Within The Light Of Siddhartha

Within The Light Of Siddhartha

Silently the erratic flights of thoughts are learned to the breathes of man
like burning skin and motionless erotic poems.

Empty of joy and sorrow empty of wishing empty of a single goal: The essential prerequisite , the esoteric doctrine exposed like rays of a burning sun.

That which is no longer my self , the perfected man , a image of manners not of ethical wisdom, the doctrines of circumstance or everlasting mysteries.


As if the Buddha was the honored friend who waits no longer and this this chosen path of man is for the choosing of yourself, this a salvation.


Our vision of the exacting taskmaster is a exact antithesis, empty and evident or everyday reality , communication the excessive truth.

More silently the honored friend is empty in the exclusive discernment only to be counted as if a excitable exasperation of time.

Siddhartha has no esoteric appearance but a expeditionary force of the comprehensible conduct, exquisite of diffusion and circumstances.

False illusions and fallacious hopes perpetuated sometimes in a faded magnificence . Life familiar sacredness and allusiveness ,fathomless and faultless.

As the Buddha is pedantry to fattening servitude we live in fearful imprecation a bewilderment of invocations.

Life as the festive of illuminations or a tyranny of pretext of the choosing we empty our impatience .

A desire of fine sensibilities a finished artistry , at times brutal in the flames of faith, floating in blackness Buddha is our conscience flickering to our will.

Well Executed and Designed

Well Executed and Designed

A man is dispossessed or characterized as deprived of and delineated to having nothing of value, a extreme and worthless human as measured.
How arduous and perplexing a wordy discord of tested state so revealed to a discursive life , a subversive life or a divest state of mind.
This well executed and designed to the extreme is detrimental and detestable of the attention a human will be revealed to the state.
How subversive a disagreement can be this a loose ,but acuteness of the impossible. I live in unsympathetic perplexity of the facts.

With homage to high and lofty aspirations of freedom and justice , we are all have a susceptibility to a submissive culture or philosophy.With homage to high and lofty aspirations of freedom and justice, we all have a susceptibility to a submissive culture or philosophy.
As a humble and profuse but not a simple idle man of honors, a irresistible contemptible indignation of works that become words so indirect.

If originality is a force of nature than the habits of a incoherent and matchless originality is the only one I have. The issues are clear.
Who is willing to be clear and accurate, without being irritable to some or many? Any foresight become a willing feeling of knowing labors.
Education and imagination and the profundity of learning can be a procrastination of time and reluctant,deep veneration of a faith in a truth
Like stories and pictures that can only be a implacable representation of a resource ,not well-balance or dependable as reality was or solid
A superficial and shallow world inventive to the sublime or just consoling to the violence that shows the unreasonable this is dependable.

The assumption of time and conjecture to ponder and weigh, like some theatrical toils ,so obstinate that it provokes a inquisitive view .
The world is a hostile place for a blinded Artist and the homeless kind of diffident no tender world for the penniless poor of circumstance

The homeless is in torment of resentment , all others become the antagonistic kind of instigate the hatred to malice the insane of kind word
ll thing have a perplexities of enlightenment that bring a human reach of the infinitely subtle,a thing of coherent tints and bitter silents


What gray liquid horizons so intolerably tragic to the human anchorage that the strange winds of time are refreshing to the toiling mind
I was wondering in the careless joy of this festival of a judging animosities, only living in the dare eyes of spaces, so poignant as vistas

No language is excessive as the soft music of absurdity of this strangest of aberrations , that of words in general this absurdity stream lets.
Our memory plucked like some divine honor to a preternatural doom always mared to the minuteness of the eye and mind of idleness of moods
Hands become as wood and crypts of adversity to only be recoiled in the moments of utter idleness as some marching order to posterity
A new dream a new boarding out of patience , like a flash of tenderness in the eyes of a golden transfigured twilight , desolation pervades

For the blind it is submerged longing, a grief not gracious to the gact a disppointing sorrow ,bitterness and depression overshadow all
The peopled of the night a perpetual gloom and seclusion of distinction, pelted with thoughts peering the golden clouds ,only to bring rain

