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 Feb 11
NuurSeraph
Like the sunlight in retreat,
still greets an evening moon
In this passing intermission,
they are sacredly attuned
With a sharing disposition,
one will offer to reflect
The Light that shines Eternal
keeps the promise to project

With pre-ordained precision,
rays of Light are tasked to trace
The constellations mapping out
the storybook of space
In kaleidoscopic fashion,
beaming Lights of every hue
Reveal the coded messages,
once hidden, into view
 Nov 2024
Kenshō
I sped to the temple.
Breaking human laws,
to align with universal ones.

I approached.
As my brow lowered,
grace entered my being.

Sunlight greeted me.
As I slowly passed
A stone Buddha.

No one was around.
Monks must be out.
Only a bird sat and sang
to all the flowers.
~
As I entered the main hall,
the wood creaked beneath me,
And my awareness became acute.

The large Buddha towered
over a myriad of empty zafus.
All in accordance and order.

I sat, emulating the statue.
Even my temporal imperfections
matched the stone carvings.
Yet, my mind was with the bird.

I stretched out my legs,
toward the wall,
after a long sit.
The flowers were still after a breeze
And that bird had flown away.
https://i0.wp.com/westvirginiaville.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/03/bhavana-society-meditation-hall-blanket-march2022.jpg?ssl=1
 Oct 2024
Cassian
Why do you like me?

I am broken

Unfixable

My blood is cold

My tears have dried

Every ounce of my soul is gone

My heart has nearly died

I am tired of failing

Of being left behind

I wish to disappear

My mind is broken

Half the time

I am scared

To be free

I want to move out

But I don't want to be me

I'm terrified of living

A fake me is who they see

I write of darkness

Speak of trauma

So then

Why on earth are you following me?
 Sep 2024
nivek
You will leave a skeleton
after you are long gone

One poem may survive
rattling around your skull

A tattooed lyric
set in bone

After one last recital
one last Hurrah.
 May 2023
Carlo C Gomez
The city that never sleeps
is also
The city that never dreams

Look out for future unrest!
 May 2023
Anais Vionet
Edgar Alan Poe is dead. Seriously, I read it.
He died in October 1849 - or did he?
Do we really know?

Poe wrote about death a lot,
he teased with it, it was his favorite tool.
He kept death close and twisted it like a knife.

His profession was the macabre, the shadow,
the summoned dread and the gruesome aftermath.

He was a writer and a critic - what’s more dreadful than a critic?

They say he died from “unknown causes”
- how absolutely perfect.
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: Aftermath: the period after a destructive event.
I stay awake
Thinking of one
While another sleeps

Longing to feel wanted
Wishing to be held once more
Wanting to remember
What it ment to be safe

I lay awake
Unable to sleep
Creating false realities
Just to help me feel

Perhaps another level
Or another page
Might help in this
Long night ahead
 Mar 2023
Silence Screamz
Each night before I lay down,
I swallow four little pills,
two white ones, one yellow one
and one blue one

About fifteen minutes later,
my mind starts to mumble,
Then I stumble into defeat.
Eyes heavy and vision cloudy

My brain is seeking answers,
my fingers start to feel tingly.
The room slowly closes
in on me.

My emotions cease to exist,
tapping slowly on the wall.
I implode with fear
and still I seek no answers

Four little pills
plays dodgeball inside my brain
FOUR LITTLE ******* PILLS
I   I   I   I
I don't know who I am anymore

Cascading down the tunnels,
through damped corridors I go,
It doesn't stop.
Burnt flesh and tempation gone
I left my mind
on a ceramic plate
Then it shatters

Four little pills
disappeared inside of me
No reflection in the mirror to see
I am no longer in your presence
Its time to go
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