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Blue Oceans

So much depends
The open blue
On the warm
With the cool

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Eyes Open Have the Ability to See Through Concrete

Too much of it had been ignored.
And now a game played to catch up,
With reality is in full force...
By those seeking rules and regulations.
With something to limit full exposure,
That is easy to document and follow.

But truth and reality are not substitutes,
To be interchanged, exchanged or arranged by delusion.
Some perfected.
Sometimes rejected.
But seldom suspected for what it is.

Charades and masquerades...
May be acceptable behind masks.
Truth pursued is strategic free.
And that task uncomfortable...
For the ones assigned to assist those blind!

And anyone who has been introduced to reality,
Becomes immediately aware of its focus.

Nothing about it is hidden behind veils!
Eyes open have the ability to see through concrete.
With penetrating results.

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Wide Open In The Rain

It might be some pleasure
or it might be some pain,
Still you're wide open, wide
open in the rain,

You're dressed like a
naked eye, and your tears
welcome you,
but you can't cry-

It might be some pleasure
or it might be some pain,
Still you're wide open, wide
open in the rain-

The falling rain finds you asleep,
and in your broken heart, the
darkness runs deep-

It might be some pleasure
or it might be some pain,
Still you're wide open, wide
open in the rain-

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So much is hidden In the womb of time

Time is a moving wheel
Never stops never tires
So much is hidden
In the womb of time
Waits, for it to arrive
The world wants to see
What’s hidden inside?
Worries and smiles
Are the same in all times
Faces keep changing
With passing of time
There was a time
When I had arrived
I don’t know the time
When I’ll leave
Change in fortune
Keeps changing
From time to time
Time is slow for some
Fast for others
Some cheer, some cry
Reason to live for many
To die for few
Time is time
For all and one
Everybody understands this
Only with time

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Open Up The Red Box

Why dont you look at the price Im paying?
Walk in, take a look inside,
Ive moved back the tables and chairs to the wall.
The valuable things Ive had to hide.
Open up the red box.
Come on, open it up.
Open up the red box.
Come on, open it up.
Peer in, looking for that crasher again.
You ruined terrys party last night.
An overweight greasy little man with a mouth
That opens more than now and again.
Something good must have happened to you.
If you would let it happen to you,
If you could let it happen to you,
Something good would have happened.
Lopez, I hate you for the state youre in.
Lopez, your hair, it washes out, it washes in.
You ropey little fat boy, lopez.
Come on get lost.
Something good must have happened to you.
If you would let it happen to you,
If you could let it happen to you,
Something good would have happened.
Im out of my head.

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Open to the Sky

'I could open to the sky' she said
have all my cautions fall away
in the wily wind;
give in to impulse drive
and let life fall
all around
and call this fate.

I could simply deny myself
and accept everything;
be the cork
on the party scene;
some do that.

I could put myself in life's way
and hope that something happens to me;
that's what I think some people do.

I could stay here and stagnate
just to see what will be the end of this
stagnate movie reel.

I could cry just to see how many tears can fall.
I could end up waiting for that bus of life which never comes.

Maybe it won't be this way always. Maybe one day
things will change and landscapes will tilt
and I will come falling out
in a pretty dress
'I told you so.
I am alive!

Yeah that how it will be.
That's how I want it to be.
That's what it needs to be.

Help me please get on that road.
Just having trouble finding where
is that first step
on that road
where I need to be.

Humm, just thinking about it
is that step.
At least now I feel better
and Time
I feel
is smiling on me
for being smart enough
to reel in the Real.

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Patrick White

As Much As I Love The Stars

As much as I love the stars, I know
the spirit must seek its lost radiance
in the midst of the filth of this world,
even when its third eye is trying
to wash it off in tears it really means.
Under the half-closed eyelid
of the pine cone pagoda in oceanic meditation
is a fire-seed waiting for immolation
like an overdue urn about to give birth.
And do you see how the moon
feathers the waves with silver,
and the breathing waters so much
like the flesh of a woman undulating
under the caress of an unaccustomed hand
shines back like fish swimming through a starmap?

As above so below. Same with inside and outside.
Astrophysics is psychology. Noumena, phenomena.
Are you looking for a unified, field theory of your mind?
Study that small sacred syllable of a black ant
with the torn wing of a butterfly
under full sail in its mandible
it's taking back to the heap
of a thriving passage tomb burial
like a high card it's going to lay on the table
without intending to call anyone's bluff.

