Mornings so blue
Skies so grey
Plants filled with dew
The day seems in vain
Keep my eyes shut
Go back to sleep
Stuck in a rut
Curl up and hold my feet
World in my head
Only wants to stay in bed
Wake up, the voice said
Why not smile and live instead
Every step I take towards living,
I'm stepping away from my calling
I'm stepping everywhere
end up getting nowhere
in search of stepping stones,
to move up the ladder
without grasping the idea
that these stones,
in due time,
will be steps I climb
up the downstair.
Am I trying to climb the ladder to nowhere?
Am I stepping up or down?
Am I kicking myself around?
It was all black and white
from the beginning,
has been living
Like bells they hear this ringing
Not of Christmas but of orange goodness.
This Irish voice walks past on balled up green,
her hair red as the warmth in early March spring.
The voice speaks of prickled roses that lie at my feet,
she reminisces on the tacky green and welcomes
the seaweed green.
It's baffling the up and down in her voice
Like a paper crown it could tumble,
My eyes dare look left.
She's skipping now, down to the town hall
to walk off the corners edge.
Understand that I've tried to forget about everything. I've tried to move on and not look back but all I can see is you. After all the damage you've caused me, I don't understand why I still feel the need to love and care for you...i'm done feeling unwanted, you've made me feel like i don't have the right to live and I can never forgive you for that. You've taken the happiness that I once had and completely destroyed it. I hope you can live with what you've done to me because at this point in my life I feel as if I have nothing to live for.
Sometimes, what we have left are regrets.
Indeed they don't come first.
But living without getting pressed
is tantamount to a horrifying quest.
existing in this land-sphere quite touch-and-go
when you stare for something that you hope to
when something expects to be with you
until you discern that you obtained neither
things are unreachable on your own limitation
useless is your own notion
to gain nothing is the best way out that you ever made
the excitement is just filled with none nothingness but the soreness
Sometimes it's okay to decide what may the worst of them may be the best for us. It is supposed to be our boundary of happiness to live in this unreliable world that isn't to them. Thinking of nothing is just one of the answers. Having our thought about how maybe concerned with our guilty may be living after is our decision, be wise to yourself and others at least.
"A" crowned my head with a crown like
twigs while "A" was seated on the Throne.
Notice how Baha'u'llah reverberates that it is a different
throne, yet in essence the same One.
Fire like a rainbow.
Notice how a Prophet would gulp when another Prophet is
Notice how a Prophet does not need to "believe" in else
"C" is same.
If I am a Prophet without a voice from God, please
don't let me speak.
All the Prophets have transparent beauty like
Above the City of Immortality is the Valley of
the Manifestations. Where the Sun of Reality
is home and all the denizens are refreshed
and find God again from whence they have
left. Nothing but God lies above this Valley
and the Presence of the Beloved is aglow
....in every limb.
The Presence is enlivening and heavy
"I hate you, I love, I hate that I love you",
echoes to hearts not attune to the Transcendent One.
The Presence has a unique energy that allows
Them to change the universe of lower natures.
All stresses dissipate away.
Those Eyes that see all of me.
Energy as if from another world,
as if always awakening from bed.
It is sitting in the Manifestation's Tent.
It is feeling Their skin become mine own skin.
Light so warm that it is cool.
Names have no place here,
only Spirit - the Transcendent.
I forget myself and
instead caught up in "A".
The fullness of the Manifestations will soon, soon
manifest in all of us.
24 karat Golden DNA.
living by myself
gives me time to confess,
no more fooling around
once a training ground,
is now a fortress.
We tend to be self-destructive
And for what do we owe that to?
For whom and what reasons,
Do we rip these parts of ourselves,
Trying to piece it in the oddest of places, when so glaringly obvious
that they don't belong?
We cry endless oceans of tears
Drowning in them, bizarrely,
For our own indulgence! But
at the same time, we're
thrashing in the currents,
Praying for dry land while
also surrendering all hope.
We're all honestly just trying to survive another day, no?