PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

a clearer astrolabe

because

what if this

deadening

of winter

dawn or early

morn

is but

soft gold

later on?

it might

send shivers

down your

finger tips

and

extremeties

like the

preachy

aura

of a Dr. David Jeremiah,

or the exacting

lens of Dr. Gene Kim,

yet he's just

giving explanations

intertextually,

in our multiculturalism

(perhaps

that's part

of dispensationalism)

but...

nevertheless,

still

illuminating

the historical

aspects of

the half-human,

half-nephilim—

Of Morning Sunshine & Serein

Hey!

In Cebuano, it might be

Huy.

In Tagalog, it sounds

awful (Hoy).

But these semantic

gaps are overgrown

in my forestry—

It sees not the forest

neither the trees

in dendrology

My bad.

But there is beauty

in philocaly,

like how we

might think of a

wilsom, in wealds

—Whose got that

power, to see

through? (He or she

has that / he or she wields—

that—

like a stray light.)

light's shadow

experiencing

His magical realism,

when disparate

things turn out

converging

in your own little

metacosm,

is it this

particular color

that it has

given off

while aging?

because Jesus

was born..in

what is now

modernly called

palestine

yet He must

be a disruptor

for His handlers

just because

He comes

from a different

order

how lovely is a burning tree

how lovely is a burning tree

like the thoughts reminisced

at any particular time

burning from

within like a dwindling

candle

as gothic as the metal

gates..perhaps

sculpted statues

or plastered

yet unnamed

architectural members

i am not just a fantasy

memorialized

perhaps, New Jerusalem

is really just a protestant's

promise

(i like studying designs

and that's how

Emily Dickinson define

a particular cornice)

swords cannot be all

about Japanese kekkai

or the scenester living

a dream within a dream

in his or her subculture

humans do experience

epiphanies like

disciples that were

misrecalled in our

postmodern world

dustsceawung is something

to think about

when considering

that elan vital versus

Actus Purus

so come along;

travel with me in the

byways of timespace

while all our menacing

deeds we can still erase

unlike Hannah's deesis

similar to Sarai's deesis

and John's ilmestys

the rocks shall speak

in Luke

so, why can't we reread

the ultimate scrapbook

Misanthropic Cadavers

Yes, they cut you open

that's how it

should feel when

eccedentesiasts

are liking flowers

but Ansel Adams

have a way of

viewing the gradation

of colorless subjects

Thy kingdom is not

from here,

until the baptised

took over

explaining away for

thee the stars

signs like I've never

heard before

just because

they are microcosmic

and macrocosmic

cosmotellurian timespace

I wish we are

not at all that soulless

and the forgiven

thuggish folks who

are actually moralless

werifesteria

it is chilly out there

now that october

is finally here

my clothes have

changed because

summer days

left swiftly

granted how

things can change us

drastically and subtly

but no one

seems to bother

to reflect about

the morrow

the time is now

the time is right

like papered over sorrow

of being alone

in this oleilu,

and i thought

life is better with

sei jaku

fruits and the leaves

no one yet bears the

fruits of their own labor

when finding out

about life

shall I compare that to missing pieces

of a puzzle?

we managed not

emerge from the ashes

of this wartime strife

can i, myself, identify them

to stop the crying wolves

with but a muzzle?

we're probably long dead

and gone like the ashen

color of concrete

yet noticing not how our

false gods assuaged

our hellish main street

collectively, we surpass it

misery loves company

or do we dare escape it -

in our weary ways, venturing out looking at

vultures in the nightsky

from dawn—til advesperascit

this empty spirit

this empty spirit

clings to life

like dreamcore

& haunted castles

pain and aversion,

the very things

that give it definition

so afraid to

lie awake

in this morning grave

only to see

people living life

like they supposed to

in their perfunctory existence

free verses for youngsters underneath a pale red moonlight

well,

my dear beloved

maiden,

ms. forgotten,

this is

for youngsters

just when it hit

me, in these end-times timespace,

you sung once again

like a gothic playlist

for gangsters