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From the warm breath of bright light,
blue sky breaks through our dormancy.
Cool breeze still keeps on bare air,
whilst curved lines rise bound in time
to care for the meaning of life.

We're expected to expand or contract,
responding to vast constructs set upon us.
It's easy to forget measures of the present tense.
Stillness often corrects parallels to connect, as impulses bubble up to ****** inside the mind.

Characters unseen play amongst the set,
there are integrated games we gain but our existence is said to be simplistic.
Focus on your sense of self and betterment, less complicated within the riddles of preconditioning.
Here to give, win and begin again.
(@PoeticTetra - instagram/twitter)
Billie Marie Jul 2020
ego

shall a tree
move its own limbs
to mimic God

the trap

What have we done?
Capitalism
has taken the place
of God as a sense
of safety - security - identity
in our minds.
Everything serves a purpose
until it gets out of control.
Time has an end.
Eternity is forever.
You are forever.
We are the ones
we have been searching for.
John McCafferty Jun 2020
Step through the clouded mist
Reflect upon the silver pane
Assist and improve to renew
the lesser side of you

As the body regenerates
in kind so can the mind
Rectify verbal constructs
There's still time to grow
in matching your actions

Stretch between your
panic and comfort zones
Observe parity with clarity
Lessons in self awareness are key
as you can't always be told what to be
(@PoeticTetra - instagram/twitter)
Betty May 2020
Time is water

An endless flooding tide

Which regulates our lives

It has no form

No shape

Beyond the ones that we give it

All are streams in a river

Which flows to a sea

When oceans dry

And weeks and months are gone

Time will carry on
LWZ Jul 2019
Flower people,
frolicking on the moon,
Smiling wide eyed with honest jest.
How did they grow without soil, water,
or air? Roses out of concrete defying social constructs.
Follow the flower people.
Show them you give a **** about the delicacy they expel
Reject your insensitivity and care about someone else.
Willard Jun 2018
I thought I saw Ursa Minor in Lampe Park last night,
but the trees blurred my vision to the point
where I couldn't tell whether it was a constellation
or a phallus ******* on a posy of roses.

Stars don't make sense.
If amateur philosophy has taught me anything,
it's that they can't be social constructs
or a figment of your imagination
because they exist.

They're dead,
but they exist.

and they'll be here
until all my jokes about cancer
or death in general
catches up to me.

— The End —