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Ad0ra Williams



A mind can lead to war

Or to peace


The shape of a bird repeating itself 

In what I thought to be a lotion blot on the wall

And after a while, I wonder if that could be the remaining

Of a dead butterfly


Possibly through too much coffee and imagery


And suddenly, the bird is encaged

The mind will rethink reality

And its sanity 


The constitution of the self will be put into question

And the self is mere reflection of the whole


But the self will eventually get to the conclusion 

That it’s just a blot on the wall 

And I’ve got an appointment tomorrow 

So I must take my sleeping pills and go to sleep


And the show is always sustained

Every day

By the luxury of watching violet clouds being denied

Ripped out

In the land of misplaced outlines


The mind

It can lead to war

Or to peace

Depending on how that blot 

Shows itself through 


And I, who should be seen as the caterpillar, am

Cast away as if a goal ended right there


And my cups have all been breaking

Wine puddles on the floor

Not to mention the love

That was forgotten long ago




We’re just forever and perpetually imitating ourselves, quoting ourselves

By reiterating the others

Stuck on a loop


The others that didn’t quote anyone or repeated anyone

That once coded everything that would be labeled later on

Were they, gods, 


enlightened ones


And now we quote them to justify things we don’t understand

And we can’t explain by ourselves


They translated higher knowledge into code

And now we lack understanding of the code

Because we were too busy being distracted by artificial lights made of counterfeit colours 


And maybe our purpose was as simple as transcending the code

After becoming it

Before experiencing this


But we’re just here

Going through pages of encyclopedias

Finding someone else to be mentioned

To justify something that doesn’t make sense

Or at least we couldn’t get to the end






We’re all figures 



As soon as we get to understand

We’re also the other 


And there’s only us because there’s them

That’s why we create them


And if everything looks so dull

The magnificence facing it

Is you 


And the notion you have about it

Is merely a mirror 




I look through lenses that were lent to me

By other that I myself put there so there’s me 


I see everything through the other 

And I’m merely a narrator

An observer

Of the art that I claim

When I get to understand

That it is mine




Since the day it saw the light

And decided to give it a try 

The baby sees the whole before it is put together

A cubist painting of reality

A state of broken triangles

Divvying up squares 


The more it looks in the mirror

The less it knows its shape

It’s forgotten every day

By the shape of the other




I define me as I define you

But what do you define me as

If you define me as I define you?


Second point of view

Third point of view

I need your view to

What will be my view

On what should be

A state of the art


But what would I do to define you

As you move?






When all my red roses

Lost the blood of their proses

My skin turned blue


Ink to verses




My love for the code

Is a tulip being written

By daisies


Unereasable ribbon

Watercolour paper


No water 


My love for the code

Is existence being drawn

By nines that had it all


And gave it all

So it could be spoken




May I walk in the aisle of Tropicos

Like the brides who carry Gypsophila



With only Love in sight




My whimsical state of Tropes

Go from wild daisies who care not

Where they grow

To the Orchid who chose its vase


And if the gardener gets any other

I won’t bloom




The gift of the code

Is reflected on the Asphodel Lily

Utter the mellifluous colour of that name

And taste the Ambrosia


Suddenly the day is murking to night

The day that barely twilighted in the times

Of silence


And stairs above are reflected below


It’s almost time to darken 

My hair and go back there 




The manifoldness of my kind

Sometimes twists some minds

In thinking we are different


When in fact, I’m you, you’re me

Experiencing the minuteness of being here

Because I – or you – decided doing nothing

Was no longer the best thing


And the circles he started to multiply

And you and I became we, there has been created time

And the rest is history







The seed will be nothing

If you keep it in a jar on the top shelf


But if you give it the chance to ground 

It may be flower in a couple of days 




When life was first created, I wasn’t expecting for the dark to show it through

I was just curious about how existence would feel

Because I had been naught, the void

For too long

The void, naught (0), the joint and absence of everything and anything

Being antonyms even in that simple sentence 


The madness was to fall from that

But once I escape from that

I am free


From the matters of the unmatter


Or at least I thought so




The longing to come back to oneness forces us to merge

And by merging, we mess up everything we spent a lifetime trying to build

We are forced to throw away the cards we could use to win

In order to underwrite the future

With the illusion that we’re reaching it 


And that way we keep existence going at present



Because what is perfect can’t afford to exist 




Every present has a past

But not always a future

Unless the future is contained

In the past


But you have the strings that determine that

Don’t you?




