Wicked Torment

Will make you reflect and think

Multiversal Verse

It’s a haunting massacre,

A dreadful parade,

A time of death,

The day for endless charades,

All of hollow pain,

Memories that corrupt your mind,

Erode your brain,

And cause you to go insane.

Loneliness suffocates your soul,

Pulls you down to the ground,

And crushes your skull,

Then darkness comes,

Your helplessness and fear,

Can be smelled for miles!

Those dark eyes in the night stalk you,

They’re coming for you,

A most painful end is near,

The screams are horrid cries that only you can hear,

It brings you to tears,

Tears that leap like flames,

Burning your face,

Like acid,

They eat at your very being,

And they prevent you from seeing,

You can not breathe!

You’re lost in your own loneliness,

Trapped in an endless cycle of abandonment!

This hell is your personal torture.

A deep, deep punishment for the most wicked.

God can’t help you,

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Makes Sense

Makes sense

joel seath

It is my ambition to say in ten sentences what others say in a whole book.

— Friedrich Nietzsche

Brevity and succinctness are often misunderstood. Put a piece, a very short story, up for peer review and — though it may receive favourable feedback — there’s often a comment tacked on: ‘It feels like it could be developed into something longer.’ This entirely misses the point.

If it’s good in its brevity, there may be a lingering after the reading. The reader may not remember every word, or every detail, every placement of every subtlety, but they may be left with the possibility of the piece playing around in their mind. Sometimes, that playing is the embodiment of the tale itself; sometimes the piece read may turn itself towards the reader, asking ‘so, how do you feel?’; sometimes, a reader’s other memories may rise to the surface as a result.

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We all live in a dying body

We all live in a dying body

Felicia's Insights & Travels

I am dying,

but my body stays for now.

The movie that my life was,

plays the way it should,

but much slower

as I have special luxury of time.

So, when one emotion comes,

there is time to make the call

and find out in forty years

what has changed, in which way growth

has occurred, or not at all.

All that it has been, still is,

and participants they are in my death

those of the past,

that no longer seem like gone.

I will keep my body now,

but new human I’ll emerge,

and it is a choice I make

to leave body when I’m done.

All the wisdom’s coming back

from all lives that started

way before the known and written,

even in the oral tales,

there is left so little.

Memory is coming back, quickness of the knowing,

body moves in leaps and bounds towards…

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How to See the Future in Your Sleep according to Ibn Khaldun

Wanna be a genius today? Learn to travel into the future with your dreams.

Perverted Wisdom

If we were forced to suppose that there have been a few secret time-travelers in history, suspicion would naturally fall on people like Leonardo da Vinci, Jules Verne, maybe Marcel Duchamp.

How were these guys so far ahead of their time?  Maybe they were ahead of their time, literally. Maybe they weren’t great geniuses so much as plagiarists of the future—they took good notes and then came back and tried to take credit.

My candidate for secret time-traveler is Ibn Khaldun (1332 – 1406). Several hundred years before the West reinvented anthropology and sociology, Ibn Khaldun invented, by himself, an incredibly modern “science of culture.”

Intellectual achievements normally attributed to Europeans of the modern era (i.e., after c. 1492) can be found throughout Ibn Khaldun’s Introduction to History, written in North Africa in 1377:  the economic law of supply and demand; the labor theory of value in economics; the “Laffer…

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A Woman Like Me

Impressive piece

Liv By The Pen

Who on planet Earth can understand a woman

Like me?

You wouldn’t understand these hips,

These curves,

All you see is a toy to chew on,

To tear and rip as you please,

And think I can only beg at your knees.

You don’t know me, fool.

All you know is every woman’s shape,

The batting of her eyelashes,

The pink of her lips,

But that ain’t me.

You wanna deal with a real woman?

Then follow my lead.

I don’t beg like your puppy,

I don’t drool like you when you’re sleeping,

Naw, that just ain’t me.

I work too damn hard for you to be the farmer,

And for me to be your sheep.

Sorry, my pride ain’t for sale

And my lovin’ is not that cheap.

Just realize,

You gotta put in work for a woman like me.

 

I hope you didn’t think that this was

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‘The Night Has A Thousand Eyes’

Hmmm…. when love is done, indeed

Ratiocinativa

1024px-2006-09-15_18-47-19_ziaja

The night has a thousand eyes,
And the day but one;
Yet the light of the bright world dies
With the dying of the sun.

