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"There is an appointed time for everything, /
A time for every activity /
under the heavens;" /
—Ecclesiastes 3: 1 (NWTSE) /

A season has departed, /
A season has begun, /
The Circle of Life continues, /
A legacy remains undone. /

The gauntlets I have transcended, /
Have diamonded my soul; /
Therefore, I offer this solemn petition /
Knowing the fight remains to be won. /

In time, there will be tribulations /
But this heart stands adamantine, /
These eyes remain dauntless, /
My spirit is forevermore unphased. /

A time of self- (re) discovery /
Has burgeoned anew, /
We will all metamorphose /
If we look to the future bemused. /

Your potentialities are enormous; /
Together, we are a fulgurant storm. /
Rise, rise, young stalwarts /
You are a Spark of The Divine. /

The experiential cascade is perpetual, /
Incessantly persevere, /
May wisdom inhabit each one of us, /
May we each forsake not to love. /

A chrysalis has unraveled /
Diaphanous wings have been borne, /
Doubt not inviolable beauty /
Always, abides in the light. /

(—Se' lah)


07-18-2021
Excelsior Forevermore,


Sanders Maurice Foulke III, AAS
Dinamus Jul 11
You say I've changed
Into something I can't recognise
Yet still I wage
War on your cold scathing eyes

So tell me who
The predator or the prey?
You look into the mirror
And see everyday

True colours are but shades
Wearing them like an effigy
Plastic, like make believe tales
Is this who I'm meant to be?
After being smothered for so long
I'm finally breathing on my own
peeling off the layers
that held me still
this strange freedom
that I feel
now becomes anxiety
and much too real.
camps May 3
going outside nowadays is just a game of
who can hold their breath the longest and of
looking for reasons to pass the time in your
own backyard but the gardens i see are only for
the literary muses haunting writers into submission
and for digging up holes with plastic shovels and
for wishing that i could pick up the daisies
and place them in your hair

i was in the middle of drawing a circle when
my arm quivered and now the line shoots
way past the paper and it's currently
undulating over my desk and zooming past
a caterpillar that's contemplating whether the
process of becoming beautiful would actually
make him beautiful when he already knows
that he is beautiful

i hope the god i pray to forgives me for
making all the lines i write be about you
this poem makes me picture a certain someone
title inspired by a certain somewhere

from my new book anywhere but here
Simon Apr 21
Intuition at it's finest when feeling the seasonal changing of its metamorphosis is coming ahead. A foreseeing truthful measure of action (over the wonder of its own inevitable evolution).
Feeling of observance is nothing without attitude (in it's very self to bear alone), when it's never alone... Except, when all in not well within its favor, because that's when things change in the way it's ought to be. And not because it's an entire consequence (all on its own little lonesome), without truthfully knowing of the very actions that surmise the difficulties straight out from under its own opposable..."developing pleasures!"
Roxana Feb 16
I had to shed the skin I was tightly holding onto, afraid the winter of life would cause my death, but only when I let the knot go and ditched the shell did the summer welcome me with open arms... I am alive again
Pasquino Jan 1
Perhaps I should have stopped.
The heavenly fields called me then,
and could have been my resting place
of final peace gratified.

And perhaps I could have stayed myself–
and be spared of metamorphosis
that excommunicated all my ink.
Nothing left.

Perhaps I could have been me.
So that at least then  
I’d known I was free.  
Now nothing but punishment remains.

But I remain– nihilo– for now,
and waiting, hopeful for the next bow
of creation, somehow.
Betty Dec 2020
An altered state
an increasing rate of change
developing a personal beauty range
Butterflies are always changing
her bloom smells e'er sweet
yet when she turns into fruit
there's a bitter taste
Sarah Aug 2020
life has seasons
and I am not a flower
I am a tree
with changing colors
shedding it's leaves
loss does not always subtract
but yet, transform
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