Is it better to be seen?
Or should I hide the parts Of my mind, the unseemly Things that eyes don't like, so I can sell enough bits and Pieces of my soul to Pay this month's rent? Is it better to be heard? Or should I quiet the Sounds that my thoughts are making When feelings start biting At my rib cage and my heart Skips across the cold street To keep the peace? Is it better to be owned? Or should I keep trying To make it work? Just because, I'm used to suffering by now, you'd think it wouldn't hurt so bad while watching you walk away... I have a question to ask If God ever finds time I've been wondering why for Quite a while despite My parents trying their best Telling me I'd get it but, Eventually hasn't come yet.
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
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
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.
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!
trembling roars make timber
shiver by the bank and Beanpole stands contemplating he'd be doing the right thing for the wrong reasons
... 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.