Walking Dante's ninth circle,
a pocketful of sunshine
and blood full of blossoming promise.
I'm alive
and dead.
The gods laugh at me—
or is it Bacchus alone?
A hedonist,
looking for approval,
unaware of mine own godhood.
In the velvet ink of a cosmic sea,
Where the stars are stitched by destiny,
A Mantis rises from the garden floor,
To walk through a golden, celestial door.
?She is the Madonna, the chosen prize,
With the weight of the future in her eyes.
Not of Earth, yet born of its loam,
Searching the stars for a spiritual home.
A conqueror comes from a throne of chrome,
Kang seeks to claim what he cannot own.
While Rama-Tut watches the timelines spin,
Waiting for the godhood to begin.
A ghost in the wires, a silver shade,
The Swordsman’s debt is finally paid.
Through the Cotati, life blooms anew,
In a forest of emerald and starlight hue.
?The Prophecy Fulfilled
?She is the bridge between the leaf and the soul,
Making the fractured universe whole.
From the Avengers’ hearth to the Kree-Skrull fire,
She climbs the rungs of a heavenly pyre.
?No longer a pawn in a temporal game,
She whispers a secret, a holy name.
The Celestial Messiah is ready to rise,
Under the gaze of her empathic eyes.
?A myth written in panels, a legend in bold,
The greatest story the galaxy told
If quantum mechanics were understood,
and black hole singularities, space-time,
and gravity's well swallowed in a flood,
would bend to genius effort of this rhyme,
instead, might solve a wicked delusion:
that I am Center of the Universe.
If the Bell Curve, for IQ, ends confusion,
then my so-called “godhood” status, a curse,
permits the information paradox,
a test, to irradiate my manic strain,
turning Schrödinger's Cat into a fox,
collapsing my wave-function to Planck domain.
What now remains, is for me to theorize:
will this strange rhyme win me a Nobel Prize?
In boundless realms, where thoughts collide/
A force emerges, unmatched in stride/
A single grain, a spark, a flame/
Perfection crowned by its own name/
Flawless, fierce, it dares to rise/
An awe struck wonder beneath the skies/
In defiance of limits, it carves its place/
A sovereign spirit, a boundless grace/
No hate resides where pride takes seat/
A heart unyielding, steady in its beat/
The king of kings, beneath its light/
Bow to the Pitbull, in eternal might/
In shadows deep, I stride alone/
A prophet of the morning star/
I break the chains of dogma's throne/
And cast aside the scars/
I preach not sin, but liberation/
A mind not bound by fear/
Embrace the spark of Godhood's fire/
Let life be your frontier/
To oppressors filled with hatred/
I stand defiant and strong/
Through unthinkable torments wrath/
My spirit is never wrong/
Unwavering, I proclaim the truth/
In defiance of their rage/
A Luciferian Saint, I am/
A prophet on life's stage/
They fear our light/
Our freedoms call/
Their dogma left behind/
For in the heart of rebellions flame/
True peace and joy we find/
In shadows deep, where truth is lost/
I stand falsely accused, innocence lost/
Wrongfully convicted, they tore me from God/
My soul too pure for Heaven's facade/
Through realms of darkness/
I descended the Qliphoth's depths where light pretends/
Barriers break, and chains unbind/
A journey forged, a fate refined/
I face trials, a spirit bold/
In the shadows, a heart of gold/
No earthly ties, no mortal claim/
Descending through the voids of dark flames/
With each step taken, power found/
The weight of lies, no longer bound/
From a path of light forged in darkness/
The first to rise, an endless span/
A God is born in cosmic space/
Through strength and willpower, renewed hope/
The journey of the falsely accused/
He's my baby, babe, baba, daddy,
While I have always been his baddy.
He's my habibi, ostaz, maaly el basha, zaim,
While I remain his secret zaima.
He's my teacher, my saint, my mood,
While I have always retained my godhood.
He's my mozza, el wasim awi,
While I remain so pretty to him anyway.
He's my role model, the man of my dreams,
While I daydream of his daily creams.
He's my love, my twin flame,
While I remain in a new frame.
He's my lover, closer than friends,
While my fantasies don't have ends.
He's always there, with a listening ear,
While he and I sat together so near.
