Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Apr 30
Harley Hucof
Back in my village, in the middle of a pine forest, I walk for hours radiating yellow and green until the earth swallows me and spits me out as a mystical bird-like being.

Like a peacock, I spread my shimmering, resonating feathers and bow to the giant raptor in the sky.
I can only be obedient to his emanations.
I fly back to my children, to my nest on a magnificent cedar tree. We entangle our necks and feathers in rapture knowing that soon, the earth shall reclaim my original nature.

By the sea I sit and patiently wait  to remember why I chose to forget.
The wind moves the waters, and the waves cast the sunlight onto my forehead. I feel the heat increasing as my structure dissolves. I gain back consciousness in an aquatic atmosphere taking a turtle-like form with a shell and humanoid hands. I swim down following a series of glares and vibrations until I reach what is seemingly an immense turtle temple. I feel a sudden danger and crawl back into shell. I open up my eyes and find myself sitting by the sea again.

Life is a journey of appreciation.
I can only surrender and be grateful.



Words Of Harfouchism
 Jan 26
Harley Hucof
I am pleased, might finally speak about my witch friend
share with you some of her wits and trends

Masters today desecrate the truth,
meditation and visualization are nothing but outdated tools

Culturally, relatively free i write fearless,
Contemplation overcomes meditation,
Spirituality conqueres religion ,
I formless, will not abide to your anticipations
I renounce my knowledge and education
Transparency , revolution,
Love works,
It has been scientifically proven

We are what we think
Thoughts procure reality
it has been confirmed quantum physically

So what's your excuse?
take control and imagine the best version of YOU

Imagination is the key to reaching everything and beyond


Words Of Harfouchism
imaginiti
 Jan 13
Harley Hucof
Objectively i step out,
dissecting, inspecting, introspecting,
analysing what is to become of me.

You interpret my words and call it psychology

My main problem is communication,
Inherited from my mother ,
Though i earned a masters in the latter,

My perverseness came from my father
But who could ever blame the parents ?

Since reality is merely a fragment
associated to humans, and i accept that.

Subjectively i dig in , search , meditate and contemplate
i conclude the path is still long ahead however my herritage assures me that i am already there

If Jazz could be committed to ink and paper
assorted with therapy
the results would be similar to my humble poetry


Words Of Harfouchism
Psychoanalysis
 Dec 2020
Harley Hucof
Awake i found the languages have changed in my sleep
The sequence of words is lost and so is my power to will

People talk strange but sill imitate their creator
Behaviour is predictable when you're attached to a prayer

Obey my ageless tongue

I dare question my presence in this dimension
With one intention
An ancient practice and an encounter
The timelessness of magic shall bring back my willpower

The symbols are drawn
The words are assembled
At the crack of dawn
I shall have my answers




Words Of Harfouchism
 Sep 2020
Harley Hucof
Sophisticated

Information penetrates in light

Medicated

I no longer believe in your fight

Elevated

Intelligence evolves

Circulated

By conscious thoughts

And a will,
Hard as steal
To divert the fear

Through a creative lens
Expressed in a bleeding pen

Mixed with a salty tear
For the truth to be revealed


Words Of Harfouchism
Prayer Processes
 Sep 2020
Harley Hucof
The night comes but i am not ready to sleep

In my dream my lover comes in yellow and green

She removes the crown of leaves off her head
Pulls out a leaf and rubbes it against my chest

Then crumbles it into a pipe and place it on my lips
Commanding me to take a big long hit


As i inhale i reach death,

The end has been summoning me
Whispering my name in between breath
Yet life still claims me

And leaves me wanting more
I would smoke the whole crown if i had the choice


Words Of Harfouchism
 Jul 2020
Harley Hucof
In this dream, that i frequently dream
A tribe of woman Stepping in the pool of creation

Under the radiant moonbeam
my consious mind is absent
I am the imagination

Under the moonlight
the woman's tribe act as one
Dancing
At the pool of creation, witnessed by none
Chanting

Revealing the secret of womanifesting

Are you alone? Womanifest

From the source,
By light and dust
My love is created
In sacrifice and blood

Words Of Harfouchism
What you think
 Jun 2020
Mitch Prax
Drifting across your sea-
carry me away with your waves
away from these people
and this land I have outgrown.
Maybe I will drown
but that's a risk I'm willing to take
if it means I get to
breathe you in.
 Apr 2020
Harley Hucof
My formless fear has its cycles
And it lives within me like a shadow
My formless fear is a desire
If it was a bird it would be a crow

My perception shifts.

Knwoledge is a trap , so is the art to percieve
And to manipulate fate living by " evrything is written" as a philosophy

My choices aren't mine , i am just a tool
My vision shifts , so does the true truth

My allies are intangible , though i am objectively measurable
A fair creator would only discard such a rebel

Everything happens for a reason , i trust life fully
But i dont want to take responsibilty.

I am just a tool everything is written
I exist through a knwoldge that is hidden

I trust life as i see and understand
My formless fear takes form as a pen in my hand

After all the writer was only a man.


Words Of Harfouchism
Let me know what you think and your interpretations. Thank you
 Apr 2020
Carlo C Gomez
At swim,
girl waits with gun.
She's a half-formed thing,
having entered into it
motherless.
The fault in our stars,
the night sky with exit wounds,
is left to the grace of
a god of such small things:

fabulous disarray,
perilous notions.

It's a common tale
in tragic literature,
but here it now floats.
The red tide washing
back onto shore
as granules of sugar,
sweet as petrified honey
in the hallowed out trees:

in which we begin
to not understand.

The sea breaks its back,
lingering like the wet gossamer
of her nightdress,
covered with the scent
of stillbirth,
and the illimitable
shut-in trials:

they arrive in waves,
she weeps every time they're "borne."
Next page