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Dave Robertson Aug 2021
Indigo shades steeping
to Indian ink blackness
******* thought
to a beautiful, terrible singularity
where words struggle
to escape gravity
but on we fly
As legs hang on rusty hinges
the strides of doorways
lesser long

wisdom crisps its palms 
up to the hearths of winter
on walks

Older finds joy 
watching little jelly movers
under the snowy leaves 
of autumn's fall

There is freedom 
in holding back;
experiencing exuberance
perched high in cedar
witnessing the now moments
of a uranian world
from a fifth dimensional view

Knowing that Love
sourced from the heart
affects the observed
just as true.
The Spiritual benefits of moving into the slow lane
AllyRose Dec 2020
I can’t feel my body now
A lost connection between how I feel and who I really am
A feeling never ending
I lie inside myself for hours
In a deep sleep dreaming
I float with the river flowers
I suspect foul play above
Hungry hands reaching down
Taking another piece of me
Retro Dec 2020
Oh, the joyous day of our first breath.

Oh, the joyous day of our freedom.

Oh, the joyous day of our first day of understanding.

Oh, the joyous day of our first dreams.

Oh, the saddened day of our first heartbreak.

Oh, the saddened day of our first contemplation.

Oh, the saddened day of our first suffocation.

Oh, the saddened day of our first bad habits.

Oh, the saddened day of our last breath.

Now read it from bottom to top.
Markie Waters Nov 2020
Would row without a paddle.
Vowed to the what's, the why's, the how;
Sitting idle, weighed the mind that rattles.
What matters is you're alive/of life now;
Keep on trucking!
John Brown Nov 2020
trembling roars make timber
shiver by the bank

and Beanpole stands contemplating
he'd be doing the right thing for the wrong reasons
Tiana Nov 2020
... how I sit everyday with
my thoughts astray: how
wonderful each day?

mindful, nostalgic or absent

in my head repeating scenes:
smiles of yesterday? promises
of tomorrow? - No
- only knowing today.
We tend to be self-destructive
And for what do we owe that to?
For whom and what reasons,
Do we rip these parts of ourselves,
Trying to piece it in the oddest of places, when so glaringly obvious
that they don't belong?

We cry endless oceans of tears
Drowning in them, bizarrely,
For our own indulgence! But
at the same time, we're
thrashing in the currents,
Praying for dry land while
also surrendering all hope.
We're all honestly just trying to survive another day, no?
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