Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
There is beneath us the progenitor and we call it “Mother”. Above us is the progenitor and we call it “Net” for it takes us and tosses us into the known and the unknown.

Our home star is not as bright as yours. We prefer your temperate lands when we visit, where the vegetation is lush and green. Those of us who remain inhabit your deserts and open spaces.

We are your brothers and sisters. Our development has been to grow in awareness and the development of our power. You have the potential to develop as we have, but your instincts are of a social group who need dominant members. You develop your material reality and your physical world. Your anchor is fixed and you grip the familiar and reject the unknown. There is a comfortable point where you feel the fullness, that is the anchor. In order to maintain this as a static point you develop belief systems to support it. This is your weakness, you are innocent children.

We grew and developed along another pathway, our anchor is not  rigid. We use Net for our anchor and so are able to change our perceptual reality. We move in ways that you do not understand and in any direction. We draw the fibers of Net around us and jump and fly. You see us only from your anchor point so that you see us change shape, appear and disappear.

Our voices and languages are barely accessible to you. You hear deep sounds and high pitched chirruping and whistling. Very few among you have remnants of language incorporating any of these. Those remaining are as clicks and whistles. We prefer direct communication.

We are masters of illusion. Our survival has depended on it and it is our instinct.
Our power developed so that when we pull around us the fibers of Net we create a shield and throw an illusion before those who depend on vision. It is one of our protections and also our hunting technique. We are hidden from your material probes and instruments of increased sight in this way.

Although we have been close neighbours for aeons, you have hardly seen us, except for the Few. Your interpretations have created problems for you. Your reliance on the anchor is so great that some among you do go to great lengths to maintain it. There are those among you who will silence the Few rather than lose the fixed anchor.

You are infants only, a seeding coming to fruition, and you play with dangerous toys. Your anchor is geocentric. You are in danger as is any youngster who plays with fire. If we showed you ourselves openly your rulers would not be gentle in their curiosity. We have technology and use material tools but we have had less to restrict us. We held back your development as much as we were able to enable you to develop power of the mind and independent thought.

Your grasp of Net is strong but you are rigid and anchored. You have learned to stand up and hold on. Now is the time to let go and walk, let go and run, let go and fly.

Around what you name “body” and believe to be “All” is more that you do not perceive with your restricted vision sense. You are aware of this. If you will learn acceptance and filter less from your senses, you will find the beauty of the universe of energy around you and available. A small perceptual shift would show you how you appear to those of us outside your narrow sphere.

Your body has filaments, which when translated to sight, appear as small moving threads which shine with rainbows. They move and ripple inside an energy body of light. This is your true body. It has abilities and senses that are dormant as you do not access them. They are accessible but as your anchor renders you blind to this you do not use them without intense effort or instinctively in extremity. The filaments are drawn together and pass through the anchor. Depending upon your ability to select filaments of the Net, your habitual plane and reality is selected and determined.
Those among you with abilities in your energy senses you ostracise and even ******. You succumb to misinformation to treat them as fools or freaks. This may be instinctive but it is a control mechanism to perpetuate the anchor and maintain the hive of your artificial society. So due to this, you have even less sense of true reality as it could be to you, by breeding out and suppressing your gifts. We have attempted to rectify this with limited effect in successive seedings.

You may notice that our words to you have reference to sight. Your terminology is geared to vision. You rely on visual information  so much that you have neglected physical senses of taste and smell, hearing, touch and proximity. Compared with our perceptions you are as blind as a mole is compared to to your visual abilities.

Your construction of reality is so anchored that your dangerous inclination to gather around you artifacts gives to you a sense of permanence. You are anchoring yourselves in time, yet to you it is dead because your senses are dead. There is an opportunity for your predators to use this to enforce your perception of, and control you within, your anchor's limitations. In this way, producing written or pictorial and symbolic records in permanent form is beneficial only so far as understanding continues to exist of the conditions under which these records were left. By changing current understanding and language to suit their purposes, your enforcers are able to manipulate your branch of humanity on a large scale.

You seal yourselves into the rejuvenation plane of the Mother progenitor where you feed and breed. It is so pleasurable to you to stay within this cocoon of reality that you fail to open your cast and therefore fail to fly into the spaces of Net outside where your true inheritance lies. The end result of this is greed and unrest. Your greed is paramount to you as you seek ever more pleasurable gratification. You enslave one another, buy and sell time and forget what you are. You are allowing the destruction of your home world. Without the home world you will have no place of rejuvenation, and worse neither will the myriads of others who share this progenitor.

There is a song from each mother progenitor within Net. It is a combined song and made up of the host progenitor together with silent voices of each and every life form. Together from each home world, the inhabitants send out a pulse. This is not a song from one species of a world but rather it is a song from all species, in fact every particle of every organism that lives.

To our developed senses the song of a world is brighter than the star it orbits. They are filaments of Net. The varied forms of life all send out their unique song. Many of us interact, harmonise, visit, commune and combine. You feel isolation only because you fail to harmonise and join your own song.

