<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8" standalone="yes"?><rdf:RDF xmlns="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/" xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/" xmlns:sy="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/syndication/" xmlns:rdf="http://www.w3.org/1999/02/22-rdf-syntax-ns#"><channel rdf:about="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/BlogRss.aspx/dunleavy25"><title>Paul's poetry, proes, and thaughts - Blogit</title><link>https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/dunleavy25/</link><description>This blog is dedicated to my own poetry, and also serves as an outlet for my somtimes, pent up thaughts. Often I find myself creating these toataly abstract blocks of words that no one other than my self may undersand. On the otherh and i can be directley to the point, with things sutch as short storys, my thaughts on politics and social issues. I hope it is enjoyd.</description><sy:updatePeriod>hourly</sy:updatePeriod><sy:updateFrequency>1</sy:updateFrequency><sy:updateBase>2000-01-01T12:00+00:00</sy:updateBase><items><rdf:Seq><rdf:li resource="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/dunleavy25/640933" /><rdf:li resource="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/dunleavy25/640638" /><rdf:li resource="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/dunleavy25/638795" /><rdf:li resource="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/dunleavy25/638337" /><rdf:li resource="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/dunleavy25/638336" /><rdf:li resource="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/dunleavy25/638335" /><rdf:li resource="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/dunleavy25/638334" /><rdf:li resource="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/dunleavy25/638331" /><rdf:li resource="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/dunleavy25/638194" /><rdf:li resource="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/dunleavy25/638193" /></rdf:Seq></items></channel><item rdf:about="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/dunleavy25/640933"><title>another friend</title><link>https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/dunleavy25/640933</link><description>I saw your face shuttering in and out of the light, beautiful in it's own solitude, moving slightly, but yet lingering lifelessly. While just Beginning to absorb my presence, your weakened awareness disappeared back into the shadows, where I tried my best to follow, but with the gloom too cold to...</description></item><item rdf:about="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/dunleavy25/640638"><title>limelight</title><link>https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/dunleavy25/640638</link><description>Miracles are somtimes stretched few and far between hardships. And though battles may rage in our communities and though our hearts keen sense of injustice my be felt, when miracles re-surface, they will carry us back to refuge. And what may seem like everlasting gloom now, will once again appear...</description></item><item rdf:about="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/dunleavy25/638795"><title>pleading with gravity</title><link>https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/dunleavy25/638795</link><description>oh gravity why do you blind me with your wicked, ill fated tempers? every time i attempt a climb up and out of your crippling power, you welcome me with a fall from grace, back to your cold ground. am I distend too your chains? am I a part of your city sidewalk, in a puddle of bitter beer,...</description></item><item rdf:about="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/dunleavy25/638337"><title>Tommorrow Travelers</title><link>https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/dunleavy25/638337</link><description>I’ll Never forget the tears I shed As they sunk into the ground below my feet, Cold and weary was my soul, It’s element was striped from light. The sun was hidden from my whole universe And the most illuminated rooms seemed dark The voice from your spirit was lost to my ears But it’s still close...</description></item><item rdf:about="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/dunleavy25/638336"><title>The monuments That lie</title><link>https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/dunleavy25/638336</link><description>Breathing deeply in the city of angelic light, giving way to death in what was supposed to be a temple. Turning the ancient ones off by kneeling lifelessly to age old statues in dream, wheezing for air in the empty park and enclosing my body in artificial heat until it lies under the stars...</description></item><item rdf:about="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/dunleavy25/638335"><title>Rush Hour For The Genorations Of Lost Time</title><link>https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/dunleavy25/638335</link><description>Vast platoons of the adolescent armies play on bending roof tops, throwing toy bullets into the passing crowds below, spray panting chaotic verses on commercial bulletins, after a validating day of sleep leads into a night of horse play. Their eclipsing the sun with the colossal shadows of their...</description></item><item rdf:about="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/dunleavy25/638334"><title>Nature's Gift</title><link>https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/dunleavy25/638334</link><description>Off in the sunset, resting on the cue of night, there lies a horizon, sinking in neon light. While nature below rustles in it's chilling gust, trees dance to it's music, all through out dusk. Then as we sleep sleep by enormous shaded skies, the western world awakens with day light at it's side....</description></item><item rdf:about="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/dunleavy25/638331"><title>Not a Poem, Just a Thaught</title><link>https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/dunleavy25/638331</link><description>My father once told me in so many words, that we are all prisoners of ourselves, and that we all create the circumstances in witch we live. When I walk to work, through east Baltimore, what he had said crosses my mind often, and my thoughts often align well with my father's views. But a moment of...</description></item><item rdf:about="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/dunleavy25/638194"><title>Revelation Dream</title><link>https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/dunleavy25/638194</link><description>I walked down the hall way of my sub conscience and it's paintings dating back to my birth came alive. The portraits of events which I thought were just circumstance, were singed by artist angels. They had foretold my past and they fused my wishes with fate in there visionary hearts. Every...</description></item><item rdf:about="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/dunleavy25/638193"><title>A Thaught For The "wanted" Jim Morrison</title><link>https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/dunleavy25/638193</link><description>Who Would like to share about despair and the loss of god? The conquest for a glimpse of another side, beyond life, beyond sorrows, bottled in jars and shattered on the Whaling Wall. Promised men set out towards the desolate land of dust. With them, their inspiration from broken patients, and a...</description></item></rdf:RDF>