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Spicy Digits Sep 11
I am going to pluck that illuminated corner of the night sky
and graft it to my palm.
I am sorry, precious sky, that we have been so distant
these last few years.
Veritia Venandi Apr 2021
Of all the loves in the history of the world, ours was a one that could not be.

Like a newborn child dying the moment it is born, like a flower dropping to the ground the moment it blooms, like a fire put off the moment it begins burning,

Our affections were robbed of a life!

But maybe that is why, this blank space, this nothingness would cherish our love...
Because out of all the loves that stood, ours stood out more.

It was not a smooth trail of ink that took the shape of letters.
It was a blot of ink, a gigantic one that could not take a form and yet left behind a stain for the world to remember-Of a love that stirred hearts only to put them to sleep!
The many tales of love ❤
Thank you for reading!
Billie Marie Apr 2020
The mind clings to forms
to hold against the silence
to guard itself from you
the secret deadly enemy
hanging out on your own front stoop
winkin’ at your little sister
and begging for an invite to dinner
you can let him pass too
onto the vapor of a conjured illusion
you can let the words
coming from here get stronger
you can hear me more clearly and louder
the self that you buried
under the rot of yesterday’s tomorrow
all that chatter is of no matter you can tell

But don’t tell of the nonsense
of nothings wrapped in desire
that’s old news
from days when newspapers were read
that talk takes the time
of a 20th century backpacker
hiking Truth’s trail
NOW is the only time that there is
for waking from the ringing of the bell
don’t stomp out the silence
the one answer screaming
the reality one is

Only in silence you remember the key
to the treasure in the chest
holding your heart crafted in love
isn’t that the whole happiness quotient
wrapped up like a perfect peace package
I just can’t comprehend the human species
and its endless repeating crimes
how many life sentences
does one have to get
to see only the Self and be free
burn off the rest of the pride
every lyin’ thought’s last roar into dust
forms can’t hold true life
it’s real light making ghostly forms known
Inspired by Mooji's pointings
Harley Hucof Apr 2020
My formless fear has its cycles
And it lives within me like a shadow
My formless fear is a desire
If it was a bird it would be a crow

My perception shifts.

Knwoledge is a trap , so is the art to percieve
And to manipulate fate living by " evrything is written" as a philosophy

My choices aren't mine , i am just a tool
My vision shifts , so does the true truth

My allies are intangible , though i am objectively measurable
A fair creator would only discard such a rebel

Everything happens for a reason , i trust life fully
But i dont want to take responsibilty.

I am just a tool everything is written
I exist through a knwoldge that is hidden

I trust life as i see and understand
My formless fear takes form as a pen in my hand

After all the writer was only a man.

Words Of Harfouchism
Let me know what you think and your interpretations. Thank you
Laokos Mar 2020
loveless years pile on top of
each other like cars,
in a derelict lot.

without giving in
to easy despair, he moves
through them as empty
as the wind
blowing through formless sky.
no truth login May 2019
lesson #1: in the beginning, all poems on Earth were formless

on blended knee, the approaching, humility, raging, barely  
tempered by a gale force need, the forthcoming yoga pose of compose

you have urgings, mostly in a blink of an eye,
then going, gone notions, the writing is so a losing effort,
you turn the paper’s aperture sideways hoping to get an
inside straight insight,
but the poem refuses to come, the creation ******
delayed is torturous and the poem birthing, even worse

so you revert to basics to give the formless a shape,
recalling  a child’s learning that in the beginning:

“the earth was formless and void,
darkness was over the surface of the deep,
and the Spirit of God was hovering
over the surface of the waters.…”

so you insert a single sheet of 20Lb bond paper,
sliding the typewriters carriage smooth swift  
over to the starting gate hell’s bell, typewriter machine smell erotically exciting creative fluids boiling,
typing, laughing out loud, forming entree to the hinted hallway
of a womb opening to a crafting with three words:

                               in the beginning
Aaron Feb 2019
Here's a poet's plight:
To force words to come is a fight;
Gorgeous nothings hold no light;
Meaning shall not bow to might.

Thirty thousand words or more –
All just sounds heard before;
But somewhere deeper there's a door,
A certain feeling from some core.

Or, in clearer words:
I have nothing Great to say,
but That shouldn't stop me anyway
From speaking when I feel I must;
No other way to reverse this rust.

Perfection is a savage
Curse to ravage the mind
'Round and round in circles, growing blind.

But of all the stones and stars
Or overpriced, shiny cars
The greatest gift of all you give
Is that you let me gently live.

You accept me as I am,
Tarred and scarred and marred with gray,
There's a thousand whispers, but they're all okay
When they won't be judged anyway.

There's this frustrating little tic
Where no words can quite click
Because no lovely language can compress
or stress enough meaning into a tiny little space
That could give a hint of a trace
Of the meaning that was felt.

Suffice to say it seems somehow insufficient,
Nothing Great, simply true:
You're wonderful as you.
Aditya Sep 2018
Pompously floating among every Liquid,
Cola, whiskey or an exorbitant Cocktail,
Forms multitude, plain to Sculpted,
Simpering secretly over water's Assail.

Slowly with the passing of Time,
As the temperatures Rise,
Losing its position of Prime,
Melting away in its own Design.
Arrogance is like ICE.
It can boost your ego for a short time until life hits back to drag you back to your real form. You are formless like water. Don't let your ego transform you, for it won't be long before you melt away.

mel Jun 2018
has formed
a Love for me
as formless as
the Soul it
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