In your past and present we have felt the song of your world. Those of us belonging are part of that song. It is the song of being from the many. It does not end at the perimeters which you imagine. You have a problem in that, for the majority, you do not join your voices to the song. Mainly it is in dreaming, in childhood and in old age that we hear you.

We attempted to observe and commune and found many of you receptive to us. We have taught to you methods of development and given you gifts and tools. You have kept and preserved some of this knowledge only for a select few. Fears and distrust among others has caused destruction of a great proportion of the gifts that we have given to you. We found many lines of breeding where potential for development was possible. Your greed and your predator class destroyed many of them due to the competitive desire to have power over others.

In past seedings upon your progenitor and in the oldest times of your present incarnation, we have been known well and respected. Acknowledged for our seniority and loved as cousins. You did call us gods to distinguish our abilities. Then what did you do? Your control mechanisms changed the meanings of your language, whole languages were lost in wars over territory. You developed power structures and religions. Powerful rulers accumulated and isolated your shared knowledge.

You reduced your development by selective education in the Way. Territorial disputes and greed over resources divided you. You ceased to listen to the Mother. Instead of harmonious living which you had managed in agreement with each other already, you were divided by hormonal impulses, insecurity, violence and greed. The natural openness of the female within it's central domain became enclosed, imprisoned and the natural desire of the male to outwardly discover and interact was turned inwards until it became a sedentary desire for dominance within the female domain. You lost the harmonics of the song. Your religions underestimate the power of borrowed tools. Your ruling classes made deals that they didn't understand, with predators they didn't recognise, in order to save themselves.

We stood on ground over ground and were called Immortals. We gave you wisdom and were called Kings. We moved and played among you and were called Jinn. We moved among the small folk and were called Faerie. We appeared in light and were called Angels. We wandered in places where you too did once wander and were called Ghosts and Demons. Those who spoke to us and attempted to impart to your hive our knowledge, you raised as prophets or slandered and ridiculed. You stole their words to make them your own words of power, changing them to your own ends or you murdered the messengers because you feared the changes that increased understanding brings.

You incorporated the experiences of your murdered victims into a celebration of your own power structures, twisted and out of synchronisation with the song. There are some among you who are in communion with the Great Spirit of life. We seek to heal your song, your complete home world song for the benefit of the myriad sentient beings who rejuvenate here, including yourselves. We seek to set you free to wander the threads of Net. It is within your reach but not in the ways that you  are taught.

Your world is about to change and you must change with it as you are a small part of it. Holding the threads into your own anchor point will break them. You have reached inertia, entropy. The movement has to come, it is inevitable. Imagine one of your large machines of cogs and wheels and bars. Your insistence upon a rigid anchor is like a bar within the machine that doesn't move. A point of inertia in a moving system will be removed. This has happened over and over among your kind and our kind in many places and worlds. You do not remember when worlds underwent cataclysm, forgetful of trauma you have followed a similar path.

We travel along pathways of energy, both upon worlds and in the Net. Moving bodies follow these paths. We follow comets and small bodies able to move freely within Net. Net permeates your mother progenitor.

Survivors mapped the movements of Net after the slate was wiped clean and you were reseeded. There is a secret that your rulers are aware of and you are not. The secret is that there are no rulers within Net. You all have the freedom and capability to access true harmony of the song. You allow a faction, to call themselves an elite class. You fear this as a hidden power, a predator. It's aim is to amass Time: a power based on material wealth. They take this power easily as they have taken and twisted truth and history. The gifts are shared among you equally and these few know this. Resources are plentiful and yet you succumb to their restrictions. A predator cannot survive without it's prey. We are not your predators although we move among you. Your predator is within and feeds upon your fear.

You are not in the tribes now, you have no shaman, no guide to take you in and out of the gate and this role cannot be allocated to parasitic Blind Time Hoarders. These whip up your passions and lead you into war and destruction to further their material wealth. It leads you away from the song, as these think to enhance their own survival which it may do but never can as they understand it. They seek to steal your dreams and make them their own, they are helpless without you. They care nothing for the song because they are aware of successive seedings.

Net is a dream reality, changing, immeasurable, boundless, filled with infinite possibilities and you are creators. Blind time hoarders drive you by combining the minds and dreams and belief systems of many to focus onto what they themselves desire, in order to bring it to fruition. They employ dream stealers to prevent your development. They believe that their own song can exist independently and they guide you only to anchor yourselves into your own prison.

All is a dream, all is ephemeral, changing, dynamic. There is no death after death, no damnation on any particular plane. Reality is how you construct your song. Your rulers create inertia for you the many and profit for themselves using you as the tools of your own entrapment. There is no death and no damnation, they are constructs of your reality made by material anchor points and you are controlled by fear of the inevitable. It is a statecraft to use belief systems to control perceptions of reality in order to fix the anchor point to a rigid point of convenience. In this way you are farmed, you are a crop in each seeding. Who seeds you? You seed yourselves. Sentient beings are all naturally regenerated by the mechanisms of Net when conditions exist that are compatible, world after world, in each growth cycle of every celestial body. In the regeneration, holding to your rigid anchor point, you seed into your prison after each cataclysm, each breaking of the inertia.