The moon on the lake isn't timed.
Death's not too late. Life's not too early.
Not all the flowers bloom at once
in a wave of mass hysteria at a sports stadium.
Time is as generous to the dandelion
as it is to the hyacinth or the rose.

When a total eclipse of the soul
can be as illuminating to a firefly
as the enlightenment of the full moon
can be to the mad at harvest time
and the night bird sings on the same branch
out of the same longing
as the mourning dove does
on the burgeoning bough,
how far must a wave look for the grail
before it realizes it's swimming in it
and by virtue of it having never been lost or found,
like the universe you're surrounded by
dipping its other wing in the cup you drink from
like blood from your own prophetic skull
or an elixir of love from the goblet of a black tulip,
as an antidote to falling into a cult of trances,
trying to teach rattlesnakes to ghost dance for rain
when everywhere you look as far as the eye can see,
nothing but the bleached bones of their vertebrae
crumbling like aqueducts across a sea of sand
looking for the holy hourglass to green it again?

When things are like this, why send
a caravan of mirages like thought-trains
on a pilgrimage for water on the moon?
Is a course correction more innocent
than its original direction or is it
just another change of heart on the part
of a weathervane that thinks linearly
it's got its hand on the rudder of the wind?

Best thing to do in a storm
is let go of the wheel of birth and death
and either go down with the ship like a constellation,
or trust in a bubble-shaped universe you still might float
like a turbulent waterlily above the turmoil of it all,
anchored to the bottom like a key on a kite
to lure the lightning to your spinal cord
the way copulating snakes make their own caduceus,
twin wavelengths from the same inner matrix
ascending like helical thermals under a dove's wings,
so that dragons are born of cosmic eggs
that know how to heal fire with fire
that can consume itself like life
without ever getting burnt out
even when autumn's coming on
and you can begin to smell
the smoke and ashes on its breath.

Enlightenment the inspiration of the search,
the spirit returns to the candle in your hand,
to dance with the flame of life within you
on your own threshold, in your own doorway as you realize
like someone waking up from a dream
in their own bed, their head on a softer pillow
than they imagined a moonrock could be
at one sixth the gravity of earth, what
was there to aspire to that could possibly be
higher and wiser than a cloud circling a mountain
or down in the valley where the stars slum
once they get off the night shift, more compassionate
than a honey bee in the eye of a stargazer lily
smothering it in a rusty ochre dust storm of pollen
the way we prepared our dead when we lived in caves
to bloom like a hive when its spirit returns to matter
in its next incarnation as a gust of wildflowers on Mars.
Hawkweed and Indian paintbrush I would think.
And the unusual fruits and flowers that can sprout
from a windfall of intensely radiant meteor showers
flung out of the darkness by the hands of generous sowers
that were ploughing the moon for themselves
long before the ox of the mind showed up
like the blessing of a delusional dependency
that makes you think, gone to seed, you need it.
When the truth has always been mindful
and mindlessly green as the thorns and the leaves
of the locust trees in spring coming into blossom
as easily as the mindstream follows its own lead everywhere
with nothing but its own flowing for a navigator.

No gate, no lock, no pivot, no hinge, no waterclock
trying to put the fire of life out in a bucket brigade
of community-oriented arsonists, departure
never any further off the beaten path from home
than its arrival can be lead astray
by the shadow of the return journey
it casts behind it like the widening wake
of a waterbird's wings unravelling
the flying carpet of the water that wove it
like wavelengths of the hidden harmonies
that are on your side like your eyes are
when you step out of the blazing house of life
once in a while, into the expansive solitude
of your own inimitably creative darkness,
without a candle, a firefly, a lightning strike
for a guide, and look up, just look up
in any direction you wish, and don't pick any one
of the six thousand stars you can see
with the naked eye in the country,
no matter you don't know their names
or myths of origin, or much about shepherd moons,
or what an antikythera is, then run around
looking for an underground circumpolar sage
to show you on a starmap where your shining is at
like the light of the star, though you cry
in bliss and sorrow, delusion and insight,
you can't wash out of your own eye
anymore than you can Venus in the dawn
when you're sitting on a mountain under a Bodhi tree
trying to attain the unattainable empty-handed
in the same breath that's been giving it all away
for light years, inexhaustibly, like a flower-mouth
of enlightenment in everything you say or do,
the world in the creative wake of whatever medium
that's shapeshifting into you like water into fish,
darkness into star, sky into a bird on the wing
in a homesick sunset, or the shining of the source
like the lantern in your hand you needlessly labour
at keeping lit to go look for it without realizing
it's your own blazing that blinds you to the gift
of what the darkness arrays before you like candles and stars
and nocturnal waterlilies opening like a new moonrise
amazed by the occult mystery of the fire that burns
in the subliminal watersheds of your fathomless eyes.

