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Angel Nov 9
These days suite you.

Not because the snow contrasts your
dark hair, making you stand out more than you already do.
Or because your eyes remind me of
melting ice.
Nor the fact that your smile
compliments the weather so well.

But because on these winter days
you melt the coldest of hearts.
Because you made me find a feeling.
The feeling is shame..or guilt for I have shared too much.
I’ve now given you a piece of me;
My mind

I’ve given you the purest form of myself
& my captured thoughts. It’s beautiful.
But I’m not fond of the fact that
I remember your touch more than
I do your words.
Nor the fact that I had to remind myself
To re-direct my gaze

I thought the feeling you gave me
were butterflies, but it wasn’t quite that.
It’s a similar feeling, this is like a fire I can’t touch.
This is a new feeling & I'm reminded
once again that the universe
has a hold on me, unlike I do myself.

I would’ve found that statement frustrating & pathetic a year ago
But I’ve learned to trust myself
& what is & what will be.
Some honesty for thought.
Chad Young Nov 3
"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
"mentioned".
Notice how a Prophet does not need to "believe" in else
except God.
"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
"C".
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
in vitality.
"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.
Plane of the spirit
Osculating emotions
Emerging from heart
Manifestation art
Orakhal Aug 5
Life appears in form
because you tell it to

it really isn't there otherwise
All bes mental Creating
Power thru Projector Projecting
Paint thru painter to painting

Each one has a vibe rate signature
calling forth to it all physical manifestations

no one creates for another
one sees only that they put in their eye
not that others put there
Frozen cold as ice,
Her eyes still on intention.
Self meditation,
Melts dreams into fruition.
Calm, the breeze of higher self.
6.14.20
SerenaDuru Jun 16
mmm
Dance,
dance,
dance,
in your dream,
My love,
live,
live,
live,
for me.

Love,
love,
love,
in your dream,
And,
live,
live,
live,
for me.

I’m not as far,
far,
far,
as you think,
So do not waste,
do not waste,
do not waste,
any time,
I’m not as foreign,
as you think,
For we use,
the same heart,
the same heart,
the same heart.
Wordsmith May 24
Comfort is nice but mundane bores
I must explore the wonders of sea
My thoughts take wings, zest soars
I set sail on my journey with glee

A crushing wave, a sudden slip
Yanking my board from under my feet
Hither tither I scramble for a grip
Boy this feels, anything but sweet

Not what I thought - no easy play
Things just aren't going my way
I look for reason, reason flees
Reason tells me meaning you’ll see

Tired of evil, tired of this ploy
I loosen my grip, I free control
In this moment, I now enjoy
The ebb and flow of the larger whole

A storm revisits, I know the drill
I'm tossed again in life's caprice
I align my will with divine will
And now I sail the winds with ease
Are we playing the game or is the game playing us?

We can't always control what's infront of our eyes, but we can always control whats behind it. Surrender isn't about accepting defeat, but rather to recognise when to move forward and when to step back and let go. The only way to live with flow is to discard resistance and welcome coherence.

We surrender not to give up our power, but to regain our power.
Larry Kotch Jul 2019
Your careful hands levelled out the budding bloom, and set the staging pots aside the heat of noon, thoughtful timing shifted them from watery sheltered vase to rough garden ensembles, like that you shaped the ravenous growths again and again.

With careful fingers you massaged around the banks, no garden book to guide such terrifying specimens, you could not bring the scythes to taper off the exploding flanks, so you watched from further every night.

And so with time you peer with awe at the new garden features, puzzled by a wilting stem, delighted by a fanning brush, sometimes tracing natures path, other times your gaze will be lost. Your garden bright and overgrowing.

Open the door dear gardener for life has been unleashed, when the toil of daily demands has reached its peaks, remember your creation. Know that all the blooms that cheer the neighbours, would, with your hand - the Nation.
This poem is an ode to my mother, creator of the garden that is my life. This poem thanks her for her perfect gardeners touch, helping to help me bloom, knowing when to shelter me from the scorching sun and when I'd overgrown the staging pots. But like all children, I grew in wierd and unpredictable ways, as if the garden was itself now out of control and the gardener had to watch from further every night. But though my developing personality and interests sometimes delighted her I know parts of my thinking and philosophies frighten her. To her I imagine it to look like a bright (in that her creation will always be rose tinted) but overgrowing (out of her control + out of control in general). The last stanza is an invitation to her to not shy from lending a hand back in the overgrowth. Despite what I hope to be myself now manifesting in some small way (i.e delighting some of the neighbours) I rely very much still on her to consolidate this mass of energy for a higher purpose still.
Rochelle Foles Mar 2019
skipping stones
         on a
     still pond


ripples
become
tsunamis



thots
become
things
do we ever see the end from the beginning?
Madisen Kuhn Feb 2019
there is a modest
one-story home
with white stucco walls
and a red tiled roof
waiting for me somewhere
near a floridian beach.

the yard is flat and dry.
some days, i’ll lie there
on top of a patterned quilt
in a two-piece
hand over brow
reading a thick memoir
on loan from the library
that sits on the other side
of the brush, beyond
the wooden fence.

winter will just be a memory.
every week, my toenails
will sink into the sand
wearing a different shade of pink.
i will not fold away
my sundresses and shove them
under the bed.
they will only leave
their wooden hangers
to be worn and washed.

time simply records the falling
and growing and falling of things.
one of these days,
i will be the budding lily
pushing up dirt
to greet the other side with
all of the beauty
i am ready to be.

i have fallen enough.
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