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Joy
. . .
that which has a secret inside itself . . .

which is :
that exhilaration that is serene and untouchable . . .

that self contained God-like feeling
that is completely independent of all of the chances and changes of life

. . . . Joy . . .
https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=HmR2IZjuMVc&si=MOPsDXUsm0ETU7Gs
the leafless tree branches.
clouds drift in the pale sky
and the deer leave footprints
in the snow

and all flowers fade,
so, throw the dead flowers
across my grave

and with time
winter's wounds will heal
so spring can follow
when the river sheds its skin of ice
and the deer footprints turn to mud

and the earth forgets the cold.
sunlight kisses, the flowers sigh,
tulips bruised red,
for-get-me nots whisper,
daffodils linger.

the sunrise whispers anew
and trembling in sunlight
the green leaves wave

as the wind dances with newborn flowers
that for tell of the Grace.

O, my wild garden.
no more death please, for a little while
In my need for control,
I became the monster —
a silent metronome,
we know exactly when,
when sleep pleads us enter,
and when it bids us adieu,
when we growls for sustenance,
or begs for plenty of the mercy
of emptiness to cleanse our void,
when to compose,
when to repose,
when to dispose,
and when tempos dictate
lay down child,
fallow!

but its greater feat,
when sounds the bells of alarm,
when need is greatest,
for arms embraces,
wet lips to refresh,
bodies to synapse,
eyes require delight,
when needs be greatest,
for that very first infant step
to what can only be ever felt,
but is otherwise undefinable,

for another
+to make us complete,
a unity, an,
us+
7:18am
Sat Sep 13
2025
upon awakening
come to us in twilight, and just before sunrise,
in the in between times, when souls exit and enter.
through microscopic cosmic windows, and there
is nothing but you and the full emptiness of earth
and then! fill our void with words as yet unborn,
and aid all our passages from nether to glory...
for you, we, await...for guidance inherited from
visions of greater-than-us metamorphosis
nat


<>
upon first awakening and reaffirmation of life,
reading the first poem of the day
6:59am
Sabbath
Sep 13
2025
Speak softly my love,
For my mind aches and grinds,
If you listen close you'll hear my gears whine.

I am tired of thinking for my own,
I'd rather just believe.

Watch as I fall to my knees,
Dripping my blood into the fountain,
I pushed so far,
To fall back again.

These ideas are tiring,
So I'll believe yours.
It's too hard to make people understand,
When I am the one thinker in a barren land.
How is it that the one idea you preach,
Is right against all odds.
RIP Charlie Kirk,
He is a man I never liked.
But he isn't evil,

Nobody deserves to die in the way he has.
What he was saying may not have been correct,
But open your minds for just a second and think,
Kirk was killed for challenging society's ideas,

By thinking of his own.

Should we silence all the minds,
Who think in different shades?
Or should we accept the diversity,
That makes up our world's ways?
 Sep 9 Ken Pepiton
Kate
They’re aren’t intelligent, they are a product of the system— of what it wants them to be.
They don’t know differentiation— only order and structure.
The exact type of people to first fall for fallacy.
Obsessive studying, ruminating on pointless math problems.
That doesn’t measure intelligence.
How would they navigate through a life or death situation?
Would an utterly made-up math equation help them?
Would knowing the exact site of mitosis help them when a gun is held against their temple?
They are mind-slaves, meant to think they are more than what they actually are; pointless prodigies.
I’ve been freaking out lately. I know that college isn’t for me, yet I feel pressure to go by my parents.
I don’t want to go to college for years of my life, just to obtain some useless degree in which I’ll have some mediocre 9-5 job I’ll probably hate for the rest of my life. I won’t retire until I’m 65, and by then I won’t even be able to afford basic healthcare to save my own declining mind and body.
That’s not living, that’s mindless monotony.
Yet, how else would I make a living?
Life was never labeled as something freeing, or easy— just straightforward paths that you choose when you’ve barely worked out the patterns in which the world turns.
How can I decide now?
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