The mind has a thousand eyes,
And the heart but one;
Yet the light of a whole life dies
When love is done.

by Francis William Bourdillon

The illustration is a sunset by Adam Ziaja http://ziaja.name taken on 15 Sep 2006 and made available via Wikimedia.

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THAT’S THE SPIRIT

Not your conventional bed time story……. but it Made me read it twice..

The Lab

The little girl looked on, a greedy gleam in her eyes. The table was more laden this year than the last, but there were still not enough presents. She gave a little frown and wandered off to look for her parents. Hateful parents. How selfish they were being. Everyone knows Christmas means more presents. They needed to have “the talk”.

She found the parents in the yard. They were standing next to a large box, which was wrapped in very pretty paper. For a brief moment, she was distracted by the large parcel. Then she remembered the other presents at the table, and her anger returned. She stormed out into the yard, face scrunched up into an ugly mask. With arms flailing madly, she launched into a high pitched scream. She felt a rush of rage wash over her. Her face hurt from the forced tears. Why couldn’t they understand…

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Guilty

Very reflective stuff

Cleopatra's Granddaughter

I should be crying, if I’m looking in the mirror and not seeing myself I should be crying.

I feel the pain, yet I’m so cemented outside I show no reaction.

I look around trying to find safety, I find darkness swallowing me.

I close my eyes, I pray for my soul to be cleaned of this guilt.

I feel those burning tears trying to breathe, but I’m holding back.

I feel weak, I know I’m weak. Yet I keep my strongest face on.

I see the danger, but like a fool I walk through it then wonder why I get bruised.

Back to being guilty again, I’m sick of this shameless game.

Seeing people walking around, holding guilt like a winning card.

Am I mad??? Or maybe its just guilt giving me illusions???

Like a coward hiding behind my words, I won’t do a thing – I can’t do anything -.

Like a coward writing…

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What We Fail To Learn…

A must read….. Truly thought provoking

Another Wandering Soul

Two households, both alike in dignity
nemesis, blood feud of old
In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,
in our mother’s womb we battle
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,
prejudice, evil’s spawn blurs our sight
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.
forces hands to do its bidding.
From forth the fatal loins of these two foes
we are equal; our hearts all follow the creator’s drums
A pair of star-crossed lovers take their life,
but fall victim to hatred, passed on through the ages
Whose misadventured piteous overthrows
unmoved; set in crumbling stone
Doth with their death bury their parents’ strife.
a thousand deaths won’t make the frenzied eye see ~
The fearful passage of their death-marked love
so we tread; siblings’ blood drowns sacred ground
And the continuance of their parents’ rage,
wrath and envy still on the march;
Which, but their children’s end, naught could…

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Leaves tell a Tale

Leaves tell a Tale

honeybadgerherrera

As the clouds surround us
and the temperature drops.
As the wind whistles away
and the leaves around us fall.
I ask myself why we can’t
have the same direct effect
on one another.

When you laugh,
I want to chuckle.
When you smile,
I want to giggle.
When I stumble,
I want you to help me up.
When I cry,
I want you to offer me a tissue.

But you don’t notice me.
You seem to have forgotten
all the special moments
we spent together.
Though they weren’t direct,
they were still special to me.

I miss the morning messages
that brought me joy.
I miss the late night messages
in which you would tell me
all of your dreams and goals.

I felt close to you.
And I think you felt the same.

But now, we act like strangers.
No greetings in the halls.
No eye contact during…

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202

Refreshingly new approach

fleeting pixel

By becoming words | added to another order | The body | drifts in type | Domestic scene a tragedy, a | monotone | Writing home, you expect a good summer | Branching from your flesh, the words | may sometimes appear to mock you | with all their bustle of | convincing eternity | Their blossoms, when they open | stay open | while yours | wither and slip away | Building silence, a glance | into August skies, more empty | than eras or dynasties | For an emperor, as for you, when a flower dies, the petals fall | Off to everyone, and no one, the words | are going | how brave they look | in their fine uniforms | like beautiful, doomed recruits…

Imperial summer | blue | No place to put even the | haziest of notions | No nook or cirrus flaw |…

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Death always intrigues

Death intrigues

MeePoetry

Death, I welcome thee;
put a crown upon thy head;
appoint thee executioner;
What more dost thou need
from a readied man?

My will is too short,
narrow at the very tip.
Were I to stab out, angry,
I would surely misguide
and falter on my new wound.

And what do I have left
but petty memoirs; blank.
I should not care for thee;
I have never seen thy face.
Not since thy last left.

Did thy love leave thou
or dost thou still dream;
my life in thy merciless hands.
I am far from suicidal,
just struggling to live.

