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 Apr 29
Bekah Halle
Deep darkness, despair.
How could you know, you’re not there?
Empty mind I crave,
But constant chatter takes me to the grave.

Fleeing, running; working, studying, drugs, and stuff,
Distractions from revelation; I am enough.
Progress is prized; the final nail,
We need true clarity; the holy grail.

Opening out and up to the mystery unknown,
Here, flourishing can become our own.
Insights of the true us,
Found when there’s nothing, no sound, no ***...

Embracing loneliness can be the pearl sought,
Moving away from things ought,
Turning to the unknown,
Is where true dreams are sewn.
 Apr 28
Bekah Halle
words rattle
around in my
head
but they sing
in my
soul.
Does this happen to you or am I the only one?
 Apr 28
Mira
We were like two ships;
passing in the night—
except,
we weren't passing each other at all,
we were circling each other,
over,
and over—
swept into a whirlpool,
strung along for a relentless cycle,
until we reached the pit,
and we sank to the bottom,
forgotten,
as if the ships never set sail.
 Apr 28
Abby
The bent legs
carelessly dangling out of the chair
as the ants come
whom she welcomes with open arms
Her voice would shake
and choke up
passionately when debating
the stubborn and beastly injustice
How her freckles
were spackled onto her nose
from hours spent
chasing the endless sun
Criss cross applesauce
spilt onto the lush grass
limbs bent at unattractive angles
a book filled with ambrosian letters
precariously teetering
the tightrope of her kneecap
Makeup and artificiality
was foreign to her,
alien intruders,
the only known home
provided by the trees and birds
sheltered by the blithely positioned cloud
And the Spirit,
the Spirit that yearns to join the ladybug
dive deep deep deep
into the clear chalice of water
accompanied by airy eagles
To run until her chest aches
capacious lungs gasping
Along with the Soul
the Soul that clings to those she loves
cries over the blissfulness of the dove
is sickened by the smell of new leather
and patiently listens to the water in the drain

all of these make the divine feminine.
 Apr 28
Asher Graves
I never lost faith in love, I was just scared
All around me I felt the loss in the air
The spring always baffled me;
For the winter was never there
In the basket of life, I felt the dread drawing near
The anticipation was vexing for a simple guy lying bare

I lost touch with my hobbies
I lost touch with my buddies
I lost being that funny guy
Who spoke so angelic; Truly Euphoric with a good sense of that comedic relief
I lost….
Lost the confidence, lost being the player
Lost my patience and a head full of loose screws
Time healed the wound but what about the ruse?
What about those sentiments? What about the bruise?
What about those promises? What about the cruise?
I was a little negligent but, what about you?

You talk about promises but all you do is ruse.
You talk about sentiments but all you do is refuse.
You talk about amendments but all you do is bruise.
You took away the sobriety and let it all loose
You took away the honesty and you took me for a fool
All I ever wanted I was to fall in love, thought you were the muse
I never lost faith in love, I just got used like a tool
                                                                                     -Asher Graves
this was before i got my closure so kinda yk.
 Apr 28
Bekah Halle
Whispers deep within, cry out “hear me, here in,”
I desire to be heard,
I desire to be seen,
I desire to be acknowledged, as something more than what could have been.

You’ve tried to ignore it,
You’ve tried to do what’s right,
What’s sensible, what’s to be applauded,
Rather than what your heart yearns: to be revelled in delight!

Pure indulgence,
Disdainful scorn,
Narcissisms decadence,
All that should be off-sworn.

But denial has only left me stuck,
I have lived a cognitive dissonance existence,
A state of **** and muck.
I wish for more, I want to rise above the resistance, insistence and self-persistence…

I wish to be MORE curious,
I wish to be larger,
I wish to be more spontaneous,
And live a life full, but not “full” of what ifs, that’s what I rather.

So here I am,
Now, what do I do?!
.
.
.
.
Take the next step…

into the dream,

For there, I hope,  will be the next clue!
I just got off the phone with my Chaplain Supervisor and I realised that I had stopped taking stock of what I am grateful for, and my authentic curiosity had become dormant —maybe the colder days had signalled, subliminally, dormancy?! But I need to breathe new life into it, resurrect it if you would, my curiosity. The result: this poem. Feedback welcome.

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