deepundergroundpoetry.com
The Dead and I Talk
December 8:o6 pm the fifteenth My brother came to me He's been dead for nearly seven years.Yet he still comes and watches over me over us.His family his friends the people that love him and he loves back.He goes where he is needed most,Beyond the grave he comes to me,he feels my mind with his voice,comes into my life with his presence.We talked for three hours.I felt his touch.I feel his hand on my shoulder he laid next to me on my bed and talked to me.Tears streaming down my face he wipes them away.I literally felt his hand reach into my heart and hold it then touch my vary soul he went through it and eased my pain and grief bringing me more comfort.Love filled the room as I felt others,I have loved and lost in death years ago.Even my cat I had for seventeen years I held in my vary arms was here I felt her her purring ringing in my ears.Oh how sweet it was to hear.Six other pets I have loved who have been taken,by the reaper and his pale horse Palestine he rides on with purpose.They all came to me.Six relative's had come to talk with me Andrew brought them to visit me.The years vary on when these people had died.But there not really dead they feel alive in a different way but still the same.They are people I have loved dearly.I wish I could have known some of them more in life,but am privileged to know as they are now.I have been given this chance after nearly dieing twice.That's how this all began. I have become in tuned with many things,good and evil sense I was vary young more so now than ever.I can look at a person's face and know if they are going to die.If they have a few years or a few days,Just by the persons face or by a hand shake,even sense a persons charter by the vibes I get from some one.Just with there presence or a picture I know.Other things follow with this knowledge of things.Not always good sometimes devastating and Andrew comes to me in my dreams.He sends me messages or we talk.I remember them all vividly good and bad without having to write them down.They stay with me almost every one I have.As though they are memories instead of dreams or nightmares.I know what hell feels like.I've been there I get the gist of what heaven feels like age and decay sheds your soul after you die.Death and time from being on earth are left behind.You are who you are supposed to be.How you originated in youth is how you will be as a soul out of body.When flesh is obsolete and you see and reach things no one in life ever can.Technically I died nearly three times once when I was two I ate rat poisoning I thought were cookies mom didn't know they had been placed in the cabinets of our recently moved into home.Mom knew because she hadn't bought any cookies for me yet,and she asked where I had got them.I showed her I got my stomach pumped for the first time.And I lived thankfully.All I know now is I see things most people shouldn't be after last night,the next day it over whelmed me.The stress of life alone is enough to deal with sometimes this is almost too much.I embrace it any way fully.I have to and I want to.I asked for this and I got it.The cons of this I wouldn't miss ever,but I know it's part of who I am now.Everyone has it if you are open to receiving it.I'm not psychic or deal with the supernatural I just listen and respond I don't ask questions I don't have to I have my answers and I have a gut feeling never to ask just listen and respond.I see only family and the ones I'm closed to I communicate the best with those I am closest to alive or dead the concepts not much different.Just open your eyes easier said than done but can be done.I feel so close to many things that only I can understand.But it has its limits. Some things are beyond comprehension for the human mind. we aren't meant to know it all.we are only meant to know what we are capable of knowing mentally and physically.Our soul's can do much more,but I won't know the limits of that until I die and I don't want to until that time comes fate decides that not me.We have to respect these boundary's or pay the price.My punch line to this is love is stronger than death it's the most powerful thing we have and should be grateful to be shown,to have and learn to know.
Published 17th Dec 2012
| Edited 27th Jan 2013
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17th Dec 2012 2:20am
Taking a chance on necromancy starts with risking a stance on handling a brain... not of age but infancy.
Newborn child in my arms 8 weeks ago. Mother proudly asked me with a glow if I'd hold her two-day old, and so? What does a mercenary minstrel urgently distill and show? I held the wee belle close and whispered closer to the 2 day old "Never forget what you know today, yo. Hold it forever, somewhere. You'll live, you'll be filled with care and despair, you'll grow and die but before then and there is only a longing hunger to share."
Studied so much hoodoo, voudon, got used to grooving to beats Afrikan, Yoruba, Shaman, and moving full on to Tibet and Falun Gong. Breathign continues forever, even after we're gone. Like the final breath of mana in every kata. Or dispersed like waterly father in ink blotters. Scampered for answers and covered miles in science to find out this and that and nothing fits. There's nothing we know off of shit. Nothing is definite. Death and taxes? Expect some of us laugh at it.
Elizabeth of Bathory. Her bets never slipped past me. Held a nightmare of being her henchman with the right dare and tactics to actually produce every victim misused... to quicken her bliss and kidnap each lass to turn the screws. That fireburst poem costed as much for catharsis too.
Mary Magdalene. Scary on her scene. Still, carrying through, releasing the dreams in a poem or two seemed... like the right kind of scene for someone sore with historical editorialism, a battle nerd, prattle disturbed was my way to atone... and leave no stone unturned. People got burned and written out. I was ready to churn pages to release the rage because nightmares were rightly ensnared and wouldn't release without someone carrying through.
