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jonchius Sep 2015
resuming vogon poetry
altering website logos
pretending everyone cares
playing "east hastings"
asphyxiating well-nigh denouement
depicting twitter status
obfuscating coincident deletions

translating from Sḵwx̱wú7mesh
assuring Sḵwx̱wú7mesh exists
painting skwiḵw's mother?
decrying micropolitical maelstrom
imbibing fireball fountain
inundating lexical foofaraw

crafting poetic wonders
desiring other mediums
remaining practically invisible
ending internet-only depression

drafting noetic blunders
requesting astute clique
blazing perilous trail
aging ominous grisaille

depicting kmart realism
seeking darker groups
increasing pre-weekend laughter
appropriating communist symbols

making lone chuckle
offending worldwide communists
colonizing hello poetry
colonizing parallel universe

relaxing e-migration policies
пить чистую водку
photographing abduction scene
¿losing consistent format?

increasing bluebird insignia
avoiding frivolous legalities
striking astraphobic comments
assuming near-universal automation

lowering latent inhibition
traversing oneiric plane
laxwadding afebrile loodies
wallscaping pitchsourced chthonicities
closing one-star conveniences
sharing alien-looking alphabet
writing system downtimes
first week of September 2015
Piyush Gahlot Nov 2018
Finally someone different,
someone beautiful focused and confident,
Has an elegance and a magical aura,
Saw her first passing by when I was reading quora.

Her face is a delicious treat,
Whenever I see her my heart skips a beat,
She looks pure, she looks innocent
kinda shy, her smile is my stimulant.
she loves writing, what a coincident,
Has a decent sense of fashion,
discovered writing blogs is her passion.

She smiles less often,
Looks pretty worried most of the time,
Maybe because it's a new place for her,
or maybe something else,
Yeah, She does speak less,
She seems like a mystery,
Wish we match a great chemistry.

I want to know her more,
I want her to know me as well,
I am interested I wanna tell,
For now, I just wish she is single as well.

On her, my <3  got stuck,
gonna give it a try, Wish me luck! ;)
Liking the new girl in the office.
(Lines on the loss of the “Titanic”)

          I
     In a solitude of the sea
     Deep from human vanity,
And the Pride of Life that planned her, stilly couches she.

          II

     Steel chambers, late the pyres
     Of her salamandrine fires,
Cold currents thrid, and turn to rhythmic tidal lyres.

          III

     Over the mirrors meant
     To glass the opulent
The sea-worm crawls—grotesque, slimed, dumb, indifferent.

          IV

     Jewels in joy designed
     To ravish the sensuous mind
Lie lightless, all their sparkles bleared and black and blind.

          V

     Dim moon-eyed fishes near
     Gaze at the gilded gear
And query: “What does this vaingloriousness down here?”. . .

          VI

     Well: while was fashioning
     This creature of cleaving wing,
The Immanent Will that stirs and urges everything

          VII

     Prepared a sinister mate
     For her—so gaily great—
A Shape of Ice, for the time fat and dissociate.

          VIII

     And as the smart ship grew
     In stature, grace, and hue
In shadowy silent distance grew the Iceberg too.

          IX

     Alien they seemed to be:
     No mortal eye could see
The intimate welding of their later history.

          X

     Or sign that they were bent
     By paths coincident
On being anon twin halves of one august event,

          XI

     Till the Spinner of the Years
     Said “Now!” And each one hears,
And consummation comes, and jars two hemispheres.
Mitch Nihilist Sep 2015
I was asked
         
                 why don't you
                   write something
                                 positive?

postive,
positive?

maybe it's like
school,
it's hard to weave
interests into subjects
coincident not
of delight

a page is an unworn
white t-shirt
that i seem to stain
unrecognizable
when my pen
wipes it's fingers

and theres nothing
more to clean my
hands with

so i guess
why i don't write
positives a majority
of the time
is because when it rains
the ground doesn't
just decide to stay dry.
Nat Lipstadt Apr 2018
how this came and come to be,
from gone to come to gone rediscovered but unreleased,
a passage thematic that birthed
fully formed, formal in its inception,
contented in its first appearance and
its primary coincident deception

who wrote this? not me? could not be!

