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Anti-violence curseThe anti-violence edict comes down, softly hard upon us all….mallets metamorphose before skull strike, simply balloon, inflate, punches pass through and swords, daggers, knives go blunt, even scabbard when used, bullets become pellets upon firing, in some cases the trigger may disappear upon touch. Plasters become bled so quickly to cover, that cuts are kept sealed, are a non-issue, attempts to bypass the rules through throw, through strike of the firearm itself, its physical body…no more than a toy it shall transform to.
Whips shall crack apart, a curse upon violence…if the plastering should fail then flowers in place of blood in petals will poor with utterly no cost to life. Disease eau natural and old age shall still be a killer, but weaponry will wilt, kicks caught before they strike by sheer force of moral, spellbinding blocking. Only if judged to be in defence, preservation of life would the curse
Guest of gustI break, Moses divide the curtains and rest my hands upon my cherubim chin and squareish cheeks, make a guest of the wind by open door window, absorb the gust and kneel down in front, to catch the cool air as it were on summers evening, though it week, it comes as mesmerizing, so starkly soothing. The blast of light, but, yet too weak breeze, better than no response at all.
A simple penning, pleasure to take away from what words often make it out the most. Its empowering touch has a softening effect upon me, cool air holds me, if only it could take me along with it, gliding, sailing in a cloud crowded ocean. The wind it could be said is the breath of the soul of our world…honouring me…
…even if it be the slightest, lightest of kisses….I am happy I made a guest of the gust..this day….
Everyday, a white knights birthdayIn our youth we imagined ourselves as internatiuniversal overlords and Gods that lived since before the beginning of time. Crime lords, moneymakers, master criminals, lechers, lived in mansions, we had albums like hotcakes on Christmas selling, every day was my friend the white knights birthday…a garage full of each vehicle you could imagine with names just as awful.
We’d assign fictional beings as our bouncing offsprings and our servants, assume political roles and wake up in strange places, carte blanche when narcotics came down to it. The whole world loved us unconditionally and why would they not…in those childhood dreams where I was in the red and furried robe with white ruffles and an embarrassing crown and could breathe fire and he was plated with armour that today would never fit nor suit him…it was all possible in the realms of our childhood memories where everyday…was a white knight
EnergySomeday, someday it shall come, for man in all its sins is so stubborn and wasteful, the energy debacle, crisis we’ll been within a fix for fixtures regard! Man must turn his attentions if not to fusion as his new fashionable then he must seek the elements, regard the winter,manipulate the sun and moonlight as their new source…or resort to Earth, oldskool land magic.
When the coal burns out, the waters are polluted; the black gold dries up, what I say what are we to do? Spent so much on the fuel of life and now so has it been spent in itself what felt like infinity, rendered to condition of death. And what would we do ourselves? Lose our self-energies within ourselves…the winds were there…so was the sun star, the sparkling waters..we should use those…should have from the start…
It matters not if a next door atomic factory detonates on the edge of Britain…my country is still
The captive moonsThe captive moons of the red world of the stars, orbital waltz, the tides of only time shall tell will show, shall see the wild west, serpent east sept, September pharaoh Phobos, the free fear fall dive in an attempt undo its red king in rebellion, Brutas in special, spacial heaven body slam, unless of course shatter style kiss comes in. A dusty engagement, ring of proposition with the terror in resonance demon of Deimos, crash course angel to its devil.
Pharaoh full of holes on the surface, yanking your crater chains like a galactic ghost. Like a poem composed of mystery, materialistic shares being gifted by what goes by allegedly.
The more pocketed, demon brother comes next…Its wealth in stone currency buys in spades its more aesthetically pleasing flesh, skin, lead to its siblings rivalry, envy.
Both may as well be regarded as masquerade
Wasted timeSleep the whole, therefore lay perish to the entire day , the worse parts when it hits you all at once, that initial awaking moment, where you curse, reprimand yourself for doing it, where for almost half or a full twenty four hours you were as good as dead to a joyless world. And you struggle to come up with answers as to why you did it…and then there are of course utterly none…you are neither tired, lazy, nor miserable…anything….