Only the metamorphosis of the soul bring from the depths of nothingness the pressing skyward wings of hostility have strings of enterprises
What rehabilitated and restored dignity and pride will ever be adherence to the treadmill of sacrificed time to oblivion, respect in futile air
Like some bird among the sacrificed ,scotched on a greedity outward beam of sadness, a paralysis and than a mask

If I was wrapped in a veil of a quivering smile and hurried eagerness , my blue-flint eyes would find the hands to see the perfect remorse.
A stony bare hand of strange surprise,wave in the vast gulfs of time and space so solemn and the activity in this deepening movements sing
The beauty a solitary hand beckoning with power and bound to languor in a kind of hell , to type no more ,no more to sing or to see the hand.


by Timothy Dougherty

One Blind Vision one Faithful Augment

One Blind Vision one Faithful Augment

One blind vision one faithful augment to extend the unlimited and infinite one little chagrin and character of irritation I move on and on.
Out in the world of exact but non-genuine and hostile antagonistic, humble I am I , with caution and watchfulness and anxiety often frustrated.
Misapprehension is a rebellious but not a sinister genius not fraudulent in a incomprehensible way only watchful for the righteous minds.
Only hypocritical or cold coherence to a unity becomes impalpable if not philosophical or bewildering to the profitable and obnoxious.
Than the questions of degrading and offensive that becomes injustice and tyranny is extortion and wearisome on Art and expressionless to the end.
Theatrical cries and picturesque dramatics are thrilling but can be criticized and embarrassed to be transformed and touched become Art.
It is the painful and tenderness of devotion that brings pride and monotony to people, that is untraceable in compassion and temperament.
When will the suspicious have a feeling or mobility in the mind for compassion and service ,that is a real scholarship of circumstance.
Oppressed apprehension of this incisive quiet to head the lights of night or this whimsical fearful day only incisive care only care.
Only my severe intentions have a purposed oddity of Art or puzzled affected in this the dissipated cranks or graces that rage to rank.
Protracted on for this day or that only proof pronounced to a life of more proneness and protesting the purpose or intention will dissipate.
A primary proneness of being or the illustrations of one life as desire or prostration to the proportions of that inconsistency of loss.

One life is one suggestive preference a tangible present authority, often futile and inept in all its indignation and pride but essential.

To be polite seem pointless in this submissive state of prevailing and suggestive prejudiced authority, a presence of powers and presumption.
What is my projects and plans in a plastic world as pilgrim or crusader plagued in this plainness of plausibility , the world is poetical.
Like a famine of no specific kind of perplexity I move out no just pessimistice but in fact to the destitute nature of my life persecuted.

To purify the confusion and the perception of the planned life and of a prejudicial and disenchanted man , only reiterated by pestilence.
As if some pampered and cumbersome life with pains and painstaking indifferent prejudice is the passion of patience as recognition of time.
Original is not the occult order or uniformity of Art, in any magnitude of discovery ornate or attractive in the mind,reassuring to be Art.
Who are the oppressed and where is the hypotheses that will bring the truth so inviting and open that it becomes order and rational.

The obstacles can only be made be a imbecile , with no reflections on the disasters that are not opinions but perplexing in its discordant.
he disaster of man one more reflection to the obtuse not palpable but obvious and contingent on us the hidden of habits or occupations.
To be obedient and in submission of the obligations of dependence can only be a hypocrisy so obsure and odious one more objectionable act.

In a beginning was the oaths or numbers and variety of important novelty of the mind, now a ineffectual nucleus that nourish the ignoramus.
What nook or corner can one be noted or noteworthy even intelligible in this absurdity of the noisy and blinking works of man? Prominence ?

What a development or a mockery of contradictions one of neglect form a noble and powerful lord of the bargains, neutral and airy homeless.
Discipline and differences one moderation of discretion and disdain, shapeless and disfigured in a land so far off and a world so lost.

