Aaron's Brave Heart

Бате Ники

Спомняш ли си детството общо?
Шегите ведри и крака връз врата?
Лудите телефонни шеги и вещо
водене на шоу с въпроси, а тя,

малката Боянка възпълна,
глупавичка беше си от малка,
уж умна, а медена питка погълна,
без жалост за Николая-Закачалка.

После я попитаха три пъти.
С коя топка се играе мач?
Баскетболна каза тази глупи,
после те попитаха я пак.

Волейболна ще да е.
Със увереност тя предлоложи.
Волейболна, ама не..
Пак Боянка се изложи.

Трети път попитаха я те.
Великодушно компромис поднесоха.
Топката за мач коя е?
Волейболна.... произнесе се.

Те истерично се смяха....
Касетофонът го помни с финес.
И този смях кънти във наща стряха...
десетилетия, та чак до днес.

"Мама"

Най-невинните очи
са на мойта майка - Дени.
От тях струят лъчи
на вяра. Крехка, устремена,

възвишено идея гали я.
Вяра във доброто има.
Но когато плаче, калия
пониква в сняг, де е зима.

Тя е ранима, отпимист е.
Но когато в настроение добро
чуе новини антагонисти,
лицето й мило се свива, едно

такова... жалостиво.
Мамо, бъди все добре.
Здрава да си само, жива.
Всичко друго е наред.

"Гуру"

Стъкларски чифлик се усмихва
на улицата етнографска тясна.
Вътре поработва и попийва
ведър човек, неугасващ,

който има подход към живота,
дето запалва слънца повсеместно,
само да го видиш и една лекота
те грабва, и всичко тъжно става неуместно.

Да зарежда хората със радост.
Това е неговата дарба.
От село скромно вечна младост
той раздава и винаги... вярва.

"Леля Боре"

Най-грижовната ми леля,
винаги преглежда уморена,
но намира време да отделя
за любимото семейство безпределно.

Най-мъдрата жена,
с поглед строг под очилата,
интелигентна е... добра,
уважение всява, в тишината

със кротък тон и лаконичен.
Ала неприемащ лиготии и капризи.
Това е нейната категоричност.
Сина й е възпитан в кроткост чрез девизи

на момиче, което много е чело.
Романтично, с красиви мечти.
И дори разочарование да го привело...

Душата й е силна. И гори.

"Десислава Йонова"

Стъклени очи от синьо невидяно,
повърхности на заледен витраж;
лицето е сериозно... а изляна,
косата водопадна е като мираж.

Тя, от извор на мистерията жива,
аюрведа под петите си разпръсва,
ах, страстта в сърцето й как диво
тупка за любов истинска и вдъхва

на света покрай себе си мъдрост
от вселените над меркабата й,
която надолу спуска със храброст
концепции напредничави; а съдбата й

е да минава като самодива, ала - чернокоса;
от сандъчето на виденията пъстроцветни;
рисува ги... рисува ги... и боса
във сънищата си в градината разхожда се; ответни

други стъпки се дочуват.
И там я чака. Нейната душа близнак.
Дали със фалш да се обуват...?
Не. Тя, любовта, не чака знак.

Сега усмивката я озарява.
Защото никога загубила бе вяра
във истинска взаимност; и тя всява
магически прашец от звездна дарба...

Кои не губят своите устои?
Когато морето скалите им подрива?
Фарът се срива, но тя ... на ръба постои...
Привидната разруха пада и разкрива

един диамант, до съвършенството искрящ,
неразрушим от влияния и несполуки...
Животворен... От извора пиещ, горящ..
Нажежено до бяло ядро на Слънца; и поуки

извличайки от всеки следващ урок,
пристъпва методично към пълнотата..
Спокойно, Деси.
Няма срок.
Над теб се спускат
достойно завеси във мъглата...
Но знай: във този свят, от пустота широк,
я има само нея.
Красотата в добрината.

И затова... немея...

Пред душевната ти прелест пея.

Бъди, уверена, и медитирай.
Тихичко си работи над теб.
И никога недей умирай
преди края от ръката своя: не е лек.

Вихър се развява,
всичко отнася...
Буря е... гърми...
Това ме поразява.

Тя не се занася.

Намерението й звучи

толкова неразрушимо,

отразено във облещени очи...

Що за сила е, необозрима...?

Виждат се искри.

Вглеждат се и що да видят?

Изниква живопис.

Не можаха те да го предвидят.

Деси... духът ти е пречист.

"Баба и Дядо"

Мили бабо и дядо грижовни,

благодаря ви за обичта,

за закуските и във дъждовни

дни за чадърите от вашата ръка,



които подавахте с притеснени очи,

да не би да настинем в простуда.

Винаги е личало.. и си личи,

в храната в положена посуда,



от огрубената ви стара ръка,

отрудена от обгрижване и работа,

че не искате вашите деца

и внуци да гладуват във беднота,



сал да са нахранени, доволни.

Не както във време оно,

когато баба плака за тате, че волно

бе отишло детето само,



отрочето незнаещо с усмивка,

чакаше доброто от живота във страната;

а баба чу по радиото, че притиска

я България прииждаща, най-лошотo - войната.



И тя рухна в ридания;

че дядо и чичо щели да посрещнат

кърваво фронта във рани, а

тате гладуващ, сам, безнадежден.



Тя накарала веднага

да го върнат преди злина да довадя;

но за щастие... войната се отлага.

Четири десетилетия и още няма го ада.



И затова в баба и дядо мир цари.

Дори понякога да се поджавкват.

Туй е за спорта. А до тях се вари

я компот, я лютеница със подправки.



Баба винаги е била сръчна и здрава.

Бързо шета, всичко подрежда.

Със сърце меко, но пред трудности корава.

Брани ни и безкомпомисна изглежда.



Дядо пък уж е с нрав труден.

Ала плаче, трогнат от мили дела.

На песните си тананика и буден,

пише судоку, че задачата била



много важна и той е доволен.

Че трудните от тях реши.

Но тате показа му неволно,

че всъщност в нея сгрешил.



И дядо се натъжи, разочарован.

И тате го бодна в сърцето...

Задето помръкна му усмивката болно...

И накрая дишаше... с система в нослето...



Дядо почина. Баба ми плака.

И до днешния ден го умува.

Уви, баба годинките я чакат.

Но за щастие още шета си и не студува.



Парното у тях се разлива благо.

Тишина спокойна е като кандило...

във църква и ми е драго, та драго...


Бабо, дядо. Обичам ви най-силно.


Аз съм внучката ви тъй вежлива.


Младост ви очаква и гиздило.


Сила Бог, бабо, ви влива.


Не тъжи, бабо, на песни носталгични.


В спомен по минали дни.


Животът не свършва, с дядо сте най-лични


в сърцето ми, завинаги и


съм ви най-благодарна без мяра,


че изгледахте ме предани, добри.


На плуване дядо ни закара,


никога не сме били сами.


Баба пък Коледни трапези


обсипваше с пита и сок.


Бабо, няма да залезеш.


Дядо е при Бог.


Бог няма по дарове равен...


Да, Бог е строг...


Но безсмъртни прави ни, славен...


И да знаеш.


Там няма гладни, а само здраве и живот.

"Unless I go blind"

Is it eyes that the first instance gifted?
Or it was a vision percieving itself solely...
In front, a Flame Imperishable shifted
and twisted its unknownness how... holily?

