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How good is the thought
If it doesn’t set you free
The freedom you seek within

How blind can you be
When you already can see
The true side of it

How good is the thought
If it doesn’t set you free
From miseries

When you don’t trust
Your own heart
How will you believe
That you can

There is freedom
In believing yourself
There is freedom
In believing, that thought
That you can believe
In yourself
That inner strength
Assertively
And that freedom sought
Is freedom received
Dear Jesus,  

Without your guidance & Holy presence Yahweh, I could never achieve
the understanding of self and others, in such a Mystical way.
Inside this grand spectrum we call Divinity we find our true home
Through Compassion & Mercy we are filled with an ocean of love
so deep, it enables us to nurture an entire Universe.    
Father of mine, ease me into your peaceful presence as you would  
the dove when is soars through the crystal portals of your sweet heaven.

Dear Daughter,

Breathe with me child and walk with me through the path  
I will light every lantern for you and guide you into my blessed garden.  
I will nurture you and tend to you, like a precious rose
make you lay still, as I teach you the Silent Prayer of the heart.
It is in my teachings that you will entrust and consign your beliefs,  
etching them onto your soul right next to your hopes and dreams.
I will love you always daughter just like a father does,  
forever and forever, through all of time and eternity.
Flaunt your joy
Dig your sorrow
You have only today
Who knows 'bout morrow!
In our times,
no one wants
to be politically
incorrect.
"Let's not offend."
seems to be the
chant.
Nice little
sheep
that
stay
in line.
Simple smiles, and
polite applause,
but just
a smattering.
Agreement en masse.

Next time you see
this, look for the
return of public
hangings, the blotting
out of the sun, and the
death of art that is
forged from the
marrow of the spirit.
https://booksie.chainletter.io/i/thomaswcase888
Link to my recently published limited edition book, Rise Up Collected Poems and Short Stories.
In the eerie hours half asleep
I heard my name in a soft voice.

It was a wake up call I couldn't resist
The jungle was in dark mist
The night ending but morning was still frail
The call was to tread on the fallen leaves trail.

The trees were shaded dark the sky was pale
Every bush was where the shadows fell
Quiet was the air our heart tautly tense
We tiptoed our best, and it made sense.

Tweet of early birds didn't sound sweet
Danger awaited at all sides to meet
We strained ears for the slightest sound
The jungle a romance on a perilous ground.

On the dry boulded river shapes were deep
Moving in a herd crawling to the steep
We stood frozen on this other side
To let the distance between grow wide.

Years have flown and whenever in the woods
I see my father's figure in jungle brood
He wakes me up and stretches his hand
We fly through the bushes in jungle land.
Humbly dedicated to my father who was an avid walker in the forest in the wee hours of the morning. It was on such a trip he met with an accident and died.
A quarter second to midnight
yet we’re still here..

I don’t believe,
I’m sure this world is pure..

The end is not up to them,
the one percent of rich human…

Too rich to care at all..
Waiting for this world to fall.

Greater powers exist
The universe will resist.
Traveler 🧳 Tim
You dreamt
You Awoke
But your slumber
Tumbled into the Deep
Ocean where your
Delusion soaked
In Brine.

The Molten Core of your
Ambition
Melts and steams in a
Brevity of Being.

Goodnight sweet Fantastic

Allow the gentle Waves to
Waft you ashore
No matter a poet’s personal views
we are all symbiotic
with the eternal muse..

Just when you think you have it all figured out
a new pattern distorts the mystery..
All a poet can possibly do
is try to be on the right side of history.

We hold to our truths
as cogs in a divine façade.
In a matrix that’s much too copious
to possibly know it all.

Emotional states distort our perceptions.
Love and hate
the eternal *******..

The plasticity of heart allows a path
to bending without breaking…
A dark night of the soul,
several or so
can lead you to an awaken.
Traveler 🧳 Tim
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