It eludes me—this fiery moment of intrigue in which the words flow ceaselessly as a river creating an aura of the inner mystique that lies underneath it all.  But these words we can not speak are hallowed in their absence; stripped of necessity and left bare in the wilderness.  It is not so funny yet we howl with laughter.  It’s the laugh of the townsfolk mocking the accursed and the innocent lepers.  Though joy is our only goal we are downtrodden by the forces of the world that have betrayed basic good.  Hence it is in these manifestations the poets attempt to reclaim the heavens and throw open forcibly the Pearly Gates.  We wish to allow the diseased to drink from the River Styx.  We eliminate exclusion and make Nirvana a truly all inclusive resort.  But the promise is distant; so far away and in the twisting fates of the planets; we seek a new path.  In these hollow words, I do provoke a séance of the soul to bring back the dead poetry and dreams.  We wish to hear the spirits tell us the errors of our ways.  It’s all so far away but the visionaries keep an outward eye glanced for the coming moment of truth.



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200 Years From Now

The gates to Nirvana will be allowed to be seen . . . From a distance. Built by the people but not for the people. Writers should read the Constitution now that they know how. ~S~ 



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do they know how?

do they know how?