Perhaps life from now

In the time future regarding 

Time present


Will look as misplaced as

A bearer of dust and memories

From a while ago 

That now might seem long

Translated by the gift of code


Given that time is just a point of view anyhow

Years gone by are just arbitrary constants 



Happiness or gloom or love

Or hate or light or



Will too be a point of view

Misplaced, an infestation of dust

Pointless, but insightful in their beauty

On the tomorrow of the days to come


Perhaps, just perhaps







Love can sometimes be defined

By the Comedy of Dante and fine wine


And that might be the biggest flaw


(Not for enlightenment) I too was left behind

The open wine had to be consumed and replaced

On the shelf for next time





Birthday of a middle aged mother

She yearns for pictures of her to be shown later on

And gets sad if no one doesn’t take the initiative 

The earthly symbols of unconditional love

Based on the concept of taking pictures


She wasn’t the favourite daughter

She was told she wasn’t as beautiful as her sister


Unrevered wife

Her husband forgot her first birthday after their wedding

And other daily earthly symbols

Of unconditional love


So now she silently begs for pictures with her son

On her birthday, not to show she wants earthly 

Symbols of unconditional love


Every day


And that got me thinking

If my perspective of movement was that delineated

Life would be beautiful 

On the earthly unconditional love way 







They’re the future

Your future 

Take care of them

As if they’re you

Because they are

In the end 


The potential of a blue rosebud

That tomorrow may bloom

That won’t give you colour blue

But you can admire its power

And beauty


The potential of a seed

That can grow roots and leaves

If you take good care of it





I used to think love justifies the means

But love is never the cause

Very often, and in my own suitcase

It is the effect that culminates 

In a sense of raison d’etre

Though it is merely a state of mind







There's the object

It's shaped by the light

That leaves the shadow

Distorted as my view

When I overthink the concept 


The leaves, the shadow

That hint purple in colour yellow 

The gazebo perpendicular to the palms

And my palm set to inertia on the six of wands

I lost a wand under the light when I was 

Deceived by the realness of a dance

Several circles below


A feud between linear and aerial perspectives

I was the judge and both sides of the coin

And I sustained the show, anyhow

For the sheer plateau of this card

And for fun


Until my horse moved on

And my inner sixes and sevens begun





From the shadow I sight

All the light I've hidden 

Under the illusion of the being 

I am and I am not

A missing caesura

That would see that the twisted

Forms and twisted minds

Were no more than misconceptions

Influenced by the tales of the firmament

And its dark side 


An arpeggiator of dazzling memories

From the last time it happened


Short lines from background thoughts

That keep me standing looking into the nothingness

Without forming a concept about what I see

Until the image begins to blur

And I reach the state of being

Since I shut it down 


By adding the wrong preposition on





I was the reflection reflected in the vacancy

I was the conception, the misconception and the guilt 

The open door which is a comeback to the start

The story of the history

And the core

Of how light can be elusive and enlightening 

According to the one who sees


And I could see from there and from here

If I kept turning around it - star-shaped route


Suddenly there was something

Sun shining through palms that came into being

Because of the echoing footfalls on the draught

And the potential metaphor

That would concept the rest


A patio to define the quiescence point

A swing hanging on something that defines up

That would define down


And when I touched the swing, it became real


It was a dawning existence - the swinging I

Could perceive the warmth of the sun

Through the palms


Until it became too hot

Until it became too much light



When all the mirrors are shut


All this mindful startrip since I was born next to the orangery

All the calculations on the unintended perfection between constellations

All the thin layers above matter around those who can’t behold

All this





Makes me feel lonely

The kin won’t let me in

Neither out

Because they need to sustain the show


And I don’t blame them

That’s how blindness works

It’s pure event memory 

You can’t shut one down


I’m lonely


There are no much more of my kind left

The ones who look the object and see it through 

The ones who sight the flower and see the root

Who will translate the glance to sense

Using words 

And nothing is stronger than one’s intention


No textbooks

No moral compass


I’m very lonely


My house is full os echoing thoughts

Which I fear the utterance

Many memories, no one to remember

But me


That’s why I feel lonely


I tried to avoid it when I attracted a lover

To hush the burden 

Of my existence


But it’s math

You can’t make up calculations

You just have to accept them 

And exist


And all this existence

Seeing what isn’t easily seen

Is incredibly lonely




If you want the silence

You must mute everything else

And that includes yourself 


So, write that line

Read it in different states of mind

Read it a in different circle every time


And it will change 

It will keep changing

Until there’s no more line

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