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You are the storm at sea
that conjures
swells, eddies and ruthless winds.

In your eye,
I'm but a frail little thing.
Bending to every whim,
and flailing toward every want.

You are the storm.
And I am...


inconsequential.
Joy
. . .
that which has a secret inside itself . . .

which is :
that exhilaration that is serene and untouchable . . .

that self contained God-like feeling
that is completely independent of all of the chances and changes of life

. . . . Joy . . .
https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=HmR2IZjuMVc&si=MOPsDXUsm0ETU7Gs
Silent tree.
Still life of life
Beautiful you stand, gracefully still,
in cool embrace of soft velvet pillows.
Behind rustic fence you stand.
Wonder if you’ll end that way.
I can hear your song of silence.
Soon the sun will appear and
make you shine and glow.
The wind will come and make you whisper.
Bringing movement all around.
Many sounds to hear of nature
Melody of the white lily in you.
Song of life
Still life coming to life.



Shell ✨🐚
Respect our trees, respect life.
If you look up
Is it there?
All I see is air
Why do I raise
my arms up
hoping that God
hears my prayer

Is it some kind
of wicked game
we play ?

I never dreamed
I would meet
someone like you

What a deception
fast of feet
What a reception
so incomplete

I raise my
empty hands up
asking God
"Where is my love ?"
 Sep 16 Sally A Bayan
ryn
20/40
 Sep 16 Sally A Bayan
ryn
A vision obscured.

The eye darts frantic,
navigating around voids.

Lost in the entanglement
of refracted memories.

Finding home...
While swimming through cataracts
and disillusions.
acacia
"i know that, i know that
what's mine will find me"
(1)


<>
sigh...
(forgive my intrusion)
not necessarily-
for too many, we have to invent, create and
forever to be on the lookout for to
find what we need,
forgive and then, not begrudge the time it may take,
finally
then to make it ours,
for
that's when the work begins,

sometimes it takes a forever
to know how to define, create
find, a forevermore

<nml>
exactly 5:00am
Wed Sep 10
in the dark, dark sunroom
she inquires why I write so many poems,
easy comes reply:
It gives me a fantastic living,
it makes and gives, each poem,
a calculation, a reconciliation
of who I am...a miner of the
mineral wealth in my veins
a silent metronome,
we know exactly when,
when sleep pleads us enter,
and when it bids us adieu,
when we growls for sustenance,
or begs for plenty of the mercy
of emptiness to cleanse our void,
when to compose,
when to repose,
when to dispose,
and when tempos dictate
lay down child,
fallow!

but its greater feat,
when sounds the bells of alarm,
when need is greatest,
for arms embraces,
wet lips to refresh,
bodies to synapse,
eyes require delight,
when needs be greatest,
for that very first infant step
to what can only be ever felt,
but is otherwise undefinable,

for another
+to make us complete,
a unity, an,
us+
7:18am
Sat Sep 13
2025
upon awakening
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