at policeman, politicians…profits all the like. All this, while Aesop’s fables are shared to the collective of misty-eyed teens, in a speech of many words, but little point…Children, caged, redeemed, and finally reincarnated to match the product line being loaded into trucks, awaiting shelves; the new, meek breed of paper holders who once believed that education carried worth.

Dead inside
parasites
Lost our feelings lost our souls
Eat rotten corpses like disintegrating crows

Gaia is tortured and *****
Mother earth's desecrated womb
Locked butterflies in a tomb
free world for the dead

We are pests in a planet not even our own
Doomed to eternal depression,
Kings of chaos, a royal crown of a dove's corpse
Peace? you'll find that in Hell.

Barren hopes for broken futures
Sacrifical youths to fake idols
Morals drowned in a well
Dead hearts locked in our own decaying cell

Barren hopes
for broken futures
pests in a planet that is not even our own
no dove with an olive branch
no gods no masters no life just caskets.

Engraved,
Dear,
I'll stay gold.

I’m all for freedom of speech for everyone
Without pardoning you for things you’ve done.
Here’s something you don’t get to say to me
You don’t get to tell me I may not disagree!
You who plan constant genocide and invasion
Make pacifists like myself rise to the occasion.
We refuse to authorize you buying a warship.
You act as if that word is very like worship!

Too many scary cowards setting precedences.
In your overstuffed, gadget-filled residences.
You’re issuing orders to send youths to die.
Since you’re not going, why bother to ask why?
Some bribe-taking elite snobs in costly suits
Tell you to send kids overseas in combat boots.
If you rebuke them they bring out the dramatics.
Their reason is their bookkeeper’s mathematics.

In the USA, we waged war after disastrous war
And few of us asked why, and what is it for?
We invaded people’s lands and destroyed it
And there never was a reason to deploy it
An international revenue generating machine
****** thousands on both sides, nice and clean.
Then demand we buy coffee, seven bucks a cup,
If we think of objecting, you want us to shut up.

After all, it’s just one more war, wrapped up to go.
What’s a two or three million dead people or so?
The point it, there’s a bottom line to adhere to
So what it affects or kills someone near you?
Don’t be unpatriotic and ***** with fate.
Genocide is lucrative and an  American trait.
Just look what we did to the natives here.
Read that story. What we’re doing is clear.

and even then.
when: ruby sand
rubs youths notions
from thy soft aperture.
still i knee bend
to thy: lady so haloed
in my lashes.
ever always you are mine.
                                           and
                                       so
                                    to
                       ­          am
                                i
                      yours
­         gentle
stem

All my quizes are low.
Because they teach so slow
Concentrating on stuff they don't know
Deliberately causing massive Brain damage
Exploding heads. anomalys
Fighting assigments they give us we try to survive.
Guns blazin on oral reports.blamin'
HipHop for the youths unacceptabe behaviour
Intellectual overdose causing nerve paralysis
Joking around ain't gonna help
Killing time, wont justify the
Lack of discipline in the
Minds of the
New generation
Out of place in time & space all we can do is catch up with the
Pace....

I've given in
Giving you this in

Black and white

Kinda floundering
Finding
Not a rainbow
Near me
The magic is lost
Fearingly

Like ghosts
These illustrations
Of the heart

The gifts missed
From distances
In **** tube dreams
Boxed in
When we give a ****
Only now in this century
Twenty first class
Calamities

Our oceans dying
Malformed embryonic cells
Of sea shells
She sells to the sea shores
Supply and demanding
Foodies going for sushi
Tuna rolls not in season's
Greatest catch
Babies of King *****
Vegas Buffets
(Hashtags hazmat)

Overpopulation
Cities bowdlerizing nature
Iron teeth
Skyscrapers
and weeee!
All Are wanting,

Hunting, stunting, grunting
Undaunted
We sport full
Stadiums like
flagella

Single cell organisms
Goliath

mammoths now we mount,
Life best preserved in ice
Gene spliced
Playing dice
A stadium obese
With single minded
Bacterium

Gone viral

Vanities and victory
Of youth wasting time
Herding sheep
Mastering a perfect sling / swing
Knowing where to aim

