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Thomas David Mar 10
Fickle? Feelings formed by frenzied faults may be
Rickets, Rigid; read’ly rended, wanting wrake,
Kicked to curb by conscious care and called mistake,
Born by blunted brooding: base-turned briony.
Love is light-laid, legible, and lawfully
Lacking lies: all-lit with lofty, lettered hymn.
Swift selection, like stones skid by spark-scuffed whim
Smells of sleight; but lasting Love leans landward loyally.
Love’s selection lingers: lags to lacquer laureled lee;
Looks for latent linings; lasts when Lamb-like be.
1 Cor 13:4a
Natasha Bailey Aug 2019

When the seas, all seven, align and combine,
To form one tide, do you believe we have a selection, to
Reside, hide and remain alive?
Or is that our mind tryna confide,
In our own made lie, afraid to die?
If the angels rein down a path to heaven,
I wish to accept, find, listen and abide,
Until I arrive.
Once I’ve arrived at my final destination,
Only then will I quit the investigation,
Quit the pacing,
Where thoughts are constantly racing.
End of days where I communicate,
Debate and question every nation.
An owl of silent observation,
Mixed with a perfection I can imagination,
To relate,
To create,
And modulate,
An exhilarating answer to the allegation,
Fact or fiction,
Which is resurrection?
Such unbelievers, who claim afterlife is an illusion,
Unaware that they are too, just bait,
Heading straight,
Into the great,
Hands of fate.
The weight of the truth,
And proof,
In representation of resurrection,
Cannot be ignored, just like an antique china plate,
Or a mate,
Who’s at times, difficult to tolerate.
It’s inevitable,
So renumerate,
Your pure self, and reinstate,
To the Golden Slate Gate.
Enter your new estate,
Where you are enchanted with the power of illumination.
Before you can await,
The glorious one who turns death into rebirth,
Giving your soul a chance to resurrect,
Recreate, and once again illuminate.

Natasha .K. Bailey
"I believe that when death closes our eyes, we shall awaken to a light, of which our sunlight is but the shadow"       - Arthur Schopenhauer
Issachar Bacang Aug 2019
the first spark sparks

in the wastes of Shabsheer
his bread and water, that of niter
where he would spend nights here
worked as dawn neared

his flame soon to burn a million
harshness and saltpeter
his nickname was 'Paidarion'
his future more bitter

ⲇⲉⲁⲑ took a paid lover
and soon, mother and father
no home, no lamp for his feet

as the Egyptian sun began to blister
under the shade of one's beard
he sought an elder

"watch- for you are awake
you are seeing
you are knowing

watch- the baker as he bakes
the thieves fleeing
and the farmer sowing

"starve- we'll eat later
now we ponder
the hunger of  the beggar

the next we pass one
dont let him wonder
invite him to share our supper

"know to rise above
and to go under
to pass through-
and asunder

for He weaves
our lives together
we hold each other

in the pattern of our souls

He weaves us together
that we may hold one another
from the cradle to the casket

humanity woven well
holds on to much more
like a good basket
Jules AA Apr 2019
There’s that feeling of intense awe that can only be described by when you walk into an ancient church, or are standing in a valley, large mountains surrounding you, or in the forest with a brook in the background. You can see the edges of the universe on the face of a cliff, you feel free within a vast closed space. That pleasant insignificance, the realization of how unimportant you are in the grand scheme of things. You don’t get sad anymore, sometimes it’s nice to know you don’t have to be a king or a famous musician, you can just live life and love the beautiful things. That feeling, like a rising steam in your chest, this overwhelming feeling like a hurricane of emotion, yet in that moment, it’s like you’re free. Your mind races with love for the world and you can, for once, drown out the chaos of a running mind. When you stand in that 800 year old cathedral, you’re standing where millions have stood, so why worry?
inspired lightly by Donald Justice
there are things I want you to remember. you are a celestial spirit born among the stars. we may be souls having a human experience, but nothing is permanent. you will be reborn among the cosmos off into infinity. there is no birthstone or deathstone, so don't hold to yours like it is a monument, keeping you grounded to this place.

we collect memories and store them like faded photographs in golden lockets worn around our necks, hoping to stand the test of time. nothing is forever – we cannot even fathom it. keep your loved ones close, because the universe knows kindred spirits and places them within distance of contact through acts of synchronicity.

there are things we cannot document: things that surpass language, space, and time. feelings and emotions that we bottle as glory; showing the world our flasks as we either drink in excess, or keep the cork firmly in place.

as human language has limitations, the labeling on our bottles are wrong; and we are off key about the unnamed emotions and feelings we are ingesting in excess, or storing away as a collection to gaze upon throughout our lives, before we fade back to (star)dust.
September 20th, 2014.
meditative musings of existential enigmas.
Graff1980 Dec 2017
Peace is the still waters
of space and time
that no longer
ripple in my mind,
sweet stillness.