In this boundless space, why should you be surprised
behind all the masks of God, her best disguise
when the hidden secret wished to be known
and she revealed herself, was your own face,
your eyes, your mouth, your ears, your voice alone
pouring the universe like the light of picture-music
into your own ears like the spirit of a word
that can't be enlightened until it's been heard by you.

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Open The Door

By michael mcdonald and tommy sims
Were lost, baby thats ok
We may not always understand
We may not always know the way
We can cry and we can hurt sometimes
But we both know whats important
At the end of the line
Its not always the case that we know just what to do
But when it comes to me and you
Weve both been here before
So let love open up the door
What love will surely show us
Aint that what we came here for?
So let love open the door
Maybe its time that we hold on tight
In each others embrace
We might just see the morning light
cause when we touch
Its like a brand new start
Its there we find the music in each others heart
And we might just discover that we dont always see whats for real
Love is somethin that you feel
Weve both been here before
So let love open up the door
What love will surely show us
Aint that what we came here for?
It aint nothin new
Just a chance to finally see this love through
This love has one purpose (and)
Never asks for anything more
So let love open the door
Sometimes words only mean so much
They dont say how we feel
They dont keep us in touch
Its too late once we drift apart
All thats left are the pieces of two broken hearts
Amy sings:
Love is sweet, love is kind
Love will open up your mind
Let love open up the door
All that counts, nothin more
Love is what we came here for
Let love open up the door

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Walt Whitman

Song Of The Open Road

AFOOT and light-hearted, I take to the open road,
Healthy, free, the world before me,
The long brown path before me, leading wherever I choose.

Henceforth I ask not good-fortune--I myself am good fortune;
Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing,
Strong and content, I travel the open road.

The earth--that is sufficient;
I do not want the constellations any nearer;
I know they are very well where they are;
I know they suffice for those who belong to them. 10

(Still here I carry my old delicious burdens;
I carry them, men and women--I carry them with me wherever I go;
I swear it is impossible for me to get rid of them;
I am fill'd with them, and I will fill them in return.)

You road I enter upon and look around! I believe you are not all that
is here;
I believe that much unseen is also here.

Here the profound lesson of reception, neither preference or denial;
The black with his woolly head, the felon, the diseas'd, the
illiterate person, are not denied;
The birth, the hasting after the physician, the beggar's tramp, the
drunkard's stagger, the laughing party of mechanics,
The escaped youth, the rich person's carriage, the fop, the eloping
couple, 20
The early market-man, the hearse, the moving of furniture into the
town, the return back from the town,
They pass--I also pass--anything passes--none can be interdicted;
None but are accepted--none but are dear to me.

You air that serves me with breath to speak!
You objects that call from diffusion my meanings, and give them
You light that wraps me and all things in delicate equable showers!
You paths worn in the irregular hollows by the roadsides!
I think you are latent with unseen existences--you are so dear to me.

You flagg'd walks of the cities! you strong curbs at the edges!
You ferries! you planks and posts of wharves! you timber-lined sides!
you distant ships! 30
You rows of houses! you window-pierc'd façades! you roofs!
You porches and entrances! you copings and iron guards!
You windows whose transparent shells might expose so much!
You doors and ascending steps! you arches!
You gray stones of interminable pavements! you trodden crossings!
From all that has been near you, I believe you have imparted to
yourselves, and now would impart the same secretly to me;
From the living and the dead I think you have peopled your impassive
surfaces, and the spirits thereof would be evident and amicable
with me.

The earth expanding right hand and left hand,
The picture alive, every part in its best light,
The music falling in where it is wanted, and stopping where it is not
wanted, 40
The cheerful voice of the public road--the gay fresh sentiment of the

O highway I travel! O public road! do you say to me, Do not leave me?
Do you say, Venture not? If you leave me, you are lost?
Do you say, I am already prepared--I am well-beaten and undenied--
adhere to me?

O public road! I say back, I am not afraid to leave you--yet I love
You express me better than I can express myself;
You shall be more to me than my poem.

