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Like the bee that stings to death
Like the poison that it began from
Like the spider, the God to web
Catching supper

© Clarissa C. van Vreden
Are you listening?
Lines, bliss, peacing?
Ease, drops
Sky-
Tears stopped dry
Fine binds
Glistens
Earth rise
Mistens
Mind hear you,
Trials tear true
I find you regardless of
Body what minds can do
Lyrics in Progress: Finished poem


Melting pots of hazy ways
Where sunrise is what makes my days
Anticipations of tiring explanations
Gaze the life for the wild again

Summer days and eves when away goes to tease
That dreams have more fury in fire

but that spark that ignites me
In the evening times goes like this again when dreaming to get up again
Where the world lets me breathe in two  
Crystal eyes shopping in the dark
Ignite me

I wake up to only dreaming of
Crystals shopping the light
Observing and what not
How else would I wake again?

I want to feel
Ignited undivided
Speechless to the moon subsiding
New awakenings
light arising
Not to only wake again

Ignite me, breathe me, move me
Thank you for my own,
Crystal eyes shopping in the light
How long has it been since,
Since that whatever you think of now.
The epic mind in peaceful stay wants to differentiate time elapse for,
for the reason of vice encountering.
Slept nights, walked days,
Took time at times, took ways.
How egocentric to judge thou self actually though for purpose of time. For pondering mind.
Actually it mustn't be bad this or sought out writings like these would not appear and that is why.
Why ask why?
I see past and present and accomplices. Sought out my mind for agreement and value comes with. Yet how long it has been, is statistically worthless for the time being. So,
Timeless is rather the junction to put.
Freer the flight, and acceptance of this now. What to do? Makes my mind sing too- yet of worth is where I hesitate like truth of within-ness too complicated yet for a writing arousably pleasing. Without can do for questioning moments too distant. Too complicated. Too uncomparable for,
Thouself.
Only you can translate
where you are
on your voyage through
this varied farce
called “life”.

No one else can dictate
to you…
or should even dare…
how to phrase
your feelings,
your thoughts,
your personal moments.

Who is anyone to
cause another to feel
inept or inferior
for wording their
experiences as they will?

We are all both
audience and poet,
consumed by the
powerful spell of words
and meaning
we are bonded
in ink.

It takes gumption
and courage
to give voice to
your vision of
the world.

It often requires
resilience and nerve
to open your heart
and peel back the
layers of skin,
and let others take
a long look at the
inner workings of YOU.

Be brave,
take courage,
let your soul speak
in its very own
language.

People will read
your words and
listen to the sweet
whispers
and thunderous shouts
that flow from pens
and keys
to release the
inner demons and angels
and the lyrical
vines that bloom and live
in our individual
landscapes,

fluidly coursing from
our own rabbit holes
with fortitude and grace
and our neverlands,
where we need never
grow up,

to share with those
that need to see
and hear and feel
and wonder.


-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights
Touch, does it feel?
Tears, does it heal?
Being and why?
Living, to die.
Born as one or linked to muse?
To who then God, to you, are you alive?
Is that why I can't see you
Is that why you are all oh mighty, superior one?  
Thoughts, these are
And no you're not for that isn't vivid?
Touch, I feel.
Tears, are mine.
Being, I am.
Living as vivid, to you almighty one!
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