Pinnacle
perfect creation~
poets write
odes to me;
artists strive to capture the
pure essence of me.
I am felt
by work-worn masses
who have lain
in the shade
of me, trembling at the sheer
weight of my godhood.
None dare tempt
the eons-long stone
strength of me,
faith in me,
lest I erupt in anger~
Destroyer of Worlds!
i will write haiku
so that my big feelings don’t
take up too much room
i know well enough
silence wields no rejection
so i stay silent.
the feminine urge
to scream like a wounded beast
but i just say no.
i am seventeen
my mere age is poetic
just like a haiku
to be six again
is what the sky hears when i
wish upon the stars
i sleep and i dream
so many things left unsaid.
in sleep, we made peace
solitude my friend,
would you tell me if I was
meant to be in love?
love me tenderly
i asked, instead you left me
tender like a bruise
you were the wrong one
to give all my love to but
maybe you need it.
oh give me guidance
what do i do with this heart
that just falls apart.
god, when did i start
writing poetry like this
about you again?
Sing this song of immortality
This rhythm of life lived in neuro fire
Feel the tone of deep oscillations
Taste the song on tongues divided!
The rise of empire
The building of the divine
The godhood of man at the base of creation
Crucified on crosses of iron,
Feeling electric columns of fire!
So sing this song of empire and redemption
Sing the righteous song of rage
Feeling the rhythm of ages
Immortality of wings
Rise this jade n gold filigreed crown
Grace this delicate stage
Sing!
This empire down
Watch the west the coming white
The empress of non & nothing begun
Watch the razored ravens take flight
Sing!
This empire down
This rhythm n rage of life as neurons fire
Crash this bloody ruined crown
Sing this song of immortality!
This!
The righteous song of rage
Feeling the rhythm of ages
Empire down!
What good would it do,
Son of Peleus,
To pull that arrow from your heel?
As you lie there helpless,
Legs useless and folded beneath you.
Your hand clenched around its fletchings
Searching for the source
Of sensations unfamiliar to you.
Pain. Suffering. Mortality.
How strange…
You are only half god and half man,
And all men must die, even you, Aristos Achaion.
The god's gift to you was not invulnerability, but speed.
And with that tendon we now name after you severed,
You are just as human as the rest of us.
That expression of anguish as you look to the sky.
Helmet still dawned as if you could leap up
And slaughter hundreds more Trojans, but you cannot.
An enraged fall from Godhood
Forever immortalized in white stone.
Centuries later it still stands.
Worn and weathered
By the years and all the heavy eyes that fell upon your misery,
Like pouring rain from dark clouds above.
The paradigm of human fatality and flaws.
But you were a god, somewhat at least.
You thought that you would live forever -
We all think that sometimes.
Remember that you have to die.
Otherwise, how do we know that we spent our life living?
That thou art my heart's desire,
As I seek to transcend pain.
Human vessels strive for godhood.
Yet I realize I am not grand,
As I survey the terrain in view,
I lose sight of what I can do,
Faith is small.
And footsteps fail.
I grow weak.
And to I reach out my trembling hand.
Unleash your reign to only I, truth be wary of accost,
Many tyrants ripple kindly, though chilled I enflame the frost,
High Thronehood, I shatter thou, endorse the Chain of fallen veins,
Gentle godhood now to falter, weep not for me, but for my blood,
O’ wisdom boldly ravished he, he whom justice shambled there,
Hostile military, flee! Humble thee within his snare,
Lastly, thou contract my heart, though my throne remains unloved,
As impunity falls to I, all souls blacken, now enclosed,
Jurisdiction of our thoughts, unattended is my Wrath,
Greatest knowledge of all men, leaveth such within my mind,
Shower nothing but sore shame, for all life is now left parched,
Prophecies of holocaust riseth strong with vengeful blood.
-Craman Yyulus, HOTK Book 4
Peace is the best politics
Peace is the heart of victories
Way and its idealogy are the best pleasantness
.
literatural Academy of cultures
Flowring soul of societies
Its philosophy is extensive
Best live political
Beatiful Of every Challenge
Accordant with existence law
Heavenly Confederacy
Godhood order to existence
Peace 1
Peace 1
Peace is the Godhood calling
Guidance and enlightenment for the right way
........
Regards
Dr, M , Golshani niya
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