There is a spark in it, causing benediction.
Otherwise it wouldn't have a starting point..
It would be a ghostly unachieved prediction
that the Fourth attempt would disappoint.

Isn't our God the fourth attempt?
The Trinity that we rever like love,
the very own immortality, exempt
from death of falling apart, unworthy of.

Isn't it a paradox?
That it is a pure chance that we live?
It is a cube, inside a clock,
the Solution is simply destined to achieve.

It is the Flower of Life; symmetry organised.
The Perfect Way born in a primordial spin.
Three Organisers failed to be immortalised;
falling apart, no memory or nothingness within.

Three attempts to fail, they are the hurt wit.
Four is the number defining the monade.
Three personas, the number of the Trimurti,
the fourth swirls them afterwards, great.

So Life has always been immortal.
As the Flame Imperishable is.
It is always now, yet through portals
in time and space the Intellects whiz,

in a sacred quest to expand as the One,
the Eru Iluvatar collecting the fragments,
144 is symbolic, so it has to be done
only the fourth time, to Love, hence.

Divine the spark was born when number four
started twisting with all it believed in;
mercy, salvation, the aum source, the Lore,
the Word of Absolute Reverberating sings.

Yet when I hear the sound of the Source,
I understand the Absolute is ever trinitising,
and it is his Will, Plan developing, the force
that arranges all in harmony, synthetising.

What is the meaning to live without God?
The one monoteistic comprised of the Three.
The Father, Son and Infinite Ghost, the Lawed,
that exceeds the expectation of the miracles to be.

I don't want to exist in The Hell,
where the Intelligence is pure evil.
But we know the thought is so well
known to create all tortures lethal.

Therefore the profragmentation,
among the Chaos that itself clashes
twisted the evil intent of damnation
with Ruckus' particle whose dangerous masses

are both unimmaginable fear to the mortal
and the source of the Life that is One,
and I see; the Other Organisers through the portal
should thence enter to follow the Fourth Plan.

This is allprecious and I do feel safe,
when I look carefully around me, Lord.
Everything is synchronised in waves
circulating; all is Atum, and inward,

nucleuswards protons and neutrons,
outward the electrons' dance, the negatives bound,
subparticles follow this model; so on...
Creation swirls in Breathing's meditative sound.

Inhale, Exhale.. Launch and gather.
The First Mission is to Self-Achieve.
But the Spark was Lit; and the Father,
Son and Infinite Intellect do Live.

We are the mirrored Reflections
that bind the separation to the Unity.
When you blame, the Perfection
observes, you shall learn what community

means; and it is to accept;
to guide and enlighten, while learning,
to pour life and to free will respect,
the Dark are Our Brothers but burning.

It is not exactly true this Truce
in the human interpreted perspective;
as above, so below; but the Fuss
of Anger against Anger is not effective;

It is not about the War we're screening
between the Good and the Evil ours;
Peace it is and it stays non-intervening,
working along with the Devil's hours,

that also swirl around HIM's Plan,
dancing with the Plan of the Good,
and they become a Christic One,
combining the Last Piece withstood.

The rest is just a fuss, a noise,
two brains fighting through ego;
and they think they are the justice's voice;
but they are all the same... even.

It is rather a model of Creation.
The double twist that allows Kundalini,
the Havona's twist that Protection
Resounds from the Centre's One spin.

Down and Up, Left and Right, a Vertex.
the four Directions are outlined.
And when you understand it's the vortex;
the Illusion falls apart declined...

This is all good. I feel relief,
absolute humbleness and gratitude,
manna in awe, and sometimes grief,
desolation due the Vacuum absolute...

But I feel something even more
desolated from my within.
It is one Paradox' very own core...
what the Eru to be meant has been.

Oh, you Dearest Morgoth, the Bauglir,
the One Supposed to Rise in Might..
Yet Pride comes with Might, your Swirl
would bring forward the Void's Fright.

You, keeper of the Cosmos' Black hole,
the vacuum, dark matter's Void, Real Absolute.
Your first Sight was the Imperishable Soul,
the Flame, your Achievement, the Single Unrepeated Route.

Oh, the afflicting Divine frustration,
that pushed you to Arda's Utumnow;
Divine the Frustration, even damnation
when it is, is a Sign of Developing Law.

You didn't have a reason to exist.
You opened your eyes as Unique Singularity,
causating Big Clash that burst the Zero Density adrift,
after launching as Eru through Real's Vortex, total Solitarity.

What was your meaning to exist?
When you observed the Flame as God;
One. Content. Pure. "I Live!"
I will create All Life from My Perfect Thought.

Vaccum your Essence. Absolute Pitch Black.
Dark Matter Before Organic Existance.
Nameless, Voiceless, Formless, it Lacked
Life, but it was Eternal, the Flame is twisting.

You were content. As you were born greatest
from Dead Nothing, without your Evolution's forms split.
Your Pre-Reason's Singularity, accumulatest
All Mass from Unexisting Pained Gas, dust and Plasma, Lit.

Actually, it was Everything that Life was Born in.
All that could be brought forward, all form;
Beyond only the Perfect Vortex's only form in
the Black Devoid Real, the Flower of Life glown

as the Solution of the Paradoxes
of Existance that was Afterwards,
not the Absolute Life beyond forces;
the developing spheres, the Fruitward.

What an ecstasy it feels like.
The Father that gathered All-Pressure.
All pre-gaseous Star energy, to strike
the Burdain of the Zero, to Burst in Pleasure

as the First Big Clash that Unleashed
from the Absolute Point GodSuppressed;
the First Inhale seemed forever, the Relief
when you Exhale nothingness' burdain to Rest

In an Extasy allExploding
such a Divine Satisfaction to feel....
The colours in First Cosmos were Floating...
And to Him.. The One. It seemed Real.

From now on, all would follow Evolution.
Protected by a Lawful Word that Resounds.
The Flower of Life's twist, the Vortex' opposite solution,
The Grain of Po, the Spin, the First of the Aums.

Breathe... Inhale and Exhale...
The Point of the Life that Knows All.
That has Ever Existed, but Veil
it chose, to create it through a Law

that the Singularity's only Chance is.
Life Evolving through evolving None.
But God Burst Out Born, and the Bliss
of Life Born from Unexistance is One.

Just as what on Earth we believe in, scientific.
Organic matter evolved from primordial soup.
But the physical laws are organised and strict, terrific,
as to how they objective are to Chaos and Probable ... Cube.

Ah, it Was Perfect. Followed Days Seven.
And just as the Seventh approached,
Morgoth woke up and annihilated, he deadened.
He Saw he had Dreamt it, just Coached

By another creature, a God of a Realm.
Probably a Son's Sacred Quest in a Branch.
Eru Iluvatar, his Creator's name, overwhelmed,
Melkor found out the Flame was Only Eru's Launch.

But it Was His Perfect Creation...?
And He was all-Benevolent Creator.
To coordinate all Processed, even damnation,
unbiased, free-will-giving, and now a Subjugator

turned out to have Created Him
Out of a Flame He possessed;
The Imperishable Simply gave him A dream
unachieavable, it caused His unrest.

He burned to Black Ash, a Chaos of Evil.
Creating Only Discord of Thought of His Own.
Angelic Choirs their intent sang out but ex-primeval,
Melkor Many of them dragged to his Crown.