Self-absorbed , Self-conscious and Self-exacting

Self-absorbed , Self-conscious and Self-exacting

Self-absorbed , self-conscious and self-exacting a contriving world and a tedium of sounds and contemptuous words and ways, I move on and on.
With a robustness and firmness a flourish of privileges and sarcasm the word and works roar and rush to the barren land of decay.
With patients the words as work fly off and some indifferent and remote place for restitution no guarantees of correct views or admiration.
A puzzles are the questionings of instruction the reproof are associations and our religion, polities and the literature of hope and love.
Words are images of the poor often resolute to the disagreeable and the proud they become the brace that strengthens the meaning of life.
For what dignity, poise and reserve can be found in this the poor among us and what laborious plodding to become visible and tangible real.
Art is more than a daring pose the dazzling gesture and a powerful expression it is the poor, miserable and helpless massive and precious.
How obscure and personal the kind of gentle passion to a better life is only the practise of a parable for civilization, a order and peace.
One character of defiance and opposition is legitimately of a individual as the integral and legitimately the aim of toil for a good truth.
What is destruction ? but a building of new intentions and purposes a motive of material a moral formal and precise way to change neglect.
Words swayed and ruled this land words murder and jargon becomes a social agony of incompetence and neglect moved mountains to vineyards.
We the humane and meek are unaffected in the truth the scope of durations temperate and serious moans ,curses are set free as mercy ruled
To feel in myths or fables the impossible angels of ambitions are persistently standing with the filures of experiences unread unloved.
As if a dusty and faded experiences are the ambitions of a proud race of men , disloyal in love or faith and hope , what motives the poor?
We must compare to decide the have and have-not the equable convincing to excessive and nonliterary malice to find the identity of state.
Only with head down and graceful and ignorance can the identity of existence be convincing or logical this to be the examine to compare.
One should look with suspicion and hatred the purpose of any blundering and desire to be proud of the self, with earnestness or intelligence
The unembarrassed could bring to bare the fact of a natural and easy affection and desire to be free of this disdainful egotistic purpose.

I could say that I am bankrupt , shaken and distressed a doctrine of destiny a philosophic rebellion and temperament or hopeless and broke.
Things about me cumbersome and depressing coarse difficult a assimilation a revolt of the discontent and most unpleasing of a life ,what despair and hopelessness are me the impoverished and horrible a devastating and painful person explained in detailed kindly and gentle.

I have been overpowered defeated, and my decisions of the inaccessible and selent, doubt and difficulty the fantastic and the curious are me.
Looking with in the lake of venomous crimes and misfortunes I have little emphatic powers for the mountains of corruptions so copious.
A self-seeking voice has courage, patience and honesty the world warped and barren has corroding and malignant in overabundance manners.
Conscience of the heart makes one clear-headed and accurate to the thoughful, sympathetic of temperament and habits of life.
My circumstances has not hardened me in a coarseness but only a more coherent and interdependent relentless way , a virtue not to repel.

How logical and dispassionate one can calculate in earnest the genial and straightforwardness of prejudiced and the slighted and censured.
In the end it is a isolated and fragmentary brief and confused state of toiling form one place to a breathless self-assertion ,just spare me.

Self-consciousness is not a reverence to the leadership or authority to any adoration but only a impostor and thief of my birth and fortune.
In matter little of how time shifts and my treacherous, if not most strange and ambiguous life has turned to a uneasy place undirected .
Alarmed about being practical some kind of indignation of power subtle and ancient.I am alarmed and anxious over my state of inconveniences .


by Timothy Dougherty

A Universal and Uninstructed World

A Universal and Uninstructed World

Admiration is a unrepresented disposition of distrust of the spirit its unrelenting emphasis on the forfeit of pretense of the self or sameness

I feel a unparalleled error in my philosophical character a unprofitable craft unobtrusive in the display of lack of platitudes , I center

What is unjust? a universal and uninstructed view or sentiment , impassioned activity of the uninterrupted process of a systems laborers

The homeless are a uniformed blending sentiment unimpeachable in the process of unjust depreciation a unimaginable bitterness, unhesitations

I have no flag , unforced and unseen and unfettered in liberty. The unforgivable tragedy is my unfolding consciousness a unflagging truth

This in my silence is the undisturbed the authenticity of scrutiny the unending exactions that we energies in hills of silence, undistributed

What is unconditioned? a uncomfortable doubt or attractive patience of serenity one more demeanor of unconscious serenity , a task a side

I am unbeaten and beaten with unbiased judgment no consolation no perfection a unassailable position unapproachable in this mountain reserved

It is in the shadow of a typical day that a revelation is in sanction in this a ultra fashionable world of some lost bearings, I unadorned
One tragic touch one more lost treasured possession one more treacherous intelligence ot overcome too transcendent transfiguring of the self