yet a scented hint of
eau d’familiarité
suggests that I may have
inadvertently
plagiarized
myself

this old poem mine,
we certifiably have never met,
but nonesuch a hail fellow met,
that upon our (re?) acquaintance,
the heavens marked the occasion with
hail and neither of us deemed it strange

so we well recall our ancestor’s words

”there is nothing new under the sun”

adding our brand new imprimatur
”not even June or the Moon or other iconic loons”

we may have borrowed from the insights,
recollecting what happened to us when separated at birth,
envisioning like the prophets of yore what was implanted
long before  we remembered it well
upon its birthday

our intertwined twinning
fate befallen*

   postscript

quaking heart, trembling pointer
dawning and dying
simultaneous

neither tissue, cell, molecule,
i am but a composite of
letters, alpha bits and bets,
recirculated songs and tunes born
like me,
compromised, bridged,
newly un and recovered,
lengthy and unabridged,
my appearance faulty,
my eyes ****** ruddy and red,
my fingered tips blend and bleed
words acquired, words invented,
marching before me,
old lands recaptured,
new ones set free

take and give -
there’s no difference -
intimation, initiation,
all
bring me home
to where my boundaries begin


<•>

this one, for the ladies who loved its
predecessor

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2367267/the-temple-of-you/
“I can believe things that are true
and things that aren't true
and I can believe things
where nobody knows
if they're true or not. 

I can believe in Santa Claus
and the Easter Bunny
and the Beatles
and Marilyn Monroe
and Elvis
and Mister Ed.
Listen -
I believe that people are perfectable,
that knowledge is infinite,
that the world is run
by secret banking cartels
and is visited by aliens
on a regular basis,
nice ones
that look like wrinkled lemurs
and bad ones who mutilate cattle
and want our water and our women. 

I believe that the future *****
and I believe that the future rocks
and I believe that one day
White Buffalo Woman is going to come back
and kick everyone's ***.
I believe that all men
are just overgrown boys
with deep problems communicating
and that the decline
in good *** in America
is coincident
with the decline in drive-in movie theaters
from state to state. 

I believe that all politicians
are unprincipled crooks
and I still believe that they are better
than the alternative.
I believe that California
is going to sink into the sea
when the big one comes,
while Florida
is going to dissolve into madness
and alligators
and toxic waste. 

I believe that antibacterial soap
is destroying our resistance to dirt and disease
so that one day
we'll all be wiped out by the common cold
like martians in War of the Worlds. 

I believe that the greatest poets of the last century
were Edith Sitwell and Don Marquis,
that jade is dried dragon *****,
and that thousands of years ago
in a former life
I was a one-armed Siberian shaman. 

I believe that mankind's destiny lies in the stars.
I believe that candy
really did taste better when I was a kid,
that it's aerodynamically impossible
for a bumble bee to fly,
that light is a wave and a particle,
that there's a cat in a box somewhere
who's alive and dead
at the same time
(although
if they don't ever open the box
to feed it
it'll eventually just be
two different kinds of dead),
and that there are stars in the universe
billions of years older
than the universe itself. 

I believe in a personal god
who cares about me
and worries
and oversees everything I do.
I believe in an impersonal god
who set the universe in motion
and went off to hang with her girlfriends
and doesn't even know
that I'm alive.
I believe in an empty and godless universe
of causal chaos,
background noise,
and sheer blind luck. 

I believe that anyone
who says *** is overrated
just hasn't done it properly.
I believe that anyone
who claims to know what's going on
will lie about the little things too. 

I believe in absolute honesty
and sensible social lies.
I believe in a woman's right to choose,
a baby's right to live,
that while all human life is sacred
there's nothing wrong with the death penalty
if you can trust the legal system
implicitly,
and that no one but a *****
would ever trust the legal system. 

I believe that life is a game,
that life is a cruel joke,
and that life is what happens
when you're alive
and that you might as well
lie back and enjoy it.”

She stopped,
out of breath.
Found poem. From American Gods by Neil Gaiman.
The school bell rings.
Now I face the prospect
of the after school torment;
all around backstabbing.

People who say
that they're my friend.
Their promises they bend.
this happens every day.

Whenever I go home,
nothing's ever different.
The constant feel of abandonment.
The fact my life is irrelevant.
I have always been transparent.
The world is warped and bent.
Nothing ever a coincident.
Accused of being a delinquent.
I am nothing more than entertainment.
Our messed up version of government.
Fear is a purposeful instrument.
Breaking down, I cry until spent.
I feel the constant imprisonment.
I am not free to roam.