If you would be open to the mechanisms of the place you inhabit with it's creative forces, it's sentience and it's dynamics you will learn to fly the progenitor Net's pathways and return home for rejuvenation to your progenitor Mother of the tribes.
I wrote this a few years ago. It's a bit long
MalakF Jul 2022
O, come a little closer - hear what I have to say,
I know that one piece of writing can be interpreted in so many different ways.
O, but do pay attention to my word-play,
To the picture I’m trying to portray.

O, I hope by the end of this you will understand the image I am trying to convey,
But do not get me wrong, the end of this is something I am attempting to delay.
O, it is saddening to know that sooner or later my rhymes will fade away
So I will replay, replay, replay.

O, how I pray that what we have will not decay.
Like all the flowers & bouquets that I watched wither/die a bit more every day.
O, but how pretty were they?
Sad to know that each & every single one was thrown out like the contents of an ashtray.

O, how you must have noticed the repetition of O’s - I think they are here to stay,
Unlike my pathetic, childish rhymes that I am struggling to hold at bay.
O, do not get me wrong - the rules to rhyme are so easy to obey,
They are so easy to slay.

O, like tray, cafe, puree,
For god sake, even JFK.
O, please tell me - do you see the problem on display?
Do you see what I am trying to say, what is coming my way?

O, it feels like a betrayal
No, no, no that’s not a rhyme.
I need to rhyme, I need us to be okay.

Ray, clay, Bombay.
Tray, fray, mae.
Ray, clay, Bombay.
Tray, fray, mae.

O, please stay
I need us to be okay.
O, I know repetition of words is not a rhyme,
Nothing more than copy & paste.

Ray, clay, Bombay,
Tray, fray, mae.
Ray, clay, Bombay,
Tray, fray, mae.

O, please I don't want us to stray
I hate how we went from white to grey.
O, please I don’t us to end this way,
I know I am barely rhyming but I will try my best, okay?

Look - ballet, allay, hooray,
Hay, weigh, olay.
Look - ballet, allay, hooray,
Hay, weigh, olay.

O, please stay
I need us to be okay.
O, I know repetition of words is not a rhyme,
Nothing more than copy & paste.

I’ll come up with more,
Dismay, replay, is-lay.
Tray, cafe, valet,
Delray, Alleyway, Chevrolet.

It is not that I don’t know how to rhyme,
I just need something to rhyme for.
Rhyming is synchronisation, it is compatibility
I just need to know we are.

Please, stay, stay, stay,
Don't go away, don't go away, don't go away.
Please, stay, stay, stay,
Don't go away, don't go away, don't go away.

Ray, clay, Bombay,
Tray, fray, mae.
Ray, clay, Bombay,
Tray, fray, mae.

I know I am barely rhyming, but I will do my best okay?
Please stay,
Don’t go away.
I always associated rhyme with compatibility, and although sometimes certain words that rhyme does not mean the same thing - such as "tree" and "flee", but in a bizarre way, they connect through rhythm. Rhythm can be such a beautiful thing, like in songs - where it can be jumpy, makes you want to dance and generally has a nice flow to it. Music is only one example of the input of rhythm. In general, a rhythm means consistency, a pattern in some way. To me rhythm (although it is not always the case) connotes good & happiness, like the act of skipping in a field of flowers.

Whereas with repetition, I always interpreted it as a point to emphasis, a dire need to be paid attention to, to be highlighted, acknowledged, underlined and to be focused on. In a way, it screams desperation to me. I don't believe it flows smoothly. Instead, I see it as pressing the car brakes quite abruptly & harshly, that your water bottle, phone and even yourself are yanked out of your seat - with the seatbelt suddenly burning your chest, or a child throwing a tantrum (crying, stomping their feet, throwing themselves on the floor & screaming).

