Circus Maximus and the hilarity of contempt: Expressions, Meditating upon an Ashter, Annoyance

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Phoenix Poetry

Submitted: February 19, 2017

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Submitted: February 19, 2017




I loosen my self from the high throne of visions

And he believes it’s -a pronoun of belief- much easier to be like that. There’s a problem, all thoughts lead (the title is the estroise I will look at) to the sustenance of belief and mastery. Trust has layers, you need to see the transition. 

The words are belief and I have been deceived by the limits of faith, the path is constant- meditation is the microscope to infinity, I am in an infantile stage- lost in faith, I must trust what I don’t understand and wash its vibrations. I tell my mother I love her as love is the renosannce of all things, I am discovering the reason and truth behind these new urges of conventions that resist silk attires and search for watery alternatives, drenched in my miscommunication of nature for the future is apparent within itself-,it is the foundations for why I react- the strands of inspiration and expectancy, a fault is construded and love is the familiarity. Her love when she raised me is the fault of my step— I will inspect the microscope for a disease in constancy. 

Meditating upon an Ashter. 

- She has cruded upon the toes of my naivety and definitions— she doesn’t see the multitudes- and so falls into the belief on which she entrusts and proves in truth. Lives are defined by demonstrates of belief and I let out my protest- hesitations, huffs and honed glares- I have been trained into the training and am thus lost in the ‘deceit’— a constant state of spectating reacts harshly to maskly pleasures. The disease has spread too far, ink leaks stars onto the page.


Everything is a revelation, It’s an annoyance.

It is the encompassing of every thought that binds my hesitation and leads me to conceit, crude relations, forgetfullness, crowd relations and convulations.

It is in itself my reason for pain and the dusk hatred of it.

External is the internal subconsciousness of the oneoess of man. 

I walk down the chalk stroked steps of ancient Rome, Circus Maximus.

I will seek the fascination of history.

Inspiration resides in the result of manifested cause. 

She respects intelligince, she giggles at the War of Urbino and the Swiss Guard’s defence.

She believes she hates herself.

We reside on light because it’s our power.

I mumble in coils, it’s an annoyance.

I trust the constances: I have lost belief.

You have to renew yourself, and realise there is no weight on revelation.

The future is dawnting because it is full of respect.


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