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the girl with the ocean eyes
says the hardest goodbyes
a sea of poems, a field of sighs
what can we do, to make things right?
this is one of my favorites :)
Yaoyan Oct 12
The silence
hovers
above the pines
and empty branches.

The sky
is enveloped
in a sweeping grey.
It mirrors the fields;
mulled brown tips above the white snow.

Trees
are paused mid wind,
branches gnarled and twisted,
a line of white crawls up the trunk,
their bones showing in the cold.

A breath
travels across the field
and out
like ripples.

The silence,
         lingers
God's Oracle Oct 11
The harmonious sounds of Divine Heavenly Hosts chanting thru Universal soul calming and soothing vibrations enchanted with strong energetic auras that resonate with the Human Earthly Vessels channeling thru them encoded messages of hidden symbological knowledge of the Ancients. By forming a conduit to transmit small and great vibrational cues of energetic signals we as pillars of "Light" transverse thru the cosmos in our spiritual bodies we learn that we are all interconnected individuals to a Greater Source known as the Maker. The musical internal invisible signals created and invoked go thru the force 2 opposing forces clashing against each other disfragmention of a space in time and quantum giving that emergence of an event a unique creation by forming a synchronized unified sound. Furthermore, the speed, force and unification of opposing forces forming a centrifugal force which has been intensified thru creation of the sound itself. The culmination of the elements of sound, color, and force are subjecated to change into a light or dark energy forming an array of new interesting phenomena.
Dissonance & Resonance
Nathalie Aug 25
Can you meld with  
A silence so deep
That you cannot find any  
Remnant of a thought
Step in a space so serene
That you are lifted and
Feel this weightlessness
And lose form
Can you see from
Looking within
This holographic maze in
Which we are all connected
And where only oneness
Is of this field.  

~Nathalie
Dante Rocío Aug 15
I praise Allah and thank Them
in both the physical and existential aspect for every beautifully greyish day
when I feel back in an English harbour from the 17th century,
where birds, ropes, wind,
bells and hammers against
the ships’ casings resound,
half in my vision stuck on reality
and half verily,
or on a faraway heather field,
where my books, thoughts,
words in pictures
and lives of Heart
are as if my own
tremendous in passion atelier
of a scribe
or my other flowers of brown.

I posses adoration in these grays,
blues, whites,
greens and browns of these days, freshnesses and delightments.
Nevertheless I need to meet and comprehend each other
till the end belovingly
with the Sun,
see behind its backstage the lack of imposing Time,
periods or actions, rush.
Sit down once without carnal duties
nor other shenanigans
and witness the whole solar and lunar cycle for the whole 24 hours
and thus see beyond their mechanism
and presence
and thus go
through that next conscience,
through these silver-golden curtains
with navy blue clips.

Isn’t that sitting over,
sitting down face to face
with the Day,
supposed Time, Matter,
instead of constant doing,
having or confusion
of the thoughts
the same as finally looking
straight into the other person’s eyes
to give them our witnessing
of our attention,
a bow,
and at the same time
a proud head raising,
especially for them,
instead of walking around them
and treating as another matter
to be solved?
No rhetorical question.
May I reach as fast as it’s the best
the beloving of wisdom
as a true philosopher
in my identity, not cognitivity.
A small reminiscing and recollection
I made once
of my presence or endurance
in the Sun and the Moon
through moments, my silver casing
of thoughts and Life,
and stories I literally encounter
in the No Man’s Sky
through thrillance,
promise and hope.
ere long
bowls a
strike and
here Nevada
church league
the assembled  
spare when
he sparks
knolls bound
in trees
still the
sweat in
labor froze
orange in
a nerve
center about
the south
raquezha Jul 28
Kan akì pa ako igwa akong ayam
Mahilig siya magkawat sa mga masetásan
Pipoy an saiyang pangáran
Daí mo nungka lingawán
Ta daí ito nagsisimbag
Pag bakô niyang pangáran
Saròng aldáw dinara ko siya sa umá
Mahihiling mo sa saiyang matá
An káugmaháng dinara
Dalágan igdi, dalágan dumán
Sigeng dulág pag nagrarani sa damúlag
Nagpundo lang kan
Nakahiling nin kulagbáw
Sa irárom kan hablondawani

Sana árog lang kaini kadali
an áro-aldáw kan buhay

Nakatukaw ako kaibahan si pipoy
Habang kinakakan kan umá
An palubog na saldang
Asin saro-sarong dinadaklag
kan bulan an bitoon sa langit
Saròng aldáw nanaman an nakalipas
Saròng rebolusyon pa kan kinaban
Makakaabot man kita
sa satuyang padudumanan
Pasarosaro sanang lakdang
Arog ngani kan pirming sabi ni pipoy
"Aw!! aww!!"

—𝐔𝐦𝐚, a Bikol poetry.
About how I and my dog travel the world one step at a time.
1. Umá is a farm, or a rice field.
2. Hablondawani is a rainbow
3. Kulagbáw is a butterfly
4. https://www.instagram.com/p/CDMQq7XnS1t
JEG325 Jun 16
rising up from wet lush soil
bursting with bright colors
fashions grown from tiny seeds
creating fields of flowers

thriving in the golden rays
each petal in perfect place
blooming with God's best design
enjoying nature's grace

wind rocking them to sleep
through night's solitary hours
they awaken just in time
to soak in April showers
Fir flower lovers.
You will meet people in
life that like a
fixed game or a
rigged deck.
The dice will feel
heavy, or the
take may be
light.
A jockey might hold
the whip in the
stretch,
or the champ will
go down from
a glancing blow.

Don’t be surprised when

you see it, you’re not
imagining things.
Some people need
it this way,
they’ve been on a loosing
streak for so long, they’ve
even lost
track.

The best you can hope
for is ten seconds
of one day in an entire
lifetime when it’s a level
playing field.
And if you get that
chance,
be ready, it’s
your turn.
Swing for the fence,
win by a nose,
take their *******
head off.
Erian Rose Apr 30
she wandered the fields
curiosity in her eyes
honeysuckles blooming
welcoming springs arise

her feet skid gentle ground
stumbling over crumpled petals
leaving all but a sound
clouds waving to her surprise

treetops hang under concrete walls
love developing in simple tone
she built her home of bricks and sandy shores
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