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preston 1d
Selmhem Naise

Keep writing
about the
because your way of
describing it
is a description all its own.

In the magic of your words
you are able to somehow make
the intangible almost feel
as though it can become tangible.

And for myself-- It takes all
I have to keep from being
drawn-in too deeply into
your words. I do best
by letting the words
all but destroy me; so
that there's not a lot left of me
(my-destructive side)  to
bring itself to the table.

The destruction I feel-  there's
an immediate tearing down of

and an instantaneous building up
of hope and celebration--

    the true  deeper side of me
    absolutely digs that ****.
Ya true story.

preston 1d

Keep letting the words of your own writes
have their way with you-- let them climb
all over you and 'destroy' you  with the
love-message they carry within them.

People who read and feel your writes
will respond from their heart, and in those
responses, you are no longer alone--  you
then carry a piece of them with you that the
expression of your own heart has created.

    There is a magic in that kind of healing.

The words of others back towards you
become alive in your own heart  as the
realness of it all comes to you
                        in a moment's flash.

That is what is called the living word..
and also the healing light of relationship.
Know that, friend--

    that is what is healing you.

I don't mind spendin' everyday
out on your corner, in the pourin' rain
Look for the girl with the broken smile
ask her if she wants to stay awhile

and she will be loved,
and she will be loved

preston 4d
Stephan W

I have seen you there,
standing alone, along the shoreline
    --if you only knew--
Your thoughts- a poetic buffering,
spoken out- onto weathered paper,
through trembling hands;  words
let in to the ocean wind--
the dreams of your heart, the needs,
ah, yes.. the deep needs of your heart...

    among these rocks,
    you are always alone.

At the tip of your fingers-- the small ridges;
fragmental, yet monumental imprints, etched
in to you, the moment your spirit entered
your temple. They tell the world of your story:
through fine, texture-perception, you feel it--
your trembling fingers grip the pen, expressing,
conveying your truth into a world that does not
hear.. a shallowing, that deafens..

    You glance at your fingertips--
    to assure, you're really there
    ~ ~

(The sea has picked up a bit, now
the waves, crashing against the rocks
rocks, that still won't hear..)

And here also, outlined
within the warm beat of the
human heart,
there is a sound that can be heard--
one similar to the aliveness
of the crashing waves.
Place your fingertips against those
that are real-
the sound blends-in perfectly
with the sea
as the uniqueness of imprinted ridge,
moves up against that of the other--
contrasting, here.. fitting together
perfectly, there..

    Scream, "I am!" to the sea; and see, love..
    scream it out, and see.
    ~ ~ ~

I am everywhere near you-- encouraging,
celebrating.. at times, weeping;  hands
outstretched, the uniqueness of my
own finger prints, longing
Along this shoreline, I have watched you
for an eternity, hoping
that you might somehow take it all, in.
Clouds beckon, asking again for the
earth's moisture

      and I respond,  e v ap o r a t i ng.

      ~ ~ ~ ~

Your small, beautiful feet, now
all pigeon-toed- now, standing
at the water's edge; as the
rain cloud gives up its prize
just beyond the breakers--

    (my imprint remains,
    but I am of the sea now..)

    Wade into me, love
    that I may wrap myself around you:
    Along this shoreline,
    may you never be alone again.

The voices in the wind,
will take you home again,

the journey home has just begun, my friend

The magic in your eyes,
was more than I surmised
and I surrender time and time, again

To the will of the wind;
the will of the wind, child
The wind in the wind chimes,
takes you home again..

the will of the wind
dancing, dancing..  dancing

this one always makes me cry
Jay M Mar 2019
Through days eternal,
Memories fly past,
Lost among empty thoughts,
Clouding my mind like rain.

Drip, drop, these poisons won't stop,
Forevermore intoxicating my freedom.
Making me weaker until I can move no more,
Even a breath, or simple movement,
All require drawn strengthen,
Reserved deep within.

- Jay M
December 10th, 2018
Summer Oct 18
But what is eternity, if not
a whisper of frost,
landing softly
on the red lily’s lips —
the deadly flower on the other
side of the wall
spidery fangs, stretching claws
a breath away from
a beckoning memory
of our last parting
I am posting poems with pictures to better conjure the imagination in my poetic instagram account! You can find me in @xsummerblues if any of you are interested :)))
preston Oct 18

Is it asking  too much
to want to hide away  safely?
I never should have met you

yet, I have been  looking
for you all of my life--


You are in me now
so deep;  our spirit's gears  perfectly
synced- each gear a pre-honed..
  precision fit--
                even when we clash

                Especially-  when we clash;
                and somewhere,
                in the depths of  my love

                I hate you for that

      In a broken world...
      dreams were  n e v e r  meant
      to come true.

