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  1. #221
    Blessed With A Curse Schrödinger's Name's Avatar
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    Until You Decide What Happens, Everything Is Happening At Once



  2. #222
    Blessed With A Curse Schrödinger's Name's Avatar
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    Quite a ride but I liked it.
    A Poem by Asdrubal Quintero — The Collapsar

    The end of this poem always cracks me up for some reason, and it isn't even funny. Just true.
    Until You Decide What Happens, Everything Is Happening At Once



  3. #223
    complete Legion's Avatar
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    What?
    Before my eyes? A lie?
    That lies, not surprise.
    That before little
    After long
    Has yet too far to go
    Too little to hold on to
    That there disperses
    As some old curse
    Lifted from 'yond
    As night falls
    Swiftly, comingly
    That never speaks
    Never knows
    Stillness

    That stillness we seek as ever more
    We reach for that yond' shore
    And never reach, for what we are for
    Is too much, for this time
    Too much, for this place,
    Too much, for myself

    That I know that growth
    Is within reach, within us
    For as we search we find within us
    A spark to ignite deep within us
    Me and you both

    For this is what it means
    This is what it comes to
    A resting place, a joyful peace
    As palaces erect

  4. #224
    Blessed With A Curse Schrödinger's Name's Avatar
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    I should google the full version of these poems but I am lazy- laying in an uncomfortable position in bed. Life's hard. Thanks @ the Tumblr people who create trailer poem posts.
    Until You Decide What Happens, Everything Is Happening At Once



  5. #225
    ὁ Σκοτεινός Wunjo's Avatar
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    A Swamp in the Hands of Time

    I.

    I am bound to write the black mass
    Of all past poetry that has pass’d
    Through these learned, loved hands of mine
    To a virginal paper kissed by a thyme.
    This is a renunciation, oh so much delayed
    A Chinese man, to me once said:
    “Love is a decision, not an emotion”
    So in my own will and volution
    I renounce you as I return to a self
    Made of nostalgia and pure vision
    Goodbye now, goodbye sweet elf!
    Now, I have only me in the verse
    Unless there are some perverse
    Sentiments invade me as a writer,
    My spirit is fill’d with eyes of beholders.

    II.

    Now as much as it doesn’t hurt to be watched
    Only paranoids do survive.
    “Sur”, “certain” in French, “vive”,
    What could it possibly mean but “life”?
    Away with you; away with you now,
    This is the thunder and the undertow
    Of a new breath howling from mountains
    Filling my lungs in flamy air
    Now, how can one despair?
    Of leaving you behind, for good.
    This is I think, pretty much understood.
    Now eager with its deathly beauty
    Another future waits for me in truity.
    And I hold, and I hold, the chaos and the calm
    Of a new world within my palm.

    Perverse reader, tell me! Can one really burn
    In grief that much when there is a lot to learn?

    III.

    This is the fight, the only fight now
    The love of life sharpens our swords
    Which will deliver hounding blows
    Over not despair nor pity but stonish
    Stagnation, against change?
    A mere fetish!
    Now, one looks at lost time
    And realizes what kind of a clime
    That he has put himself in
    Is there a more terrible sin
    Than one commits towards himself,
    O such a gravely epitaph,
    Man carves as he stagnates
    He loves deeply and afterwards, he hates.

    IV.

    How would one make love, how?
    Towards a woman that like a bow
    Tenses his manhood; but not heart
    Which is from this, far, far apart?
    A bold question, no doubt of that
    Not a philosophical, but a fatal threat.
    The law of passion is all too simple;
    As long as a man is single,
    He will make love to any woman
    He desires, be them leftful or heathen
    As they are that very Eve
    Ready to Adam receive.

    Make love as if all are the love of your life
    So shall you be free of passionless strife.

    V.