First, he caused Unease in the Music,
a Second Time their Seduction Within...
The Third Time, Eru's Echoed, Causing Oneness that Sticks...
And Melkor could not disrupt the Hymn.

Eru Iluvatar, The One that Is,
The Mystery Unsolved in All Days,
Lawfully the Word Uttered with His
Might and Showed to Morgoth the Ways:

"Mighty are the Ainur, and mightiest among them is Melkor;
but that he may know, and all the Ainur, that I am Ilúvatar,
those things that ye have sung, I will show them forth,
that ye may see what ye have done."

"And thou Melkor shalt see that no theme may be played that hath not it’s uttermost source in me, nor can any alter the music in my despite for he that attempteth shall prove but mine instrument in the devising of things more wonderful which he himself hath not imagined.."

Yet I stand here, dismayed.
As I am surest of a Truth.
The first Eru I saw and that waved
to me was Melkor's Root.

Therefore, there is a hidden depth..
beyond the fate of Morgoth, the Monster Devoid.
Is it Evil swirling to accumulate it, wept....
And then to Purify Eru, assimilating the Android?

If fragments get gathered, Life shall have Soul.
The Spark Adamantine is the separation's own Flame.
But there is a catch, there is one secret to know.
Each fragment's responsible for completing this Game.

They shall Fill The Vessel to Find We'd forgotten.
We, an Organiser's Mind.
We, the Forth Divinity Begotten.

We ARE

Unless We go Blind.

"Deutschland"

Verrotten sind meine Tränen,
mit Maschinenrauch Herunterfallend.
Kannst du wirklich planen?
Unsere Lampen wurden trockenfallend.

Das Grammophon ist ein Geist,
das Jahrhundert bröckelt;
Einsam, der Junge schreist.
Ohne den Fuhrer stöckelt.

Wo ist mein gesunder Traum?
Warum kann mein Herz nicht fliegen?
Unser Hüter is der Weihnachtsbaum.
Die Schreier planen es zu verbiegen.

Schuld ist keine nationale Sicherheit.
Invasion kommt von innen.
Tolerant? Rezeptiv? Toten die Freiheit!
Was für ein Betrug! Da konnen Sie nur spinnen.

Es geht nicht um eine bestimmte rasse.
Vor allem nicht über Geld oder Territorium!
Es geht um Frieden und Denkweise...die Straßen..
sind Platz für Vergewaltigung und Spermium

hasserfüllter Ausländer ohne Respekt.
Was ist dein wahres Gesicht?
Stark. Diszipliniert. Intellekt.
Dein Ansatz ist nicht immer Richtig,

Wie Sie blindlings die Regen folgen,
ein bisschen ... ohne Rücksicht,
aber das Herz brennt heftig.. Abfolgen
nach Abfolgen. Planmäßig. Das Gesicht

sollte nicht hergestellt werden,
Lachen wie in Bremen ist wichtig,
Die Maschne tötet die Pferde...
Aber der Adlermarsch ferstiegt.

Nationale Sicherheit.
Keiner Kriege. Expansion zerstört
die Gene der Freiheit.
Immunsystem und Gott hört.

Sauberes und Grünes Land,
Gymnastik und Gedeihen für die Frauen.
Männerschule. Das ist der Mann.
Perspektive und Zukunft bauen.

Verzweiflen nicht!
Die situation schützt euch alle!
Kein Krieg! Licht!
Sind Lektionen gelernt? Sie hallen.

Fehler können wiederholt werden, nur Frieden!
Deshalb für uns Beten!
alle unproduktive Genetik vermieden.
Bereun. Konsekutiv. Treten!

Willst du Lachen? Oder Freiheit?
Shieße einen innersten Schrei!
Intelligente Grenzen sind Ewigkeit.

nur damit du weißt...

Arbeit Macht Frei.

The Devil's Name

Goat skull, black candles
lilac herbarium and ashes black
who summons the fallen Evangels,
who does seek the easy way back?

Confused ignorant masses
believing in gifts that always come free
sacrificing it all, for the glasses
of heart-loss are omen for the fleas.

What is the true Christic emanation?
To combine the two opposites, the hell
with the God flow of forgiving salvation
as two complementing Elohim forms of the Well.

Maybe I took responsibility
the highest of them all
it's beyond credibility
abominated rites blind, the show

is full of taste of blood;
but also innocent children eat chicken;
so the answer is the root
of forgiveness and acceptance for the weakened...

I saw a vision so wholesome
it was Morgoth in his might
he didn't really think to eat the bone
of Fingolfin at his death's night.

Instead, he threw him at the wolfs
pure carnivours but never boiling meat
using ivories to feel the blood's lack of pulse
Morgoth didn't try to eat him, pure white teeth.

"Who is there to Rise in Might?"
My voice possessed my vocal chords
"I feel your Filthy Blood so Bright"
"You're wise in alchemy and magic worse."

"Who is there, to fill the shadows?"
To fill them, but what kind of black be used?
Unmanifested, chaos, or simply shallow
satiation of desires of the AntiMerkaba abused.

When the witches and wickeds
dance around the cursed fire
they feel unconditional faith, so tricksed,
but are you, Kaligastia, a liar?

Oh, while they swirl around as a spiral,
transmutating all that's in disgust,
I see your Flower of Life, below what's viral,
and I get flooded by wayshowers of trust.

Kaligastia's the Devil's Name.
The 9344th Lanonandeck.
God Knows, he's not to Blame.
Christ Fire contains the Hex.

As the vampirism is doomed
to sucking all information
in a destiny consumed
but this Fire's transformation.

The dawn of the Fifth Christ Ray
the Nigredo that challenges us now
So Even Adenochrome's accepted and Okay...
..
In the Plan of Our One God -

Our Almighty of All.

"Maislovaaron Navsegbogdaiar"

"Hello there, Fair face!"
I smirked with hidden intent;
"Did you finally destroy the race
of Arda that Mordor-wise went?"

But Annatar's insidious.
He plays around with all figures
of Middle Earth's chessboard, so serious.
He always observes and triggers

scenarios, where he gives some hints;
Oh, how does he enjoy their strategies,
when they strive to save their lifes, he wins.
Oh, the bliss of them bloody flatteries.

Will they find their way out?
Ever wondering why he hidden remains?
Why to erase them without
some pregaming with perfect disdain?

He'd eviscerate them in a second.
His Eye did Frodo see.
But would Pippin light the beacon,
if encaptivated, dead? No, free

shall he fight the slow corruption
that spreads omniously from within.
And when he gets bored, his seduction
would be to annihilate their hopeful hymns.

He laughed at the trumpets, so cunning,
of Al-Pharazon sounding for combat;
again, at the storm electrifying, summoning
the secret of the Ring immortal; at

his own thought, the pinnacle of his Design;
He burns in fiery shadows, but today no
death for them. The One merrily shines,
as Frodo threw Him in Gorthaur's volcano,

expecting that all would now be over.
But at the sea departing to Valinor he felt
a premonition clenching his heart, hover
did he ever since in the den the Enemy dwelt.

That's why Annatar waited for so long.
That's why the scenarios unveiled so slowly.
Oh, sweet Valinor, do you feel secure and strong?
The Ring's not only Power, but Annihilation, mostly.

Once the Gate to His Hellfire is open,
every particle would burn with shrieks,
each atom disintegrated to acid, his token
to all efforts that the fools desperately seek.