But your boulder
bounces from
the bottom up,
splashing and splattering
all that brain
that matters to me.
Till, I am unable to think clearly.

Peace is a pleasant memory,
a space where I find
a specific a place or time,
and revisit them
when I close my eyes.

your heavy presence
shifts the soil
which these memories
sit in,
and their sediment
is swept away
by the currents you create
when you intrude
upon my day.

Peace is detachment
from toxic connections,
but my heart can’t
release them
when they keep returning.
OnyxSea Nov 2017
What is the body,
but a pile of meat?
Moving around,
seeking only to eat?

What makes us human,
what makes us strong?
What is it that pulls us along?

Do we have a soul?
Or just a mind?
Do we have an identity,
beyond what we can define?

What exactly lasts,
what thing underlies,
our very existence,
whose meaning is undefined?

Some call it "soul",
others simply "mind,
yet there are others,
who call it not "mine".

The first sees an eventual, heavenly life,
borne from the sacrifice of a holy Christ,
or the forgiveness and judgement of a heavenly being,
or the results of past actions, coming into being.

The second sees the mind,
a product of the brain.
No different from nature,
which never ceases or begins.
Having existed since beginningless time,
what comes to be, eventually declines,
and one is returned, to the darkness underlined.

The 3rd is one, who does not distinguish,
he sees the body and mind,
not as one who would wish,
for a lasting identity, or an eternal peace,
nor does he see it, as one who just is.

Instead he sees things, unlikely as it may,
the aggregates of consciousness and body, clear as day.
He does not deceive himself, thinking of meaning,
nor does he lie, thinking himself as "body".

He separates the speculation of a soulless man,
as he does the thought of a mind separate from man.
He overcomes the dualities which we normally comprehend,
With a sight that sees, what is simply at hand.

The truth that this body, its aggregates and mind,
are all but products of our imaginary mind,
which projects and creates,
in an endless thought-pattern,
a speculation that is ceaseless,
an identity to be had.

Instead he deconstructs,
he sees the body as it is,
an aggregate of thoughts, perceptions and things.
He overcomes the idea of "suffering" that exists,
and does not cling to the idea of "pleasure" for bliss.
He rests in the nature that is rightfully so,
not overthinking, whether he has a soul.
Because such things, are deceptions coming to be,
by the ever-thinking mind, always deceiving thee.
Mike Rollain Apr 2016
I'm the fusion in my chest

I'm sweating out your silence
On cracked April asphalt

I'm six years younger and screaming

These lungs are pulleys, sound waves
Flooding a vacuous shaft, and I fall
Through a bottomless space

Still...just miles away

And I can't quite place
How it got this way and dear god
My voice is cracking, my lungs...


I'm a sucker for quirky meditations
But I can't finish this one, not today
I just don't have the strength
I don't know what it takes

But I know something's changed

I know what I have
I know what I feel
I know what I can see and think
And love and break
But I don't know what I had
Or if I have what it takes

I just know what's left

So much space, so much
White, dead, empty space
But surrounding it, embracing it
Is something like wisdom
Something tangible
Almost real

Maybe it isn't
It's all the same space
But at least it feels
Like something
Inspired by the likes of The Fault In Our Stars and Me and Earl and the Dying Girl.
Austin Bauer Apr 2016
When your thoughts
Break the law
Of your heart,
Chase them down.
Then, with a
Pummeling blow
Knock those thoughts
To the ground.
Handcuff them,
And lock them
Behind bars.
They do not
Deserve a
Trial so
You are free
To punish
Those rebellious
Thoughts and teach
Them to obey.
Yes, make a
Spectacle of
Those thoughts so
Other rebellious
Thoughts learn to
Obey the law
Of the land.
This is one of the ways I am learning to create alongside of the creative God.  I take a verse and adapt it to poetry.  I have found it is a great way to meditate on scripture.
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