Rants. raves and ramblings from celestial circles . . .

Posts tagged ‘greed’

ROAMING RUINS

colliseum2017rome47

‘on the streets of Rome the roads are paved with desire’

 

In a small cafe in Rome

sit I in my latte espresso,

bonjourno.

The streets are hills

where all roads lead.

A gas pump

 

pumps the smell of petrol

 

young girls in their skin tights

old men dream, cry

reshape a future

no longer theirs.

In business they give nothing away

the begging is stealing

and the prize vanishes

once your hungry fingers

touch

a sparkling light invisible.

 

Where do the signals

of the hustling bustling strada

direct the lost and wandering

without direction?

Without stars or visions

or love

or money?

Without the future of an anchored past?

Without a cigarette to hold

between two fingers.

Without smoke to hide

heated passions

never found.

 

Buzzing boys on scooters

and girls on motorcycles

swarming worker bees

pace the afternoon air

directing the incessant

active backdrop stage of noise

for ice cream eating aging beauties

tongue licking spinning ice cream cones

spinning vanilla upper lip memories

of once best nights satisfied

yet even now

never happy.

 

Where did your gas pump stop spinning?

When did it stop pumping

fairy tale novels romance?

Holy sister keeps the steeple bells ringing

where all else pulses silent

hushed by the smiles of bright blue skies

turned dark and cloudy black.

 

Where did your pump stop pumping?

When did your wars become death star battles?

Why has the diamond sky never lit your way?

The graffiti walls do not conceal any answers.

The petrol smell pump

keeps every designer baby carriage rolling.

The pulsating sirens gift only more questions.

 

What does the business meeting want?

Love.

What does the endless night desire?

Love.

What does the greed of possession refuse to give?

Love.

Where do you buy your next human touch?

 

From pigeons lonely for the next crumb.

 


 

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f. j. llorente

Rome, Italy

April 7, 2017

THE DESTROYERS OF THE DAWN

DCIM100GOPRO

 

 

I’ve experienced the operatives of deceit throughout my life in many different forms and in many different media. I was destined from birth to seek and share, Truth and enlightenment, wherever and whenever. So it continues to be a constant struggle. A consistent challenge where they suppress all forms of achievement and advancement in any way they can.

I can not stress enough how ingrained and integrated they are in every aspect of our lives. They are especially most dangerous to those that attempt to reveal them and expose them to others. They are masters of disinformation. They use politics, religion or any personal topic they can to fulfill their deviant agenda. Or worse.

Be aware. Call them out whenever possible. Don’t let them divert your focus from the sharing and spread of knowledge and enlightenment. They are powerful and very wealthy. They are the concealers of artifacts and learning from the past. They are in hiding in lands and countries throughout the world. Their modus operandi is to use conflict and violence to control and confiscate the world treasures they haven’t already confiscated and concealed for themselves.

Be aware!

And in secret warehouses, underground caves, bunkers, castles and mansions . . . millions of artifacts dwell in darkness, few in the limelight. Many in crates and boxes, compartmentalized. Few records of their existence and fewer still, those authorized to open them to verify if their recorded contents actually still exist.

Snake Oil Cures for Little Men with Smaller Dreams

I heard your poem on the radio today.
Little children were crying and bleeding
bowing to your mighty power.
I pulled my glass eye out
and rolled it down a bubble-gum sidewalk.
Three flies were mystically immersed in conversation.
They were talking about you, of course.
How you fought off all the angry slaves
so we could all drink milk and hug when
the cheerios were no longer crunchy.

I stepped on a pile of you today.
But my new no-stick nuclear shoes
kept me balanced and poised
for your next question.
I had to answer honestly
as all the satellites were
joyously listening
and the quiet drone
of your newly found synthetic existence
filtered the last ounce of sincerity
in the world.

Now everything is happy blue
and darkness hides inside a solar flare.
My chain keeps rattling loudly
inside this cold locked chamber.
And all of our hammers and shovels
were worn down to splintered oak.
But I forgot what trees looked like.
And when I pulled your plastic vagina
from underneath the dusty glass dome
it wouldn’t talk to me anymore.
It dried out and shriveled away.
Now all I have left is a rusty nail
and two holes in my blood soaked hands.

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