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Bartek: the city block, riddled with concrete and mechanical trees, women and men with no place to go fill the side streets and contemplate hope, salvation heated in spoons hands out eviction notices where purity once lived, glass tubes, clean like washed windows reflect images of burnin traditions, salvation is not without rituals, what is salvation? a new born babe openin her eyes to the world escapin her cacophony of tissue, a dying man countin every beat his heart is etching into his chest cage, holdin his walking stick in amazement thankful for these last days in the park, observin young families pushin strollers, a new generation of philosophers discussin such concepts as to send this old man to his death bed,
where does salvation begin? on the surface of our skin where mosquito's drink? or the sky, touched by the breeze flowin in smoke like patterns as mother earth prepares for her bath, rivatlizing her children with showers, buddin flowers turning their shy faces to be kissed by the sunlight, opening their arms welcoming the dialest spoken by singing birds and rustling leaves, perhaps salvation lurks in natural places, like this.
journeying my cerebral path eating from the vines of positivity and love, perhaps salvation here, is no more, perhaps it just becomes life, i cannot be sure for i have not stayed this road long enough to truly understand, or maybe salvation is just tryin my best, hmmmm, i am thinking... creating rivers and beautiful sands muddying my perception with rising hands, swaying to the rythm of beat rumbling in the stomach of storm clouds marchin across the sky transporting life in their arms, i, under the watchful eye of the moon find salvation in my burnin beedie playing with smoke patterns and stars, picking the sky apart, creating geometrical shapes in awe of the precise placement, i aspire to be an architect, i dream of buildin temples in the sky connectin life from one seed to the next, here is where i shall store my salvation, away from the reach of unworthy hands, away from. bloodbaths. lust. sigh. i dare dream this dream tonight, and someday when i have left my breath behind in my final exhale, i shall release my soul in this gasp, embracin the likness of a storm cloud, i shall send wet kisses to mother earth's flower bed where my body rests, yes, this shall be my salvation.
DanjaRuss: In the lane well trodden by memories’ feet I stand beside my failed potential, staring at The mirror image of the man I claimed to be.. For Destiny’s broken promises was never pain to me , Too cold to appreciate the warmth of the ‘morrow’s sun My salvation swiftly ended the second it had begun
And where does salvation end? At the tip of the last whisper of a dying promise? In a world where holy wars pay homage to ungodly losses? Or at the core of an Axis of Evil that an unsteady globe revolves on? It’s winter..and I’ve got my gloves on, Screaming “Fuck the World!”..before second thoughts could fornicate with nostalgic pussies giving birth to past sins..
Can a lost soul be saved before it is found? Submerged in the lord’s baptism at the spot where faith drowned…I saw salvation in the eyes of my yet to be born son.. even with mistakes clinging to his toddler curious grasp, my future laying within the lanes crisscrossed along his palms.. where memories slowly crawled.. chasing salvation
let's play ping pong ■
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