I think heroic deeds were all conceiv'd in the open air, and all
great poems also;
I think I could stop here myself, and do miracles;
(My judgments, thoughts, I henceforth try by the open air, the
road;) 50
I think whatever I shall meet on the road I shall like, and whoever
beholds me shall like me;
I think whoever I see must be happy.

From this hour, freedom!
From this hour I ordain myself loos'd of limits and imaginary lines,
Going where I list, my own master, total and absolute,
Listening to others, and considering well what they say,
Pausing, searching, receiving, contemplating,
Gently, but with undeniable will, divesting myself of the holds that
would hold me.

I inhale great draughts of space;
The east and the west are mine, and the north and the south are
mine. 60

I am larger, better than I thought;
I did not know I held so much goodness.

All seems beautiful to me;
I can repeat over to men and women, You have done such good to me, I
would do the same to you.

I will recruit for myself and you as I go;
I will scatter myself among men and women as I go;
I will toss the new gladness and roughness among them;
Whoever denies me, it shall not trouble me;
Whoever accepts me, he or she shall be blessed, and shall bless me.

Now if a thousand perfect men were to appear, it would not amaze
me; 70
Now if a thousand beautiful forms of women appear'd, it would not
astonish me.

Now I see the secret of the making of the best persons,
It is to grow in the open air, and to eat and sleep with the earth.

Here a great personal deed has room;
A great deed seizes upon the hearts of the whole race of men,
Its effusion of strength and will overwhelms law, and mocks all
authority and all argument against it.

Here is the test of wisdom;
Wisdom is not finally tested in schools;
Wisdom cannot be pass'd from one having it, to another not having it;
Wisdom is of the Soul, is not susceptible of proof, is its own
proof, 80
Applies to all stages and objects and qualities, and is content,
Is the certainty of the reality and immortality of things, and the
excellence of things;
Something there is in the float of the sight of things that provokes
it out of the Soul.

Now I reëxamine philosophies and religions,
They may prove well in lecture-rooms, yet not prove at all under the
spacious clouds, and along the landscape and flowing currents.

Here is realization;
Here is a man tallied--he realizes here what he has in him;
The past, the future, majesty, love--if they are vacant of you, you
are vacant of them.

Only the kernel of every object nourishes;
Where is he who tears off the husks for you and me? 90
Where is he that undoes stratagems and envelopes for you and me?

Here is adhesiveness--it is not previously fashion'd--it is apropos;
Do you know what it is, as you pass, to be loved by strangers?
Do you know the talk of those turning eye-balls?

Here is the efflux of the Soul;
The efflux of the Soul comes from within, through embower'd gates,
ever provoking questions:
These yearnings, why are they? These thoughts in the darkness, why
are they?
Why are there men and women that while they are nigh me, the sun-
light expands my blood?
Why, when they leave me, do my pennants of joy sink flat and lank?
Why are there trees I never walk under, but large and melodious
thoughts descend upon me? 100
(I think they hang there winter and summer on those trees, and always
drop fruit as I pass;)
What is it I interchange so suddenly with strangers?
What with some driver, as I ride on the seat by his side?
What with some fisherman, drawing his seine by the shore, as I walk
by, and pause?
What gives me to be free to a woman's or man's good-will? What gives
them to be free to mine?

The efflux of the Soul is happiness--here is happiness;
I think it pervades the open air, waiting at all times;
Now it flows unto us--we are rightly charged.

Here rises the fluid and attaching character;
The fluid and attaching character is the freshness and sweetness of
man and woman; 110
(The herbs of the morning sprout no fresher and sweeter every day out
of the roots of themselves, than it sprouts fresh and sweet
continually out of itself.)

Toward the fluid and attaching character exudes the sweat of the love
of young and old;
From it falls distill'd the charm that mocks beauty and attainments;
Toward it heaves the shuddering longing ache of contact.

Allons! whoever you are, come travel with me!
Traveling with me, you find what never tires.

The earth never tires;
The earth is rude, silent, incomprehensible at first--Nature is rude
and incomprehensible at first;
Be not discouraged--keep on--there are divine things, well envelop'd;
I swear to you there are divine things more beautiful than words can
tell. 120

Allons! we must not stop here!
However sweet these laid-up stores--however convenient this dwelling,
we cannot remain here;
However shelter'd this port, and however calm these waters, we must
not anchor here;
However welcome the hospitality that surrounds us, we are permitted
to receive it but a little while.