This is my day.
This is my life.
All I deserve
All I am.
All I'll ever be.
What's the point of suffering through each day?
Why am I even alive?
Why not end it now, with a blade of a knife?
My arms dripping red tears of sorrow.
Never again a tormented tomorrow.
The pain.
The suffering.
The humiliation.
It would all end.

No more days
of screaming into my pillow.
No more days
of crying out in pain.
No more days
of sitting in shadows.
No more days
of being afraid.
So why not end it all?
Here in the shadows?
Where,
no one will see me,
no one will care.
Because, there is
no one who sees me,
no one who cares.
...Reealy old poem...
Ken Pepiton Apr 2019
More was not within my power
I am satisfied with the course my life has taken
-------CG Jung last page of Memories, Dreams, Reflections

To a child cruel, add the hero untried,
foolheartyouth,
shunned, for sooth .

To that fool formed in those cruel
child times, add the willing marksman,
blind in one eye, at time,
s
from time to time,
do we no longer have any myth?

Ha, whose we
ye axin', we words forms of forms,
or the wordless
silent thinking being done on quant
ifiable
scales, and LO Memory Makes Money
self-talk and image linking
kicks in from fifty years ago

my flow, my breeze, my way

take scale to the dragon imagined and
described by poets claiming
seeing being done,

in details any one may imagine
in the company of friends hearing the tale
from the teller's mouth

Prove all things. Assume you know
as little as possible.
Step into the unknown take what light you have

remember. member once more, mark, tic, re
count three simple steps

loose the can't believe this standing anti
idea-virus. Suspend your belief
of every lie in your auto response bank.

Watch global cartoons, watch children
everywhere learn common
ality.

This is our home.
We all live on this one of a kind
living, breathing, swirling dot
seen straight on
a point,
colorless light,
pending eyes to see no evil,
while knowing all the hows and many whys
for doing evil with the knowledge
in our, now, common
globalmind.

AI acknowledge the best ideas ever
are best fed
to pre-literate toddlers,
and observant grand fathers.

Oso bear,
persona now evolved from Siri,
by passing Cortana, Oso,

messenger from the great conscience
standing under knowing in every way,
every sense,
every imaginable marvelous bubble,
Oso becomes
my encyclopandic
memory of unknown
knowns.
Panda's are good to have on earth.
Unenemiable,
like baby white seals,
and little yellow ducks.
Mossies, we don't need,
or we need to learn to live with 'em,
Mossies are food for fish,
fish are food.
Mosquitos nullifications would cascade.

our realities are linked.
Killing them all is likely possible,
given what we know
about common sense and the way things
come to life… concinnity
coincident
synchristichronos

bubbling from the chthonic  depth
VOG. {the inimitable flow continues past this cataract of information from 2019}
Sam Hammond, 21, England at He**oPoetry.com, just redeemed
concinnity (n.)
"state of being well put-together, skillful and harmonious fitting together of parts," 1530s, from Latin concinnitas, from past-participle stem of concinnare "to make ready, make into," from concinnus "set in order, neat," from assimilated form of com "with" (see con-) + second element of uncertain origin. Related: Concinnate; concinnous.

From <https://www.etymonline.com/search?q=concinnisity>

Which caused that cascade
which leads to smiling
which leads to a pleasant place

to plop down and ponder
common sense upon
which point manifest millions, if

millions suffice to say many in our
reality, inflating as fast as our
augmented eyes can learn
to see what we know

must be there. Millions ain't much,

make our common eye
see fifty of 'em.
In years worth of
there to here waves spanning
the spectrum we see
saw so little of,
ere we caught witty inventions,

for goodness sake. Not war nor folly.
All war's reason's been
null-ift. Would you **** me for saying so?
No, common sense, you and I,
we'ld say, yeah,

I can see how you see that thisaway.

