Presenting to you, the few solitary souls of the Media Room, a first outcast for a poem of sorts, my first one even:
This is the story of the fall, not past, but yet to come.
Come gather around me all! What I will tell is for some
pure fiction, I think they call it, but listen, and tell me after,
if this story of the small, rings true perhaps. Please, I hear your laughter,
please, SILENCE as I speak, these words, and you will be prepared,
for what has not yet unfolded, but will come to be, just as I have feared.
Four adjacent Horses standing at the Core
waiting for the Corpses, always wanting More.
Two old, ancient Forces struggle with the Door
to One of the innocent Races, which holds the ancient Lore.
Ignorant of the situation, the people got confused
and so countless iterations, of the ages then ensued
A deviant is all it takes to in eternal Repetition
of significant mistakes, to never reach completion
by hiding allies everywhere, the light was overlooked
Harming them by frightening, the dark them overtook.
Then came the time for choosing sides, That day the planet shook
Some of them left the nest took their hides, and for adventures in space they looked.
Left alone on earth the rest went inside, and found the long lost book
Out in space our little astronauts, partook in a techno-symbiosis.
Morphogenetic fields were trancended, which induced a minor crisis
as state vectors were collapsed. Novel in the universe, devices
merged with flesh - their minds were altered, the great experiment had faltered.
Back on the homeworld of the little folk, separation was in decline
on the verge of something immensely and utterly unsane
individuals began to merge and thus, their nature became divine.
mind and body began to converge, they trancended space and time.
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Eternally boggled, flummoxed, bewildered and surprised.
theophagy.org
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Wow Man! Shades of Rudyard Kipling! Eh! What? That was too fuckin cool!.
Mj
Heres one I wrote years ago whilst I indulged in some Morrocan hash and then rewrote another stanza whilst on acid to interpret the first stanza.
"The Bath Which Feeds,
Upon Then Bleeds,
The Blood That Bled,
As She Rested,
Her head, and
Bled upon the Bed,
Til She was Dead."
So two years later on a dose of acid, I translated the first stanza into the next one. In other words I figuered out what the first stanza meant.
"Oh Mighty Bed,
Where I Got Head,
The Night I Ravished,
her Maiden Head.
In Scalett Tissues of
Crimson and Red,
The Blood Ran Red,
From the Blood,
That She Bled."
Mjshroomer
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Rudyard Kipling is world famous. Why Haven't yuou heard of him.
he is the author of numerous poems including Gunga Din and Mandalay. He is also the author of the Jungle Book, Rikii Tikki Tavi (a story of a mongoose and a cobra), and other stories aboutt growing up in India in the late 1800s.
Remember Baloo and Ka.
mj
He also wrote Kim, a movie with Errol Flynn and later remade with Peter O Toole.
Anyway, have a shroomy day,
MJ
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beautifull poem man, good rythem, not much of a poet myself but love hearing it.
oh and mjshroomer hilarious, and disturbing, good job.
-------------------- Excess
The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom.
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