Without fame
Without fail
Twix the eyes
The larger will fall

When it begins to hail
Gray
desert granite
Rocks
Throwing, rolling
Stones
on high
Or from below
Mantle, plates
Tectonics
Floods
Don't wait for names
The Hurricanes
Categorically mad
A High five

Climate changes cataclysms
Undoubtedly
No need
For
Catholicism catacisms
Or celebrations for
Dunking drowning
Under Christian steeples
Luke warms
Water

Ceremonious
Ways to cleanse

Drink and capitalize,
Divide their minds
As conquered

The fountains
We deny our youths
By learning only
Monkey see monkey doo
Masses
Congregation
A peaceful gathering

Recitations
Incited legions
Again again
religions own
What we believe

Schooled by whom no one knows
The vicarious
Malleable history

proof defining

The shapable feast of mean
and meaning...

Since it has been
All about
**** / Black or white
Just a reminder
Reminiscing
from a loss
Rather than reason
as one family,
Much more loss will
Fill your glass
But let me remind you
That thirst cannot be quenched
With empty

Actions speak
peacefully louder
When words
lift
Up like into laughter
No news of war to speak of pastor

When a summer day
In black AND white
Is still beautiful
In the shades and rays
Of a Polaroid
Picture of the day
Star : Sun,
In black and white
Still
Is bright

When the sky looks
Drab in
Gray...

The cage bird sings
The rainbows
Bright
Soul that flows a river

The living day
                   song of words

Utmost
Hearts
The Beloved

poetry
Of
The truth
When we chose

To give love
The life

Our world
Balances...

Even in black & white, I see  
The rainbow wave

               In the sky dances.









**(Continue into poetry about that universal
Ideal or melancholy, represented by the color
Gray feelings or the visits into gloamings and
Mists of dreamy worlds that host the ghosts of
Our downward spirals and dismay... The I between
Stranger things and sorrows heavy feeling, familiar
Or alien, gray as multiplcitous a color, it's shades
Of Heaven or bones, paint by writing
your feelings down, show me all or none,
Your neglected shades... The darkest to light.
Tell me how your gray turned white)

