The Warrior of Poetry: The Poetry archive
The Poetic Warrior Returns to his Poetry after Illness Welcome One, Welcome All
There are no sounds but of essences in a global form travelling upon a variable current in a stream of consciousness, as we gave it such a name, a phenomenon are we in a world we developed as evolution and must not know of the why included is myself the joyous one.
No matter how clever one is there is always something you will never know, if your feet touched the ground of every named country upon the planet or kissed the snow of mountain tops, you would never consume all found knowledge. Could this be our imperfections revealed, a frustration I cannot scratch that itch of human discontent.
To the enquiring minds of the seekers if the word, as it is named as truth, within divisions or hierarchies unknown, one has opinion as poles apart, one humans vision is just a constant star in the nighttime sky in another land upon a different night.
I have likened us to ants, but a trifle more clumsy our minds and discoveries, not always for the best. As countless in numbers our wars do attest, to under the god of light the sun, the master of life or death when revealed, more unleashed than ever in times of now within and under ozone depleted screens of a damaged ionosphere.
And the green air insidious, is he flitting in bushes coughing and choking tasting recipes of death in the world. As if you never wondered why the brains were cooking and the madness never dead, all the things you wanted but could never put them to bed, dancing in your mind. Raving in a mind like Cinderellas cracker and a prince with no clothes. Its a loony fry up in a greasy slippery slimy shady world where the dogs are half as mad as you and of course Mr Tang…
The origins of world bullying and domination of common man lay within the creative use and abuse by generations of wealthy dominant intellectual secret order malevolent’s. But with the meek it is in the eyes and gestures of kindnesses multiplied and applied with intuitive benevolence caught in an audible transmitting trumpet, through a world in need of divine cleansing, that thus far has eluded the great sufferings of multitudinous masses too poor to raise their blighted palms.
We live in the time of the enterprise of loin, it is everywhere and it is obvious that the human or thing worships itself by image. In the main man now works by image alone in discordant forms of hedonism, slowly creeping. Exposures of the wrong kind are now prolific, we certainly survive on the exposure brought about by the enterprise of the loins in a vivid crucible of metaphysical party porn people…