Uranus uranium,
The partical split,
The double slit theory,
Is born of shift
The proton collider,
Must end in a gift -
of devistating consequence,
A species adrift.
Excelleration of inclination,
End of an era.
Beyond repair of -
Mankind.
Racial wars and
Poly-endorphimores.
I pray it comes swiftly,
And closes the door.
Postera . . .
"your shoelace is untied"
she said,
Just a peak in her stride.
I will abide by another tide,
Because all I want,
Is you
"poetry - useless, yet at the same time essential - to elevate ones soul - and to contemplate the world"
The hot air balloon gains its loft from hot air - but it is hot at the time, isnt it? Robust and full of life.
Uplifting
If a rose is gifted in the heat of the moment, is not that rose just as genuine? Just as uplifting?
they both carry the weight of the spirit.
The Dao (Tao) teaches yin/yang
Buddhism teaches the path to the end of suffering.
Judaism teaches monotheistic one godism
Chritianity teaches trinity
Athieism teaches decaf
Altruism teaches sacrifice
Druidism teaches dirt
Schismism teaches rift
Dieselism teaches drift
This may sound like I am depressed, or depressing, lol - I would like to add a note here for these recordings I make - it is a form of audio artistry for me. There is truth in what im saying, but the way im saying it is intentional. I take on a certain persona in my mind, and then try to depict it with my tone (if that makes sense? . . . It does to me . . . I dont know, shut up!)
My hands trace over her curves .. . Round . . . and back. . . Lines of exquisite beauty. . . definition . . .elegance, perfection . . .
I tune her to the perfect pitch, every note where it should be . . . strumming gently - with love . . .with focused intent . . .
And oh such sweet song she gives me. . .
The melody of my soul . . . .
Punch your neighbor in the face!
el oh el
But seriously, what do you like about your neighbor?
what do you hate about your neighbor?
any advice on how to deal with a bad neighbor?
do share . . .
Sincerely, Wits end
?
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
(Dylan Thomas)
