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Expired (early horus8 before the change) (Free verse) by Jeremi B. Handrinos
Take a volume off the shelf. Run your hand across its cover. Make away with the dust. Stacked awkwardly in every corner. Each of us has been a donor. Please, feel no shame. You're not a loner. When my path did veer towards violence. I found in them a kind of balance. Chapping all of my full lips. My fingers marked their tender hips. Telling tales in tiny lies, and taking sections out of pies. My loyal companions, though thick and thin. When they speak you need not ears. To hear the wisdom of all the years; That we did pass them back and forth. Words for word with no remorse. All of our opinions, so finely scribed. Symbols upon the cavern's wall. Paintings align the mansion's hall. A corridor, so vast, and still. The walk is far and all up hill. Then when you reach what you think is the end. In disbelief, you will find that it bends. Accordingly into exactly who you are. Exploring your nears, to put off the fars. I pity those with lazy minds. They can only wait for change. Not knowing how to make it be. These dreams they've kept so secretly. Maybe it's just too complex. I know, blame it on the sex. Set aside some time to read. In doing this, your mind you'll feed. I've met some that've read their 'one'. To then not remembered when it was done. The basics, setting, plot, and theme. These are people that cannot dream. Just ask any one of them over lunch, and that is surely what they'll say. Then when the bill gets placed face down. You'll be the one that pays. Look at me, how nieve. Even with this library up my sleeve. It truly must not be their fault? Confining imagination, building a vault. Curse that box, and all that it says. Draining us of our energy. While you were thumbing your pez. I am not gloating for your needs. My message was just simply read. Not just the signs that you see in travel. Or the paper, when you unravel. In the morning while you egg beat. With fluffy pink pig slippers on your feet. The front page will make you smile. Sadly, ten more murder trials. In every state, and every city. We tend to hate one another first. Only, to later, over psycho-analyze. All of our guess who's, their don'ts, and but why's. We personally invented all of our fears. In the boredom of younger years. I am now learning twenty-two. This is the year I'll sink my screw. Deep and tight, it will hold. Because my memories get retold. My thoughts have turned theory. From consuming god's rye mold. Now I would like to thank my friends. For teaching me their starts and ends. My first book, when I was three? Was on Hawaiian mythology. Hedwig, placed me at the table. For my lesson each & every day. She taught me in her own special way. But that's my gift, so I will not say. I do not have some bold lettered degree. Self education was my key. I have no title, nor a tidy resume, in the latest trend or style. Never have I met a teacher; During all of my loose travels. That struck me as an intelligent gavel. Beyond the filters of, so called, 'normality'. I concluded while still a young man. That I was part of a slowly dying minority. Few are born already knowing; How to grow the seedless seed. That guides our spirits with no bias. Through the trials of our curiosity. I have an unmeasurable desire To know, teach, and learn. How to grow your scorched love back, when healing from life's burn. Could I recommend a book to you, that can practically tells itself? Although a fraud and over rated. It has a hidden wealth. With so many tales in its contents. I realize I might surprise you, by what my choice would be? It comes in many forms. Depending on the culture. And if by chance you ever completely finish. I hope a few of your fears diminish. This text is justly named the bible. It contains every experience definable. Now here comes the irony in what I've just said. You are probably assuming that I am just another one of 'those' sympathetic reborn Christian former junkie alcoholics. Am I right? Sorry, I misled. I am not Christian, Jew, or Satanist. No God fearing religion has shackled my wrist. The cliques, the groups, the 'in' crowd. Won't your mother be so proud? Find comfort in the company sharing your faith. Since your death is as certain as a muse's focused flirtin'. So will you please read just one? The Egyptian book of the dead is damn fun. If in nature beats your heart. Perhaps, then Wicca, is your art. Do not be fooled by the Israelites. They too used magic to aid their plights. But now I feel I've over stated. Because the bible is still gold plated. For the common fact that we all lie. About the reasons we must die. I see that you're scared. I feel you feel-think that you're alone. To state that it all will just end? That life stops here, to then send you there? Is in all probability the easiest single way to have a disagreement with anyone any day. With any given person, especially yourself. Unfortunately, we move and grow with time. So no matter how much you posses both physically, mentally, or spiritually. You will want more. You will need more. The question is, can you give it all up? Everything you are now, were, or will be. Can you? I wonder now, how you must feel. The topic no longer concerns me. Since I've become indifferent to the outcome. I understand the weight that this burden of doubt is applying upon you. Crushing, smothering, and constricting. Does knowing that it can be removed as quickly as a backpack bother you? Consider that inconsiderable fact. Then set down your path, and don't turn back. So as for us tonight, let's not worry. Me for you, or you for yourself. Can you smell your mom's potpourri? Your friends are waiting on the shelf. And if you choose to truly listen. To all that I have said. I hope your efforts carry you. Out of body, out of head. And if by chance you have a thought that you would like to share? My time is up, so can you wait? Or do you even care? I am now done. The yarns been spun. This poem has made me sick and tired. But thanks again, for your time and patience. Reading my poem "Expired". 12-95

Up the ladder: Our Sweet Lady Lispalot
Down the ladder: masquerade

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Arithmetic Mean: 6.7777777
Weighted score: 5.888889
Overall Rank: 1491
Posted: May 16, 2003 8:54 PM PDT; Last modified: May 17, 2003 3:20 PM PDT
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[10] w~* ATHENA *~w @ | 16-May-03/11:43 PM | Reply
round and round we go
[7] richa @ | 18-May-03/7:28 AM | Reply
some nice lines, I couldn't be bothered reading all of it. Some greek poets took all their life writing poems this long.
Try have more confidence that a few lines will show your ability
[9] INTRANSIT @ | 18-May-03/8:28 AM | Reply
hunt down what little fat there is. and burn it off.
Then, frame this fucker.
[n/a] Jeremi B. Handrinos @ > INTRANSIT | 21-May-03/12:47 AM | Reply
No need to, my poetry now does that, this is to show the kids they too, can evolve into a fat free monster. this is from my childhood, and I like it fat and unsure of itself.
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