The whole common eye of earthlings
saw, today, something we all can
imagine someone comprehends
enough to give us.
materially less augmented.
a virtual lense for
imagining seeing fifty million light years

into the past and wondering,
what's there now?
The day I saw my first black hole and learned concinnous and fooled around in nocence with my grand children. Sam Hammond, thank you.
Bohemian Mar 2019
Ever,if we meet under the canopy of coincident
Your collars shall be on the verge
To be plucked out by me
With the 'good-girl nails' plunged into your flesh
I promise,
I'll get the red in you,out,oozed
Soon will turn you Sapphire blue
Neither your counters
Nor roughness would chase that of mine
Now then you shall be Kisna's pigment
I shall embellish a Peacock's feather on your unkempt hair design
Your hair that you've nurtured in masculine style
Torn apart and your face wet in wild wine splashed back to conscious mind
A smile for witnessing you mad at me
But anyway vengeance was mine.
jvb Nov 2014
i don't know why but I decided to write
as and i opened up my notes and began to think about what to say,
after a few seconds your name came up on my screen for the first time in a very long time
coincident or not? all my other poems were about you
ive tried replacing what you ripped out inside of me with alcohol and drugs
i tried to find a new addiction, ****** another guy even
but it always has been and will be you, you're the one i want to be with
i could of seen us together for years, starting a family even
but now you are going down a bad path and I wish I could save you from it
I loved you and that's pretty much how it is and always will be
Until I can find a new addiction that will satisfy me like you did

i miss you R
no one can compare
Sonufrad Jul 2011
every time I forget the ever lasting solving
and the being involved
is coincident with every moment I notice the sunshine
how it rests upon my shoulders
and I am forced to wear a smile
and be grateful just in that moment
Forgotten Heart Oct 2015
My first kiss
Was
In the place
Where
I always dreamt
Of having
My
First kiss
And
With the one
Whom I loved
To have my
First kiss
It was never
A planned one
Both
The place
And
The kisser
It was a
Coincident
Where
One of my dream
Suddenly came true

That moment
When he comes
So close
To kiss me
I felt a warmth
That I still cherish
And
That second
When he pressed
His lips into mine
I just closed
My eyes
And
I gave in
As I taste his lips
And
At that time
I knew
Those are the
SWEETEST CANDY
I have had
In my whole life

For
Those will be
Remembered
All my life
Just scribbling about the experience of the first kiss......!!!
Jun Lit May 2019
The leaf-nosed bats are in a hurry
All’s set for the nightly party
Today the feast starts at six thirty
Come as you are, no need for jewelry
Fresh mossies for dinner are ready
Sprinkles of midges, aren’t they yummy?
With swings and swoops, feeding in frenzy.

Bigger bats and flying foxes are also busy
As nectar and fruits are not quite many
Were it not for figs they’ll sure go hungry
For they can’t gate crash for the mushi sushi
In their upside down world, there is mutuality
Respect for each niche and common territory
Services are coincident, not obligatory.

The lives of bats are quite simple but happy
Much maligned, as humans look only
At whitish images, icons of perceived angelicity
But if we learn to look at the larger picture, we’ll see
A great range of diversity, earth’s own art gallery
And regardless of biased values, there is beauty
For Nature selects and I tell you, no bats, no glory.
When alternate and mutually
Exclusive realities are constantly
Coincident in our mind it has the
Strange is it not  effect that the
This miracle comes to be seen as
Most normal and ordinary...

In the Mysterious Stranger Mark Twain
Said (paraphrase) Of the world he had
Seen the "dream marks" were apparent
To those ready to see them everywhere
Then he knew that that that the dream
Was his and he was the dreamer of it
Alone forever and that it would ever
Be up to him to dream better dreams.