You marvel at the negatives as if it was about, regarding photography of absolute waste. Yet you’ll do it again, somedays after awakening will find yourself in sentient, yet half sleep walking. You can’t help but think that the same story each day in addition to the venom filled for you, lack of variation…but the hours, day even if not lost to sleep…are so to the ambitious creep of procrastination..procreating endlessly with you…to fi
iHer eyes clouded by
nightmares of the past
Angst controls her life
as shadows chase her
each and every day
My School Says I'm Worthless (sort of a rant)I'm a criminal because my values aren't their values
And I'm scum to say the least
Because I'm not on their list
Ones who have their lives set out
And drink from molten glory raining down from
School top balconies...
And I have myself left to blame for all the non-attempts
And truancies; the bleak distractions
That help me escape the inviolable test-score stares
Of disapproval that I attract from their
And they're forced to ask me 'Why?
Why are you still here?'
And I can barely say
That I'm afraid to leave.
That I know that no-one knows
Or what they want to be
But unlike those
I gave up
A while ago
And they can't tell me to my face that I'm a failure so they heavily imply
That my lacking presence
And even less impressive
Tendency for slacking off is evidence
That I am stupid and a fool and nothing more than such a waste of resources
And it's a disappointment
That I don't hold their ideals
VesselYour heart is a compass.
Broken, perhaps, but I know
It’s always searching for the North Star.
Which way will your beard point tonight?
ViolinI remember the day
you told me violins
were strung with cat gut
and that is why
you hated music
(who says that to a child?)
I followed you
all that summer.
I watched you
grow away from mother -
your whiskey held better conversations
and all she did was cry.
We'd sit cross-legged on the porch
and count the horseflies
settling on our lunch.
You would drown tadpoles
in a bucket
surprised they could not swim
and I would dream
of cherry popsicles.
And when night would gather
on the sidewalk
I'd hold my breath
until a star appeared.
Don't bother making wishes
you'd tell me -
stars are dead weight in heaven
and God has cloth ears.
DanielYou are vertebrae
reinforced with titanium
that does not make you the lesser -
You’ve got the weight of the world
on one shoulder
sometimes you trip because of it -
you’re still walking
and if things fused wrong
post or anterior
and if things fused out in the interior
your circuits live on
and if your thoughts get circular
or so do your moods
and your mind blanks and you forget -
you’re nervous but strong -
then I’ll remind you.
Because you give me
the backbone required
you’re my Atlas, so I lift my head,
you’re my axis, so I can face the future
because you are vertebrae
reinforced with titanium.
You’re my inner strength.
FallingFailure after failure
A life not worth living
Lost in my misery
Long gone are the good moments
I keep falling
Nothing can save me now
Gone my hopes are
you can't have it allBut you can have eating wild grapes and their skin like beetle wings
cocooned in bruises. You can have swings that go so high you kick
a hole in the clouds. You can have chickens following you through the front door
and the cat’s gift to say, Look, I am taking care of you.
You can have happiness, but tempered as
your first taste of wine when you hid your puckering face
because you were eight years old and dangerous.
You can have a touch you blush for, ferret hands dancing,
small and terrifying and knowledgable.
You can have an aspiration of “us” held on one stool leg, darting breaths but
never admitting to dreams, to a stew of practicality.
You can talk to her, sometimes,
and even mean something.
You can have the book you stole after she stumbled,
and “that” word sank into your hands. You can’t cure cancer,
but you can have two sets of spoons in the same sink
although she’s only touched the one you lent her,
the one you didn’t expe
Antarctica eminenceMy dear Antarctica eminence, drifting on a frozen dewdrop how do you take your sugar? Is it prepared with pepper at its prominence? But for reason unknown nor circumstance that will not permit you it is claimed to be the death of you my liege, that there is no greater fear than the taste of what the unseen God would have you become, how it fills you with disgust that the sole reason for your creation…was an avatar for what could never be…a fool’s fantasy..
You are not you..in essence you are an offspring, of shoot of at least in part, a bizarre metaphor presented in horror of your creators deepest introspections. Given the goal that “he” desired for “himself” that you have buried under a campaign of blind hatred, my dear Antarc
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