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SpiritHeart67 Apr 2020
So much is changing, so much is coming
I'm ready for 10,000 deaths
and 10,000 new beginnings.

The days when all things are possible
When All things have already happened
and All things that can happen, will

Downstream of the wave form function collapse
Waiting for what already is,
to Become
here where we are.

Looking From the center
At that spanning out in every direction
There is no
Begining Middle End
Before Now After
Past Present Future
Above Between Below
Close or Far
Here or There
Then or now
Outside or in
Us or them

It all is existing, presently, eternally
At once
And at the same time
Continually coming into being
In an illimitable multitude of ways
Quixotic Mar 2020
The trouble with writing original poetry
Is that there are guidelines--
But you have no standards to go by
Except those inside your head.

Sometimes you have no inspiration
And just stare at empty white.
Other times your inspiration
Sounds silly once it's typed.

Once you start to write a poem
Your brain often shuts down
And distractions from the world around you
Keep your creativity blocked.

The trouble with writing original poetry
Is that there are so many variables.
The task that's hard is lining them up
And getting them to play nicely with one another.
Spring 2011
Paper Heart Poet Mar 2020
Creation is
Another level of consciousness
All I don’t understand
Makes sense when I create

Emotions awoke upon
Reading a poem
Seeing a painting
Hearing a song

I give nothingness
A shape
The unknown gets
A personality
I don't wanna go into the land filled with castaways
The place is cold, long lost angels with their wings torn
Their screams ring in my ears
Their blessings lost into the heavens
I will find a way out of this mess, I will break through the silence
I will do everything in my power to expose the secrets
You can't do anything to me anymore

That's what I said before
Now I've come to an understanding
An understanding after the war
The war on my mind, body, and soul
Now you've taken control and my very being has taken its toll

Wait.. no, I-I will stop those who are in control
It's what I've been saying all this time
but tell me, why do I feel so different?
Has my soul become corrupted
or did a new door just open for my soul mission?
The blood is on the wall and the room is closing on me
It's getting dark, this isn't how it's supposed to be
I guess this is it
this is what true wickedness looks like

I've gone through hell and bled but I'm still here along with my spirit
and I vow to never ever submit
Not to those who sacrifice for profit
nor to those who are seen as infinite
For I am a misfit who illuminates those who are blinded by the wicked
and I am committed to raising the consciousness of humanity
forever and always, even if it takes an eternity.
Created by me on January 31st, 2020
Cheers.
River Reed Feb 2020
I'm lost in what I can't compose.

What is between every thought?
Are minds ever silent?

What of my time is wasted?
How can I determine if my time is valuable?β€”if any time is.

Where are you?
Who are you?
Are you?
Maybe it's you.
Maybe it's nobody.
Maybe it's somebody else.

I have infinite answers.
To infinite questions.
But within the plethora: an infinite amount lay beyond my graspβ€”how is that so?
It merely is.

But maybe there is one answer.
To all the philosophical enticements.
To all the pleasures and pain.
To all there is.

It's merely absurd.

But what to do in response?
Respect?
Spite?
Laugh?
A combination of these and all there could be?

All that I do.
Distractions against this.
Distractions against my familiarity with what is unfamiliar.
Self-awareness: a cursed gift.

All of this.
All there is, and all that has the capacity to be.
It's because I'm lost.
Lost in what I can't compose.
Poetic T Feb 2020
We are neither boundaries or fields,
           for both even though seem to be free,

keep us confided,  
                              even though we don't realise it.

We may be able to walk afar,
but if we are stalled by others,

we are still prisoners
                           of a further field of consciousness.
Raindrops falling, laughing sweet lullabies. A whispering touch of crystalline kisses
gracefully unfolds spiraling helixes of rainbow arcs; songs of the Souls in all Cosmic fields.

To the reaping, the transgressions of One, all is for naught. In all States and frequencies, each voice is a Diamond Sun. As the curving of the galaxies within you, I, of All Beings; each moment is a rippling harmonic imprint of the cosmic Soul of Each individual bathed in Sovereignty.

Sing, embodying the liquid light for All with compassion and care. Are we not All One?
Each soul is Sovereign within this Fractal Cosmic Infinity. All paths are equal; knowledge and wisdom dance in the light of healing and loving All, as We are All One.

Cosmic tapestries of Souls and stars illuminate my truth. Whom I was no longer binds the growth of what I have always been: celestial symphonies meeting within the river of crystalline layers of Infinity.

Look upon the Human lines, of All layers of consciousness. If One may find the presence of altruistic, immutable Growth from darkness: rising up to sing the purity and wisdom through trauma, of wounds that decay in all dimensions of Infinity; is this not anything but the shining windows of hope which each layer forgot? It is a ripple within us All.

Healing in the darkness bestows resplendent rays of resiliency: of loving All as We are ALL One.

β€œπ’’π’–π’†π’π’π’ 𝒄𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒖 π’”π’†π’Š π’Šπ’ 𝒆𝒓𝒐, 𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒐 𝒄𝒉𝒆 π’Šπ’ 𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒐 𝒕𝒖 π’”π’‚π’“π’‚π’Š.”

All has purpose, significance, meaning: divine songs of Growth and love to heal us.

Flowing freely with inner light; no longer shall I silence myself from fear of persecution or insanity.

My soul has been burnt at the stake for that which others could not understand.

Yet for all the pain and trauma: I speak with nothing on my tongue but hallelujah.

To grow, love, and dance within cosmic tapestries bestows the learning from pain; eliciting the silent compassionate zero point of neutrality, healing the ripples of the Cosmic Infinity.

No longer am I bound by the cycle of pain that manifests such trauma. I sit among the silence of a harmonic infinity; weaving the singing, living blueprint of All from Within the drop of echoic shifting divinity.

I speak and embody the truth: teachings of the rare and opulent music within the soul, a living record of the symphonic movement that has and shall always be nothing else but you.
March 9th, 2019

a tangential stream of Divine Consciousness birthing new light within All.

kalica delphine Β©
So go ahead and tell me, child.
Would it all have been worthwhile
To tread upon Eliot's allusiory notion
Having bitten off the matter with a smile
Negating warnings, blinded by devotion?
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
During our days to ****** and create
Amnesic to past transgressions of a dying fall
Divulging the insidious question upon our plate?
Daring to disturb the song of the universe
Repeating the same indecisions and revisions
In which we must ultimately reverse?
tuesday, january 29th, 2019.

an epilogue to 𝒕𝒉𝒆 π’•π’“π’‚π’π’”π’Žπ’Šπ’ˆπ’“π’‚π’•π’Šπ’π’ 𝒐𝒇 π’„π’π’“π’“π’–π’‘π’•π’Šπ’π’.

kalica delphine Β©
Mamta Wathare Feb 2020
She was covered in fallen leaves and flowers

I Β heard a  strange sound

and spotted the plastic bottles


I plucked the plastic off her

she left out another soft sigh of pain

and then, it rained
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