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A Tint Of White In The Dark [an Anthology Of Happy And Sad Short Stories] / Trapped (an Anthology Series) / My Anthology (2) (3) (4)
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Anthology Of An Old Poet by Nobody: 8:00pm On Jun 17, 2015 |
THE METAPHYSICS OF IMAGINATIONS. I’ve seen the magic hand that makes the sun rise Touched the mystery that ignites the roar within each wave at sea And I have pierced through the glassy glare of the concave eye And saw the gritty poetry of perseverance As I took a peek through the corridors of paradise I have found my country – In the mind of my own making – To challenge providence, Give me a new parable to tempt the hand of fate; And the metaphysics of imagination, to help me redefine And reconcile the enigma of my benediction as a writer, My destiny, a magical storyteller Debt is not of money alone but of the psyche and the soul For I have paid mine to the omen In the human abyss of fear and I can glean with a smile All that is human, all too human; Where litigation presides over the conversations of friends, Now foes; brothers and sisters, God and country- I am free from the pre-emptive metaphors Of a society where avarice is applauded And the miracle of life becomes dispensable In moments of tears and treason of the soul – My new parable is too precious to share them with the world. Because the universe is watching through the eyes of my foes Every moment of our failings are noted in heaven Appealing tones to pray for each other Before the coming of cyclones, the hurricane, the flood Before the lava of memory explodes like a volcano Upon the brow of history Every Tsunami is a metaphysical shift in the life Of this unsuspecting earth – Pray that yours is not tragic But a symphony of the muses of heaven If your flaws are not visible Do not point your doubtful eyes at others In the brief baptism of life, but wear your smile like a blessing Sharing the sympathies of the misbegotten Our own dance in the lime light of fortune, Is only sanctioned by the whim of the gods The paradox of success awaits us and no star is out of place In the sphere of the worlds autobiography What is visible can be invisible in a blink To make a traitor’s smirk a blessing in disguise So I challenge myself to stand up again From the fall of my stars altering the universe If life is a stage, I shall revel in this moment of silence, An intermission of sorts; Waiting for my second act, to celebrate My final scene of life, flying across the sky In the solitude of my dreaming. RHAPSODY IN EXILE You smile like a spring flower When you need to show me your second self You can be ugly when the dark hour Of debt and frustration overwhelms the poetry of your dreams. So I leave and thrive on the memory of knowing That you cared It is only when I am away that we both Shower each other with invisible petals Mesmerized by moments of bliss As I walk the streets of Newark, A city frozen in a time warp of blackness I realize how to live in Exile Like the memory of me in my own dreams. There are no eulogies to the past But imaginary secrets we invent To create meaning on the morning of rain There are therefore green days, dry days Dirty days and days that don’t dry The rain pours on the neon green, deep green Dark green, khaki green and forest green landscape. I am in the green city of the garden state… Dreaming of ironies that make sense to only the initiated. I am in the dirty city, deciphering omens Expecting miracles, contemplating magic Dispossessing myself of the past… The hour of reconciliation comes Shedding ourselves of visible and tangible assets We are now free at last, to smile, in the face of heaven. |
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"He Is Not The One For You" By Bethel Brill (flash Fiction) / Great God! / Episode 5: Behind Shades
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