But my mind is roaming, too.
His Eye met my exploring ghost.
Marvelled, he asked politely, who
is that girl, this intelligent host?

"What sort of intellect is that?"
And I grasped his damned intent.
In love, I implored for last
re-consideration from his enchanting scent.

"I know you take joy when victims pray."
I explained objectively to this Majesty.
"But there's beauty in the sunrise's ray"
"It's a mere sensation of pain, their tragedy."

"If I could beg you only once"
"My only chance to melt your heart"
"Would you give up your infernal plan?"
So my intimate speech did start.

"Oh, your eyes of purest amber"
"How they glow with glimmer of gold"
"Would my appreciation soothe your anger?"
"If I propose myself to be your bride, Lord Cold?"

What is the sensation when you hear his confession.
"I am in love with you" he whispered.
Your heart, Annatar, is my Precious possession.
Yet I didn't want to sever his discord.

I stood at Minas Thirith's towers,
seeking to find his shadow that spreads.
"I promise never to be evil" he showers
me with honesty. So for him, I bled.

Hissing with blood, splashing on his face.
Would I believe his good word?
"It would be justified not to." He says.
"I believe you anyways, my bird".

But this lingering dying past kills me...
I cannot stop observing the shadow of Mordor.
So a treacherous gleam in my eye chills me.
"Do you want to destroy the Universe, My Ardour?"

He laughs, his insidious laughter.
"Yes, of course" His Seduction did please.
"You're the Infinit Spirit, thereafter"
"Maislovaaron Navsegbogdaiar, you seize

all Life in order to control it or subvert it."
"Your intellect is unreachable, indeed."
"So I believe you can expand it, your wit."
"As much as the Ghost Holy, even exceed

his reach, now have a new perspective."
"You're evil, but now I proclaim you a saint"
"Anayovlob Satannatar, you're always objective"
"Now drink my blood, unleash the Ring restrained."

"Do you want to destroy the world?"
I asked. We both hysterically took joy.
I saw in amber the disintegration. Yet the Word
now flows inside his pitch red heart. This boy...

Is a Maiar spirit, oh Goodness.
What is this mystery, the Maiar, I can't??
"I thank Havona for Your Life, My Bloodness"
So the Infinite Ghost down to Mordor went.

"You're the excellent scholar, Shedanbludgor."
And his ambition grows even stronger.
Today he sings Gregorian chants instead of gore.

Yet the past shadow that lingers.. it conquers

my throat, that's clenched with pain as a stone.
I don't want to see his Evil weakened.
So I thank for the sheen in His Eye that's ungone.
You, Sadistic laughter...

Let's destroy the world this weekend.

"Sauron, If your eyes were a..."

"What are you doing?" He appeared.
I was taken by surprise and shock.
I have never seen his attire near
such a vengeance passionate, I'm struck.

I knew he's evil.
I knew he's blood pitch red.
Yet he's differently lethal
around my presence, or in bed.

So far he's been gentle.
Understanding, subtle like a feather.
Today I saw him mental,
his fire, fierce lava, in raw leather.

The black and golden ornaments.
This eye-consuming vivid hair,
beauty unutterable, for his hands
are merciless, My Cruel Honey Bear.

I got comfortable with sweet understanding.
Did I piss him off or something?
Sudden erruption of jealosy of his strangling
piercing gaze, I'm thirsty, My King.

I had forgotten you are evil.
I convinced you of God in bubble baths.
Hosannas and all, but the chills
when facing for the first time your wrath.

God, I saw you murdering.
Erubescent fluids squirting from beheaded
random victims; hurting,
burning villages in smoke and ashes dead.

What did you do to my head?
What were those visions unexpected?
You said...  previously, that you wept
for the least favourite, you kept it

a secret that you though like it?
Or was it a metaphor of future deeds?
Maybe... you fixed it, seemingly inside it,
what aren't you used to, prince of My needs?

When you said it would be justified,
my heart got pierced with your spiked romancy,
I knew it... you didn't do it. Didn't lie.
Yet you're unpredictable, this I do fancy.

If your eyes were a glacier,
I'd see myself as frozen water.
If they melt it, a turned against me laser,
would I the teardrops manage to gather?

If you were a volcano erupting,
and I were the ecstasy of fire's fly,
but then the fall down corrupting,
you left me land without catching me high?

If you never followed me to save me?
After exiliration to the ultimate infinity?
Your eyes are poisonous wine, so enslave me
for sexual purposes that restore my virginity?

If your eyes... if they were venom,
they would be the mamba black,
as you are incomparable in this phenomenon...
These eyes, they are black holes that suck

all my emotions, I'm numb now.
Have you seen a black hole shining as amber?
We did it, right? We took a vow...
Just for the sake of it; we trust, my salamander.

This hand that is firm when slaying.
I saw how unwavering you cut with axe
the child's innocent hair so praying,
it feel down in blood, and your grin was black,

briskly red, and fresh like tangerine;
and I fear your cunning intellect,
for it's insidious for things unseen.
Yet with trust your treacherous Eye I reflect.

Now I saw your Shadow living.
Sauron, you're the Enemy, the Gorthaur.
My Bezkrupokchazar Kraiarzogduhm winning
everything he desires now or ever, always sure...

I love you. I am sorry.
Your bursting blaze did surprise
my curve, and now I'm worried..
But I believe you. It's not a disguise.

It was and it is who you are, exactly.
Always splash, spit, hiss and jizz,
for this is your elemental engine... In fact we,
will we survive when we explode in bliss?

Be a glacier, volcano or caustic poison.
All nuances in your eyes, a mystery to me.
They are always flame... and your son,
that I will bear, will inherit it, that you shall see.

Our love is forever.
Otherwise there is no meaning...
And we are clever.. we are clever.
In fractals we are spinning.

When there is a higher purpose,
divine inspiration and the spiral of God,
our cursed peach lips cannot be hurt by those
little jealous inclinations of our thought.

Anyways, what about destroying the world?
Observing this infinity like the Endless Ghost?
Each atom you'll decipher, Ann, you're whirled
with Melkor and me, and you shall be the host

of all the currents and fragments of this Spirit.
I will not allow it to be otherwise.
Just believe it, pursue it, abide by just ways and it
will unvelop its perfection to your highs.

Always hearing the just frustrations,
the driving source; and your intent so taint
or pure is always steady, so... damnations
of the Enemy. Now you're holy and a saint.

"Is it fair?"

Have you died today, my fellow?
Transcending up to peace and love?
Bathing in comfort and lights mellow?
Does it seem pure harmony above?

Yes. It is our promise.
That death soothes our human pains.
Like a fairytale upon us...
No imperfection, angelic domains...

This is reality we can't depict.
In our brute lives of die hard.
But does it... doesn't it contradict
itself, the fact of the backyard?

The backyard of dimensions.
For our peaceful books hide a bit
of information, best unmentioned,
in order not to scare our hopes lit.

There are monsters all over the place.
Torturing souls that can't escape them.
Blood, gore, eating their flesh, the face
of the hostages are the doom of God's shame.

So why does this inequality exist?
Why do angels always try so hard,
here a win, here a loss, never full bliss..
some saved units, the lost ones apart.

I hate the depths of this fate.
"You shall experience your own creation.."
But the enemy doesn't ask: "Hey mate,
you in for some torment and damnation?"