Lesser known deaths. Expect to be shown in almost every poem that uses the word "bereft"-- the dead don't rest. That's the ante in vigilante slasher patter. It's good you carry it. Better to share and release ... that's what matters.
Stronger when it's personal. Walk the path long enough and you'll find yourself leaving messages with the living. It's bigger than any verse when you roll. Along every conversation there's something to be giving. This Earth is only here for us a few spare years, so giving the living everything real in feeling everyday ... like being aware of the day you won't be around, but still there? However you hack it and practice it, there's something in the habit in taking lessons from the dead and blessing what's around here... like the restless dead saw your head as a place to steer.
It's a big thing to share, and a huge step to take, walking with the restless. There's alot of living to digest if you're fascinated enough to carry the stories forgotten of so many who came and went. Brave piece. Hope it gave you peace.
An open vessel can't be hoping to get aheadful and get over it. Bolder fits oversit? Colder shit understands. Oversit, understand, you were chosen and scanned, to hold the dead's hands. Charon's raft to Never Never Land wasn't paid off yet ma'am? Hey, the VatiCAN.... says you can lay on the spot... a twenty across their hands... I'm not done with this sin... it's called an indulgence and then... you can BUY each cursed story in your dome... out of PURGATORY... instead of poems... clear their miracles, get spherical, currency is empirical. Without fear in your soul you can hear the dead? They're proven true? Chopping it up too? Not mocking, this is a rocking debt you've incrued if they talk to you. Don't worry about the how. Just now... Let them talk THROUGH you without fear and roll!
Newborn child in my arms 8 weeks ago. Mother proudly asked me with a glow if I'd hold her two-day old, and so? What does a mercenary minstrel urgently distill and show? I held the wee belle close and whispered closer to the 2 day old "Never forget what you know today, yo. Hold it forever, somewhere. You'll live, you'll be filled with care and despair, you'll grow and die but before then and there is only a longing hunger to share."
Studied so much hoodoo, voudon, got used to grooving to beats Afrikan, Yoruba, Shaman, and moving full on to Tibet and Falun Gong. Breathign continues forever, even after we're gone. Like the final breath of mana in every kata. Or dispersed like waterly father in ink blotters. Scampered for answers and covered miles in science to find out this and that and nothing fits. There's nothing we know off of shit. Nothing is definite. Death and taxes? Expect some of us laugh at it.
Elizabeth of Bathory. Her bets never slipped past me. Held a nightmare of being her henchman with the right dare and tactics to actually produce every victim misused... to quicken her bliss and kidnap each lass to turn the screws. That fireburst poem costed as much for catharsis too.
Mary Magdalene. Scary on her scene. Still, carrying through, releasing the dreams in a poem or two seemed... like the right kind of scene for someone sore with historical editorialism, a battle nerd, prattle disturbed was my way to atone... and leave no stone unturned. People got burned and written out. I was ready to churn pages to release the rage because nightmares were rightly ensnared and wouldn't release without someone carrying through.
Lesser known deaths. Expect to be shown in almost every poem that uses the word "bereft"-- the dead don't rest. That's the ante in vigilante slasher patter. It's good you carry it. Better to share and release ... that's what matters.
Stronger when it's personal. Walk the path long enough and you'll find yourself leaving messages with the living. It's bigger than any verse when you roll. Along every conversation there's something to be giving. This Earth is only here for us a few spare years, so giving the living everything real in feeling everyday ... like being aware of the day you won't be around, but still there? However you hack it and practice it, there's something in the habit in taking lessons from the dead and blessing what's around here... like the restless dead saw your head as a place to steer.
It's a big thing to share, and a huge step to take, walking with the restless. There's alot of living to digest if you're fascinated enough to carry the stories forgotten of so many who came and went. Brave piece. Hope it gave you peace.
An open vessel can't be hoping to get aheadful and get over it. Bolder fits oversit? Colder shit understands. Oversit, understand, you were chosen and scanned, to hold the dead's hands. Charon's raft to Never Never Land wasn't paid off yet ma'am? Hey, the VatiCAN.... says you can lay on the spot... a twenty across their hands... I'm not done with this sin... it's called an indulgence and then... you can BUY each cursed story in your dome... out of PURGATORY... instead of poems... clear their miracles, get spherical, currency is empirical. Without fear in your soul you can hear the dead? They're proven true? Chopping it up too? Not mocking, this is a rocking debt you've incrued if they talk to you. Don't worry about the how. Just now... Let them talk THROUGH you without fear and roll!
17th Dec 2012 6:43am
I don't want to scare you,but you have to be careful.I've had some expeiriences with afterlife communication.Sometimes,If you don't ask for protection from Jesus,imposters will manifest as loved ones.They will talk to you for awhile until you are left trusting and wide open...This makes you weak and prone to posession,or extra-dimensional gateways.Please be careful.
