vagabond poetry
ILLUSION of the time passing by
a new conception of reality
as an infinite river
that eternally flows forth
from the heart of creation
a cosmic celebration
with reverence to the medium
we, as human beings, use to communicate
of course, I refer to words
and the soft sincere structure of sound
TAP INTO THE VEIN OF SECRET CREATION
Uncover the forgotten stream ANCIENT ECHO
that gives birth to this particular form of thought
FROM THE WOMB OF EARTH
LIFE SENTIENT CONFUSION
Comes the revelation muse seeker’s
Magick flow etched in ink
To be forever catalogued in the halls of history
And the TOWERS OF TIME
Branded forever in a greater reality
That we, as organic compound complicated
Irrational emotional entities
Must accept and struggle to maintain
While we can only attempt to
Change this wonderous world
With inspiring notions
Far more brave and beautiful
SERENE and CELESTIAL
Than puzzling plans ever conceived by the likes of man…
So this soul searcher succumbs to
GENESIS WITHIN THE JAZZ
SUN RA steers satori’s student clear
Of all absurdity and disillusion
All that remains is the moment THE NOW
The solution to how another breath is captured
Another minute granted
A gracious gift for an insane unholy homosapien
Intent on salvation AMIDST THE DAMNATION
No explanation for our soft breathing skin
Flesh composed with billion year old
Molecular star dust structure
No confirmation of a sacred voice
Motivating from deep within
Only the free form floating focalized philosophy of yours truly
Attempting to bury the psychic paranoia
ALLEVIATING ALL ENDLESS DOUBTS
Perhaps putting your worried mind at ease for a while…
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They called us the kids because we refused to grow up,
They called us the slackers because we never showed up,
They called us the drifters as I flow into you,
They called us the dreamers- she remembered them too,
They called us the crazies since we never settled down,
They called us the swingers since we got around town,
They called us the knappies for we never combed our hair,
They called us the weirdoes and took the time to stare,
They called us the movers cause nothing was too far,
They called us the rainbow cause that’s what we are,
They called us the lovers since we fucked with every chance,
They called us the shakers and best believe, we could dance,
They called us the druggies- we were always so high,
They called us the star children- obsessed with the sky,
They called us the alkies when our puke was blood red,
They called us survivors or else we’d be dead
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- A MAYAN AWAKENING – a Mexican adventure by James Barnums
- The Luxury Of Privacy