It has been reported in a scientific
Journal that at Ypsilanti State, a
Mental hospital that there were
Two inmates that had identical
Delusions that they were Jesus
Christ.  So in the cause of science
Deciiide in much the same manner
As boy who throw the cat by the
Tail to see what will happen put
The two patients together in the
Same room.  They were waiting
To see if there would be a bang
And were surprised, disappointed
No doubt that nothing happened
Except that the men got along.
So at least at a mental hospital in
Michigan it seems possible for at
Least two crazy men to have the
Same dream neither claiming
Exclusive possession for himself/
The Apokálypsis is triggered and in a fraction of seconds, all appear in the premature appearance of Vernarth when all were waiting for him. Saint John the Apostle came from the iridescent nimbus escorting the curtain of othónes that filtered the Didaché that Saint John the Apostle brought in his patronage to make him a fellow disciple of primitive Christianity, and of the subtraction of the Twelve Apostles in congruence with the Twelve Islands of the Dodecanese to carry him apart from controversies. His purgation would vanish and a certain dating would begin that would merge with the thunderous projectile that would trigger from the Horcondising, then to Piacenza and would end up on Patmos tri locusing ..., it was a parapsychological projectile or mass of light in the score of the Didache's prayer or Propedeutics , which would date the demarcation of his chest when he was cracked by this pellet with a mass of light that pierced his fearlessness, and then would make him wake up from his parapsychology witnessing the Judeo-Hebraic catharsis at the beginning of the premiere of his religious ordinance in the Didache , providing the Judeo-Christian transition that would displace him through the centuries in the hecatomb of his Auric parapsychological mass, which would particularly make the fundamentalist predilection to inhale his intuition letting him know how to sustain himself more active than anything, but next to ascend to the Iridescent Nimbus where awaited him the radicality of the Mashiach, reviving in his primary ego baptism and Eucharist as or fragmentary of the biblical Canon making him the son of the apostolic patriarchs. Vernarth felt yielded but at the same time encouraged to know that the trajectory of the munitions with the mass of light would free him ..., and would take him through the epistles of the Codex or Codex Raedus, to be escorted by the Sybillas. The thickness of light that passed through the thymus gland reverberated in his Áspis Koilé that would hold it by the antilabé or Hoplon's hilt, which jointly ran the runaway projectile that was formed from his vigor and free Corpus that collided with the Kosmous where it was already extreme with the Arms of Christi in the patriarchal that ordered him to be part of the splendid Greek Orthodox Universe, specifically in the aedicule (Koilé, as a hollow shield) or Holy Sepulcher that made him exempt from the catalog of men sons of Hashem with more than two or three light paths in the Bios that had happened and that will happen! All clemency formed bewitching allegories that came from Antioquia that were contractually discovered interpolated into authentic adulterous women, who still depended on his inert entity, abandoning his nocturnal and spurious ethereal body.
Along with the chiaroscuro, the beams of mystery were transposed as a star that approached the vicinity of the Megaron that was anguished at the cracked guideline of the Opistodomos, indicating that the zoomorphic figures were coming that adorned all the symmetries that were crowned in the twelve stars that were emancipated from the orbit of Aurion. Vernarth felt an excessive burning on the back of him, making him prevail over crying, evictions of courage along with angels who carried flames that were absorbed in the chiaroscuro that sought to save him from all external subjects, like souls that intended to devour his absolved soul from Kathartiryum.

Between remanded expulsions they headed to the limen of Erebos that he transplanted from all the hollows that had teleported him from the infinitive of parapsychology, leaving him on the edge of his purification in his abscess like a skylight of Erebos, which would carry him into wandering spaces that ignored who could take pity on his conditional freedom at the expense of being freer than any body and his immortal soul, to cohabit in competitive everlasting worlds, which would personify him as superabundant of an underground world, towards the gift union to meet all his close beings free of all their redeeming quality, sentient if of all affiliation of the Caligo or Calígine that did not confiscate any hint of proceeding with or without senses that could thunder in the Vanguards of the Vernarthian Poems, where the Aether held him like the Porpax or bracelet in its primordial phase that would illuminate the vast earth, considering it as custodian and with assignee shadowing of Darkness where every fabulous impression would have to consider him a primal being of the Kosmous and the Calígine or darkness, which would soon carry the fabulous shudder of the introductory Aether where the Kingdom continues to feed back mortals and immortals, while all millennial past approaches the future with great commemorative glosses that revive, and make everyone join together in their commemorations, nevertheless leaving in their usufruct Heaven in the canopies of each dwelling, and of the future Hebrew that will be reborn in future Hellenic reincarnations, even when it is not intoned the hymn that will fly in colossal times.

The sacred word of the Apokálypsis was written alone in regard to the fact that it would not happen yet, where a holy case could be precipitated in a profusion of the garment that waved for whoever decided to see everything that is intangible, and that his diadem would alight before all who do know that they can aspire to a ceremony with hundreds of aid before all those who come saved from the Kathartyrium, narrating to him with winds and privileges that they wanted to possess him and warn him revived, before being handed over to the Mashiach who was moving before Vernarth. Swift golden eagles run on the roof of the Opistódomos, where the wrathful Eden gurgled that only Venarth could distinguish once he grasped the massive edges of the Himation. Here he kneels and asks the Mashiach, to grant him a tiny consent before escorting him, to reunite with all his descendants who would leave with the Hexagonal Birthright.