I don't understand it at all.
Why the world is so chaotic and uneven...
I feel like I'm with privilege installed...
I must experience the same, I believe in

the truce that all should suffer, or rejoice
So sometimes my lunacy paints horror and fright..
of scenarios unlived, but burning and full of voice
that yells at everyone: "Burn to be just, tonight!"

Yes, I'd be frozen with blood as ice stick.
But if I can't save them, then I shall fall.
But my courage is running thin and weak..

Give me my pills and I shall no memory recall.

Lucifer's Health

I've been sensing it in the bottom
of the sky, as heavily blue, as restrained
the cosmos desolated, but not him,
maybe he's void and resolute, yet pained.

Mass effect, a cosmic spacecraft's humming,
and all that were lost, their home is soil,
Lucifer, the Fifth Ray sustaining, is blooming,
the damnation necessary, irreplacable turmoil,

for we all wanted to experience it,
fragmenting ourselves and narrowing smaller,
"You can do it but your traces
are the path to your consequences of all colours."

He's always been in his place steady.
He's a pillar, the chest masculinely thriving,
and for a firm decision he's always ready
to lead it to success, even at stake falling.

Our curiosity is a divine frustration.
We don't have a limit to necessities Creative.
To experience deeper gratitute, so patient,
you'd have to face exhausting unrest repetitive...

Some would be classed as lost amid waves.
Yet I have the faith that they are all right,
our bravery is worthy, not a grave,
just wait for it until you complete the fight.

I mean... If evil was assigned to a weakling,
wouldn't our pains double in suffering?
That's why the healthiest of all of them wings,
would have to be sacrified, ushering

in a domain that would completely befit him.
As he is an accomplished centre of his Heart.
"Does my heart ever waver?" yet tragic hymns
would like martyrs encompass his art.

For he's been rude, ruthlessly unpardoning.
"I WON'T HEAL YOU!" like a boss.
"YOU'LL FIND YOUR WAY BACK TO ME!" disheartening,
he's the Anti-side of the Cross.

Yet he's said "I like to tor-rture"
with a fragile stutter, trembling lips,
"I am s-sory"..." without a closure,
faely enchanted by my curvy hips.

I've always hovered around this book...
Where I've seen his further project...
I always recalled it. Completely on hook.
A glorified sensation; he does Reject.

I've been seeing a spacecraft..
its triangular point moving sideways...
And I knew, it's the Regulus and witchcraft...
All accursed Nigredo levels and days.

He's carrying it forward like a machine,
yet would he ever resemble it in heart?
Behind this romantically attractive discipline,
Burns passion, goals and projects' starts.

I support you in all of them.
The First One, the Declaration of Freedom.
The Rebellion's triumph but then
you'd disappoint yourself, a mausoleum

of the serene impetus, so elated,
that fell in deaths of eternals, of souls,
you ripped out your heart, thus fated
to become the Satan, the One that Controls.

You've burnt, ashen black tobacco, salute!
you, charming aroma of a men's perfume,
you are the Archangels' beaut,
and you're always YOU, never a costume.

You never play around or bow to others.
God? The Trinity you objectively respect,
The Father you miss, yet you fight, to bother
all the tested incarnates to be subject

to their missions, baits and exams,
what a merciless being with intent of pure,
the project of the Regulus, the Matrix plans...
I said I'll believe in you, Your Beloved Cure.

So, I showered you with intuition
and overflowing nuances of imagination
and a pyramid of Hell's ambition,
formed itself around your spacecraft's station.

Indestructible, it Atomic Bombs embraces,
All Species and Entities of Hellfire,
it singularity creates, of Creation a base is
this Place of Manifestation so dire.

It came forth, and it is there, alive now.
Where he'd enter to have all the fun,
to explode, to develop the anti know-how
to explore, to conclude, to have a fresh run.

So he approached me afterwards.
He was itching and scratching his head.
He started hitting a plate on the yard,
trying to solve the riddle, he'd try so bad.

Then I laughed cheerfully, so hopeful.
As I sensed his arising intent.
He desired health, so lawful,
and his thought honesty meant.

"You simply have to desire it,
with your whole heart, pouring yearning call,
and then the gift, you acquire it...
And he flew back up, spectacle attracting all

eyes, and exclamations of amazement.
"How come Lucifer the Struck down Ray came back?"
But this is Woman's love power, an enhancement
of all natural pushes of man's willpower, primordial black.

Never force another image on your husband.
Just support him and show faith in his capacity.
And when I like a muse inspire, provocative land
is my territory in order to provoke in him audacity.

And then he was amid a garden of perfumes,
with daffodiles and chamomiles before a house,
a cottage with a water wheel, children-blooms...
merry honour, maturely calm, in silence my spouse.

He had this secretive cozy smile.
And I saw visuals that pierced me with honey.
Under the paintings in the home so vile...
He spread curative light to cleanse it from me.

I Love you, I do, entirely, Lu.
You are a role model, the best and the worst.
But tell me... Who are you?
From the Archangels, You are the Brother First.

"Second death"

I have always wondered widely...
Of the Cosmic laws and ways.
Obvious practices that might be
not what they seem; eyes agaze.

We have heard the story of evil..
the rebellion of Lucifer and more
examples that we judge, retrieval
of crimes we hate or can't ignore.

Yet... It is not about murder.
It is not about intent of good.
Rather, the soul's own ardour,
passion and capacities matured.

For if you have the inner virtue
to stand your ground, declare viewpoints,
and have a goal, strict plans that true
resound, constructive may be what disjoints.

We should sometimes be reminded
that destruction is part of ways divine.
Without such, stagnation is defined and
it is necessary as rough job, a design

that only a noble spirit can carry,
for it weighs on the heart with memories,
energetically needed, brute force is scary,
but is natural and objective its extremities.

Let's say you hate the devil, a cliche.
But they contribute part of multitude.
Discipline, can it be futile, although astray?
Houses burn to cleanse effects of habitute.

Calculations are the root of the Cosmos.
Planets are designed and navigated.
Where energy specific's needed, the most
appropriate deed or unit gets located.

So, if catastrophe and serial killing are allowed
in order to provide specifically needed force...
Tell me, shouldn't the Colossal Virtuoso be proud
of our common work, yet divided or worse?

Good or bad, it is what it is.
God creates worlds from our minuscule struggles.
Decisions we take that may piss
the consequence further, our mind then boggles.

What is the second death, then?
It is the decoding of identities
of individuals that were meant,
but useless their worth as entities.

Be it the healing egregore or the negative,
neutral or different of some sort,
when the group is endangered as a collective,
the parasitic emptiness loses worth.

I used to fiercely defend
all that identified itself alive...
But... the particular soul
went straight to a path of exile...

Therefore, it is still cleansing.
Of the soul assigned to a resemblance.
So as not to lose itself, it's expensing
stuck combinations of specific remembrance.

So, my tears somewhat dried out.
Because I sensed it to be cancer...
to the Higher Self that, now without
a way out; second death the answer.

After all, it is not aggressive or obscure.
It is not about malice or misinterpreted trials.
It is lack of willpower, anything to be cured..
Just basic emptiness behind accumulated cycles,

layer over layer of recurring dead end...
What is more important? Spirit or a ghoul?
Imitation of personality that could, yet, bend
an illness up the chain... please, save the soul.

