The Elysium Wars

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The garden is a center, and the skies are our homes.

Into elysium do us all ascend the rapture;

Infinite bliss is used as the skin cells, falling into our eyes-

And each tear drop used as the honeydew, userped, after we die-

Because the evil war, that is used for human limbs, the government wishes to enslave;

Use the broken vessels, of aircraft carrier ships, devoured in their names-

Elysium becomes the joy, of war, falling through as sand-

Unbenounced to World War 3, hearts are made immortal, hand and hand-

Into the skies indeed, is the light that is used for our auroura, with each human deceased, a yellow golden glow,

And beams for our eyes: our corneas…

But should to fall from this great height,

Insanity as an overlord.

Like a stealth bomber through broken clouds:

War, and war again moreover…

Copyrightcopyright October 12, 2017

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The Logic of Consequence

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Those who are anger, or fill themselves with wrath. Will also be filled with the most woe and sorrow, they are the ones who cry the hardest. They destroy themselves, inside and out, more than anybody else they know.

 

Those who are greedy, or envious, will be the most restless. This is because they constantly seek. They will never find, they will always work, they will never rest. Their restless wanting and yearning will drive their peace.

The arrogant and haughty, are also the most vunurable, because they are they, who are pompus. And the pompus, never look over their shoulder. Their enemies easily pick them off. They are followed by ignorance, and this is why, all of these things.

 

The lustful, are followed by destruction, and are usually second to perish.

This is because the moths, following into burning flames, and can’t tell the difference between the light, and imminent danger. This makes them also the most vunurable. Though second, because they receive multiple chances to change their path.

Pride is followed by lonelyness, the crippling kind. Their mind is the most guilt heavy, and the most distraught. They are the soldiers, that usually fight the hardest, and die the hardest. To forgive, is indeed to shield against death.

 

Copyrightcopyright September 17, 2017

 

 

 

 

The Faces of Lifeless Things

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Just as before, there is power in peace, there is chaos in hatred.

And power, without the peace, is a restless mind.

Two arms reach forward, to reach for froward. It’s like reaching for the arms of others, and using them for the arms of others;

it’s like using other people’s legs, for other people’s legs;

it’s like thinking with other people’s thoughts, for other people’s thoughts-

and none of them all have power, because they’re all but one mind. And is restless-

this is what restlessness will look like, if it were the face of a man.

For a man, to look for a woman, and a new life with her;

it’s face will look like a child, lost in a downtown land, searching for his lost mother;

the worry on his face, will be what it looks like in physical form, and the joy of that child finding her, will be what his success looks like, and the horror, of never seeing her again;

will be what divorcing her will look like, if it were all a tangible face.

A woman looking for a mate;

will look like a fox looking for a new home, in physical form-

the bear traps, will be what people who look devour her destiny; will be what her enemies look like in physical form.

A son that doesn’t listen at all, not one bit;

will look like a child, with a featureless face, but be destructive, and still possess speech, in physical form-

The clouds will look like a mute child; in physical form, for they speak not, but still have life. They are naive, and yet important. The skies will look like this, because they are always born over and over again, so they are young, and they are eager to learn. The blueish portion of the sky, will be their mother, she is old, stubborn, and fickle;

but her voice is a teen’s. A teen, because of it’s nature to change form, and spread influence among others like it, and it’s ignorance to understand the impact of it’s actions. This is why, weather, will never be able to be controlled…

A hurricane, will look like an angry, mindless teen, that is inhuman, in physical form;

this is because they feel, they are passionate, but they do not truly understand why.

A dying old tree will have the voice of an old man, asking for help; if it had audio. This is because, like it’s appearance, it is old. It will speak often, have a weak, dying voice, and only ask for what it needs. It will not understand why, but it will understand why it doesn’t receive it. And both when it goes dormant, and when it dies. So does their voice, they will make no more sound.

A toy or a child’s plaything, will have the same happy voice as the child that plays with it…Even if it is old, decrepit, and broken;

it will still wish to be played with. But it will be angered, every time a child stops playing with it. Until somebody returns again to play with it.

A computer, if a living mortal formed creature, would be as smart and intuitive as it’s owner, but just as ignorant as they are as well. This is because it has charisma, it knows how to talk to them, but just like them;

it only knows, the answers that their owner’s already know.

