These thick waves of this river,
This fading sun, a little above it,
This unique universe,
These eyes which carry universes,

All these are works of art,
created for us,
so that we can see glimpses
of our home, in them,
in certain moments,
and reach it,
when worthy.

© Manan sheel.
TH 2d
Grab your coat
And take some food
Pick a boat
It’d do you good

Don’t you plan
Your destination
I know you can
But let creation

Take a trip
Inside your mind
And let the ship
Be yours to find
a last shot into unknown,
dive deep into the soul less ink,
only to impart your own,
perhaps to emerge victorious?

imbue the stale cruelty of the inanimate
with the vivid cruelty of the soul,
bleed unto the mocking desolute canvas,
drawing blood from mindy & body in whole.

a last shot with broken minds,
write words that are not your own
for crazed usbthe hand that the soul hides behind
a battle of thoughts, then all alone.

Was it really anything at all?
These things I write, I can't quite trust them.
Yet I can't trust what I don't write.
It's so easy to get lost
In the _ of  _
Late 2019!! Hopefully I will start writing more this year, I've had a couple written that I'm still editing. A little uncharacteristic, but I hope to do something uplifting after this just to push my limits.
You want to make something beautiful.
You try on your many hats-
Can you make art that stirs hearts to syncopated fluid intake?
Can you sing songs that lift the diaphragm?
Can you move in a dance that will bring your audience’s tear ducts to full production?
But you are not good at those things.
And you are not patient- here’s where it gets difficult.
You are not patient, so you move on.
You pull more hats from the closet.
You want to make something beautiful, so you save lives
In safety features for automated factories,
In the stitch of a needle through shredded flesh,
In the measure of a brace in a new office building
But you are too good at those things.
You want to feel like you’ve made something beautiful
Not just looking back, but as you make it
The ****** of a brush forming the curve of a lover’s cheek
The curl of the final bracket in a series of nested loops
The flex of your shoulderblades and press into the pillows
Everyone wants to make something beautiful,
In blood, in sweat, in paint
In lyric and code, in ink and tears
They want to have made something extraordinary by the time they die
So they can say they did, so it wasn’t a waste, so it just
So it was, and is, and could be forever.
She was the ***** of creation,
and her milk seeded the stars.
          Purity of white feeding light
                          into the endless darkness..

Her hair weaving
                     the constellations together,
  a thread of intricate gravity.
Holding every  moment
                          in a unity of creation.

Gazing upon the her gown,
                   supernovas bursting forth,
the old giving new beginnings to
                    woven designs, drawn up
before the first stars shone forth..

A mother of a universe, of old and new.
           For even one day she will pass,
but until that time she will be the milk
    suckling the stars to a life of new birth.
Sixteen Jais Jan 9
Create your own reality, control it with mentality and mentally believe that you are right where your need to be.

Does the past define you?
And your now predict ya?
Do you feel the same as in last years pictures?

I don't believe in fixtures
We're evolving you see
And cosmically

But if you only see with eyes
And only hear with ears
Then the connection and perception
then suddenly disappears
Willow Jan 7
caught in the crossfire
between the beautiful colossal catastrophe of our love

rapid fire through my veins
like novacane
you numb me

tangled in silk sheets
with you pressed up against

skin on skin
my sweet escape  

I’m in love with the love that we create

W. Be
Ally Jan 4
It’s happiness I crave.
The strange euphoria from dancing in a rage.
The beauty in a books single page.

     How can one not be enthralled with the simplicity of everyday things?
     How can people glance over the beauty of life’s calmness?

It’s the happiness I crave.
When I see an old couple hold hands,
Or when I drive across the land.

   The peace and serenity of life.
   The happiness from the little things
This is what I crave.
OC Dec 2018
And in the eighth day, *** has glanced
upon its fair creation.
He blessed the common of good sense
and reached imagination.

BY ME!, he said to Gabriel,
I think I've done it pretty well,
by inventing logic first
and afterwards the universe.
Well even though it's been quite tough
our world is... reasonable enough.

Now, I'm a worried since right there
is a little point that's out of order.
It is that little point of view.
It gave us trouble, quite a few.
Please, Gabriel, do fix the matter
and make our world work better.

*** head assistant cried "Disgrace!"
"You little point! Get back in place!"
But when he got up near,
he found out something... weird...
From that point, when he looked at it
*** seemed to him... a wrong a bit...

Two angels all equipped and set
were sent to straight things up.
"Are you not back in line yet?!"
"You make our boss seem all upset."
"Beware, or we shall call a cop!"

When the angels closer drew
each held a different point of view
then roared a great loud argument
upon what point *** really meant!

Oh dear, what shall we do with you?
Such little, stubborn, point of view.
A right solution was not found,
they had to let it stay around.
No one knows what for.
But since that day, we all can say
Life's all,
except a bore...
A little gem by my old man that I've learned to recite by heart. Was written in English originally, unlike other pieces I had to translate.
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