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If you knew everything there is to know,
Then how could you ever learn anything or grow?

If you somehow knew all that will ever be
Could any decision that you decide upon ever make you free?

If your mind was everything and everything was in you
Could their ever be anything else for you to do?

And there you are – right in the middle of this inquisition,
A slave to your own reality – chained to your own constitution.

But it is you who has allowed yourself to be caught in this net
You came here not to remember anything but to forget.

You have forgotten who you are and in your own grand illusion find
A dream of freedom and free will which further confuses your mind.

For knowing everything is a girdle of limitless limitation,
But here we have a place of both the known and the unknown – called creation.

In this ignorance you have something to choose,
Freedom from perfection – there was no other way to lose.

So you see – only if you know yourself as that which is not true,
Only there could you be free to select whatever you want to.

Within a single mind, two hands and two eyes; you think, feel and see
These envisioned experiences – only now they can truly be.

Yes, free will also gave you the choice to forget from where you come,
Yet, the closer we return to that place – the happier we become.

I learned to control my awareness and thus I can oft return,
But the closer I get the less choice remains for me to learn.

Though I long for and receive more and more of the infinite’s touch,
The more I also long for the finite in me not to know so much.
The realities of consciousness are both mind altering and eye opening. If you have never experienced such an event then you will hardly be able to understand this poem. But dear friend, that is a good thing. But that doesn't mean that if you can understand this poem it is a bad thing either. It's like a two sided coin. Whichever side is up is known. Now you may say that if one side is known - then it is easy to know what is on the other side. In this poem I play with the known and unknown making the other side out to be a mystery.  Indeed, just like the coin, we do that our entire lives. We always know what is on the other side of the coin. The fun of life is in the asking, "But what if?"
I prefer the sultry ways of Summer
On a lazy sweltering hot afternoon.
If summer were here all year round -
I’d be so perfectly browned.
Oh you can have your mistletoe
And your Halloween masks too.
I prefer my short shorts and sandals
And warm cozy nights by the candles.

Oh Summer if you were a woman
I would surely run away with you.
And if Spring should ever let us come in
We'd surely show her what to do.
Found on the date of nine – two – three – two – oh – one – seven -
Barely more than one month after the grand eclipse of heaven
The revised twelve stars of Leo crown the head of the ******.
In her land of milk and honey, her labors merge in.

Jupiter encircles the womb while within the Holiest of gastronomes.
Mercury, Mars and Venus conjoined with Leo’s nine making the dozen.
Seventy-five days prior the New City’s Trumpet has merged with Put In
Calling for Levant’s retribution which will divide ancient Ebian within.

The ******’s head newly crowned with the temporal twelve stars of Leo,
At her feet quiver the sun and moon awaiting the arrival of Palladio.
She being with child cries in the pain to deliver.
The earth quickens the mystery in perfected position, as both quiver.

Nine months prior the consummation completed by NATO’s resolution
Casting out the promised land – this is real – this is not the imagination.
Jubilee last appeared on the eave of the six day war
Marked by half centuries, Jubilee returns this year once more.

The revelations of tribulation are set by a single star that does always appear
Every two thousand years and four thousand years ago it founded Israel.
Two thousand years ago this same star led the three kings to the king of all kings.
This star is visible for two years and appeared in September two thousand and fifteen.

And yet another sign appears in the heavens: behold a great fiery Red Kachina
Having seven followers and ten outcasts with seven headbands in the arena.
The Red Kachina drawing in a third of the stars, hurling them toward the earth.
This Kachina standing at the ******’s feet waiting for her to give up the birth.

The Red Kacina’s vile evilness waiting to consume Jupiter’s birth failing
To devour the newborn who is to lead all nations with a rod of iron.
But the child remains in the heavens with it’s mother to feed grazed
By the Red Kachina for one thousand two hundred and twenty six days.
Do you believe in prophecy. I'm not sure that I do. All I can tell you is that I have these dreams. I get up and try to write them down. I've decided to share some of them. You can find many of the words in this piece in Revelation in the Bible if you care to take the time to look them up and read them.
 Jan 2018 Fumbletongue
Slur pee
Cover me in the pigment of your skin,
Trace my flaws with fingertips and watch as they diminish.
Help me find god, I’ll call to him in a quiver-
A prayer laid in your ears, by a gentle whisper.
Snake your arms around my spine as it slithers into shivers.

Twist my frame into a beggar,
“Please, sir, I want some more.”
You’re a giver to the paupers,
Benevolent and adored;

Paint me as many pictures, in many forms
Create something beautiful for others to behold
With your talent and your care, your body and your words.

-SLuR
When you feel
like you want to scream,
or run away,
like you want to disappear,
or when you feel completely lost,
all you really want is to be found.

By Lady R.F. (C)2017
 Jan 2018 Fumbletongue
Grace
You know the type.
She's probably called something like
Isabella. Rosalie. Ginevra.
and you find her in the sort of novel where
she's outdone by someone called something like
Jane. Agnes. Lucy.
She's remembered in criticism as
Trivial. Silly. Foolish.
She's defined as Shallow. Vain. False gold.
She's analysed as the mirror, the contrast or the foil
and you're supposed to vaguely dislike her.
She'll reaffirm to the reader that the heroine,
whether she be plain or beautiful, is always, in the end,
Rational. Independent. Brave.
She reaffirms the heroine as someone who
learns and grows
while the silly girl is left looking at herself in the mirror.

The thing is sometimes I feel more like the silly girl,
the girl who needs a hand, the girl who reads books
and wants to believe the stories.
Sometimes, I'm looking in the mirror,
chest deep in my own trivial, silly little worries,
looking at the puddles not the lake, and I know.
I know I'd be one of the silly girls,
not the heroine, out there, just surviving.
I'd be one of those silly girls and I hate it - and yet
- what's so wrong with the silly girls?

What's so wrong with the girls who love themselves,
or love the wrong people or love their clothes?
What's wrong with the girls who are
brave but not rational,
independent but trivial,
selfish but practical?

What's wrong with those girls,
because I always find myself preferring
the Ginevras and the Isabellas anyway.
Basically, Isabella Linton and Ginevra Fanshawe are two of my favourite characters ever :)
Found this poem in the notes on my Kindle. I must have written it late at night, then forgotten about it. :) It's a bit lazy and silly and a bit different from other things I've been writing, but I decided to share it anyway.
I also can't believe that one of my most poems on here is me rambling about Ginevra.
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