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 5d Pax
Cné
From a distance, she gazes with a sigh,
At the man by the sea, a captivating sight.
Lost in thought, he searches deep inside,
For the truth of who he’s meant to be,
and the path he’ll choose to ride.

She lifts a hand, a hesitant wave,
Like the ocean’s gentle touch
on the shore’s soft cave.
Yet doubt creeps in, as she questions her move,
Should she approach, or quietly slip away,
and let him find his groove?

The ocean’s vastness mirrors
her own uncertainty,
As she weighs the risk of reaching out,
and the comfort of anonymity.
For now, she stands, frozen in contemplation,
Torn between connection and solitude’s liberation.
I wrote an abbreviated version of this poem a few years ago and in rereading it, was inspired to add more.
 6d Pax
Zywa
In all its colours,

life keeps unfolding in us --


deep within our soul.
Painting "Baby" (in the cradle, 1917, Gustav Klimt)

At the birth of Harper Elizabeth Engwerda on September 14th, 2021

Collection "web tissue"
 6d Pax
Mitch Prax
The ache of
another night
realizing that these
two hearts do not beat
for one another.
The pain of
another morning
yearning to wake up
next to someone
who cares.
not  the prophylactic kind,
nor the rubber kiss road tire kind.

but the rubber of bodies
old and young,
tired and tense,
young and flexible
migrained, played & splayed,
pain paralyzed,
soothed by cherubic
fingertips
oiled with,
anointed by,
a-custom cream
of tenderizing aloe
and gentling, kind loving
quieting & shushing

tho mine own temples,
raging, feverish,
combobulating
as words spill as *******
and then

she
sleepy whines:
why did you stop rubbing me?


and for
a sleep deep,
she leaves
me,
going unanswered

but happily
nonetheless
boy be typing
**The End
If humans had no emotions,

poetry wouldn't have existed.
a gift for Aladdin Aures H
from his 3rd follower...

<>><<>
the inescapable need,
unformed firmament
inquiring; am I capable?

the impulse palpable,
the urge to urgent,
to gorge and disgorge?

instead of morning prayers,
precomposed and ordered,
morning poem plucked from

morning fog, gusted breezes,
early-on, newborn sun rays,
progeny of disheveled skies

words fused, in irregular sizes,
senses censured by drowsy eyes,
but the chest beating arrhythmia

means bursts of free verses
superimposed on reluctant eyelids,
jigsaw puzzlement be re-conformed

and the first poem of the day,
emerges from the intersection
of mind, pale dreams, and the

first is special till the neu morrow,
when fresh bursts explode inward
to windward, and the first is just

yesterday's mesh of hash,
once formidable, now last,
pinned, yellowing, purely a
*descendant of the recent,
but always, ancient past
^
3:07pm
a bright sun grilled day, in a cold June
Juneteenth 3025

on the Isle of, in the piet's nook
wish i wrote like you guys, wish it were more direct.



it has been noted as abstract, yet i cannot see that.



he wanted a garden, this one. we  looked

at other houses, he wanted this one.



with

a garden as seed for the future.



when he died i let it grow and hid here. now

i tidy , grow seeds for the future.
 7d Pax
silvervi
I treat myself with a little more respect each day.
It's like stretching a muscle, a little more goes a long way. And consistency is key. Even if it's way out of the comfort zone, today I'd like to encourage you to take an act of respect and kindness towards yourself. It may be washing the dishes right after you ate, taking a bit longer outside just to breath or picking up some routine you've been neglecting lately. Whatever it is, you deserve the effort and time to make yourself feel good, seen and respected.
In a crucible we're placed
As gold with dross to spare
Placed upon a fervent flame
We are all heated there.

Through this hard and
Hellish trial
We melt down as the ore
Releasing our impurities
Our faults come to the fore.

All the greed and avarice
All coveting and lust
Hate and anger bubble up
All envy & mistrust.

Jealousy. All vanities.
Malice & disdain
We scream & shout
And writhe about
Grumble & complain.

God takes his refiner's scoop
Removes the crust and then
Leaves us on the furnace fire
And heats us up again!

As we release the
Dirt and grout
There is a peace that's found
We find our comforter in Him
And we quiet down.

Still we have the impure thought
We are not worry free
We have a sort of "holy" pride
Religiosity.

Finally, this scraped away
There's NOTHING left. No trace
God looks into the shining gold
And sees His very face!

How glorious, the finished gold!
How beautiful the ore!
It's set in wondrous majesty

To shine forevermore!


SøułSurvivør aka
Write of Passage aka
Invisible inc aka
Catherine Jarvis 2019

.
I'm going through some very difficult trials. Rather than complain I'm writing about them. We all have something in our lives to heat us up, so to speak. We can get bitter, or we can get better. I choose the latter. My faith really helps. It is my hope that you will find this Faith is as well. Thanks for reading! ♡♡♡
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