Now when they came to the ford of the full-flowing river Xanthus,
begotten of immortal Jove, Achilles cut their forces in two: one
half he chased over the plain towards the city by the same way that
the Achaeans had taken when flying panic-stricken on the preceding day
with Hector in full triumph; this way did they fly pell-mell, and Juno
sent down a thick mist in front of them to stay them. The other half
were hemmed in by the deep silver-eddying stream, and fell into it
with a great uproar. The waters resounded, and the banks rang again,
as they swam hither and thither with loud cries amid the whirling
eddies. As locusts flying to a river before the blast of a grass fire-
the flame comes on and on till at last it overtakes them and they
huddle into the water—even so was the eddying stream of Xanthus
filled with the uproar of men and horses, all struggling in
confusion before Achilles.
  Forthwith the hero left his spear upon the bank, leaning it
against a tamarisk bush, and plunged into the river like a god,
armed with his sword only. Fell was his purpose as he hewed the
Trojans down on every side. Their dying groans rose hideous as the
sword smote them, and the river ran red with blood. As when fish fly
scared before a huge dolphin, and fill every nook and corner of some
fair haven—for he is sure to eat all he can catch—even so did the
Trojans cower under the banks of the mighty river, and when
Achilles’ arms grew weary with killing them, he drew twelve youths
alive out of the water, to sacrifice in revenge for Patroclus son of
Menoetius. He drew them out like dazed fawns, bound their hands behind
them with the girdles of their own shirts, and gave them over to his
men to take back to the ships. Then he sprang into the river,
thirsting for still further blood.
  There he found Lycaon, son of Priam seed of Dardanus, as he was
escaping out of the water; he it was whom he had once taken prisoner
when he was in his father’s vineyard, having set upon him by night, as
he was cutting young shoots from a wild fig-tree to make the wicker
sides of a chariot. Achilles then caught him to his sorrow unawares,
and sent him by sea to Lemnos, where the son of Jason bought him.
But a guest-friend, Eetion of Imbros, freed him with a great sum,
and sent him to Arisbe, whence he had escaped and returned to his
father’s house. He had spent eleven days happily with his friends
after he had come from Lemnos, but on the twelfth heaven again
delivered him into the hands of Achilles, who was to send him to the
house of Hades sorely against his will. He was unarmed when Achilles
caught sight of him, and had neither helmet nor shield; nor yet had he
any spear, for he had thrown all his armour from him on to the bank,
and was sweating with his struggles to get out of the river, so that
his strength was now failing him.
  Then Achilles said to himself in his surprise, “What marvel do I see
here? If this man can come back alive after having been sold over into
Lemnos, I shall have the Trojans also whom I have slain rising from
the world below. Could not even the waters of the grey sea imprison
him, as they do many another whether he will or no? This time let
him ******* spear, that I may know for certain whether mother earth
who can keep even a strong man down, will be able to hold him, or
whether thence too he will return.”
  Thus did he pause and ponder. But Lycaon came up to him dazed and
trying hard to embrace his knees, for he would fain live, not die.
Achilles ****** at him with his spear, meaning to **** him, but Lycaon
ran crouching up to him and caught his knees, whereby the spear passed
over his back, and stuck in the ground, hungering though it was for
blood. With one hand he caught Achilles’ knees as he besought him, and
with the other he clutched the spear and would not let it go. Then
he said, “Achilles, have mercy upon me and spare me, for I am your
suppliant. It was in your tents that I first broke bread on the day
when you took me prisoner in the vineyard; after which you sold away
to Lemnos far from my father and my friends, and I brought you the
price of a hundred oxen. I have paid three times as much to gain my
freedom; it is but twelve days that I have come to Ilius after much
suffering, and now cruel fate has again thrown me into your hands.
Surely father Jove must hate me, that he has given me over to you a
second time. Short of life indeed did my mother Laothoe bear me,
daughter of aged Altes—of Altes who reigns over the warlike Lelegae
and holds steep Pedasus on the river Satnioeis. Priam married his
daughter along with many other women and two sons were born of her,
both of whom you will have slain. Your spear slew noble Polydorus as
he was fighting in the front ranks, and now evil will here befall
me, for I fear that I shall not escape you since heaven has delivered
me over to you. Furthermore I say, and lay my saying to your heart,
spare me, for I am not of the same womb as Hector who slew your
brave and noble comrade.”
  With such words did the princely son of Priam beseech Achilles;
but Achilles answered him sternly. “Idiot,” said he, “talk not to me
of ransom. Until Patroclus fell I preferred to give the Trojans
quarter, and sold beyond the sea many of those whom I had taken alive;
but now not a man shall live of those whom heaven delivers into my
hands before the city of Ilius—and of all Trojans it shall fare
