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Writing poetry is an exercise
in making myself rise
from ordinary preoccupation
to enter the realm of creation.

When I share it I am revealing
thoughts, doings, and feeling,
so I need not hesitate to share
or bore those who care.

A poem might not be art
but it is a letter from my heart
more than a quick posting
or social media boasting.

So if you do not receive a sealed letter
from me in the mail, a poem is better.
It is a moment of being bold
of sharing a small slice of my soul.

Getting a poem from a poet or friend
is an honor for me and I will attend
and count it a privilege worth prizing
a noble moment of the creator’s rising.
Isaac Nov 3
You can literally lock into ***,
The creator and source of all reality.
That is the answer right there.
That is what he has been getting at this entire lifetime.
That. Locking into him, relationally.
Conversing intimately every new day and unique moment.
That is the hack to reality.
It is how you can win in this reality.
Written 3 November 2018
Isaac Oct 23
You are a soul,
Born inside a body.
You are more than
A clump of atoms.

You are precious
And valued by ***,
Not a careless piece
Of his creation.

You are a whole world
In and of yourself.
Let your personality shine
In ***'s magnifying presence.

You belong with your creator.
Allow him to show you that.
He is ready to bring you close.
You were born to be with him forever.
Written 24 October 2018
Kada Oct 10
*** created everything with a divine purpose,
Nothing that has life is a mistake.
                                                        ­        -Kada
You aren't a mistake.
George Krokos Sep 22
The pulse of all the universe is the vibration of Om
the primal sound of the Creator it manifested from.
From "Simple Observations" ongoing writings since the early '90's
Note: Om = Amen
Morgan Spiers Sep 17
every molecule of your being
each cell
down to it's nucleus
is one that has existed for millennia
yet is entirely unique.

all that we are is matter,
recomposed in a way to create
to  establish

it is not within ourselves
that we find purpose
but in the artist that used chaos
as a canvas;
in the sculptor that made monuments
out of mere molecules.

do not fear the "you" you are is of bad quality;
for it was molded
and perfected
by the perfect
Kelly Reagan Nov 20
The life I knew, I do not know anymore.
The life I lived, is not like before.
Before you left, things made sense
Now your gone, the world is intense
Intense in the way that it feels like fear.
I want to feel sad, but the shock is severe.

It does bring comfort to know you are ok.
Though you’re gone, you’re not far away.
I can feel you the most when I am alone.
I can’t see your farce, or call on the phone.
I wish it me, instead of being you.
You would have known what to do.

Here on this earth, I am truly alone.
I don’t belong here, this isn’t my home.
For now I know I must figure this out.
With uncertainty, insecurity and doubt.

One thing that is certain,
One thing that is sure.
This is just a short stop,
It is only a minor detour
For something much bigger, grander and fine.
Some call it heaven,  the above, the divine.

I know you are there, and it’s a much better place.
You did your best on the earth, you ran the rat race.
Earth is not meant for a kind soul.
That’s why you left early, I am not whole.
When I look at the cosmos on the darkest of night.
I can see your light, shining so bright
I , to whom thee attribute the massacre ,
I speak as your creator ,
Thee cameth to me o traveller ,
As a fickle narrator

For you **** me for your fate ,your condemnation
You attend to me as my foundation crumbles to dust
Your sentiment of zeal was mine own creation
You tainted it with your ambition , mutating it into ****

As the viscious cycle of your adultery reiterates
You indict me of being a silent beholder
As the heartiness and probity of my realm eviscerates
My heeds and warnings are met by your cold shoulder

Your embarkments of upsurge , and the subsequent collapse
Rendering my pattern blurred and unrecognizable to mine own eyes
now you stroll over a mine of your own traps
From my great design springs your eventual demise

Tis' not my trial you stand but shadows of your own that you face
As my realm scorches in your blaze, you drown in the multitude of my waves
For thee to elude eternal damnation
O traveller thee shall fade without a singular trace , dawn anew from disgrace
Hence shall come thy salvation
When I speak I create
Even without a magic wand
When I think I create
And my environment
Thinks like I think
Magic is an illusion
But power is real
And it is not in your hands
But in your mouth
One Word changed my life
Starting with my mind
Which is a powerful biological machine
That can either instruct
Or self-destruct
If overloaded with wrong instructions.
A man utters
Out of the abundance of the heart
And as he imagines so is he
Man is a thought
And thoughts are spirits
They work like cells
Unobserved yet effective
Possess your mind
And inculcate your heart
If you don’t
They will
When they entertain your mind with their demonic fantasies…
Words are powerful. Silence is golden, and speaking is silver.
Every painter
Has that one amazing painting
That's loved the most
And we are
Allah, the Arabic word for ***, but special in the fact that it has no gender, no plural.
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