Please.... In a world of beauty, and Chaos, Comes this abyss... When it looks into you you feel helpless and mesmerized.... Nothing can take you from there but you ... and yet some how you have shackled your self there.... Why? Is it easier? Is it Love that holds these Strings?.......... Or the Fantasy of the dreams you hold in your own mind.... If life was as simple as the laugh of a child would we learn anything new? Could we continue with out the pain of the loss of innocence? Can we not cry? Does apathy affect all we do in our work place because we are so afraid to speak the feelings there are? Does this mean these feelings do not exist? Oh to love... the embrace, the letters..... The heart feels childish again.. the innocence unwraps itself.... To breath into a lie, or a truth... Love it is a leap of faith. When we learn this with out condition, we hold on to our selves. The softness and embrace of a thousand smiles so strong they shattered the glass in the tallest buildings.... And as the glass shatters and Cuts, some of us embrace the pain and flow of blood. It means Healing.... Others run away, hiding from the smiled Shards.... with out understanding where they ever had come from. Deep in side My Heart, I bleed, as we all do. A Thousand diamonds could slice me never know at once the secret my heart held.... A serial killer could shred Me, and Never comprehend the things that made me, me. Only My Mechanics. I laugh to this, and I write it.... To swing on the bridge of a falling canyon that drops into a wasted nothingness would never undue what I have known and felt... that is what evil has always wanted... to come.. to know, to shattered the past memories of love in any way possible... and it can't.... It never can.... Though I hate, though I cry, and though eventually I will die, Evil's only chance to hold my experience as if it were trying to grasp all the mist in the dewy morning on the mountain tops.... Evil..... It will never have me, nor you... I laugh at this... and you should too. Tarah~
[Cosmic] I touched a glass hot as star, it was your skin pale and dim, but the light inside was exploding free, bending the laws of nature, the gravity of your survival. I saw it all right though the glass and smashed it with my lips by whispering the words that kiss to the soulwind of this cosmic bliss. I told, you are sacred and you are one as I am none, we are the light and the blackness in which it shines, we are the illusion of time and the eternal night which encases all life. Then you replied and we died, a supernovae explosion of light and heat, and we laughed in each point of space and time, together with all that are one, that are none.
If you try to stay away from shit, shit will come to you, why do you think you are here in the first place. Life itself is full of it, bucket loads and of many different types. Our culture is full of it and perhaps the greatest full of shit people of all are our parents, which is quite disturbing as they are the one's that supposedly love you the most, right of the bat that shows you the kind of world we live in. I fell in love once in the most beautiful time of my life, even a full of shit guy like me could love, but not any more, nay I say. The girl I fell in love with was full of shit, the beautiful type. If you are like me... well hang in there, just a few steps more. Now we don't even have enough love in us to love even ourselves sometimes, we truely are the epitome of the bottom liners. According to the universal messiah council for galactic affairs.
[shining world] what haven't we touched, what has become of us, what haven't we been, what haven't we dreamed? where haven't we been, what haven't we seen, what have we seen, where have we been? memories as flowers in dreams, there they are - fields and fields, thousands of colours, thousands of lights, then awaken and nothing, everything's gone, a new world has come. what have you seen, what have you been, where will you be this night, this dream, what shall you see? keep the breath, take it with you, then, when a new world is born, breathe it out, shine your mind, thousands of colours, thousands of lights, be everything that you really are. --- As always: © 2006 Andris Krastiņš
My personal favourite: Listen, listen - the cat is pissin' Where, where? He's under the chair! Quick quick! Get the gun! ...never mind. He's done.
Who do we think we are, riding a pebble among the stars? So special, we must be, because I know I am I and you know you are you, and we both think we are free. You say we are God's children, made in his image, decended from Adam and Eve. Why did God take so long to tell us who he was? Why leave us so long to grieve? Two-thousand years gone by, and he has not returned. Will he forget us so long that our children forget him, and so damn them to hell because they didn't know wrong? Why leave us in doubt? Where are his prophets now? Where is God's voice, is it amid the static on the radio? Have we forgotten how to hear the divine, or is it bullshit? Where are the miracles now, when all the world watches with bated breath and open eyes. Why does he only pull his timeless parlour tricks through angels in disguise? Could it be that these creautures, who appear when times are down and luck is in the rough, are no more than earthly beings? People like you and me in the right place with the right stuff? I've heard the testimonials. I've watched the preachers preach. Each one with shallow words, with nothing new to teach. Old words from an ancienct book about men from an age of swords. Where's David with a .45? Goliath riding his Panzer? When did the God of Hebrews become the God of Arabs and the pale barbarians too? Wasn't Jesus a Jew? And why kill our brothers and not turn our cheeks? Where is Christ's teaching, when we declare we're under God, and ask his blessing unto us, as we slaughter those he's seeking? We've erected another golden calf, and printed on it "In God We Trust." And swear by his name, when his book says not to swear at all. Neither by his throne, his city, or our heads. Matthew 5:34, take a look. Is it so far fetched to say that God never was at all? That we made him ourselves, drawn out in our image, an imaginary guide for us to keep comfortably on our shelves? Who are you to claim that these words are Truth. Set down in days so far away that the Earth was flat, and the stars but holes in a dome, so they say. I think it's time for a new religion. The old ones grow stale. Let me worship the fact I'm breathing, let me worship the air, the sun and the seasons. And thank them for not leaving. Because I fear it's true, your God has left all of you. And nothing that you can do will resurrect him anew. It's time to look for a clue in ourselves for our virtue. And you will say it's a sin to lay these facts down again. Call me heretic and then turn your backs on the den of doubts it raises within and raise your stiff upper chin. Keep marching with a shield of faith, your God an ever present omni-wraith. Question not, and so it's safe to not question a thing they say as they lead us to judgement day. After all we're all just waifs, waiting for our father's guiding hand to lift us up from in this land. Take us to heaven where we can be near the comfort of his light. Forever gone the doubts of night. Our lives washed away in glory.