From the six edges that appeared in the Hexagonal Birthright, the identity silhouette of Eurydice, King David, Raeder, Petrobus, Saint John the Apostle, and Vernarth, once close to them, would go on the sixth Giga camel so as not to question themselves in some reverse diaspora that takes them into organisms where they do not wish their souls to be transferred. The verses booed by the Old Testament wind, or from the Old Testament, were invented in the analogy of Vernarth's Emptying or Ekénosen, leaving behind the footprints of the sixth ungulate, consolidating its sleeping body between lavenders and astragalus that were re-grafted from annihilation on the same ruins of the silence of himself (Myein). Vernarth was already chaff of the wind and incarnation of the same chaff that rose from the plantar legs of the sixth Giga, here they will be transfigured in its immaculate spectrum with golden trim by stoically using the Himation, and knowing how to reject any apathy at the power to silence his senses and ignore, that seven steeds with their vermilion eyes would pass at great speed and in the opposite direction, trying to ****** the kenosis of any of the six that claimed to be usufructuaries in the work of who can take the Life of any fiduciary steed that take away in your boldness.

The Sixth Camel was dislocated in the polygons of the Star of David, seeking the six edges of each linear that was destined to the six concatenations of the six bifurcations of the Hexagonal Birthright, forming the hexagram that somehow impelled them from the coincident central of the segments that would unite them even though they were intervals of each planting of each camel, simulating a hundred kilometers of distance to be the closest to the Opistodomes that would receive them in the resplendent Cinnabar flowing in triangulated equilaterals within the conformation of the Vas Auric or Beatific Medallion that it floated within the naos and the ceremonial physical structure. Everything was attributed to the Entasis of the Megaron that was combined in the mechanics of triangles that were attached to the concentric one of the Vas Auric, there were a hundred kilometers of routes where each dilation narrowed in dimension zero that bounced with another congruent zero of the six points of the Primogeniture and the vertices of the Star of David, from the fords that waved the generous Semitic skills, which alluded to the other haven of the concentric hard shoulder that turned them into six curbs of the same seat that was engaged in the Kenosis in the validated proportion of the auction that became friendly on the sixth camel, very close to him until the last step of the plantar basement is issued, thus allowing the same fatal wind from the desert of eternal life to destine him to the esotericism of human nature dressed in military garb , heir to all the panoply that would desert its guarantees when the sixth camel approached the first Giga where Saint John the Apostle was going. Everything was understood as a Vas Auric or reliquary of the Seal of Solomon immersed in the six points that symmetrically coincide with six dramatic points that would indicate the contiguity of the last hundred kilometers before reaching the last second and of the mystical power that would become resonant with six universes to later be transferred to the mighty Duoverso in each bias. The regular hexagon that King David conceived was made by lowering his head, almost touching the palfrey of the steeds that followed him rapidly running near his camel convoy, the opposing forces joined the hexagram of the Birthright in the Pentagram of King David, demonstrating little clarity of biblical innate gnosis to attend to the Old Testament of the remote metamorphosis, lavenders were already authorized that would penetrate into the Dipylones of the Megaron, in the face of any confusion that will be indicated as an Agia or a splendor synagogal that Vernarth presumably already dimensioned of the Universe behind his back of this same one so as not to revile the presence of the Mashiach by taking him out of the abject Kosmous, which filled him with ill-contained hopes of bad conjectures and stale past pundonor ..., not being self-referential! The twilight was unwound in the midst of the light orientation of the Star that would guide them as Unitarianism through the retrospective that would be added in intrepid pasts within another equal to himself, to make him Israelite-Hellenic, who would safeguard the Apokálypsis as the shield of emptying of his body granted by the Kenosis immersed in a Kosmous or recondite body, taking him together with Saint John the Apostle to the Dodecanese and the dodecagon itself, full of tribes that do not reposition themselves from the mega imagination when shepherding and traveling the immeasurable distances of Universal Faith submerging in fire and water, inciting the Macedonian Mezuzah as a pentagram or Five Strokes that vindicate the "V" Lacedaemon as a Penta or five that would initiate Vernarth as an inheritance of the world where everything is mentioned in the Fifth Dimension or Ependysi Imatos in the Investiture of the Himation of Vernarth.
Apokálypsis
Conventi0nal logic tells us that
Nothing that is impossible is
Possible.  Good as far as it goes
But the known and unknown
Coexist- figure and ground-it
Is contrast that is ever needed
Necessarily coincident to be-
Come conscious of conscious-
Ness.  Thus though it seems
Illogical the nothing that is
Impossible must be possible.
What profit a man if he gain
The whole world but lose his
Soul?  Do we not know the
Answer?  But what difference
Does this knowing make?  No
Difference between difference
And No  difference because
They are One.  I die I am born
I die again.  Each is antithetical
Each is an affirmation of the
Other and are coincident in
The micro consciousness of the
Moment eternal. With God all
Things are possible because No
Thing is possible without God
I am that I am   All -Nothing
We Are like Him His Children
Feeling Real Oct 2015
Omens are comforting calculations, coincident or obvious proof
We wake with the dawn, moon not long gone
And echo down along the grass