In this writing of mine (partly completed), I speak about rhyming and how I do not want to stop - where at the same time there is the presence of repetition. And if you see repetition as a "scream of desperation" as I do right now, then as you progress through the page, you will be able to see that my rhymes become an embodiment of exactly that (desperation) - not only through stating clearly my urgency for rhyme but also by my rhymes themselves becoming repeated - thus my repetition of "O" fades away around the end - but that does not mean repetition is not there anymore - all that happened is that it took another form. Repetition becomes the only way for me to rhyme. Does that mean they are still rhymes or are they repetitions? If a word is repeated does that mean it rhymes or is it merely a duplication of the word? Can we distinguish between them? Is repetition more powerful or are rhymes? What do we make out of this?
Solitude begs to be near your empty cup of coffee,
on your nightstand.
There is a slight breeze in the air  i imagine and the park
nearby is filled with the trees and laughter of children.
Longing to be under your raggedy sheets,
laughing with you like children do at naughty words.
Believing that my bed is yours,
and your arm rests against mine, awaiting a touch.
I can smell toast burning and i wonder if i am having a stroke,
or whether its you making me breakfast,
in those grey pants i loathe and love so much.
I long for the nights and the days, and the days and the nights,
i long for us to make shadows on the wall,
by the lamp, under the sheets, and projected on the wall.
I want the neighbours to wonder if they should call the police,
and i can hear them now, discussing if someone is being attacked.
There is a glass of water on the floor, by some shoes you kicked off
as you got in, weary from work.
But i can smell you, can i not,
that tense musk from a hard days work,
the sweat of that longing you have,
for me in your eyes, and your heart, and your pants.
I can smell the autumn leaves falling, outside your window,
as i lay whilst you make me some tea,
I can hear a tap dripping in the distance and its annoying me
too much,
but i don't want to get up, because this bed is a bubble from which,
we can't escape, nor do we want to.
Your body is longing and your eyes are heavy with lust,
I can see that its right now, for us to be an us.
I see us talking through the dusk and the dawn about us, life and love,
and we make love inbetween the silent spaces where emotion is too much,
and we need our bodies and each other to ****** the metaphorical longing,
we both have.
And the waiting and wondering of who we are,
is here,
right now,
and all at once, my life seems small without you,
a picture a day doesn't cut it,
a letter from you is an extension of your hand,
but its still not here beside me.
I am in the shower, with the steam rising,
your body caresses the parts that have ached for you for so long,
I can smell shampoo and shaving cream,
I can see the cracks in the wall, and the dirt in the window frame,
and your arms cave round me, as i let the water fall down my face,
and all at once i am home, walking in the rain.
I see us holding hands like we are the only ones in the world,
that can be us, at that moment, and feel the time slip away from the day,
And i am smiling, because it has been so long since i smiled.
And i can smell chalk and clay, and mud and grass,
I grab your hair and pull you back,
so i can see your neck, and watch your artery pulsate in rabid anticipation,
i pull you down to my chest and let you hear,
how my heart beats, in exactly the same synchronisation.
And all my memories are gone and all there is, are thoughts of you,
as i sit here in my bed, wishing the pillow beside me was resting your head,
and, and.......
I count your freckles, and look at the tilt of your nose,
I examine your hands and your knuckles, and see how life has treated you.
I feel your legs brush against mine, in ****** friction, they electrify, me.
Music is playing somewhere, and i cannot concentrate on who i am,
or what i am doing, and why i am here,
and not there.
And its not about the *******, or the kissing, or the expanse of our **** bodies laying waste to the day,
it's about the blue skies, the fields, the sons, the trip to get food
for me to cook you a feast.
And i wear my hair up, and i wrap a towel around me,
and i look at myself in the mirror,
and say,
Goodnight sugar, i'll see you in the morning,
and i lay awake in the day and dream in the night,
and you are my essence of being longed for,
and I am yours, sugar, i am yours.
Realeboga M Aug 2015
Unknown.
Unspecified.‎

"Ladies and Gentlemen, the moment you've all been waiting for on the left we have The undisputed, most lyrical sensation in the world, Prodigy", The speaker announced.

"And on the right we have, the growing, unknown, unspecified the last Bounty Hunter, when she slays she slays", The speaker shouts.

PRODIGY 
Moving with the flow of beats, I serenade my thoughts with new symphonies.
New melodies, thoughts cascading through creating a lyrical abstract.

Now let my words infuse into you and misuse 
Your subliminal thoughts. 
Let me tell you the tale of a lost soul found by the soulless. 

It wasn't a nice summers day.
It wasn't a blistering cold morning.
There was no pain involved whatsoever.
The lost soul feels nothing but moves with the flow of the wind, whichever movement taken it will be accepted. 
The soulless saved me, from a whirlpool of lost and unknown souls they saved me and put me in a situation where feelings were unrequited, unnecessary, sociopath tendencies rolling in,
They saved me. 
Showed me the light of darkness but took me out the darker abyss.
And no amount of gratitude can show that when there's no existing feelings in the first place.
They turned me into a prodigious phenomenal.
Told me my words could get me anywhere.
Ladies and Gentlemen I am Prodigy
A legend amongst the dead, the living, the unknown, the unimaginable.

THE LAST BOUNTY HUNTER

I move with sensational beats,
Stomping to the floor getting down and *****.
Thanking the legends for showing me the streets,
The actual hustle the struggle the flow of the people.
I am the last bounty hunter.
The last of my people, the fighter.
I am like the Ruger No. 1 Varminter K1-V-BBZ one shot and you're out.

"Alright ladies and Gentlemen we got our introduction now it's time for the main attraction. The main topics, we will start of with Prodigy, your topic is Blissful pain".

PRODIGY 

Blissful pain.
Breathe and forget the strain.
Pop pills later and let them invade your veins.

It's Blissful pain.
Bloodshot eyes.
Shaky hands.
Woozy thoughts.

I drowned so much to forget you.
Swimming in liquor,
Taking strange detours.
Hoping to forget you.

It's blissful pain.
The drugs and alcohol make me forget you, make me smile, makes me laugh and free spirited.
The after effects hurt.
Rusty hangovers, forgotten nights and swarming thoughts of what we used to be.
Blissful pain.
Bitter sweet moments.
I miss you...

"Woah okay now it's The Last Bounty Hunter, your topic is Green hills"

THE LAST BOUNTY HUNTER 

Green hills.

