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We are in heaven.
Hell is all around and about
if one let it roam.
So we don't and as for Heaven
one must be worthy to enter
it's tiny needle eye
as fat camel enters best
then a bitter unbelieving heart
and critical closed up mind.
Only true love divinity enters.
I find happiness in simple things.
it's found lasting only within
I find heaven in my midst
the moment you enter me
mad in love with me
only you dear lover
in Jayapur beloved
Enter me!
I love thee true..
~~~~~~
By; Angel- Karijinbba.
B C./ A.D-present
https://youtu.be/Cd8Ih8Cs7mk
Jeremie Jul 12
Does true Love stretch across the canvas of Time and echo in the deepest recesses of our soul, unearthing every memory that was lost in our transitions. From one life to the next, a faint glimpse of what we once knew, guiding us back to each other like a constellation only seen by our eyes.
You are all the evidence I need to confirm that Love transcends all barriers, all spaces of time, and all limitations of this earthly shell that houses my longing soul.
Jeremie Jun 16
Love is not a ebbs of emotions
that flow from the human heart.
Nor is it the reciprocation of
understanding promised by lovers.

Love is a dervish twirling
at the center of every cell.
Singing in the heart of Heaven’s soul.
With no notion of itself or another,
just Love and the silent music
of this ecstasy.
An impulse at the center of my soul
L May 28
A wolf in the bushes. A deer in the clearing.
      I know you are looking at me
        because I too am the wolf.

You know I know, because you are me in my knowing.
We are so quiet in our hiding, and yet the deer raises its head.
You sprint to me now.
Here our ever-loving, this sacred tragedy.

O beloved Ever-Creature,
Will you chase me into Godliness, or into the end of It?
I will chase you more–
My precious enemy, again and again.

Divine Ouroboros.

How fragile the leg that snaps, how ****** the neck torn.
You slip and I catch you. I fight and we die together.
The antlers today, the doe eye tomorrow.
Forever this day, no matter the way.

We are the running, the forest, the hooves and fang.
The twig that catches my leg, the corner that traps us.
God is when I **** you.
It is your teeth in my flesh, the tear in the widened eye– my precious thing, and then we do it all again.

A wolf in the bush. A deer in the clearing. You make no sound, but I know where you are. I lift my head and see you. I know you. I know you. I have always known you.
- Jan 25
I
Everything is alive.
The spirit of life is endowed in every
Material and immaterial existence.
Life is an unstoppable force.
Life is contagious.
Life begets life and propagates
Ad infinitum.
Life is desire itself.
Every thing yearns to be alive
And every thing that is fading
Desperately reaches out for the suckle
Of that elusive, all-encompassing elixir.
Life is transient. It is delicate and strong.
It is a force itself which does not move Time
So much as imbue it with Meaning.
Life is tumultuous, unsteady, and capricious.
It wants to “go” in an atemporal sense.
It occupies the past, present, and future at once
But its movement is linear and certain.
It can splinter and halt.
Life is miraculous.
It implies the incomprehensible Divinity
Of Being. It is Absurd.
Life is defiant, stubborn, and strong-headed.
It can Be when no one is looking and in spite of
The skeptical spectator.
Every thing respires as one. Life is unity.
Life is paradox.
Life is
jaden Dec 2020
i feel like a narcissist.
like i've met jesus and told him
wash my feet, make my supper,
sacrifice me for your sins,
and call it divine intervention.

i met god only to tell him i've stopped believing.
walked up to his gates with my own key
to denounce sinners and saints
for i know humanity to be both
and neither all at once

see i feel like a narcissist.
not one born from man and his ribs creation
but something else - someone else entirely.
i do not follow any lords blueprints
i draft my own and title them the First.
adam and eve be ******
i am a new type of human
for i know my sins intimately
and shall sow them into a new garden
to know well the fruits of my labor.
we can have a little bit of religious imagery as a treat
Maria Mitea Dec 2020
I will worship you
with a smile
humble and bright
pure spell
without words

I will worship you
with deep eyes
in fruitful awareness

The eyes see,
but no eye
can touch
the fruit of the tree

I will worship you
when on the eyelids
flow quietly
the beauty beyond
Traveler Nov 2020
Imagine if you could sense
Where a loved one was
Or even when a loved one was in distress From far, far away!

But then I thought to myself
How would technology
Ever stand a chance to climb
To sore into
Enlightenment!

And so I pulled my product off the shelf
And destroy the patent

It’s good thing Procter & Gamble
Didn’t get their hands on that one.
Traveler Tim
samsa Nov 2020
it starts with the masses.
heaped upon one another in grey, wet bodies
and from the amalgamate of ruined life
rise the silver, brilliant winged
filthy sog and bones sludging off
their unmatched, magnificent light

like shooting stars they ascend
to the enormous white clouds
garnered with the span of their great feathers
wearing masks of divine neutrality

and we

in the masses

stare so longingly at those divine heavens

some of us with patchworks of feather and bones- hopeless things we can barely call wings-
tattered and ripped but still determined, like the writhing of a starved beggar-
flatter unsteadily up
groping desperately at the clouds
with bony, aching fingers
only to meet
solemn and unforgiving
stone

and pushed
back,
tossed

back

into the masses


and like comets, they
rain down

                                          the fall of the inadequate




crashing into the hideously wet festering:
into the decay of the mundane and ordinary


and thus the procession commences
great silver wings nailed with dignified
steel stakes
graceful hands and feet
mangled unforgivingly with hammer and iron

we, the inadequate and mundane and ordinary
we wail, we scream we cry
for the destiny of divinity
in anguish and desperation, our cacophonic chorus
becomes
the great symphony
of the decaying and dying
bathed grotesquely in the light of the holy
we continue to beg and shout and call

the opera of roaring voices:


                                     the crucifixion of the prodigy



as we continue to decay
the weathering, spreading
and becoming, morphing into something no longer
recognizable


slowly we die off
each of us, clawing and howling to our very last moments
in succumbing to mortality
the symphony, melting in its desperate, rabid energy
until the echo of the last
haunted cry-

silences


hence closes

the fall of the inadequate

the crucifixion of the prodigy

and


                           the decay of the mundane and ordinary
on the destinies of the genius, not-yet-genius, and the ordinary man - and their inevitability.

currently trying to improve my amateur writing, please give constructive feedback if you feel compelled.
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