Allons! the inducements shall be greater;
We will sail pathless and wild seas;
We will go where winds blow, waves dash, and the Yankee clipper
speeds by under full sail.

Allons! with power, liberty, the earth, the elements!
Health, defiance, gayety, self-esteem, curiosity;
Allons! from all formules! 130
From your formules, O bat-eyed and materialistic priests!

The stale cadaver blocks up the passage--the burial waits no longer.

Allons! yet take warning!
He traveling with me needs the best blood, thews, endurance;
None may come to the trial, till he or she bring courage and health.

Come not here if you have already spent the best of yourself;
Only those may come, who come in sweet and determin'd bodies;
No diseas'd person--no rum-drinker or venereal taint is permitted

I and mine do not convince by arguments, similes, rhymes;
We convince by our presence. 140

Listen! I will be honest with you;
I do not offer the old smooth prizes, but offer rough new prizes;
These are the days that must happen to you:

You shall not heap up what is call'd riches,
You shall scatter with lavish hand all that you earn or achieve,
You but arrive at the city to which you were destin'd--you hardly
settle yourself to satisfaction, before you are call'd by an
irresistible call to depart,
You shall be treated to the ironical smiles and mockings of those who
remain behind you;
What beckonings of love you receive, you shall only answer with
passionate kisses of parting,
You shall not allow the hold of those who spread their reach'd hands
toward you.

Allons! after the GREAT COMPANIONS! and to belong to them! 150
They too are on the road! they are the swift and majestic men; they
are the greatest women.
Over that which hinder'd them--over that which retarded--passing
impediments large or small,
Committers of crimes, committers of many beautiful virtues,
Enjoyers of calms of seas, and storms of seas,
Sailors of many a ship, walkers of many a mile of land,
Habitués of many distant countries, habitués of far-distant dwellings,
Trusters of men and women, observers of cities, solitary toilers,
Pausers and contemplators of tufts, blossoms, shells of the shore,
Dancers at wedding-dances, kissers of brides, tender helpers of
children, bearers of children,
Soldiers of revolts, standers by gaping graves, lowerers down of
coffins, 160
Journeyers over consecutive seasons, over the years--the curious
years, each emerging from that which preceded it,
Journeyers as with companions, namely, their own diverse phases,
Forth-steppers from the latent unrealized baby-days,
Journeyers gayly with their own youth--Journeyers with their bearded
and well-grain'd manhood,
Journeyers with their womanhood, ample, unsurpass'd, content,
Journeyers with their own sublime old age of manhood or womanhood,
Old age, calm, expanded, broad with the haughty breadth of the
Old age, flowing free with the delicious near-by freedom of death.

Allons! to that which is endless, as it was beginningless,
To undergo much, tramps of days, rests of nights, 170
To merge all in the travel they tend to, and the days and nights they
tend to,
Again to merge them in the start of superior journeys;
To see nothing anywhere but what you may reach it and pass it,
To conceive no time, however distant, but what you may reach it and
pass it,
To look up or down no road but it stretches and waits for you--
however long, but it stretches and waits for you;
To see no being, not God's or any, but you also go thither,
To see no possession but you may possess it--enjoying all without
labor or purchase--abstracting the feast, yet not abstracting
one particle of it;
To take the best of the farmer's farm and the rich man's elegant
villa, and the chaste blessings of the well-married couple, and
the fruits of orchards and flowers of gardens,
To take to your use out of the compact cities as you pass through,
To carry buildings and streets with you afterward wherever you
go, 180
To gather the minds of men out of their brains as you encounter
them--to gather the love out of their hearts,
To take your lovers on the road with you, for all that you leave them
behind you,
To know the universe itself as a road--as many roads--as roads for
traveling souls.

The Soul travels;
The body does not travel as much as the soul;
The body has just as great a work as the soul, and parts away at last
for the journeys of the soul.

All parts away for the progress of souls;
All religion, all solid things, arts, governments,--all that was or
is apparent upon this globe or any globe, falls into niches and
corners before the procession of Souls along the grand roads of
the universe.

Of the progress of the souls of men and women along the grand roads
of the universe, all other progress is the needed emblem and

Forever alive, forever forward, 190
Stately, solemn, sad, withdrawn, baffled, mad, turbulent, feeble,
Desperate, proud, fond, sick, accepted by men, rejected by men,
They go! they go! I know that they go, but I know not where they go;
But I know that they go toward the best--toward something great.