A pencil’s soul is arrogant, but listens to who wields it. This is because it needs you to use it.

But doesn’t require you, to understand it.

A shoe will be like a kid, as well. It wants to be used, but never misused. It will never understand why you out grow it-

the more you use it, the less it wants you to. When the sole has a hole in it, it will have died. There will be no more voice in it to hear, even if there were one.

If the moon were to speak, it would ask many unending questions; they would be about intangible things;

starlight, distance, life, death, lifesource, and many other things, mankind hasn’t even made up words for. This is why her face is enough, and she is made mute on purpose;

not all things need to speak, sometimes the beauty of their presence, is just enough to redeem their story.

 

Copyrightcopyright September 15, 2017

 

 

E͕͍̭̞̠N̨͇̤̝d̰̦̖̬̪̮̯l̫͎̖͙̮̥e̙̫͢s̶̯͎s̵̪̻͍ ̴̹͇͖̜͓S̜̟͖̤̺̰̟͜o̺̦̮͙n͔̩̰͝g͏

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Except from my horror story:

Prologue

 

It is them, that are made to dance;

like puppets their severed limps skip like a jump rope;

their eyes are many, they see infinite…

They laugh when they are afraid; they are afraid when they are manic. They cry when they are hysterical-

their faces hurt from their endless grins-

they are balding. Indeed!

Ants crawl upon their unblinking seeing eyes…by the thousands they swarm their pale faces! They twitch their fidgeting mouths; drool pours like a flood down from out of their mouths. They slobber when they are well pleased,

and like maggots, their bodies swing sporadically, as they all hold hands, like pale paper dolls;

they sway to hold hand-in-hand-

they are indeed corpses;

they sing the Endless Suffering Song. They giggle, and cheerfully smirk;

some with tongues, some without.

Some with eyes, some without.

Some blink, some can no longer…

And like a square, they form it like an arena ring-

and their shadows fall upon the ground, and swarm does their darkness to devour the corpses.

Like children, they know nothing. All they know, is that to feast is to feel good-

Their insanity is like music…

 

Copyrightcopyright September 6, 2017

 

The Shattering Aether

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And Alice was pure-dee mad and insane!

Her face fidgeted a madness, her chin scraped the skies, her cheekbones ached from her constant smirk-

forward into the maddening tunnel, does her female form embraces mankind;

and her eyelids twitch, at the flickering faint glow-

hurdling horribly into her eyes

For the web changed her body, into that what which be warped! Warped into the web, does her soul warp also-

until her female-shaped soul is no soul…!

until her soul is removed, and replaced with nightmares;

her essence through the wormhole, she goes down into the pit of despair;

and her long, beaming, drop dead gorgeous hair

like tree roots into the fumbling skies, tumbling nowhere, tumbling nowhere;

and it is the insane nexus! His embrace changes her into a pawn!

Alice fell down the rabbit hole;

that’s what we call the vortex.

And reemerged from the fathoms, in the name of the

nexus…

poem Meaning:

Talks about how the internet can defile good people, with wicked imaginings…

Copyrightcopyright September 5, 2017

 

 

Hipster Overlords

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Hip and happening, is

Equal to insane, and slobbering;

Hip pouncing upon derpy doofus’s ideas, and then devouring all of their fears-

Red, blue, cool cats, fumblin with the words;

Cause big bow-legged babes bring the news!

Bird’s indeed da word!

Scarfs devour the adam’s apple,

And glasses the shade-

And devouring the feeble opinions of others,

Is how insane hipsters enslave…

 

Copyrightcopyright September 2, 2017

The Logic of Remorse

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The insane mechanical overlord’s mind is devoured;

by her own empty planes, stretched across is the canvas yet to be fulfilled.

She is a mindless pawn, that devours her own;

she is the battle-maiden, lost and alone…

she is disengaged; her emptiness and longings-

she is her own longings.

For she seeks the diamond, from out of concrete;

she is discrete-

to break from formation, to devour peace again-

for her own use, she is but a soldier-

for she wages war in her own conscience, she is dethroned everytime-

for all around, her infinite beauty;

is the very planes of oblivion;

A hand sticking up from out of the sands of desolation

a beautiful android, was distracted by a flower, at the ruins of a civilization

Copyrightcopyright September 1, 2017