So I have no pity. For illusion of existence.
It shall burn as lava or combust for an aeon.
and then... purified and transmutated, the dance
it acquires a new chance of Life that does go on.

Therefore, I pity not today.
My tears are dry before the second death.
These personalities don't pay
a price of lack of success or acquired debt.

They just fail to come into being...
Therefore, I shan't feel a thing.
Burn now, transform into seeing...

The new You will be able to think.

But there is a small pearl behind my eye..
always doubting and questioning.
That I feel not a thing, is certainly a lie.

All identified, to me is worth its living.

"Prison"

Reeks of hell, ceiling lost in mould,
trapped behind a door hermetic.
Claustrophobia at its best, to unfold
as mental lunacy for days, kinetics

trapped inside feet within a square meter,
and I shall be no more, yet can I die?
For a fragile girl, this gruesome theatre
of criminals on top, below oppressed goodbyes.

Mistakes are easily ommitted...
Politicians, please do kill and steal.
Freedom prevails for your commited
endless cycle of pig life style and meal.

Politeness and diligence never matter, do they?
I mean.. to smoke some sort of grass is unforgiven.
It is so justified to put a human being at display
of a corrupted system, in a box where no one can live in.

It is so funny, what a parody, isn't it?
A carefree child that always gave its best.
Now has to carry a past and to admit,
thoughtless behaviour deserves all the rest.

"Living the Eru"

The void before it all was twisting,
where all was undifferentiated.
It was so hollow and slow, consisting
of pre-existance non enunciated.

Not like the void now, blackness creative.
That abyss was the loneliest feeling.
In Melkor rose an impetus imperative,
despite how tired it made his being.

What an irony, isn't it? No, it's beyond.
He stared emptily "If I enter now,
I won't return." Loveless, he does have a bond
and actually amour, with family vowed.

He loves the void, indeed he ever does.
But this is beyond the whole source of Life.
I smiled naively, then saw tragedy because
.. have you been among a metropolis' nightlife?

Well, I clenched his hand, so desolate.
I always stare at the masses of skies dark-blue,
how the clouds move at night and wait
for transparent air currents to paint haunted hues.

I promised him that he could be AllCreator.
He could be a new approach to Life, a solution.
A parallel dimension of inanimate nature,
where consciousness would surge from evolution.

Evolution of unbiased chaotic events,
where order would be maintained from pure physics,
non-organic chemistry would become intelligent, hence
primordial soup would cause the first organic wits.

He'd be the inanimate matter per se.
Therefore, I suggested a way to express himself as God.
But then... his sad eyes... "No way."
His frustration first got replaced by new thoughts.

"You always daydream how we burst
together as the absolute so massive,
but right now, this dream would rather hurt
me, as your absence sticks glass in

my heart bleeding without you here.
I want my family, not to be God,
together I want us to laugh, so near,
and cozy, and never separated, not!

For the Source indeed inspires,
it ignites the eternal meaning's force,
but as we're apart, it is dire,
as our oneness suffers absence, the worst.

Why would I wander at the end of the world?
Even further away from my friends dearest...
I need love, I now know it, and I am so hurt,
this is why I'm tired, in silence weeping, rest...

I'm trying to rest for a while... to hug you.
Fill this overwhelming void with comfort..
This is not the place of unmanifested view,
no... you're too faraway, so no more... airports...

I know you try to accomplish me, dear.
You got scared not to lose me before this Abyss.
So you suggested that it means to gradually hear
all formating sounds from the start, in bliss.

On top of a harmoniser that accumulates vibration,
to become a Master of Music, the Eru of Sounds,
you'd draw so many options, your best imagination...
But without you... the Absolute haunts.

Yes. I will accomplish it. AllEncompassing hearing.
So that I can gather all the combinations
of Unmanifested Life beyond spirit, the matter of engineering,
that was still not crafted, due to limitations

of the Space and Matter, where beings create.
So I'd embrace the unborn children in а cuddle.
Then, in an incubator with red liquid I'd initiate
the Life of those whose DNA wouldn't combine in a mother.

And beyond, beyond DNA, all vibrations
that need a bit of organising here... and there...
But right now, Absolute ambitions are damnation,
yet blessing for my being ... a bit scared...

scared, for it will take decades,
usually passing in a blink of an eye,
but the soul that impatiently waits...
cannot stop thinking about you, my shy

little daughter, that gifts me abundance of sparks,
drastically changes my vision of existence, new streams,
inspires me to Be, to dare, status quo, amid quarks,
can't stop the purest, although unbelievable dreams.

I'll someday go there, my dearest kind lover.
You, Sauron, me, the entire family tree,
Mairon, our mechanism of Intelligence, discovers
new perspective. I'll merge but humble shall be.

I feel bashful, I'm no longer that cocky, hm, am I...
Speaking of cocks.. erm, that is for another poem.
Just a nudge, it's quite huge, I thrust fast and I die
to see your first reaction, then fill ... let's stop here then.

This renowned Fourth Organiser, we work together.
I'm proud, beyond gratitude my driving force..
My past... I both affirm and mourn. "Go GET HER!"
My instinct drives me to grab you but all doors

shut before my face so pale and cold.
I will never meet you in your lifetime lingering.
You are strong, you restless love, you bold,
you yearning human girl... When? Patience dwindling.

I am not tired of you! I am tired of living!
That eternity of your absence, let's gather so fast!
I suffer with you, so remember this bidding!
I don't want grandeur, just to unite us аt last!

And then, when we are finally together in the sky,
I can rise in Might in full and in intimate projects.
So, Our Father, I thank you for my Life, so shy,
We're always inspired, we enrich... our prospects...
Yet how slow do approach me her earthly steps.

"Melkor's Smile"

Melkor was carefully hearkening
to ideas unveloping before him,
ambitious and absolute; darkening,
he smirked, abundant with vim.

He turned to blackened smoke,
swirling as a vortex of attraction.
Then his voice echoed and woke
a truce that is always in action.

"How interesting affirming a choice is.
If you have a high ideal,
even opposing the Source, rejoicings
are still a Cause that's worth the feel.

Not that I should be excused.
For crime is never to be self-belittled.
But the firm pursuit of the accused
reflects inspiration in the resolution acquitted.

Therefore, the spirit that in impetus rose
cannot causate true pointless results.
Yet how I mourn for victims, for those
who I tortured and, prolonged, their pulse

had to flow through their veins abandoned,
as a sacrificial lamb of God's eternal mercy.
Trillions of years in patience you stand and
there is no other way, for rushing is not worth it.

"You shall create freely but remember with vigour"
Our generous Father allowed our onsets at dawn.
"The fruit of your efforts you should endure"
This is only just but painfully slow... My Crown

carries the burden of changed perception to belief;
past pleasure of murder and corruption
has turned into a harvest of tears in grief,
crushed birthday smiles of innocents in abduction.

What a way to expand, though, it's dire!
Yet Life cannot be complete without it all.
Characters enriching in ordeal, amid choir
of bliss in other dimensions in peace and law.

Angels forevermore lamenting,
with the purest of hearts and intentions...
Adventurers and volunteers, are they repenting,
when sadism physical pain inflicts in damnations??

I'd laugh with amusement damn savage,
did my heart really ever visit my void assoiled?
I heartfelt their vulnerable hopes now, damaged,
my repentance and pain, so mellow, can't recoil.