hardest with the sons of Priam. Therefore, my friend, you too shall
die. Why should you whine in this way? Patroclus fell, and he was a
better man than you are. I too—see you not how I am great and goodly?
I am son to a noble father, and have a goddess for my mother, but
the hands of doom and death overshadow me all as surely. The day
will come, either at dawn or dark, or at the noontide, when one
shall take my life also in battle, either with his spear, or with an
arrow sped from his bow.”
  Thus did he speak, and Lycaon’s heart sank within him. He loosed his
hold of the spear, and held out both hands before him; but Achilles
drew his keen blade, and struck him by the collar-bone on his neck; he
plunged his two-edged sword into him to the very hilt, whereon he
lay at full length on the ground, with the dark blood welling from him
till the earth was soaked. Then Achilles caught him by the foot and
flung him into the river to go down stream, vaunting over him the
while, and saying, “Lie there among the fishes, who will lick the
blood from your wound and gloat over it; your mother shall not lay you
on any bier to mourn you, but the eddies of Scamander shall bear you
into the broad ***** of the sea. There shall the fishes feed on the
fat of Lycaon as they dart under the dark ripple of the waters—so
perish all of you till we reach the citadel of strong Ilius—you in
flight, and I following after to destroy you. The river with its broad
silver stream shall serve you in no stead, for all the bulls you
offered him and all the horses that you flung living into his
waters. None the less miserably shall you perish till there is not a
man of you but has paid in full for the death of Patroclus and the
havoc you wrought among the Achaeans whom you have slain while I
held aloof from battle.”
  So spoke Achilles, but the river grew more and more angry, and
pondered within himself how he should stay the hand of Achilles and
save the Trojans from disaster. Meanwhile the son of Peleus, spear
in hand, sprang upon Asteropaeus son of Pelegon to **** him. He was
son to the broad river Axius and Periboea eldest daughter of
Acessamenus; for the river had lain with her. Asteropaeus stood up out
of the water to face him with a spear in either hand, and Xanthus
filled him with courage, being angry for the death of the youths
whom Achilles was slaying ruthlessly within his waters. When they were
close up with one another Achilles was first to speak. “Who and whence
are you,” said he, “who dare to face me? Woe to the parents whose
son stands up against me.” And the son of Pelegon answered, “Great son
of Peleus, why should you ask my lineage. I am from the fertile land
of far Paeonia, captain of the Paeonians, and it is now eleven days
that I am at Ilius. I am of the blood of the river Axius—of Axius
that is the fairest of all rivers that run. He begot the famed warrior
Pelegon, whose son men call me. Let us now fight, Achilles.”
  Thus did he defy him, and Achilles raised his spear of Pelian ash.
Asteropaeus failed with both his spears, for he could use both hands
alike; with the one spear he struck Achilles’ shield, but did not
pierce it, for the layer of gold, gift of the god, stayed the point;
with the other spear he grazed the elbow of Achilles! right arm
drawing dark blood, but the spear itself went by him and fixed
itself in the ground, foiled of its ****** banquet. Then Achilles,
fain to **** him, hurled his spear at Asteropaeus, but failed to hit
him and struck the steep bank of the river, driving the spear half its
length into the earth. The son of Peleus then drew his sword and
sprang furiously upon him. Asteropaeus vainly tried to draw
Achilles’ spear out of the bank by main force; thrice did he tug at
it, trying with all his might to draw it out, and thrice he had to
leave off trying; the fourth time he tried to bend and break it, but
ere he could do so Achilles smote him with his sword and killed him.
He struck him in the belly near the navel, so that all his bowels came
gushing out on to the ground, and the darkness of death came over
him as he lay gasping. Then Achilles set his foot on his chest and
spoiled him of his armour, vaunting over him and saying, “Lie there-
begotten of a river though you be, it is hard for you to strive with
the offspring of Saturn’s son. You declare yourself sprung from the
blood of a broad river, but I am of the seed of mighty Jove. My father
is Peleus, son of Aeacus ruler over the many Myrmidons, and Aeacus was
the son of Jove. Therefore as Jove is mightier than any river that
flows into the sea, so are his children stronger than those of any
river whatsoever. Moreover you have a great river hard by if he can be
of any use to you, but there is no fighting against Jove the son of
Saturn, with whom not even King Achelous can compare, nor the mighty
stream of deep-flowing Oceanus, from whom all rivers and seas with all
springs and deep wells proceed; even Oceanus fears the lightnings of
great Jove, and his thunder that comes crashing out of heaven.”
  With this he drew his bronze spear out of the bank, and now that
he had killed Asteropaeus, he let him lie where he was on the sand,
with the dark water flowing over him and the eels and fishes busy
nibbling and gnawing the fat that was about his kidneys. Then he
went in chase of the Paeonians, who were flying along the bank of
