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So sad to let her go
Yet she has already gone
Gone far too long with her resentful heart and her damning words.
I am better off left to the birds.
They have gathered to pick at my flesh.
So transparent are their compulsions
So enlightening for me to see and hear.
I no longer hold her dear.
Conjurors of cruelty gathered to pick me apart. Unwanted users give me discord while they want. Spit in my face
You are weak and problematic.i am better off to have not created you
I've traveled to where I have not been.
I have eloped to where I must not.
It's perfect here. Not too cold nor too hot.
I have to pay for my excursions, folly is never cheap. But I'm working so feverishly, I have sown, so shall I reap.
I'm pleased. Ultimately fortunate, I settle into my loft. While some of the old remnants tangled on, while they grimace and scoff.
I am easily satisfied, yet I ponder greater things. This is where my head is at. Contrasting the Hater Beings.
I know this because they confess to me, what abhorred thoughts they compel.As well, people are human and these beings are not.
I rid myself of these remnants, refuse of the past. I will rebuild and cleave tothat which does not last.
Forgotten Ones like daisies in a jar.
Wilted, desiccated, without atar.
Our intention was never to wander away. Our love still remains but their love decays.

How could it not? Once they lay saturated in the blood of our love,
while we hustled away in a darting whirl. Your forgotten ones; we're they boys or girls? We're they soldiers, husbands, wives, or daughters?
We're they abandoned, neglected, slaughtered?

We forgot them and they forgot us. Twitching in our own abyss. We are the ones so distraught by these thoughts.
But weren't we the cause for losing what we sought?

All that remains are paper tokens,
Potpourrie petals, petrified skeletons of. Love we forgot on a shelf.
These are the things we can't ask ourselves.
There is such a place, you know--
one that transcends time and space
and visions of what you're supposed to resemble,
and the limits placed by the digits
of your mortal age.

I can feel the presence of it
in my bones,
where the sky is never ending and liberated
and the sun and moon
can openly converse and love and exist,
without the rules of superiors
who like tragic love stories and twisted histories.

Whatever you decide to do, whatever you decide to feel,
there are no restraints
to keep you from the prospects of flying,
or dreaming,
or embracing things that you had to
let go of in another existence.

There is no fear, confusion, or awkwardness,
no doubts of not belonging,
of not deserving to exist in such a place
where your soul can be pure,
and being able to thrive
without having to try so hard
anymore.

You don't have to try anymore to
be a good person,
because you are one.
You don't have to struggle to hold on to yourself,
you don't have to feign ignorance
or enlightenment.

You can breathe and smile openly,
and every smile is so breathtakingly beautiful that
you glow and transcend above all heavens
and insecurities.

The ground is soft and supportive,
giving way to your feet, that no longer
feel so tired and heavy from having to labor to live,
or from constantly running away
from demons and voices
that tear at your conscience and soul.

No, you can now feel as light as air itself,
soft feet running on sunkissed clouds that
formed from tears of happiness.

When it rains,
you don't have to take cover
for it has already washed away all your sorrows and guilts,
guilts in the forms of hot, suppressed tears
in the failures of your lost ambitions
and stolen discoveries,
guilt from turning away, even when someone
asked you for help.

You can forever venture out here,
to unknown, misty, thriving islands and majestic palaces
far away,
you can do things you never got to do,
for you don't have to pretend
to be someone you aren't.

You don't have to live each day questioning
every single telltale of life.

You don't have to wonder anymore
about why the world can be
such a cruel place,
no matter how many rays of hope
reach into the darkness.

You don't have to wonder anymore,
because here
such misery does not exist,
and the ruins of a good soul
dance as a renewed, enlightened being again.

Above all,
you don't have to live someone else's life
because here, you find yourself
over and over
and over again.
07/09/18

The Green of this particular Nirvana is a component that allows you to love and live freely, with no restrictions or heaviness of people weighed down by the world, and themselves.

Here, you are liberated from the faults of others, and the faults of yourself in a time and place where you were ignorant and lost.

Here, there is no society to degrade you. You can exist solely in harmony with nature.

Edit: Wow, I can't believe this poem got chosen to be the Poem of the Day! I've never received so many likes, comments, and feedback on any of my poems, so I feel overwhelmed, but very happy. Thank you for taking the time to read my words; it really means alot to me <3 <3
Cool and crisp is the air to breathe.
Frail and colorful discarded leaves.
Autumn is quiet as November falls.
I hear this whisper as it calls.

I whisper back like a hidden friend behind a wall.
The wind picks up hushing my words.
It strolls away from our conversation and settles up above the palms.
I feel no need to feel the breeze, it's usually too intense.
Placing its disarrayed claws on others possessions and. Tossing them into the air. Like it has no regard for anyone. It doesn't care.
If this non visually materialized life form has no warmth or delightful scent of fresh lost yet familiar vision to bestow, then I just as well have no great bond to it and will go.
I feel alive and vibrant as the sun.
I am loved. I walk in the eclectic self knowledge of My Father and His Son.
I am the only soul I see. I am the only one.
November has fallen by the roadside but couldn't take my soul.
December prepares me. December is divine. December is Mine.
It's a true freedom.
This blessing of life.
It's not the approaching new year,
Its the miracles raining upon my soul, this lack of fear.
I almost died, lost my freedom, lost my home, car and hurt for my loved ones.
I am so undeserving.
This grace Jehovah has me cushioned into the Palm of His Hand.
My life radiates with Joy . I thought I could never feel like this. I needed this traffic interception in the wilderness of my fields.
Far from what I left as a home.
Hit anything hard enough and something is bound to happen.
I want to scream in the abundance of clean Air and feel like a little child running in a park.
Lord Jehovah found me lying in the Utah fields of clay
He formed me from my living death and gave me another cherished joyful day.
A T
Have I any poems left?
Have I ANY words to share?

I do not dare.
I fear that all that might be left is -Despair.

I want to be a light , a hand from Our Lord
Yet all I mutter from my mouth is an overflowing shore of discord.

I go on with a flickering of this Light,
but I bow in sub human shame for the peril of my insight.

Blemished, scarred in the gulf that was once my heart,
I no longer bear the audacity of my gifts to impart.

I am dull in my consciousness, I chose this,I do recall.
I was blind or foolish, to believe I could jump yet not suffer the fall.

I unknowingly offer foul gifts to those in pain.
I was in the guise from myself . This is the place I looked inward to share my honest intention. There I was engulfed  in the wretchedness of what I had become. I saw who I am now. I was so deeply saddened by this realization.

There I sat, driving  but not looking, as I so often do, in word, while my eyes searched outward to fall inward, imploring for trust. I wanted someone to see my distrust in myself was as pure and new to me as it crept to the light, given by you.

I was tricked or complacent in maintaining my spirit.I found myself in the bright headlights of the sun offering foul fruits to another without even blinking.
I am sooo far off my course. I have not been thinking. Even my kindness is infected.I have not sought to assure my friend from the distrust and fear of who I may now be. I am afraid of the vision but I know that I do not believe that I am well enough to have trust.
I may offer a refreshment thinking its juice. But the fact is I may equally blindly offer a cup of rust. It is for their light i am thankful to have the sight to crawl out of this oblivion
that i have been living in
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