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Joseph Miller Aug 2018
At the center
of my being
I am
a soul
wrapped in precious time
I am
grateful
to know
the gift of life
is spirit
that matters
in the dust of stars
I am
in the middle
of a miracle
that never stops
giving
Joseph Miller Oct 2017
dreams come true
when you get real
with a heart for any fate
find the answers
there is strength in knowing
everything is connected
see the universe
with eyes that see yourself
changing for good
in every moment
the power of spirit matters
Into a tunnel beyond darkness and light
The soul makes a journey under cover of night
The course of this voyage cannot be explained
A path toward the life source which cannot be named
Its secret location no road map reveals
But he who goes searching must trust what he feels
The circumference is nowhere, the center right here
But to even the wisest it will not appear
Hinted at only on the hero’s return
No shape to behold and no form to discern

It’s hard to accept in our rational age
When every known fact has its own wiki page
But among the cold data a gap still remains
A sense of experience eclipsing our brains
A sense of emerging, belonging and will
An aura of something consisting of nil
Neither tiny, nor mammoth, nor cool, nor hot
For all that it is, it most chiefly is not
Neither seen, nor touched, nor felt, nor heard
Borne on the wind like an unspoken word
Girard Tournesol Nov 2018
The chime of common things
Keeps time with chords of wind
Calls me a soft note
In the music of the spheres
In recent moments I long for a miracle, something so grand and awe inspiring.
Oft times I wonder how come the sky's so bright yet humans have lost themselves in an endless night? I have no fear, save for the fear of myself for I am the bone of my sword and the bane of my existence. I may not be a demon, but I gave myself a taste of hellfire. I long to feel that awe inspiring connection to another whom I have equal reasons to hate yet choose to love, she's close yet so far away. It's like a thermodynamic miracle... An event with odds so astronomical they're effectively impossible, like oxygen spontaneously becoming gold. I longed to observe such a thing, and now I have. I wonder, what drives me to you ? I gazed continually at the world and it dulled in my perspective. But you remained bright, how is it so ? That amongst the humans I so gleefully despise I found a life, rarer than a quark and unpredictable beyond the dreams of Heisenberg. I do not believe that existence is random, that it has no pattern save what we imagine. And after staring at it for so long. Perhaps life may have no meaning save what we choose to impose. This rudderless world shaped by a vague metaphysical force and for a reason he lead me to you, against all odd Oxygen turned into gold.
Alice Sep 2018
When i was young, my skin was smooth and soft and un-ravaged.
Then, I grew up, and my top and bottom cheeks sagged, and my laughter
became a tangible memory around the corners of my eyes.
Now, when I smile, there are dimples and there are lines,
like the life-line and the love-line which are supposed to spell out my story
on the palm of my hand.
When I opened my eyes as a child, I saw brown water and blue skies and popsicles.
I saw floats on a lake and boats and friends splashing in from a water-trampoline,
yellow life jackets bobbing and children shouting.
Now, I still see blue skies, but sometimes there are white clouds and sometimes grey.  
I see my mother with her own memories of laughter around her eyes and I see the crevices
at the edges of my father’s mouth from smiling and frowning.
I smell flowers now, and little boys inform me they're fuschia, and when I breathe
at night my pillow smells like London and my room like lavender so I am home and
abroad at once.
Once, when I was sad, I would think mommy and daddy mommy and daddy.  
Now, when I am afraid, I think mommy mommy daddy I miss you.  
I sleep in a twin bed and I tickle myself and it is like I am in kindergarten but now
my fantasies are slicker and harsher but they still paint pictures of a school girl.
I lay in shivasna when I was young yet not old, and I saw a peach pit uncovered,
and it transcended back in time to a baby, just born in the world, and I realized
how it is we can die before our bodies do, how our minds can leave even though
we physically stay.
Ormond Aug 2018
.
Morning ears flower
One monarch butterfly breezed
Chiming temple bells
.
Exclusive world, beyond the curtains, inarticulate taboo, provoke to think, arousing emotions, atmosphere mood, forbidden truth in a reality shared by only few, every scar I have upon arrival here had been worth it. Death is not the last act at the other end of the theatre. As for my own self, it belongs to me and myself only. Individuality here in a collection of other individuals, the meaning of life has no face or pulse. For I stepped not into a stupor of madness or exile. A realm of Muses and a kingdom of those who know power and I am smiling.
d w Stojek Jul 2018
Nature adorns her vacuums:

               Eden, in lieu of Gardener or Keep, overdrives the breach;

    garland wreaths, julep leaves, Clover carpets

          the well-dint of the fleeing heel,    

             just as Vitality, from Lushness, deserts to humbling Humus.      

                                     I bargain that We will        

                 be survived by teeming hosts of white Chrysanthemum.        

  Our grim miracle resembling, so, fish and loaves;    

                of Manna eked of Woe.



Staid amatory shall cater the craving of a brood;    

        from our tears rich elixir brewed,      

          our tender flanks yielding stew.    

         Scarcity is Her own aphrodisiac,    

      abused in company of more than two.      



    But sure as Man, worms lapse at their hour      

      and they, their own kind, must consume  

            giving back Space, where is room.      

        So, must we, our own Passion’s devour,

   that made manifest they replenish their expanse,      

            as when a hand replenishes a glove--      

     it first breathes upon the absence of Absence.    

           Let us, then, dine. Let us then, Love…
SoZaka Jun 2018
Zen
no sign of existence
no shadows
nor bones
footsteps in dust
silent wind
yet it howls
one day to the next
dusk after dusk
timeless as
a grandfather clock

this moment
all is now as is now
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