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Who Will Catch You When You Fall!

Real and not, sane and logical

THINGS TO PONDER by Mary Beth LaBar

Hands tightly at our sides.

Watching rigidly, nearly blind

A sign of the times

A delusion of calm

In the eye of the storm

While an arms length away

Lives despair and dismay

But we walk without seeing

We believe We are safe

We know without acting

We’re fooled by veneer

While an arm’s length away

Lives despair and dismay.

We could reach out

But our muscles resist

For fear that we might

Catch what we see

Just an arm’s length away.

Who will catch you

When you fall?

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Christmas

Christmas in the air

Mr. Rommie Blog

So here comes Christmas

It’s this time of the year

But please, let it this time

Give us smiles, not tears.

 

This time of Joy, so mystical

When the Holy stops the Hatred

Give us please a miracle

And return all departed.

 

Bring back soldiers, fallen

Bring back children, killed…

Make our lives worthwhile,

Our hopes, fulfilled.

 

We know, this is Christmas

It’s this time of the year

But does He know it with us

And will He stop our fears?

 

 

Traiskirchen,

21 December, 2012.

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Ode to some Shit that’s Bad for you

The humor is catchy

toobrightlights

You are shiny, and you’re pretty.

When you’re in my throat I love you.

You’re the crunch of glass between my teeth,

and candy on my lap.

And you’re scruffy and you’re lying,

You’re a badger at the baby.

You’re  the journal in the bureau

of Narcissus Daydream Annie.

The emergency release kit that

she rubs into her arms?

You’re the thought that traces all the lines

and reddens up the skin.

You’re the Near-to-Hand, the Up-All-Night,

You’re Glamour in a photo.

Just revisiting the cities on

a badly hand-drawn map.

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Peace Presents

This brings back nice warm memories

Going Beyond Belief

I see the boxes ‘neath a verdant tree,

Of size and corners, of soft and flat.

Of tiny bows and licked envelopes.

Near are socks pinned to the mantle

Empty, gaping, hungry for the treats of Christmas Eve.

 

One question remains.

 

Good or bad? Worthy or not?

Will favor extend till Christmas morn?

Or with harsh words or one false step

This bounty quick be shorn?

 

Tiny, faceless, serene nearby

A wooden manger scene. A Prince of Peace.

One given and never recalled.

Given for liars and lonely, good and bad.

Given a bounty for hearts who will believe.

And behold, a gift again,

Peace on earth, goodwill to men.

 

This Peace eternal

Not as the world gives. Not for reciprocating or to the worthy.

Not wrapped or hidden

Never retracted.

Peace given.

Peace left.

In a name, in a babe.

Through a Prince who knew…

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A Mayan Doomsday Poem

The world will end sometime, make no mistake about that.

Trishothinks's Blog

Hold my heart with care
It is fragile

Hold it close to your heart
Let them beat en masse

An affirmation of life
How long will they beat?

It is despairing to me
As I realize it won’t last

Let us enjoy this time
This moment together

Nothing else matters

The world may end today
Or tomorrow…who knows?

No one knows
Only God knows

He keeps his secrets well

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Has the world ended yet?

Has the world ended yet?

Perspective by Jael

Did you hear the news? The world will be destoryed in…(checks watch)…24 hours.

imagesCA1SIEH9

Theories are going around. Most people I know don’t believe it. They bring up a good point. The Mayan calander DID end in 2012, but what the calander did NOT have…was leap year. Do the math, and the world should have ended last year on 12.21.11. But we’re still here. Yet people still predict that it will end, as predicted, on 12.21.12–the day the Mayan calendar ends.

I found this article and video below very interesting. NASA is even in on it, proving that the world won’t end with the help of doctors and scientists.

http://abcnews.go.com/Technology/video/nasa-mayan-apocalypse-world-end-yesterday-sciencecast-youtube-17967187

I always thought the apocalypse was a good story–an action/adventure topic. Books are written and movies are created about it all the time. It’s a facsinating topic. Hope you enjoy the link!

~J.L. Cordova

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Beautiful & Original

This is beautiful and so original……

Arab Odyssey

I read Plato, Nietzsche and Marx, and I wonder.

I wonder what they would think of our Time’s Man of the Year, or our international agencies, or our peace treaties that do nothing but pause the tears.

I pickup my primary school Bible and put it side by side my Quran, and I wonder.

I wonder what my fellow Muslims would call me for having it in my possession.

“For understanding,” I would tell them, but they wouldn’t understand.