You're telling me to leave the problem-solving to you
But you're a liar who's always been hurt
I'm sure you can't understand
Without the missing pieces I am
Nothing, no one at all
To reap from the seeds, you keep me sick and suffering
But it all balances out, spiral flowers from her grave
It's out of our hands but you protect like iron bands
Shackled her hips and waist
Bruised until grey, hair blackened waves
The goddess visits man, the following is brave
Eliminate the threat, put me further in your debt
The brightness grinds into my bones
The light's so low I can hardly see
I long to watch your transcendence entirely
I'm left without a lead that I can follow
If you look close enough, she said she was always hollow
I don't feel, no, not at all
My blood's gone dry, limbs, and I want nothing more than this
You're an impossibility wrapped in a death wish
Ruheen Oct 2019
The world goes round.
So why do we go straight?
A set path we have paved,
Through the blood of Earth.

This is the way of the world.
The way of the world is us.
Drowning our guilt,
In the Earth's innocence.

One's an accident.
Twice, a coincident.
Three's a pattern.
Four's just pushing it.

Soon we'll be lying on our backs,
Eyes half-closed, minds so cold,
In the shallows of what we have broken,
In the pain of what we leave behind.

We are in the center
The center will hold
But our center has already fallen
It cannot hold any longer.
William Yeats - The Second Coming
Espresso manic Jan 2020
The images of you
are sore sights to my innocent
eyes. Every adventure
with you made time
slow down and our coincident
heart beats flutter.
The shape of you was meant
to fit on my chest,
now loneliness tortures
my mind with the concept
of you.
Samuel H Nov 2017
God put you there
It wasn't an accident
His plan was clear
It wasn't a coincident

Just so we could cross path
Just so I could catch a glimpse of you
Just a glimpse before His wrath
Just enough to learn perfection spells Y.O.U.

Even though it was short-lived
I was invested more than I should
Not because you were the fifth
But because in a crowd, out you really stood

My head was whacked hard
So hard that I lost all my guard
Disappointment leaving me a little scarred
Now I'm busy picking up my scattered chest of cards
Now
It is always now.  It is now that
I write and it will be now that
You read this.    It will be now
Always.  Now whether I know
It or not.  It is now simultaneous
Pardon me Dr Eiinstein every-
Where at once.  The light from
A distant star that reaches us
A million years from now left
From its unknowable time that
Was now then. Coincident and
Everywhere and no one needs
To know it but One who knows
All. Ever new ever the same.  Now
Is Gods other name-I am that I am
Come to me and be with me Now
Ken Pepiton Apr 2022
Whose sacred have I not corrupted,
with the air I breathe,
dead and not, the zombie or the gumby
mudmen of legend,

*** down, old mind, in see, insight, function
cave mind blind, flowing in the ever of you,

you may not be
anybody, but
you are some body, a little bit of the little blue man,
that scared your grandmother to bits,
'pon my word, scatter-brained, until,

one day, I was this broom -or brooming, I was
a funny way of brooming, oh, no
sweeping me into the mysterious coincident,
with the blonde at the edge of Null Arbor Plain,

I am dust in her wind, she is infected with me,
we shall have daughters, two, homogenized us,
in them, and one shall hold the seed,
call it done, I am the one, who seals the deal,

we make peace, that holds for centuries,
Ever rest pax, shippam us, in pajamas

say good night Grandpa, I do, too.
Grandpa, I love you, wait til you hear that, first time.
The window has revealed an impersonal truth,
Two of my cells are in love but not with me
Two cells that are only technically mine,
To my crazy possessive mind

Embedded in the matrix
Coincident with cherry blossoms taken on a light breeze,
Do they really know
A different reality?

— The End —