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Men
Crowns for a king
Irons for a slave
Handcuffs for a prisoner
Coffins for a grave
i am still
         as stone.
kneeling
eyes closed
            arms at my sides
         grounded  in this
sea of
       slowly blinking
lights

i release
   all
that is
    me
in a soundless
          colorful burst
of energy
from my mind
to yours
an arrow
    of light
a message
              with intention

i will
             my data
        toward you in
               all  v u l n e r a b i l i t y
i bend space | toward you|
i command time | to warp around you|

i give you
     my dark
      despairing
        ruins
for inspection.

i give you
my brilliant
     bursts
       of   l i g h t n e s s
and joy
for review.

gaze at my
life
       decisions
         heart
from
all
    perspectives
and judge
     my worthiness.

i hide nothing
      i am still
     i am letting go.
 Jul 2013 Kenneth Springer
D W
What if there were
No God and angel,
No good no evil,
No Lucifer  and  Satan,
No soul no demon,
No creature and Human,
No wonder no why,
No truth no lie,
What if there were
No east no west,
No worst nor best,
No black and white,
No day and night,
And no wrong no right,
,
,
Would this universe be such a  fake existence ?
Or just a world with nothing but consistency  ?*

© Copy right protected
My lips curl around my last cigarette.
I allow the smoke to mix with the air
And fill my lungs.
I exhale the poison

And pass the tobacco ridden stick
To my only friend.
I watch as she does the same,
With clouded eyes submerged in sadness.

She stares straight into my soul and
Whispers, We're in this together.
Little does she know, I loath spending this time
With her. I hate sharing my last cigarette

With someone I can't stand.
I turn my head, avoiding any
Need to say a word,
And as she passes the cigarette,

I shift my gaze back onto her face,
And notice that I'm staring into the mirror.
I am seeking an unspeakable beacon--
that which defies not solely the misty discontents of mine own
but the time-wrought err of man:
a taut reminder to cross the burgeoned  blur of millennia
up and down the current and the tides
of an ocean to quench such fiery dispositions,
inspiring a shanty not for sanctuary
but for the cleansing of such tarnished deposits
clinging steadfast to the side of aching vessels
harboring, hidden, a virtue free of salted regard
and an anchor to an oft ennobled canon.
These days, I'm afraid to look into your eyes

for fear that I may be consumed.

Though I suppose drowning in your irises

would be a lovely way to go.
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