(c) March 28, 2008 by Cupideros

To see a new world's invisible hands
And their Heaven in a life-size Skinner box.
Foxes hope innocents follow their commands
And gallop in bread and circus blocks.

A woman's dove trapped inside a cage
Puts all Heaven's love into a grievous rage.
A spirit bird turned into an earthly pigeon
Makes all demons weep in every region.
A body, a mind for woman's fate
Predicts the ruin of every State.
A little heavy water for the road,
A little science water sits in drinks a-la-mode;
In every food, heavy water treats the blood
And calls anew to Heaven for Noah's flood
As it activates magnetic pole in her abode
Allowing her body to be overrode.
The wee mist placed on every wall
Computer, doors, floors and clothing all
Does not forgive saint or sinner's health,
Angels fret nor forget such evil stealth.
In the home, school, office or in a crowd
In the park or wherever B.F. Skinner’s proud.
Each pull, tug, push, or shove a snare
For muscles or nerves, organ or skin
Forgo, forget your soul's voice within.
Each pull, tug, push, shove a snare
Mimics a body need for urgent doctor's care.
Her soul cries out, it's all a montage!
It is all a mirage,
A technological smoke and mirror game
Wipe off the wee mist!  Do not quitclaim!
Persist through the sneaky barrage collage.
For this is not the hour of strife
To shrink away from living's wild life.
Go on!  Go on! Remove the wicked mist!
By feather duster, cloth or hand--persist
And by good water, not smart water, endure
And flush away secret technology's allure.
You are entitled to live and think free
Free from machination of men trapped
Into believing man is body, brain and mind.

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© Cupideros, May 28, 2010

O Aristocrat Abyssarian
Do not let contrarians
And negative naysayers
Make you give up your
Goddesshood and Godhood.

Sneaky circumventers desire
To trick you from your divine Sire
Heritage, self-esteem and health.

For man’s centered entire belief
Is to yoke you to the earth,
Make you succumb to grief,
To your animal instincts, girth;
To declare you, defeated and sick
Incompetent, flawed throughout—
So flawed you need to stick
To relying on the machine routes
Until at last after shaping
You like wood or soft clay,
Man will declare you soulless
And animals in every way.
Once you are defined
On their hook and line,
Man will sink you noblesse
Into his materialistic sea.
You’ll be satisfied your genes
Have granted you only a cog
In humanity’s great machine—
A buying, selling-tool bog,
Producing products for your bodies—
But your soul will go neglected—
Your true power left untapped, untried.

Soon you’ll be useless for Heaven
For there, work goes beyond
Materialism and strengthens
The soul and character bond.
And if useless for Heaven work,
You’ve no choice but to return
To earth again and again rework--
For more cog wheel tasks to churn—
For more time to resist man’s attempt
To reduce you to a rubble living thing.
But O Abyssarian sit and meditate,
Find your individual path and destiny,
Ask SRFG, SRMG help you plumb
And inherit your full measure,
Of your awaiting full treasure
From The Abyss your mystical fate.”

(for other Passion for Tinon online novel poems see:
--pages of Ch59, 60, 61, 62 of the online novel.)