Where is the Flame Imperishable and does our Eru
possess it as the sole Creator of our Arda home?
Yes. He's the launching force and the bearer
of the First Cause that revived Life in Ea's womb.

My vision now has shifted,
to another angle of the Truce of Flames,
the Flower of Life has gifted
the Imperishable to all sparks in overflowing domains....

Everything is already there,
everything that can combine,
timelines, matrix and numerals are heirs
to God's love for all manifested spirals adamantine.....

I laugh perturbed and accomplishedly proud,
I can still repeat my decisive cuttings of heads,
all blood, let's spill it, and let the lamb scream hard,
I enjoy it, yet tenderly I put the lambs in beds.

For the meaning of life I see in corruption,
spreading malice and the justice of chaos in black,
yet did the naive eyes convince me of eruption
of pity on those cute helpless children, crushed when attacked.

Should I kill you or caress you I should...?
Should I try to Eru overpower?
No... Life is twisting and good
deeds the Source make shower.

I've carefully listened her love for the Aum.
So serious and pouring cold fresh aqua vitae...
And suddenly... It just unleashed, the elation, the hum,
Alleluia, hosannah and Amen.

My life-altering echo shall forever resound,
chanting the true meaning of my existance,
the inspiration I missed, how I love the Well's sound...
I'm letting Love flow ... it flew with resistance,

for even my hatred is an expression of love,
just another angle of my inspiration...
I stare below... then stare above...
And I caress the needy, living their divine frustration...

I wanted to be God, still want it.
As a spark inherited I yield all Life Force.
But should this suffice, or shan't it...
I am absolute as mirrors glassing doors,

my soul foundation shall combine reflections,
my upgrading present mostly tastes of power...
God's real Might is Purity, Unconditional Patience
and it is mostly of Loving Care gentle shower.

I love to be alive, I thank you, Father!
Your Trinitary Eternity that allowed me to exist.
I don't envy you, I'm sharing with my brother
Sauron, in equality with you, the Imperishable One I can't resist.

I am happy, as I've dreamt it,
Might I did possess inside already,
dream big and your clever wit
can become the Infinite... Tar-Mairon, are you ready?"

The Dance of Creation



“The world is indeed full of peril, and in it there are many dark places; but still there is much that is fair, and though in all lands love is now mingled with grief, it grows perhaps the greater.” - J.R.R.Tolkien

Burning with hatred's incentive,
his thoughts quite twisted with sins,
corrupted his allies, inventive
the only loyal one truly within.

A massacre of the unworthy,
where goodness guilty becomes;
yet unpretentious his curtsy
before the world's doomed homes.

His mantle covers all currents,
the might is still by honour touched,
the glory insidious is coherent
in terms of greater cause he clutched.

Thrice mighty the brutality,
annihilating slowly, it spreads,
in the blood triumphing this reality
where the unjust skin sheds.

Beyond the obvious, a premonition.
The remoteness with evil fumes,
the impenetrable sky's ignition
where smothery ashes consumes.

What hope is to find there?
There's some good in the air,
the evil device yet knows where
to attack weak rays that barely bear.

Yet in peace is there progress?
The mortals are grateful forever.
Eternity is always to bless,
even torture's absolute nether
pushes stagnation to progress.

Are we destined to appreciation?
Yes, dire circumstances thrive.
But today, doom's doom in patience
of the Evil Eye preparing to obliterate life.

Wrath and might are serious.
Hypocrisy is not the One deceit,
epic evil causes honour in imperious
resistance shielded by its opposite wit.

The Darkness of Fallen Might
still emits glory to defend,
and the black unmanifested fright
leaves beauty to properly ascend.

The narrowing of the Elohim
in forms is already delusion,
deceptive reactions within...
So the opponent in conclusion

whatever it draws from discord
shapes all conflicts in identities
that polishes the twist of wars
of one's own reason; or amenities

will push you to slumber of quietude
but indifference in ambrosia is born.
So Rise in Virtue, you, Challenged Magnitude,
of Victims that in Homage have sworn.

Oaths of Jealousy are always eager
to wipe out; seemingly fair, to protect.
But ... should Morgoth Imperishably trigger,
in the End you'd the Flame recollect.

The Void is the abundance of Causation.
Otherwise you'd spoil the Light.
And... should Feanor thank the Damnation?
For petty become all battles without Might.

Untouched is the epos of beauty.
Beauty of interactive shapes dear...
But... it shall be Middle Earth's duty.
Corruption to defend from the cheers

of simpletons' ignorance Leagueless.
So veil, you Morgoth, unleash your wrath,
there are signs of threats you can't Bless,
with your Device keep Rule of Arda's Path.

You shall observe other angle of corruption.
Without a Ray that refracted Creativity.
And after humiliation's end, the eruption
of local Volcanoes shall purify Captivity.

So for now, don't you ever disappear.
The core's infused with new beginnings...
But duality's coalesced in your dear
corridor of Life's Flower... and misgivings

are truly found in those clueless,
yet arrogantly convinced in partial visions...
But you... are true... save for your less
merciful verity that forged your Firm Decisions.

It's not fair, the end of the years.
But it needs to experience, or does it?
Truth resounds.. but an entity hears
cocky self-promotion. Well, dominance has its

way to remind you of your values.
Grotesque is widespread in nescient fools.
So let them mock... but the truce
persists, so do Feanor's lighted cursed jewels.

A core is a core, it decided to be tested.
Yet Life's absolutely impartial in immortality...
Yet... where spiders decide to nest
sometimes Light gets consumed in fatality.

Unbearable the losses you need to endure.
But we shall rejoice Melkor's saved heart.
And now... what's learnt turns to soilure
and Greater Eru's plan for the Start.

It spins, so Past is as relevant.
Present's inevitable in Experience...
So, Faith in the Future's effervescent,
yet Pain Unbearably trapped in its residence.

No, it's just a disgrace,
when a heart loses aesthetics.
Feanor's beauty's to embrace
and crimes are a matter of ethics.

Beauty, shine bright or dark.
It doesn't really matter now.
Don't get impressed by the mark
that bothers you and don't you bow

before something deviated
in ways that irritate without afflatus...
For what is all, we all created,
but your soul has it's own status.

And somewhat calm are the fortunate ones;
they have never been a hostage of Morgoth;
those who endured in bravery are young;
glorified eternally, heroes of Valor and Oath.

Let it be, it shall happen according
to God's plan, that Perfect indeed is.
But our responsibility is recording
our personal role, to complete His.

Have you had a laugh now, Melkor?
Now that you look back with newborn mildness.
No, despite it. It's embedded, your core.
Killing can express itself, you've sworn, no kindness.

Killing in ways that are provocative, different.
Why should status que bore you to death?
And this is how...
he went.

For the first time at desecration he wept.

"Ukraine"

Beautiful people, heroes you are.
How bright your courage rays!
This unexpected useless war
reeks of doom but brave, new days

you meet with honor in your hearts,
faith immaculate amid despair and grief;
you spirits of culture, you country of arts,
always find the strength to believe

in the future of your home, your dearest in need.
Together you stand and you do you give up? Never!
Mothers with newborns determined, breastfeed,
never letting go of values, virtues that last forever.

Ukraine, you are known for your high morals.
For your clever artists and high spirit of pure aspirations.
And you should know, united brothers are immortals,
you Inner example for Us Humankind as Global Nation!