"Save me", she whispered.

I watched her at the top of the hill.
Tears running down her face, posture all down,
Her self esteem gone, her entire demeanour broken into tiny little pieces of non existence.

"It hurts", she whimpered.

The green hills holding her in place,
Making her look down on what's meant to be her doom but is rather her freedom.
The dark green trees hold on to her praying she doesn't fall.

"Don't", my hand reaches out to her.
She jumps, falling down, the Green trees try to save her from falling each trying to catch her.

"I'm sorry", I close my eyes as I watch the green Hill devour her.

"Alright Ladies and Gentlemen the next match will be based on a specific topic and that topic is Hunted"

THE LAST BOUNTY HUNTER.

The days are the days of the years of the ages of our dreams.
Realising we aren't what we truly thought we are.
Focusing on dreams of being the hunter yet we are the hunted.

Maybe I don't understand, maybe he doesn't know and maybe she does.

We search seeking for answers, never really finding them but end up digging more in a pit of unanswered questions.

We toggle philosophy, entering the metaphysical ending up with the epistemological.
We complicate the simple, fighting complexity with simplicity.

Hunting.
I lay down looking through my lenses,
Searching for a loophole, a spot, to pounce on my prey.
Because let's be honest.
Our greatest ability is to find the weak spot of the toughest strongest.

Patiently waiting for you to mess up.
I know you know I'm watching.
I can see your insecurities dancing in,
Waltzing, doing oh so melodious moves.
I see them in harmony, in synchronisation with my plan.

You're scared. 
Not ready to fall so I leave.
Giving you a peace of mind till you relax, till you're ready. 
One two three, shots fired.
You've been hunted.

PRODIGY

I've never been one for words.
Never one for feelings and emotions.
I've just been one to move with the motion.

So when she stopped me I was lost, confused.
She put her hand across my cheek
Cheek burning, the sound deafening.

"Why", her voice cracked.
Her bloodshot eyes caught mine. 
Searching for answers praying that I would show her the light. 
That she might be the one I would truly fight for.

With confusion flowing through my mind I turned and walked away.
"I'm not that type of guy", I sighed.
"I can never be that guy". I left

He looked at me as if I was crazy.
"Even the wildest animals out there have feelings compared to you", He laughed.
"You're like a hunter, you **** and you get a thrill put of it and you don't put emotions in it", He spat.
"What the **** is wrong with you", He shouted.

I stared at him. 
Not enough running through my head.
I cooked my head and started laughing.
"Everyone is ****** up" I paused.
Took a deep breath and walked away.

"Well then the final piece is a freestyle feel free to do what you want", the announcer spoke.

LAST BOUNTY HUNTER

For years and centuries I've been a dreamer.
Praying to the gods hoping to become a great believer.
Trying to find the light so that I can become a controversial writer.

I had my heart caged on rage.
My soul flipped and sold for truth.
Hoping to find my true self.

I am the last of the legends.
A writer amongst the lyricist.

I've seen souls sold to the devil for the oblivious life.
Had dreams broken for the delirious minds.

My granddad told me I could be a hero someday.
That I could find wisdom by my writing. 

I looked at him and asked him if I can do it.
He told me "Son you are a Bounty Hunter you can do anything"

My words are my weapons.
This pen is my rifle.
This paper is my ammunition.
This life is my redemption.
Each story is an unravelling revelation.

"Alright ladies and Gentlemen next we have, Prodigy"

PRODIGY.

Alright this is a story of my father and I.
We were somewhat tight, close.
Regardless of my condition I felt something with my father, respect.
I looked up to him.

One day stating at the blue sky, watching the grey clouds, I asked "Dad?"
"Yea son?", He looked at me.
I took a deep breath, watching the sun get overwhelmed by the clouds, the blue sky getting darker. 
"Do you think I'll ever be normal?", I looked at him nonchalantly. 
"I don't know kid", He sighed.
"Does it bother mum that I'm not like the others?" I asked barely above a whisper.
He looked at me, His green eyes overwhelming me with answers, the got teary and at that point I knew the answer.
Reading his sudden dropped posture,
His sudden fidgeting of hands.
Trying to find his words, I raised my hand
"It's okay, I understand", I stood up dusted myself off and walked away.

"Alright that was deep" The announcer mentioned.
"Ladies and Gentlemen who is your winner?"
Meh, I was just trying out something, alter ego things
Journal Entry #9

To lame to stand how I feel..
I press my lips to this glass filled with forget and I swallow deep.

Standing in nothing but a t-shirt, alone in this big empty apartment. I take solace in this glass to numb the pain within.

But as the music changes a song that reminds me of you starts playing.
How Ironic wouldnt you say...


I close my eyes tightly...
tense up..
try to fight it...
but before I know it my body is a slave to this beat and it makes my body come alive.

My hand grazes my bare thighs and I lose myself just briefly....
I pause, as I remember how good it felt when you touched me.

I remember the electricity and how you use to look at me.
God, the chemistry...
moments later your face appears so clear and perfect in my mind.