I listen to Mozart and Wagner, and I wonder what they would compose if they were still alive.

A symphony of humming bombs perhaps? Or would they have composed only for our so coveted “awards”? The only thing you should know about awards is that Mozart never won any.

I sit on the train and the child in front of me is playing a video game. He’s pressing uncountable buttons per…

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I will hope and you will dream.

Delightful piece

My mouth should never open

Someday, you won’t remember me.

The color of my eyes

will long be forgotten.

And someday, you won’t know how you loved me.

My face will be nothing

but a shadow in your mind.

Someday, I will still remember you.

I don’t forget,

I don’t want to lose a piece of my life.

And someday, I will still love you.

Your smile as fresh in my mind as

the first day I saw it.

I will hope, that I had dreamed you.

Wish you could be forgotten.

But I won’t.

You will hope, that you had imagined me.

But you will think you had.

That my laugh is just the echos from a dream.

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When Silence Speaks

Honestly….. silence does speak

The Harrowed Heart

Who was Rumi without words, or
Picasso without paint?
How do angels fly
with torn and tattered wings?

What medium exists
to express such bitter angst
when silence comes to visit
the worn and weary heart?

Perhaps my crafted art
finds its true expression
in the still point
of the raging storm.

I face the howling winds
whose raindrops are my own
and clutch my dried up pen
in true but trembling hands.

©Benjamin Hoshour, 2012

quill

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This Held me in a comfortable void

Nice & simple….. Held me in a comfortable void

L.J. Lenehan

Earth filled air, moist and dry, I removed the Geraniums before

I tucked in, with the night’s sky. Leonard Cohen sang in the distance

‘Hallelujah’ I lay inside his raspy voice while my soul cuddled

the emotion of shock, shock that I was outside, shock that I was

under a stairs, shock that no one cared, shocked that I really had to

make it on my own. Someone once told me I came into the world

that way but I did not think it was true. Drunks stumbled by, I hoped

I remained invisible long enough that someone might see me.

– L.J. Lenehan –

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Quite engaging!

Quite engaging!

OLD CEMETERY JUNKIE

When You Went Off To War

I didn’t know the day you left.

We would meet no more.

You were just a boy of nine.

When you went off to war.

You proudly bore the drums.

For our voluntary corps.

You were just a boy of nine.

When you went off to war.

Through long hard battles.

And soldiers’ injuries sore.

You were just a boy of nine.

When you went off to war.

You served your unit well.

Until you breathed no more.

You were just a boy of nine.

When you went off to war.

That battle took its toll.

Upon Unit Eighty Four.

You were just a boy of nine.

When you went off to war.

They placed your body in a grave.

In the uniform you wore.

You were just a boy of nine.

When you went off to war.

By:  Becky G. Brinn

9-14-12 284

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Angel

Hard to hold back the tears

Hodgepodge Galore

ANGEL

Shannon Gambino, December 16, 2012

Eyes of intensity

Hearts of love

Rays of light

Sleep, child, sleep

Prayers of millions

Wails of loss

Scores of mourners

Sleep, child, sleep

Blooms of flowers

Flames of candles

Songs of sadness

Sleep, child, sleep

Release of pain

Sliver of life

Gates of Heaven

Peace, angel, peace

Sandy Hook Elementarytumblr_mf1yef1OZw1r2oa9ko1_500

If you would like to donate to the victims’ families, you can donate online: http://www.newtownyouthandfamilyservices.org/donate.php

*Photos were found under Google images. I do not own these images.

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Discomfort

Simply well said

human-torch

A nervous glance from nervous eyes

We fidget like a pigeon sitting

On the same ledge for too long

No names the silence growing

Tense discomfort not to mention

Cold in fingertips are they shaking

With nerves or shivers

No one can say for sure

No one will say at all

Silence growing on us like a rash

But don’t scratch don’t shatter

Silence let the tension grow

Because that is what matters

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Pretty Pictures

Words paint pictures

Love & Handicapping

imagesCA107DMO

 

Pretty pictures dot the room

Love’s frozen faces I presume

It’s all for show

It’s all I know

 

Shining diamonds are the prize

Adorning love in this disguise

It’s all for show

It’s all I know

 

Aromatic flowers are most sublime

But petals wilt and die in time

It’s all for show

It’s all I know

 

Poems, prose decree the heart

With paper easily ripped apart

It’s all for show

It’s all I know

 

Songs sung of love’s praise

With voices that get lost in the haze.

It’s all for show

It’s all I know

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