Allons! whoever you are! come forth!
You must not stay sleeping and dallying there in the house, though
you built it, or though it has been built for you.

Allons! out of the dark confinement!
It is useless to protest--I know all, and expose it.

Behold, through you as bad as the rest,
Through the laughter, dancing, dining, supping, of people, 200
Inside of dresses and ornaments, inside of those wash'd and trimm'd
Behold a secret silent loathing and despair.

No husband, no wife, no friend, trusted to hear the confession;
Another self, a duplicate of every one, skulking and hiding it goes,
Formless and wordless through the streets of the cities, polite and
bland in the parlors,
In the cars of rail-roads, in steamboats, in the public assembly,
Home to the houses of men and women, at the table, in the bed-room,
Smartly attired, countenance smiling, form upright, death under the
breast-bones, hell under the skull-bones,
Under the broadcloth and gloves, under the ribbons and artificial
Keeping fair with the customs, speaking not a syllable of itself, 210
Speaking of anything else, but never of itself.

Allons! through struggles and wars!
The goal that was named cannot be countermanded.

Have the past struggles succeeded?
What has succeeded? yourself? your nation? nature?
Now understand me well--It is provided in the essence of things, that
from any fruition of success, no matter what, shall come forth
something to make a greater struggle necessary.

My call is the call of battle--I nourish active rebellion;
He going with me must go well arm'd;
He going with me goes often with spare diet, poverty, angry enemies,

Allons! the road is before us! 220
It is safe--I have tried it--my own feet have tried it well.

Allons! be not detain'd!
Let the paper remain on the desk unwritten, and the book on the shelf unopen'd!
Let the tools remain in the workshop! let the money remain unearn'd!
Let the school stand! mind not the cry of the teacher!
Let the preacher preach in his pulpit! let the lawyer plead in the court, and the judge expound the law.

Mon enfant! I give you my hand!
I give you my love, more precious than money,
I give you myself, before preaching or law;
Will you give me yourself? will you come travel with me? 230
Shall we stick by each other as long as we live?

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There Must Be A Poem For The Open Road

There must be a poem for the open road
For the distances
For the dream of a beginning
Which even in old age
Holds the soul-

There must be a poem for the open road
The new day
The beginning
The distance
The hope
of what is far from here
I begin to move toward now.

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Because I Need The Poetry So Much


Because I need the Poetry so much
I become parasite upon it,
Instead of its coming to me surprisingly
I force myself upon it-
What once was a gift
Becomes a theft-

This poem too
Written in the too early
Too still dark hours
Does not sing through me,
But now says itself reluctantly and sadly
As if it had no right to exist.

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Behold The Jungle

This jungle of sorts recognises me when I deliver,
The revolving doors are open, then we conclude the monument.
The river dangles behind like a sea open to enemy,
Much sauce collects when the sewing has begun.
An industry of collectors works hard to consider
And contrive a reality to question at all levels.
This is acceleration, the red mountain so told,
Behold it when it erupts and concentrates on us.
The jungle has trees dangling, dawn shall appear,
With fountains of red and blue, the sun has goals.

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Ask 16: Piece Back Together the Jigsaw of your Mind.

Piece back together the jigsaw of your mind.
You’ll be surprised at what’s left there to find.
Lost unfound, grounded in reality,
The truth wouldn’t mean so much to me.
As it does now since you set me free,
Free of my bondage to this realm

One last kiss before those lips i miss
An eternity and who knows more
What is it all for? What is it for?
Open up the doors and walk freely in this place.

Always looking back
Over your shoulder
Your only wasting time
Your asking me to kiss your skin,
Well baby, you kiss mine

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The Post War Dream

Tell me true tell me why was jesus crucified
Is it for this that daddy died?
Was it for you? was it me?
Did I watch too much t.v.?
Is that a hint of accusation in your eyes?
If it wasnt for the nips
Being so good at building ships
The yards would still be open on the clyde
And it cant be much fun for them
Beneath the rising sun
With all their kids committing suicide
What have we done maggie what have we done
What have we done to england
Should we shout should we scream
what happened to the post war dream?
Oh maggie maggie what have we done?