"Oh god, I hate this!" I think, as I press into the counter top behind me.
I try my hardest to stop thinking about you but memories of you are coming in waves and im being swept away.

I cant help but imagine what it felt like when youd slide your hands to wrap around me...
my god, the safest I ever felt.


I ache for you.

These memories are torment.

Tears stream down my flushed cheeks.

I bring my hand to my lips and I'm lost again.
I imagine bringing your lips to mine and how much of a rush it was each time.
You were intoxicating.
Kissing you was like a drug I could never kick.
Always wanting more.
Entangled in eachother.
Hold tight, each moment I did. Never wanting it to end.
Kissing in such synchronisation. Kissing you was nothing but second nature.

But I fight it, I try and shake it off.
shake you off.
my hips begin to sway falling slave again to our perfect song.
To the beat of my favorite song. The song about us.


I dont know how you do it.
I dont know how you forget such an addicting thing we had.
But you did and I'm lost with only memories now.
Memories I have to bury.
Because they give me so much pleasure but also so much pain.
Big Virge Jul 2020
I Used To Meditate...
In My YOUNGER Days... !!!

The Day I Stopped...
Was A Crying Shame... !!!
But I Now Meditate...
In A... DIFFERENT Way... !!!

I Meditate... NOW...
By Picking Up A Pen And Writing Down...
ESPECIALLY When I Start To FROWN... !!!!!!

Poetry FEEDS My ENERGIES...
And Helps My Mind FIND... " Inner Peace "...

I Write About The Things I SEE...
Within My Life And On The Streets...

It's A Form of... " Meditation "...
My Poetic Word Creation...

It FEEDS My RESPIRATION...
Thus AVOIDING Palpitations... !!!

Palpitations... In My MIND...
When Inclined To RECOGNISE...
That MANY DIE Because of LIES...
And THOSE Who CHOOSE...
To... PERPETRATE CRIMES... !!!

… ” Meditation " …

Through My Rhymes...
MAINTAINS My Search For LIGHT...
That Helps Me STAND and FIGHT...
For What... I THINK Is RIGHT... !!!

What's RIGHT For... ME...
Is... REGULAR Use of Poetry... !!!

It's As If I... " MEDITATE "...
When My Pen EMBRACES Page...

And Starts To... Relay...
How I Feel About The World...
And Our Lives... Today...

Sometimes I Simply...
Drift AWAY............................... .................
Through... Time And Space...
In Other Words Folks I... MEDITATE... !!!

I Write With A RHYTHM...
Some People Say...

That's Because of THE TUNES...
I Put On.... " PLAY ".... !!!

That's Why My Wordplay...
DOESN'T Seem To Be... " Staged "...

There Is... NO STAGE...
When You MEDITATE... !!!!!

Are You Reading Me Folks... ?
Cos'... That's NO JOKE... !!!

Words Like THOSE...
You Should Let SOAK...............

SOAK... " INSIDE "...
Your Heart And Mind...

I DON'T Presume...
To KNOW What's Right... !!!
  
But You May Find...
This Helps Your SIGHT...
And Eventually SEE...

How Poetry...
CAN FEED Your NEEDS... !!!

Write For... YOU...
And Then You'll Find...
Your Rhythm Too... !!!!!!

Meditation IS...
... BENEFICIAL Food...
When... NOT ABUSED...
By.... HARD DRUG Use.... !!!!!

CLARITY of Mind HELPS You Recline...
And NOT Resign To MISSING Signs...
of What Is WRONG And What Is RIGHT... !!!

Mediation HELPS You FIND Yourself...
And BREEDS A WEALTH of MENTAL HEALTH... !!!!!!!!

It Also SOOTHES Your DARKEST Moods...

ESPECIALLY When...
It's USED To IMPROVE...
How You FEEL About... YOU... !!!

The Basis of Which...
Is Being... TRUE... !!!!!

My Poetry SEEKS.............................. ...........
To TOUCH And REACH................

A Place of BEAUTY...
CALM And PEACE.............................. ...........................

Meditation FEEDS My Poetic Creations...
And Helps EXCEED My... "Limitations"... !!!!!

And EASES YES My... Respiration...

BREATHE In................................. .................................
BREATHE Out................................ .................................

And Then... EXPOUND...
By USING Scripts Like RHYTHMIC Sounds...
This Is How I MEDITATE NOW... !!!

Which Is Why My Words...
Are... Humility Bound... !!!

Humble Because The Path I've Found...
Helps My Feet STAY... ON The Ground... !!!

My Form of... " Meditation "...
Helps BUILD My Education...
ABOUT Our Population...

That's Why I'm Now Relating...
About THIS.... " Meditation "....
That KEEPS My Soul ON TRACK...
And... Suitably STATIONED... !!!!!!!!!

STATIONED In A Place...
Where I CAN Meditate...
And When I DO...
THIS Poetry Tool...
of... Pen And Page...

HELPS Me COOL My TEMPER Gauge...
NO Time For HATE Or Getting IRATE.

Because They LEAD To EVIL DEEDS... !!!

I'd RATHER Meditate Than MEET Their Fate... !!!!
Whether Writing On Race Or The Welfare State...

