Very incisive discussion of human political,cultural,spiritual those of u who have doubts about traditional religious approaches, this is an interesting,well researched must read..I enjoyed reading and learning from it..

Kone, Krusos, Kronos

 Ezekiel's Vision

And from its midst was the likeness of four living beings,

And this is their appearance; they had the likeness of a man.

And [each] one had four faces, and [each] one had four wings.

And their legs were straight legs, and the soles of their feet were

like a round foot, and they sparkled like the color of burnished copper.

And human hands were beneath their wings on their four sides,

And their faces and their wings were [the same] to all four of them.

Their wings joined one to the other; they did not turn when they

Walked; each one would go toward the direction of his face.

And the likeness of their faces was the face of a man,

And the face of a lion was on their right, to the four of them,

And the face of an ox to their left, to the four…

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Mother Nature

securedownloadSo softly in my lonely path she follows,

a silent, feathered shadow.

and flies so far above me

her eyes i cannot see.

her wings, they trace the morning sky,

then gently they erase it.

she crawls so far beneath me,

a green and growing seed.

And as she scrambles from the earth,

I pluck her purple flower-

I smell her brilliant colors

and taste her perfumed scent,

and i wander lost yet  peaceful

 in her sunlit bower.

I pick her sweet and ripened fruit,

her juices dripping down,

and laugh amongst her sharpest stars,

and whispered evening showers.

in dreams she brings me gospel hymns-

a choir to my bleeding sorrows.

and its to only me she sings.

yet only me who fears tomorrow.

I plant my soul beside her,

My roots they grasp in deep descent-

in darkness i will wrap myself around her,

and in that sacred moment

this empty life that i once knew

will reach its final, aching end.


Whispers and Screams

thSing to me in peaceful whispers

Never raging screams,

for one’s an angry nightmare,

the other, moonlit dream.

One a peacock’s feather

that softly strokes your face.

the other a hard and bloodied fist

you run in terror to escape.

The fist demands attention,

the feather, it implies

and asks you to embrace its pleasures-

kisses you at night.

The fist shouts aimless angry threats

of loss and pain and war,

then kills your weak and broken soul

with vague and empty lies. 

but the fist can hold the feather tender

when the time is right.