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Just Grace Jul 2020
I’ll let you be my prism
I’ll be your muse
Don’t you ever forget
I’ll always love you

I don’t know why they say
“Be careful, they are just words”
What if
Words are all I want from you
Master of mined legends
In this time and place we can no longer be close
I am happy in the company
Of such beautiful words

Vibrantly hazy
lazy
soothingly distructive
source
The inner one
Leaving traces are the best ways
to find your way home
Where Shelter May 2017
The Prism Through Which We See Clearly

~

light saws our untrue selves with acute angles,
piercing our holistic pretenses, daily disambiguation features,
our sheltering disguises into our essence refractive elements

this is not a cute rainbow poem - run from here

it is a dissection of our true nature
why belabor, why elaborate?

through the prism
you color-coded self, tracted,
a mapping of your intersections,
what each color speaks, needs not an explication,
your hidden humanity comes to my eyes, in full revelation

at last I see you clearly

the lost and black withered limbs,
the stirring, leaping, enflamed flaring, never ceasing, breathing elements that mark your singularity

did you know your eyes are constant singers?

through prism, each note heard distinctly, as it rises uplifted,
your song, mine for observation and weeping exhalations,
your song, the production number of thy own composition,
through prism, our interior visual disinterred and released,

here I must cease, for what seen, grievous weeping deepens,
from the glory and the pain my blurred wetness overwhelms
the clarifying crystal useless when tear coated

through the prism,
before the full length mirror,
my own, unowned, never could be owned,
'mirror mirror on the wall,'
warped weave of tissues, mine,
the song sounds, mine,
from lungs disgorged
myself, diagnosed and displayed

of what I see, spitting speech
ceases and desists,
the only thought permitted, repeated,

where is my shelter now?**


5/13/17 6:49am
Poetic T Feb 2020
I was told to write about you,

    handing an empty sheet

of paper...

They asked how couldn't you
write a single line on how you
                                          love her.

"I said,

How can an essence ever be turned into
a language understood,
every one

                            is different.

Like a prism
       everyday is different
never the same.

Its like saying capture a storm
                                in a picture!

All you capture is the
                                  stillness.
Not the passion of the wind,
            
the voice of the rain,
             speaking to the ground.



"I asked them,

Capture your last breath ,
and tell me what words

you said...

How could I do that?

exactly, now tell me how to capture
                          her in words,

that'll do justice to how I feel about her...
Dina Feb 2020
People are like a white light from afar.
They all look the same at first glance.
But put them through a prism and see the rainbow that emerges.
The beauty tenfold.
Gorgeous contrasts and similar shades.
Angry reds and placid blues.
Marvelous purples, lilacs, and maroons.
Regal blacks and sunny yellows.
Delicate pinks and stormy greys.
A massive, unique array.
A symphony of feelings and thoughts.
Not always a pleasant one at that.
A plethora of choices and names.
Weeds and flowers.
Some are trees.
Solid and strong.
Unshakeable.
Sickly yellow.
Orange colored.
Bright and lively.
Green with envy.
Evergreen with wealth and youth.
Some are so bright.
Almost white, but alas those are only a few.
abby Nov 2019
you said our spirits search for ones we've known before
yours must remember mine
your soul returned for more

a piece of you is a part of me
my soul is cut into smithereens
prism of possibilities

but I wake up alone and free after dreaming you were next to me
but freedom is not as it seems
you touch the very heart of me

but I wake up alone and cold
shivering in silence
frozen on my own
until you lie down next to me

you said the mountains are your innermost home
with you, I no longer feel the need to roam

your eyes are the evergreens, the winter pines
the flecks of golden yellow color the road signs
the smoky fog that rises and lifts my spirit high
your spirit is the mountain that lifts me to the sky

I would follow you if you just had to go
I would come with you and make that place my own
but for as long as I know your love and your restful soul
I am a little piece of everywhere connected to the whole.
seraph Sep 2019
i am prismic and entrancing, refracting - always reflecting my insides outwards. you will know how i feel if i want you to know so, i will tell you how to feel and by my will you will do so, i am hypnotic and sympathetic. i am blinding and righteous.
pilgrims Sep 2019
I live in an optimistic room.
A facade of shaped mirrors.
A shell that lingers, marked with scarred runes.
A hell where a demon lies
dreaming in his tomb.
Ambling about an amiss womb of ignorance
my nature is twisted.
I resisted a restless pessimist who has insisted
I entered into a house of horrors!
Where hubris is heavenly
and pain is pleasure.
Guilt is a given
and treachery means treasure.

My sins surround me.
Too slothful to even pluck the fruit
my gluttonous hunger devours
an empty hand.
In this way, pride and lust also follow suit.
My avarice is of envious repute,
but of the things I envy
I cannot refute.

One last forgotten folly.

An abandoned demand.
A deep,
abysmal
pit
is the seat of my soul.
Fiery wrath
now frigid.
Instead of a furnace
an empty
hole.
Mark Wanless Aug 2019
the prism of the mind
a manifestation of universe
you and me included
someone asked
c Apr 2019
We are bending light
Allowing this
Distorted Reality
To appear somewhat
Normal, almost.
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