I stood at the edge of the Earth to face the, golden, sunlit clouds as if I was their equal But knowing that I am speck of nothingness in this grand design I spread my arms open to know that for an ephemeral moment I gazed upon heaven's doors.
что-то случилось, не знаю что, но весь мир стал сиять. я смотрю сквозь себя, весь мир сияет, и я. не знаю что, но что-то в облаках, но что-то в земле, что-то в мне. --- p.s. It's in Russian, so my apologies to those, who don't understand.
cool, avatar! admittedly, i am still learning russian. my comprehension is good enough to read it though. very nice!
a tyrant is a man who allows his people no freedom. who is puffed up by pride, driven by the lust for power, compelled by greed, provoked by a thirst for fame.... divided and conquered, gripped by fear, wishful thinking that it cant happen here, its well on the way, but nobody knows. a repeat of history, thats how it goes. tell the people that their under attack, by random foes from mosul, from iraq, mobilized outrage, muslim dissent, send in the troops, strike the pre-empt. stars and stripes, learn how to fight. we come together by the dawn of the light, oh so proudly we hail, at the rocket's red glare. stars and stripes. control the airwaves, view the reaction. use every weapon of mass destruction. turn active people into passive consumers, feed them bogus holes, and hairbrained rumors. pull back the rights, make no mistake. tell them homeland security is now at stake. whip up a frenzy, keep them suspended. dont let them know that their humanity has ended. everything goes to a desperate state. the view of democracy rapidly fades. wreak total havoc on all our position, in every event, fulfill your mission. totalitarian media sensation, we will give them domination. nevermind they call you liar. thief. by now, you are undisputed commander in chief. oh so proudly we hail. -------sascha konietzko
This one is called "Betrayal of the senses": There is contentment about, in a sacred moment of being and sense Happenings pan out and awaken and tense. A sight, a sound An answer awaits Curiousity Consequence Nothing. It was supposed to be about "Betrayal" alone but I fucked up.
For the love of money: Money, a piece of paper used as currency Currency to what I ask? To collect it is to lack sense A depriving task Like a couple I and this unit My Queen wears a jealous frown A king is meant to inherit Not to earn his glorious crown A monarchy of monetary oak has formed a monogamous bond One with which we erect castles and direct fate Of this restricted circulation I am not fond But in time this blood will donate
smoke weed till I die, I get by by the wonder of seeing the sun go under but never die I fly when I'm high cry when I lay down with a frown from the chronic it's a tonic African drums are a token for the tokin' as I ride on the eyes and the body of someone unknown In a deserted city I recognize my own the chronic chronic is who I am and yet it's not me and so I see the beach in the desert and leave that which was known but not me I die. never will I cry. to be born again like the sun, "I" am the wonder. nice poem nicholas and I liked the simplicity of your russian poem avatar thank you both.
green spleen yellow heart. purple feelings seal my fart. red eyes cool down blue-ish actions, brown contractions part.
/A maybe a bit slightly or not psychedelic song/ little leaves, little sun, little fire, little wind, little people littered with fears so high in the sky takeoff!, rocket, fly, everything’s so little where the ants die and then I see a shovel in the sky: men don’t fly where the doves cry, ay ay ay, the shovel shovels me under the black night where neither the doves or ants try to fly hello, martian brother, venusian sister, I am here, SPACE and once again so high where no above and below lies no more lies, black holes don’t and neither do I I see spaceships carrying seeds from one galaxy to the next, I see them spreading little seeds, little seeds seeding dreams from which planets arise, seeding the sky with rain, with clouds, seeding it with doves, seeding seeds in my hands, look at them shine
Secret Combinations, Time, Power, Rich-fat-white-mens ELATION Secrets abound Lies a whorl Secrets maintain control of our world Truth newly stated Secrets unvailed Sooner or later time will tell A division amongst Riches buy lull People fall silent, gold takes its toll A bush is in office Combinations abound In Iraq, dead people are found Corporations in heaven Inflation times seven Please reconsider 9/11 After all, knowledge is power What will you do in this eleventh hour?
[A rock song] Look, ain't it a pretty thing hanging on the wall, the blood ain't mine, the rope not mine, the screaming sounds not mine. A haa, pretty face, such a stare of panic, of fear, of fire, such a nightmare on my wall, but the blood ain't mine. Come in, close, listen to me, listen to me chopping the dead, one for the party and one for the morning after, salvation not in wine, but in blood that ain't mine.
One Art The art of losing isn't hard to master; so many things seem filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster. Lose something every day. Accept the fluster of lost door keys, the hour badly spent. The art of losing isn't hard to master. Then practice losing farther, losing faster: places, and names, and where it was you meant to travel. None of these will bring disaster. I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or next-to-last, of three loved houses went. The art of losing isn't hard to master. I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster, some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent. I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster. ---Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident the art of losing's not too hard to master though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster. -- Elizabeth Bishop
