My animus left my Id,
All of ranges where my dreams leapt and slept like a cub in my unconscious.
Where a fraud once told me,
what is the name of your grandmother.
Zarathrusta came back,
He wanted nothing but his blue black fountain pen.
He saw the world now,
before he went back,
He harkened and shouted at Twitter to all feeds.
will and always will,
stay the same,
no matter what timeframe.“
Without a sound,
He gave me something to think,
“So we still are the same?”
He vanished just like Obi,
Left me dumbfounded here.
Damn, he took my treasure,
That old silly blue black fountain stylus,
That I paid almost a hundred.
What sense is this,
A wafer that gets to be eaten but never swallowed.
A mesh of things that does encumber all of my past,
Oh what is woe, compared from Emily,
Yet a plate of suffe of Plath cannot be compared from 2 years of my own.
When Every day is a choice of Heaven between my love of things with
All of those butterfly wings from a four year old laughter and light.
What Frost is this,
At most Nostradamus gave me a lecture of beat and structure.
Then on a sad and dreary noteworthy lessons,
Surely at best and I will not protest,
For without her extensive work,
her love of the play of words,
Yet Women does all the best and fine work from:
beat and ryhme,
Emotional content and intent,
All comes to the end of a real Poem.
Thus began a life path of Plath.
That old baby blond,
That really made me love
Poetry at first sight.
These days were so filled of the madness which of my emotions and dared
Then only when it emptied,
Unto its unkind vehicle upon a spot where no one can see,
and yes a battered worned out and decapitated,
automaton of a mind that wont rest until
it was empty of its fuel and oil.
As the crow cries while my dove dies,
To that which a tear is of my river and of the land
Whereas are the mountains grows from the ocean of my blood.
I will not carry this samsonite filled of linens soaked of all my anxieties,
Which the past bled onto it and left me in all the stations from Oslo to Kyoto.
My destination would be you and loving you with all of me,
as you will toss my baggage over that Danube,
While my naked soul will be clothed not by our love,
While my third eye is poked,
Time would be our shelter,
Space and thoughts are our transportation,
Love be the guide.
®ohms, all works thereof
A fear of hope
of the sky that stretches
For the hope to fear
and grip its heel is an attack
not by something it is an insecurity
that one who gave it inside willingly.
®ohms,artsydhude all works thereof