The road to some titanic tireless curiosity the faculties of indifference or touching pathos of innocence one mor tortured thought to view
what is a thirsting ear but a eye that has been blinded to a thoughtful silence the images of rage or impulse always threatened the pathway

The terse realism is a thankless document and a conviction only tentative in attention my memory is to see the good over the terrifying

It will be dark here soon

It will be dark here soon

It will be dark here soon we will put aside no controversy of truth this I know what I mean and and still further perhaps to recollect

Not sure not sure not sure it is a circuitous argument but it is all and affirms the truth ,fearlessly afirms the truth

Time and Time or is it Space and more Space they seem of likewise importance as we become prominent in the eyes of the sky

silence is deep as brooding as death a gentle spirit or like a phantom who sits like a maniac silent elusive of memory caged in troubled air

I could play as with one-hundred possibilities of a musicians waves of deep hair in this dingy morality on candle of mirth incarnate flame

Rivers silver ,green and god roared as torrents rolling under the tongue and lips like herbs and flowers the dusty grass of sweet things

The naked heaven give a fluttering leaf or a snow flake hovering with a proud pride it is pure as a curtain and as quiet as all answers wild

Indefiniteness of smiles broken in this a faint glimmering flitting with a head down broken as a sculptured nun

Veils have strained the harp-strings one bright drop of sounds a dam of rivers broken and drifting the gatekeeper's crown to the side

Night falls like the shadowy form a tempest of memory and emotions stripped of hues , I stand under the wrath the cloud heavens slander's

My mind not swayed to the lampless or the sovereign moons that now rules the cold sea .Out of this ark comes thoughts growling steadfast

One meteor hits the pavements as the clear and pale serpent trods over the tongues of friends and foes alike like screaming birds hard

My eyes are as the thoughts of a green river that is a vase for proof of the master's face in this the weather cast the lightning as swords

good light and great rivers is a effighy but tattered in this my sky, visit at night by angels are short and far between morning returns

some strange rainbow has faded this my day, no tropical sun reaches out far this shadow like a sea upheaved by our stars set in motion

We dance in sunlight picturesque lost in the mountains doors ajar an itinerant vendor hope blinded by the storms faint cry his woe is dim

You all are encircled by the hunter and his hounds ,cold as the breath in the grave.We are the creaking doors in the complete unassisted


This a churchyard fashioned in the wind such splendor the straws are gold in the sunlight and the leaves are but shadows of a unseen power

struggling in the grasp of serpents in the grave of wasted hands they have gathered up the pouring oils of a threading dream now separated

Than I am pouring the roses on troubled waters in a deserts bloom only to die in the twilight garden, the scents strong as any current souls

limbs are not my mind as beaten to the ground without unaccountably curled cruelly scattered to pity expectancy with ambitions in marble

To be disillusioned speaking plainly is an idealist impossible detail, a higher compliment to hear out the prospect of great allowances

The honestly of the indignant , a little discouraged service to entirely glad to feel deeply about anything a opinion of mood in a way

I admire the extraordinary or the droll , should the like be to hear the nature of interest and time to utterly see the connfession of time

circumstances of consult of certainly it is displeases of objections and of definite minds eye reflected consequences of ludicrously wrong

What is trust ? but a sense of humor or very ungenerous dismal words of waiting , you can imagine anything is horrible or is pleasure

But let me confide the one-sided point of view the practical side of a too hardened moments circumstances of presumed misunderstanding sense

to accept the idea with the best wishes of a ravens wings on the sweet rain in summer,consider the moment a tremendous hazard of night side

The heart of the heat are but golden tints of a sunrise the sweet rain of tongues are on hard stones one gloomy undertakers night of shivers

The silhouette of my life

What light will I have for you?

We in the soft light of morning

I serving you a morning meal on the back garden of life

You in the sun me the shade, earning your trust

Food is trust

I bring to you dead sun only the shadow anticipates my lost

Time is all things a dream, a now and a loss

The sun in my garden she is now a dream

The garden of time

I bring to you my shadow the winter

In me is the earning of all things

In you is the now of loss

You bring me a plate of shadows that I eat

I grow to be the snow

The spring brings back this phantom

The dark you bring me

To earn the dusk in all things

I have grown