Libradox

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War.

War is the javelin piercing the troubled heartbeats.

The thorn across the mind that ensnares the spirit.

The body is the war; our bodies are the jungle, humanity frolics through the Jungles of War and Ambition.

Ambition fuels rage, passion, lust, temptation.

Ambition is what created America. Ambition creates everything…

But ambition creates destruction. The same people who built the great settlement designed to ensure this breathing man’s freedom, made the same atomic bomb rendered forth to destroy it all.

Our arms like trees rise and fall with our heartbeats.

Our limbs like trunks root and uproot.

Our heads like the clouds swing thoughts, like the frozen cirrus clouds; cold and warmed by the breathing sun.

Shadowed, or embraced by rain.

Rain slumbers in the midst of this man’s fellow mind.

Is it a flood of passion come forth to tremble the light?

The ear is the metronome of flesh for the sound and caverns; this fellow-man’s skull’s interior is equal to the endless caverns the mind wanders through.

Do we serve as our own phantom? Do we play a haunt unto our own bodies–

Are we ghosts inside our own bodies; Do we possess ourselves?

Or does society string us along?

Do we awaken ourselves into the air of our wanting drives?

In the sunflower fields of light, does this fellow man derive.

The nose is the great pillar of us all; embracing the air we thrive.

My eyes the seeing pedestal unto all this fellow of one and many;

humanity in an overture. The chessboard of fate is right there, in us all;

the body is the war; in where lone politicians or perhaps many of the like, search high and lo for Liberty’s Bell.

My fellow good man, our heartbeats play a host to the very ribcage of Liberty’s cell.

Copyrightcopyright April 18, 2019

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The Wrath of Winter

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Cold.

Sound. 

Numb.

The winter is beginning.

The hour is at hand.

The trembling embrace of the snow.

Like a blanket for this land;

the body is the land. The farmer is in for it–

the worst of winter, for the bitterness abroad is bound to take shelter,

like a wanderer or maybe an adventurer.

My… 

heart…

beats…

like…

a…

…forgotten warmth.

…And there it is again,  the song of the bones in overture, and then–

With every 

swing of the clock’s crimson arm.

Winter becomes bearable; even in the midst of its revenge–

Copyrightcopyright April 17, 2019

The Power of Unity

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Now America was built on the very basis of anarchy;

Our founding fathers rebelled against King George the Third, and in their efforts they won the birthing of our country of America.

When 1,200 poor work as one and join in unity that don’t have over a million dollars, it can be dangerous…but when 1,200 rich that do have over a million dollars get together and join in unity, it can be even more dangerous than when the poor do it. Consider it this way: 200 rich kings and queens each having over 2 billion dollars get together and become friends, bolstering one another; they can afford tanks, rations, armies, create laws and barriers against anybody not in their circle. When 200 poor get together that can’t afford any of these things, they can only be meddlesome with twigs and pitchforks for so long before order is sent to be regained.

This is the logic of a syndicate; of a rich and powerful society wanting the same thing. The issue that is usually common, is that most rich would rather do their own thing, than rely on the other now that they can.

Pluralism versus elitism dictates that if we all join forces and want the same thing, or if we have an exceeding class status, we have power; Elitism dictates that if we have the most money and influence, then we have power. Pluralism dictates that if we have a thousand of us wanting the same thing, then they have to listen to majority rule, pluralism is more dangerous than elitism only if they maintain the larger size, once they start to separate in interests then there is a weakening of its power.

Never the twain shall meet, otherwise it defeats the purpose.

Copyrightcopyright April 7, 2019

Strengthening a Country

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Writers have the ability to take over the world.

All they have to do is write laws that force everyone else to be illiterate.

Writers invented America, kings were taught how to write, even God is a writer; He invented and wrote the Bible. The strength and cosmetic power a pen can hold is undeniable. Barbarians fear the illustrations of dragons scrawled behind on the caves for them, even if they were all imaginary, they fear like everyone else the telegrams sent in letters to us by our future selves

They who write be them male or female invent the race the others must run, but an illiterate country is a warzone inevitable to happen. Which brings us to the second trait that must be known;

Now that we are literate, educated, and are able to write be them male or female, we must also know how to defend ourselves.

Educated, technologically advanced, able to articulate, and can protect themselves from anyone unagreeable as well?

The countries that excel in this will dominate all the other countries, even if the other country is another super power.

Copyrightcopyright March 25, 2019

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY

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Hello everybody! It’s been 5 years since today that I made this blog!!!!

Thank you all for your support!

I actually got the idea from my once success coach at Georgia Gwinnett College that I should make a blog and put all my writing on.

Lo and behold that this was the same exact “success coach” that told me after I went to ask her for advice in some classes that my grade weren’t so good in, that if college is seeming too hard for me, that I should just drop out and quit college!

I of course didn’t, but ended up leaving that bad college, and coming here to Strayer University to take up IT.

I’m now a straight A student, ever paper I write is an A, and am doing far much better than ever. The blog remains, so that’s just a little brief funny history behind the creation of Cascadialegends.wordpress.com Named after one of my stories 🙂

-from Gregory Thomas

Catching Fire

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Peace that floats like a butterfly over the network.

The soul like a bird swinging a crown across the aether–

the voice of him, her, them, you–

the sound of a fidgeting harpies’ battle cry for us all;

her hair is the swinging embrace of fate, amidst the beckoning sun over air;

the overture of fate without wings to fly, is a falling heartbeat across one’s watching eyes,

the face blushing with joy for the morning, and the air thrusted up the nostrils of the wandering,

peace be the swing of souls over souls, the eyes bid watch–

and the heartbeats of curious veins are lost, in the wonderland upon us.

Is it this dystopia that bids you anew in this world?

Or the pale sunlight across our skies, where the clouds float ominously? See them glide?

See the frost along the silver line?

The coldness in your voice, is the coldness in the air. Breathing in this man’s breathing air; despair is despair.

The golden sun is a glowing orb. Catch it with your hands.

The wandering ghosts of freedom in our country, catch it too with your hands.

Copyrightcopyright March 20, 2019

The Logic of Strongholds

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A patient person obtains power;

an impatient person obtains mischief–

mischief is the meddlesome thorns that swing and aim to prickle the minds with constant stressors–

the mind filled with doubt is the mind filled with sorrow;

doubt is the venom that depression derives from–

An impatient mind has no choice but to doubt, because its in the logic of their heart and mind, while a patient man is naturally strong.

A weed gathers unto mischief when it grows from out of the sidewalk;

you see its pattern; stumbling passerbys, looking out-of-place, stirring strife; what happens to it? A child’s bike or a boot crushes its roots, a dog marks it mindlessly, it gathers more weeds, or its uprooted or weed purger thrown over it to bring forth its demise–

this same effect will happen to people who fall into mischief;

they stumble passerbys, their presence is out-of-place in rooms, they stir strife, their spirit is easily crushed by even the most tedious things, they are soon disregarded by others, they are hounded by troublemakers, or others send them away or remove them from their lives–

Therefore the logic of patience is that a stronghold is made sturdy when its mind be made anchored.

An anchored mind does not fall into the bear traps of the constant sorrows around it, but rather searches the peace that a man finds from within his heart.

A wise heart beats the fruit of the living, while a weak heart beats irregularly and strays away from the life’s breath of its own body’s lungs.

Copyrightcopyright March 19, 2019