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Lunch And The Story About Geronimo

my lunch with her
could have been my lunch with you
and we could have laughed harder together,

we could have discussed well about Geronimo
his beautiful wife & kids
his lonely life in New York
and his being in love (with someone else)

this, perhaps is the most interesting part
and we could have talked the whole night till the breaking of dawn
when all the stars begin to hide in too much light
fading to the ocean of morning light

but once he said
and he was telling me with all the seriousness of a man
who does not want to be hurt anymore

that love is never a joke
for to him it has entailed not joy but pain
not an open door but a closed gate forever.

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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

By The Fireside : The Open Window

The old house by the lindens
Stood silent in the shade,
And on the gravelled pathway
The light and shadow played.

I saw the nursery windows
Wide open to the air;
But the faces of the children,
They were no longer there.

The large Newfoundland house-dog
Was standing by the door;
He looked for his little playmates,
Who would return no more.

They walked not under the lindens,
They played not in the hall;
But shadow, and silence, and sadness
Were hanging over all.

The birds sang in the branches,
With sweet, familiar tone;
But the voices of the children
Will be heard in dreams alone!

And the boy that walked beside me,
He could not understand
Why closer in mine, ah! closer,
I pressed his warm, soft hand!

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Heart Open To The Distant

in my heart in the darkness of all our souls in the looks of the eyes of those that cannot see anythign far or near in the sky up in old and distant worlds from far and away in the sweetest on the darkest night the brightest stars shine with an open heart you see everything bravery truth honor and freedom the beautiful sites that are open tonight on the farthest worlds u go to travel onward and upward forever and farther and on and on with an open heart u r beautiful ur sweet everyone likes you they adore you all this and that is true even admire you i do not but anyfiner soul deserves such other then you in all the heavens the angels sing your name into eternity ur name will forever be called with an open heart that will always be full of grace and goodness of you

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The Key

I couldnt fall asleep all last night my mind was racin
I left so much behind to find the dream that I was chasin
And now I have a need to take a look at what is real
I need to learn to live and love and breathe and touch and feel
But all I really know is what I see
And everybody sees it differently
I wish someone would open up my heart and look inside of me
But Im the only one who holds the key
Your body aglow as if to show you peacefully dreamin
So only you could know that deep inside somebody was screamin
And callin out to anyone who could help you through the night
And hopin that someone would come along to make it right
But all you really know is what you see
And everybody sees it differently
I wish someone could open up your soul and set the demon free
But youre the only one who holds the key

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Take The Chance

I have finally told myself
That I am going
To take a chance
To open the door for romance
Looking into the future with a glance
The thoughts in my head dance
They leap with a prance
Just visualizing how it would
Be to let my heart
Lead me freely
When I use my brain
I do too much thinking
Besides with the heart
It can be given whole heartily
The brain operates by parts
Left side for critical thinking
Right side for creating thinking
Every area is designed
To control something
If I want to know
What this love will bring
I must keep in mind
These important things
Get pass the fear
Of forseeing the possible hurting
Going beyond harmless flirting
I am now becoming more acquainted
With yearning in playful way
I will remain
With some guide lines
Don't want people to
Think that I am losing my mind
But I willing to take the chance
This time

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The Freedoms

you see it is not the gate of the house
that sets you free
it is not the stairs
not the hole in the roof that gives you
some needles of light
actually it is the breath that you take
it is air that is free
it is the space of green spreading in your
those tall grasses you decide to mow
it is the pebbles that you collect and begin to recall
the story of each fragment
and cracks
it is the clouds that you see when you lay your head
upon the arm of an old sofa
where you father once rested from
too much exhaustion
it is the memory of someone that you remember
you love and who loves you in return
and who was stripped off away from you
like a sticker on the wall

mind you, it is your wise invention
with wings that give you flight when everything gets too bitter
mind you, it is the mind
it is the spirit, never these sets of fingers
these smooth skins
this open mouth...

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The Black Widow Bride

He looked into her eyes, and asked her why she was so engrossed in the book, instead of him.
The young bride, upon her wedding bed replied, 'to read a book, is to step into a world beyond the ordinary.
You open a world where imagination, fantasy, and even pain become one with you.
You can feel as though you are a part of the world in which you have magically fallen into.
It has accepted, and possessed you in every way.
Your mind can take you anyplace, anywhere, at anytime.
You can become one with the Medieval period, romantic fantasy, comical adventure, and total horrific terror.
So grab a book, and live the life you've only now have been dreaming about. She looked at her now sleeping husband, turned the cover of her book over, and thought about how much he looked like the dashing man on the cover of her romantic adventure book.
She kissed him upon his forehead, and plunged the knife deep into his flesh.

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