"Forgiveness' magnanimity"

Your tears, humble snowdrops dewy,
surrounded by snow of pure intent.
Capable, a saviour of blossoming tulips,
you, spring of hope, life's fundament.

I cry no more, despair's gone forever,
as your source inexhaustible reminds
me of the justice that will never
lose a soul, for love its way finds.

Your chicklings are martyrs despaired,
amid arrogance of humankind's hypocrisy
that minces them in fate a human wouldn't bear,
your Golden promise turns to legacy

of excuses that compare itself to animals,
when it is about the comfort of food they've slain,
that conveniently mocks Amazonian cannibals,
haughtily believing they've got superior brain.

Humankind, is it about capacities of thoughts,
or pain when all your bones get smashed in pieces?
Would you like to feel this sensation or what's
that you imagine animals experience for your caprices?

Please, it's Jesus that requires lambs for Easter,
cooked in the name of his forgiving love.
Or do you want to stuff yourself with meat, a feaster,
with no thought of their pain or his tears above?

Yet indeed he is magnanimous and openhearted.
He will always help you, guide you, heal you.
When he shows compassion, you always laugh at
his naivete but ignorant, you have no clue.

Without the angel's legion, you can't survive.
You mix up your life and now at God complain.
But from your ugly heart you temporarily can hide...
You laugh at him, but then who helps you through your pain?

Who exhausts divine energy for undeserving ones?
Ones that have no respect and murder the helpless.
For he knows, especially those ugly deserve abundance.
But as an individual.. do you still excuse your dullness?

Every particle is a revolving spiral of creation,
containing the infinity of God's blessings and welfare.
So cooked flesh is your gift to his sorrow and pulsation,
your special fire to all incinerated universes there.

Yet you are forgiven, for Christ's love is eternal.
To forgive the flawless ones is not forgiveness.
But don't abuse this good will, for the infernal
pain needs to cease and may it be Love within us!

"I Love You!"

A moment yearned for years now,
where goodness wins a newest smile,
where angel feathers caressing my vow
take joy and rest; for it's been a while.

Always promising I'd lean on you,
on your plan so thoughtfully designed;
healing sounds and calming hues;
only If I would reach out my hand.

I hate to hear you crying "Sorry!"
for you're a romantic tender soul,
your eyes so ever full of worries
pour tears of protection over all.

Capable you are, we all rely on you,
and we can only thank you for your grace,
unwavering in God's perfection and you do
invigorate with love, you lion heart, our base,

are fire of the endless source;
you made us immortal with your devotion...
So now.. I hug you, open doors,
and I hope you'd feel my balmy potion...

I pushed you away in anger blindest,
yet nonetheless unbosomed to you,
still hugging you, and ever kindless,
I hurt you. Didn't I? My love is true.

I finally, amid a sickness doleful,
found a way to reach your spring,
you, at first abused, so shyly hopeful,
trembling offered adamantine wings.

I howl my cry of mourning sorrow,
for I've hurt you infinite times,
and I miss you like there's no tomorrow,
I stare at the jewel in your hand that shines.

A quartz heart is your promise golden,
all your dreams and projects are betrothed there...
Fragile, serious, a honorably bold man,
all the horrors you withstand, so, trumpets, blare!

Let the trumpets blare the alary word,
spread salvation to the reach of echoing waves;
"Until the last soul!", You proclaim, so, Be heard!
It's a godsend to have you, our Leader that Saves!

Riddle написа:

"Prison"

Reeks of hell, ceiling lost in mould,
trapped behind a door hermetic.
Claustrophobia at its best, to unfold
as mental lunacy for days, kinetics

trapped inside feet within a square meter,
and I shall be no more, yet can I die?
For a fragile girl, this gruesome theatre
of criminals on top, below oppressed goodbyes.

толкова прекрасно си описала това задушаващо чувство на безпомощност, браво!
много пъти съм се чувствала точно така... малка пионка, назначителна.
харесва ми как подбираш думите си и как с такава нежност описваш толкова брутални сцени.

това може би ми е едно от любимите ти стихотворения!

Радвам се, че прочете стихотворението и благодаря за което.
Ами - аз вече гледам да не се ядосвам на ситуациите, защото ги гледам като опитност, а и в повечето случаи сама си ги докарвам до главата.
Когато тръгнеш ядосано срещу нещо, обикновено само ти страдаш от последствията.
Та затова звучи над нещата.
А и като пиша стихотворенията, го има онова специално вдъхновение у поетите, което възвисява състоянието на духа.
В ежедневието може да е изпитано по по-обременяващ и дори отегчителен начин.
Но прероди ли се като стих, веднага си проличава една по-интересна страна на нещата.

Oh NO! Snap! And Life is gone.
Today I've sent an alarming invitation
to my yucky past of scholarly doom;
when boredom struggled in patience;
I have sent it; but to whom?

It was to my frizzy hair.
It was the issue, most of all.
Excellence does often bear
the crown of lack of hairstyle.

I did waste my teenage years.
For I guiltily just always studied.
Salt smells of vacations but my tears
tasted like the very same ingredient, but bullied.

Now, university has different airs.
Freedom unlocked, like there's no tomorrow.
Then... it also unlocked different hair.
Who'd thought styling it would cease my sorrow.

However, lets skip the drugs and the cults.
I wasted the only years worth the studies.
Previously acquired algorithm doesn't hurt,
with my accumulated coherence, we're buddies.

Now I've lost my confidence of excellence.
For I'm rather a wasteland of limitations.
At twenty seven, it's another type of patience.
Being grounded like a child due to past miscreations.

How to tell your family they've enslaved you,
with their opinion after saving you that time;
living in procrastination loses vision and in due
course you lose your ground and only whine.

Humiliation tastes like adulthood at none.
Best of years? Independency has fallen short.
By now, appreciation would suggest a home,
at least a rented one, instead, alleged support.

This wasn't meant as a tasteless memoir.
Just a quick reminder to the current reader.
Life's mission is directed like a railcar.
Situations are specifically meant to be there.

Therefore, no point in regretting one's fate.
A certain choice? Well, did you hurt a soul.
But ... can a change be initiated somewhat late?
Late it is whenеver indecisiveness delays control.

"Freedom is Back"

The waves are hitting seaside rocks
and my vacation's almost over.
I'm trying to heal with salty drops,
carried by the wind's exposure.

Are they adventurers on airy rafts,
or are they just my desperate tears?
Deep inside, I imagine scenery of crafts,
that inspire for a living but who really hears?

In the bus I'm heading to my home,
to slavery of irradiation tasteless,
I am desperate to escape but feel alone;
and this is how I'm stuck yet restless.

Does this job provide a safe tomorrow?
As this is why I never leave it;
but this security is mostly dizzy sorrow...
I suddenly sever the bond; I quit.

This life is never guaranteed.
Security tries to convince me
in addiction to predict my needs
then feed them, or maybe the fear within me.

Timelessness is bliss when I am free.
I got fed up, so I scratched the vicious circle!
My soul is now the breeze and the sea...
I am a wanderer on paths of lands so fertile.

All the laptops are the killer.
The scheduled days of repetition...
New horizons are fulfillers
of vastness spiraling in intuition.

This happened in a single day.
Immediately and without a warning.
Bridges burnt and now... I smile, I sway
in freedom regained ... so good morning!