the river in panic when they saw their leader slain by the hands of
the son of Peleus. Therein he slew Thersilochus, Mydon, Astypylus,
Mnesus, Thrasius, Oeneus, and Ophelestes, and he would have slain
yet others, had not the river in anger taken human form, and spoken to
him from out the deep waters saying, “Achilles, if you excel all in
strength, so do you also in wickedness, for the gods are ever with you
to protect you: if, then, the son of Saturn has vouchsafed it to you
to destroy all the Trojans, at any rate drive them out of my stream,
and do your grim work on land. My fair waters are now filled with
corpses, nor can I find any channel by which I may pour myself into
the sea for I am choked with dead, and yet you go on mercilessly
slaying. I am in despair, therefore, O captain of your host, trouble
me no further.”
  Achilles answered, “So be it, Scamander, Jove-descended; but I
will never cease dealing out death among the Trojans, till I have pent
them up in their city, and made trial of Hector face to face, that I
may learn whether he is to vanquish me, or I him.”
  As he spoke he set upon the Trojans with a fury like that of the
gods. But the river said to Apollo, “Surely, son of Jove, lord of
the silver bow, you are not obeying the commands of Jove who charged
you straitly that you should stand by the Trojans and defend them,
till twilight fades, and darkness is over an the earth.”
  Meanwhile Achilles sprang from the bank into mid-stream, whereon the
river raised a high wave and attacked him. He swelled his stream
into a torrent, and swept away the many dead whom Achilles had slain
and left within his waters. These he cast out on to the land,
bellowing like a bull the while, but the living he saved alive, hiding
them in his mighty eddies. The great and terrible wave gathered
about Achilles, falling upon him and beating on his shield, so that he
could not keep his feet; he caught hold of a great elm-tree, but it
came up by the roots, and tore away the bank, damming the stream
with its thick branches and bridging it all across; whereby Achilles
struggled out of the stream, and fled full speed over the plain, for
he was afraid.
  But the mighty god ceased not in his pursuit, and sprang upon him
with a dark-crested wave, to stay his hands and save the Trojans
from destruction. The son of Peleus darted away a spear’s throw from
him; swift as the swoop of a black hunter-eagle which is the strongest
and fleetest of all birds, even so did he spring forward, and the
armour rang loudly about his breast. He fled on in front, but the
river with a loud roar came tearing after. As one who would water
his garden leads a stream from some fountain over his plants, and
all his ground-***** in hand he clears away the dams to free the
channels, and the little stones run rolling round and round with the
water as it goes merrily down the bank faster than the man can follow-
even so did the river keep catching up with Achilles albeit he was a
fleet runner, for the gods are stronger than men. As often as he would
strive to stand his ground, and see whether or no all the gods in
heaven were in league against him, so often would the mighty wave come
beating down upon his shoulders, and be would have to keep flying on
and on in great dismay; for the angry flood was tiring him out as it
flowed past him and ate the ground from under his feet.
  Then the son of Peleus lifted up his voice to heaven saying, “Father
Jove, is there none of the gods who will take pity upon me, and save
me from the river? I do not care what may happen to me afterwards. I
blame none of the other dwellers on Olympus so severely as I do my
dear mother, who has beguiled and tricked me. She told me I was to
fall under the walls of Troy by the flying arrows of Apollo; would
that Hector, the best man among the Trojans, might there slay me; then
should I fall a hero by the hand of a hero; whereas now it seems
that I shall come to a most pitiable end, trapped in this river as
though I were some swineherd’s boy, who gets carried down a torrent
while trying to cross it during a storm.”
  As soon as he had spoken thus, Neptune and Minerva came up to him in
the likeness of two men, and took him by the hand to reassure him.
Neptune spoke first. “Son of Peleus,” said he, “be not so exceeding
fearful; we are two gods, come with Jove’s sanction to assist you,
I, and Pallas Minerva. It is not your fate to perish in this river; he
will abate presently as you will see; moreover we strongly advise you,
if you will be guided by us, not to stay your hand from fighting
till you have pent the Trojan host within the famed walls of Ilius—as
many of them as may escape. Then **** Hector and go back to the ships,
for we will vouchsafe you a triumph over him.”
  When they had so said they went back to the other immortals, but
Achilles strove onward over the plain, encouraged by the charge the
gods had laid upon him. All was now covered with the flood of
waters, and much goodly armour of the youths that had been slain was
rifting about, as also many corpses, but he forced his way against the
stream, speeding right onwards, nor could the broad waters stay him,
for Minerva had endowed him with great strength. Nevertheless
Scamander did not slacken in his pursuit, but was still more furious
with the son of Peleus. He lifted his waters into a high crest and
cried aloud to Simois saying, “Dear br