Poem.... a contemplation on Creation...

Breathing is a chore 

in, out, in, out.

Man made to breathe the holy work 

dependent on creation.

A man bred to rely on Science 

Bible, made of steel, them sining shadows 

bearing the words of life 

breathing out from the mouth of God.

If I stopped breathing, rely on the Our Father 

Faith they call it 

Shining lights at the end, with the clouds everlasting 

Foolish stupid dreams.

Eternity, a promise

A promised torture, to live in 

such an insane happiness

No God please please don't take me.

Take the others Earth is my home 

Leave me in my coffin, do not remove my body 

but if you do, take me feet first 

it is wrong.

I am still breathing 

marking my body with the markers, drawn on by men 

the tattooed body of mine 

their breath, made evident.

Man creation of God, or God himself

we are 

CREATOR! we breathe as Gods 

man in the image of god 

A potrait of God 

your breath creating me 

creating you, to be light 

Let there be Light !

And there was...  

There is a need for evac !

So i am Wilfred Owen hiding in the trenches of WW1... having trench foot and standing there endlessly staring across No Mans Land to the side of the Germans... waiting waiting for gas bombs to drop... and here comes one...HEAD... FOR THE SHELTERS !!!!!!! GAS MASKS !!! and there he is a man floundering in fire or lime. Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori. 

I have been found out. and i know who you are ... people looking at this blog. This artifice of myself. Thank you and i applaud the phenomenal achievement of finding me out. I give you a standing ovation!!! (clap clap). I pray you well... 

Thank you my dears for spreading my news... and it is with great joy that i thank you... 

There are reasons why i would rather my blog not be made private and it is with that grave assumption that no one would tread on my ground. However it is with that grave assumption that i have sealed my fate, nailed the final nail into the coffin. 

LOLITA IS MY WORD...MY WORD !!!! oh and my dear lit teacher i know that you know .... so erm SURPRISE !!!! 

so just to entertain my crowd... here is a poem. since i have not written in a long time bout my lolita ... i guess now that the word is out. I should be allowed the freedom to write about her as i please using as much imagery and connotations as i want to. It is just for my own amusement. so i THANK YOU !!! my dears all of you for letting this out .... (bows and spits at the floor) 

(picks up his coffee and drinks it down) 

I have walked down this aisle before 

this darkened corridor, 

the lights flicker and candles burned out 

down the alley of mont marte 

my heart is a city, of desire, the district lit up by the red 

weakened, and pale in the desolate mess. The drug i eat 

of desire only tears me 

bit by bit, into confetti. 

And there she is, the lady, the gypsy 

la bohemienne. Lolita 

asleep or awake? 

my heart is dead to her, there is no more. 

this be my final word, 

candles are brought before her, a goddess a nymph 

i confess. 

My love for her is dead, and though she be my lolita 

no more, only dead and eaten passion, melted away by the rust of time.