My Words Relate And Indicate...
How I... Choose To...

....... " Meditate ".......

But If My Wordplay DEMONSTRATES...
ANGER When My Pen Meets Page... !!!!!

PLEASE... OVERSTAND... !!!
If I... Start To RANT... !!!

Being... BLACK...
Has It's... PROBLEMS... !!!!

So REMEMBER These Words...
The Name... " BIG VIRGE "...

But When...
ALL's Said And Done...

I'm Just... A MAN...
Like Those Who Have...
A.... " Lesser Tan ".... !!!!

When I Meditate Now...
I'm CALMING Down...

It's Just My Way...
of RELEASING PAIN... !!!
And Learning How To...
SMILE... NOT Frown... !!!

It's ALL A Part of SHOWING Heart...
Before Things Start To Fall A P A R T... !!!!!!

I'm NOT That Smart...
But... KNOW What Makes...
My ANGER... PASS...................

Pen And Page Night Time Or DAY...
Are Times When I Now Meditate...

Poetry Eases MANY Pains...
That's My Thesis What Do You Say... ?
Does Poetry Make YOU Feel THIS WAY... ???

It Breeds... CREATION...
I'd Rather Have THIS Than ANY Playstation... !!!

Synchronisation And Intonation...
Mixed With Patience And EXQUISITE Cadence...
is BOUND To TOUCH And FEED Sensations...

... Similar To THOSE...

We DEFINE As...

.... " MEDITATION "....
I would never have thought it would be such an important part of my world, however, I am very thankful it is, thus I continue to meditate ............
Lyla Oct 2014
They say “write what you know”

I want to write about love and beauty, but I only know ugly.
No heart has ever belong to me,
no hands have ever sparked at a touch.
Ugly lives with creative minds,
given courtesy of dreamy teen rom coms.

I want to write about fun family trips and birthdays'.
Joyous days spent frolicking on the beach,
but I only know secrets, shouting, spite.
Love that should be given as sweet as honey,
yet this family bee sting is laced with bitterness.

I would love to write about the moments of content.
wrapped in the light of the moon with someone,
breathing in synchronisation.
To tremor when I stand around you,
my heart racing to keep up with my shaky infatuation.

So i don’t write about these things.
I write about awkward fumblings,
ungracefulness of my ungainly movements.
dinners with no conversation,
the dullness of an everyday flat life.

I write what i know.
Seb Aug 2011
(until)

Your feet touch, your minds don’t;
you blow kisses, they’re carried off:
as the wind; to white face rocks.

There’s you, and you, and me—
laughing, trembling.
Leaving: ripples on a mirror.

(for)*

Even when they need it: an open hand to steady;
A solitary swimmer shan’t seek synchronisation.
They’ll sink silently: sapphires streaming,
guiltily gurgling.
As faces gently distort: they’re left castaway.
Drop your mood so you heart is no longer beating and listen to my muse for this: http://soundcloud.com/worlds-end-girlfriend/track
Aiden Williams Feb 2013
To touch the skin of one,
To match the touch of two.
A reciprocated heat,
a touch of two flesh,
With the creation of one body.
Fluids of love,
Mixing
Binding
Digging deep,
Finding,
Whatever treasures lie beneath the waters.

Therapeutic,
A rhythmic click,
with each deep dive,
Perfect synchronisation
Creating the sweetest sensation,
Push,
With no hesitation.
No rest,
Full concentration.
You may think you have no shadow.
But I see it dancing behind you.
I can't see it's face,
but I'm sure that it's smiling.
But it's no smile of fructose.
Just of bile and scorn overdose.

With topography riding limbs.
In seamless synchronisation
with yourself.
I hear it whisper and hiss,
with sounds of ****** bliss;
At each unseen bruise inflicted.
Got Guanxi Dec 2015
Symmetrical Syria we sympathise in synchronisation of sirens and sadistic nature.
Those man made craters, aren't the force of Mother Nature,
They depict only hatred and a tyranny statement,
That says our generation will never see peace,
Just pieces of you,
Torn and decimated from targets based on generalisations,
As if a minority defines the whole population.
We seen it before in Iraq,
Now we're back for more with pre determined attacks.
When they asked first,
They said no at once,
Cue the worst still yet to come,
They asked again,
And they bent and broke,
From the rubble comes a white smoke,
But there's no new pope,
And there's no hope,
Just none.

The headlines say ISIS,
But the mind might miss the fine print,
The truth is inside it,
But we're not inclined to find it,
Propagander at its finest, from the highest to those that digress and make our minds up for us in the name of democracy's mindset.

If it's not in your name, then who can we blame?
Those men we empowered time and time again?

Watching news, with a second of thought,
Of course you believe it,
Who needs a secondary source?

No remorse,
of course.