    The dreary autumn comes in joy
    She, in the past, recall, how shy and coy
    In her movements, while summer shone
    Now summer herself is forlorn
    In ageless melancholy, Saturn’s shade
    Has touched to her naked flesh like a blade.
    Autumn, come you sweet daughter
    For every Summer is a disaster
    To one who was birthed by the Night
    Born amid chaos, violence and plight.
    Could summer ever calm such a man?
    He now only remembers when
    He was born and fell in love
    Naturally, every garden and grove
    Behold a cruelty so implacable,
    The Sun was never amicable
    Compared to the nuptials of the Moon
    I shall be embraced very soon.


    VI.

    Childhood, sweet childhood, how far you are
    But close as the smell of the bazaar
    That I used to stride in with tales of old
    My childhood, now I am so very cold
    To grieve thee; now grown am I, now a man
    These all did come to pass, but when, when?
    Time and its passing, a sight to behold
    But keep your eyes quick, it will not be on hold,
    It will pass like a thunderbolt through wind
    You are to witness this, as you ascend,
    Towards your one true will and fate,
    That time and its passing can never stagnate.
    But, fear not, death is only changing the mask
    Or in order to drink again, emptying your flask.
    Consumed by a worm who rides through Earth’s vein,
    Flesh I was, flesh am I and shall be flesh again.

    VII.

    Black winged? They all say that you are so
    But since when thou art the bringer of woe
    Towards man and all of his doings
    The colour of gold shines on thy wings.
    Lucifer, reason, rebellion, free will,
    If one knows you in truth, he can bear no ill
    Towards you, your fate and your goal
    Could one transform into diamond, worthless coal
    Without thy alchemy and formula
    Could one create discipline out of gula
    If his will was not provoked by thy traps,
    As thy deceiving yet noble finger taps
    Towards every hunger in the soul of Man,
    Such a worthless and useless Den,
    Without the light of reason and choice
    That you were and are the sole voice
    Of their challenging presence for the shepherd,
    Against that false-creator and his so call’d word.

    VIII.

    My father will you embrace me now?
    Since every toil of past is cast below.

    IX.

    Like a mud, treason stained our garments
    Like a brother’s blood, it defiled our gardens.
    We who were betrayed and who did betray
    Who delightfully became perverted and led astray
    All those following the way of dead tradition
    For a dream, a mirage, no, a vision
    Of Libertine ideals and sperm-filled holes
    Our ideologues are surely pimps and whores.
    Our propagandists are whom but poets?
    Whose pens will strictly guard our assets
    Of glorious decadence and haughty perversion
    In order to create our version
    Of the Garden of Eden, within this earth
    We shall stop making idols out of death.

    X.

    I have no philosophy-- let me be clear
    All philosophy should go extinct in the air
    I live by no code but changeability
    I am the river that flows without shame or pity.
    What is the worth of inserting my being
    Towards the troubles of this earth of wrongdoing?
    If such troubles do not find me by their own,
    By following my path, why should I earn scorn?


    XI.

    One day, there was a learned fellow
    Who wanted to study the secrets of Zen
    And the worlds hidden above and below
    His steps stopped, he glanced, and then;
    He saw the temple in front of his eyes
    He was as drunk on alcohol and lies.
    Took a step, then another, then one more
    Stopped in front of a humble door
    He knocked and knocked and knocked
    Until the door opened, and a face looked
    At him, as asking “What do you want?”
    He said, “I am a learned man of the mind
    Who came from a place where the wind
    Has a different name compared to one here.”
    The face was unmoved, a visage severe
    He saw how drunk was the learned man
    In his ageless wisdom, he hatched a plan
    Called his students immediately to take
    The learned man in front of the lake
    Peacefully still, in the Temple’s garden
    His students, grabbed him, like a warden
    And took the learned man to the pond
    The master filled a bucket, and lo and behold!
    Threw the ice cold water of the lake
    On the face of the learned rake.
    He filled the bucket, time and time again
    And threw the water on his face, with disdain.
    The rake, after a while, started to laugh
    Water was dripping from his face, though
    He laughed harder and harder, as the water
    Slapped his face like the hand of a stern father.
    Immediately he sobered up from the drink
    And reached to Satori as quick as an eye’s blink.
    "The owl of Minerva spreads its wings only with the falling of the dusk."

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