      I think I read that  somewhere,
      or maybe someone told me..


              or something.

preston Oct 15
Stephan W

My beauty is resisting the worldly pull-- to
slip into lethargic un-consciousness,
in order to no longer feel the anxiety
brought about by non-response to the
primal-question's asking,

But instead is choosing to feel it all-- and in
doing so- it, is costing her everything.
She is showing us all what true courage is about,
suffering for the greater good:
for that which is within herself
for her children
for all womankind-- and therefore, for all of man-kind also.
She is the firstfruits of the Universe's
deepest dream; that of a full restoration,
allowing herself to be cut-open, internal parts, rearranged,
heart regenerated, rebuilt through love's magical ways
her mind, being renewed through understanding,
repetition of love's true ways, washing it clean
from the shame unfairly pressed upon her
by the broken, fallen love of man

She is the new Eve-- this beautiful-one,
free from the need to re-create what love is--
she is open, believing.. her beautiful receptors-
perfectly aligned with the harmonic-tones
emanating from the garden, as she walks.

And I.. Adam, love her deeply.
There is an ache with in my side-- a reminder
of my consent of its removal
so that I would no longer have to be so alone in all this magic
and as I struggle, taking in all that is beautiful about her,
I see now that she was not produced from me,
the man

But that I was the oyster,
and she, the beautiful pearl--
the one beyond all price,
the shimmering diamond-- formed,
within this lovestrong lump of coal;

over millions, and millions of years.

I sit in awe as I watch her
she has been worth every moment
of the wait.*

"Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth;
for the first heaven and the first earth passed away,
and there is no longer any sea;
And I saw the holy city, new Jerusalem,
coming down out of heaven from God,

made ready as a bride adorned for her husband.
..and God himself will be among them.

And he will wipe away every tear from their eyes;
and there will no longer be any death;
there will no longer be any mourning, or crying, or pain;

--the first things have passed away.”
I exist only in memory now, and as the shoebox lid is lifted

and my photo is raised, the effort brings her a smile, and as

her thoughts turn, the splinters of light flicker as if the start

of an old projector, then rat-a-tat images, the poorly spliced

film sputtering until I appear, a sepia vignette, my face

amorphous, gossamer, voiceless, until I am set down, placed

once again inside the cardboard container, the cards and

photographs, and old key chains and lucky coins and the pack

of loose razor blades gently moved aside by a careful hand,

the box destined not to be opened again until one yet to be born

lifts me to the light, the curious pencil inscription faded, yet

visage familiar, sufficient to return a smile of recognition

before I am lidded once more, a curious forebear, and as the

tenuous threads of connection sever, I suspend over the trash can

until a sentimental hand slides me back upon the shelf, the detritus

blown clear before I reclaim my perch, awaiting my chance to be

raised to the light again.
preston Oct 11

"What,  you just love me
and then move on..
is that what you do?"

They weren't steps away from her
they were paces

and in an instant, the arrow flew

There is a seam,  
if you are able to see
as there are terracotta dreams
from which

we were  all  meant to be freed

Broken shards  fell to the ground
and inside of every single piece

     is all of the 'hers'
     she thinks that  she needs to be

Not sure if it is the aim
or  the flight  of the arrow
that brings about the aloneness
of an unspeakable,  heart sorrow
and these.. the sufferings of hell.

     Chloe is not dead--
     because  left standing
     when all else fell
     is her spirit's core,  now glowing
     no longer hidden  
     within the confines
     of her terracotta shell

Ah, beautiful Chloe
baby, there were times..

                remember knowing?
      The water-well;
      its  never-ending flowing

      Believe again in that, my beautiful

         not  the shell.

Anything is better than this hatred.
I'm looking forward   to
an eternity spent in hell.

it's a broken kinda feeling..

preston Oct 8
the forming of substance 06
Stephan W

the true nature of the beast

It  c h o se
to consider itself
made complete--
in its own self-- apart
from relationship,
from connection..
a p a rt  from   a n y
attachment to glory

And so,
it found itself
from with-inside itself
made complete

in its own  utter incompleteness.

~  ~
Beings-- created for
growth- back in to into glory
were built to be
made complete
and so it roams
the face of the Earth--
looking for ways to
complete itself..
an attachment.

~  ~  ~
Life, in itself
has a built-in safeguard
hedge of protection
in every-thing on Earth.

But we,
who have undergone
severe trauma
at a young age
have had that  h e d ge
torn from us
as the  d i s m em b e r i ng
of our souls took place--
and so that which roams
searching for its
for its attachment...
then finds.

  and then attaches

lying to itself each
that it can gain
t h e   f i x
the indwelt-access-
back into perfection--
the one for it
that never-was
that never will-be--
its way back into glory.

It knows that,
so it attaches
with a vengeance.

~  ~  ~  ~

You, quisling--
only the power of
deception do
you have, ******.
You do not grieve
the loss of eternity--
because, for you-
it is unobtainable. ******
You do not feel the need
for Redemption
because, you  o n ly
know the word contempt.
And yet, wholly
unable to feel self-contempt,
you only know one action--

d e v o u r.

We will transcend
your attachment

your usury..

       your devouring--

Gnawing our bodies away from our spirits..
  a   d i s m e m b e r i ng--

making us believe
that is all we have ever known;
And making our bodies
a d d i c t ed  to you-
in whatever form
that may be
as if they were
built for nothing
but  y o u--

to prop up your own emptiness.

We will  f i l l  back up
with Love.

    And then you'll be the one
    who will be ******.

Love transcends all things..
even death's attachment

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