Just corpses and a sea as blood as far as the headlines will breath.
Emma Jul 2016
The rose red dresses flutter and float
Over beautiful girls with smooth legs cartwheeling
Dancin' like swinging jitterbug springs
Going round in a bebop rhythm
Through the saxophone blasting soul
And the jazz drums which clash and simmer

The yellow lights and red smoke floods
Singing and a' ringin' in circles
Filling the air with childish smiles and laughter
Freedom reigns on the crowded dance-floor
Synchronisation in the joyful movers
Who dance and drink into the night
Then the day came along with a new song to sing,and the clouds disappeared the nearer you came to me,
In the seeing,I was relieved to find that I believed in it all,
The Winter,the Summer and Fall with that synchronisation that springs forth and calls out our names in the mid light of countryside lanes
and where hope builds a nest from what nature gives best,
I shall wait here and ponder about the wonder around me,as the snow drifts shall blind me,where the Summer's are kinder and in the Spring and the fall I shall find a,
pathway to the next day and the one beyond that.
EJ Aghassi Apr 2014
our footsteps in synchronisation
rang and echoed
with more depth than the
actions that ensued

i remember the coldness in the air
the biting gravitation of your body
in
proximity

too far and never close enough

and how i spoke from the heart,
whilst tripping over the nuances
the syntax
the delivery

the night is kinder than usual;

you're very distracting when you smile
snuffing out turns of phrase

& you're so sweet it makes me nauseous
in the prettiest of ways

-- and the way i saw you then
a pleasant melody in my mind
sweeping through the senses
free and unrefined

and i am humming
the tune, the best i can, for you
Joe Cole Sep 2014
Just sitting here in my tent
No radio, trying to do everything on my phone
Did I say peaceful? In my tree there's an owl.
Nothing strange about that you might say
Well this ones got the biggest mouth on it
That I've ever heard
Never eaten an owl before but this ones pushing its luck
Earlier today I had a few hours fishing and yes I did catch a few
I also watched dragon flies of ever colour
and the aptly named damsel flies dancing on the breeze
No choreography but still perfect synchronisation
There's so much wild life here and it's easier to spot now the leaves are falling
Multi coloured snow, russet, red, yellowy green, browns
Like autumnal snow drifts round my feet.
You know even if I could I would never harm that old owl
After all he belongs here while I'm just a guest
I like it here under this tree
Ashley Thao Dam Jul 2017
It's hard to breathe when all your regrets are bouncing in your chest
that hollowness
and the never-ending echo that vibrates throughout my entire body

Have I made a mistake?

All the connecting, glowing, and seemingly sweet certainties have faded

I stand here stricken
My accomplishments in hand
And crumbling

Pieces of the last few years forming into an outline of your face

My fingertips pulsate with warmth as i recall your touch

I've never felt anything
Anyone
So perfect

So smooth and soft and unreal

Moments like these never last, do they?

We were so tired and yet so eager
To intertwine

Fixated on deep breathing
The flavours of eachother's mouths
And the momentary synchronisation of our existences

You're always so busy

And i'm always leaving

It hurts to entertain the idea
Beyond temporariness
But i can't help myself

I know you told me to say it less and yet
I am still sorry

I will always wish for a chance to get to know you
And for that I am not sorry

For once
I love music.
It takes you to a whole new place, a different dimension. It allows you to travel with time, to go with the flow, to focus on nothing but different rhythms and sounds beating in synchronisation.
Nothing is more satisfying than finding a song that applies to your entire life, that relates to you when no one else can.
Whenever you are sad or feeling nothing but happy, I urge you to listen to a song and allow it to soothe your soul.
Toyo D Nov 2023
Part I : Prologue.

You go left and I’ll go right
That isn’t right
Let’s go left and then right
Ok

Part II : Conflict.

You’re standing on my toes.

Wrong move.

Part III : Rising Action.

Take a step back.
Start again.

one, two, three four-

Why has the music stopped?

I changed the song
but I wasn’t ready ?

It’s over.

Part IV : Falling Action.

We just need a bit of practice
It’s never going to work
but i’m willing to learn

My feet are tired.

Part V : Denouement.

The two step tango of love dances within her sly steps of coordination.
The synchronisation of sensual steps
bringing closeness and intimacy
until the music stops,
by the hand of one
or the wavering string
of Fate.
It takes two
or one
to miss a step.
To break the flow and go
taking their routine, heart and radio
onto the next awaiting dance floor.
Simpleton Jul 2014
Soft lingering notes
Of an instrument
Set the scene
And poured the atmosphere
With an intensity
That flowed in the rhythm of the pumping motion of my blood
And I wondered if somewhere in the back of my mind
I was making up the unrealistic static in the air
Because I was having a moment that would never be considered likely
Black hat tipped as the tassels swung back and forth
I braced the longest walk up the shortest flight of stairs
And it felt like
I was a river gushing down the mountain
Sweeping towards the sea
To join the tide
As we strode forth
With pride
Heads held high
A mechanical motion
With directed synchronisation
Each in our own glory
A moment of royalty
The letters sunk into paper
Bachelor of Arts
Combined Honours Degree
But as the bright lights blinded my eyes
I could not help but realise
I had reached a destination
From where the journey would begin once again
That I had climbed a ladder
And the rungs got higher
Just as I finally reached the spectacular view at the peak
I was left at a cliff hanger

— The End —