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maria 4d
Some people remind me of a campfire,
a source of eclectic senses:
the smoky wood,
the evolutionary fascination of the flame,
the warmth and chill of a starry night.

Others remind me of a snow day in grade school,
a source of jittery incongruence:
the sprinkles of white,
the disruption of monotonous school work,
the mischief of nature coming to the rescue.

You remind me of an early morning rain,
a source of calm melancholy:
the soft droplets on leaves,
the lessened saturation from the overcast,
the heightened realization and contentment of one's existence.

The essence of people
epitomized as scenes and collective experiences;
it is not so much of what it is
but rather how it makes you feel.
maria 17h
I am always just a version of myself.

Have I ever really known the full me?
Not necessarily.
She is but an aggregation of all the experiences she's ever had,
people she's ever met,
memories she's ever made,
even the ones that have been lost to time.

My personality, speech, and mannerisms are all imprints made by passersby.

Need I know the full me?
No, not necessarily.
Like stained glass that misses the details,
I am a mosaic known only in concept and suggestion,
and this is enough as inhabitant of this body,
even if the resident is unknown to self.
Searching wildly
Mind and heart
Panics arrival forever untimely
Becoming flailing limbs in the dark
Desperately feeling for a way toward a way to put it mildly
Never finding more than a question mark
Tripping on everything I should have already put behind me
Blindly trying to look over everything said from the start
Only finding it's the same as before the start mark
I'm sorry to report
All I can find,
All I really have
Is another sorry sorry
One more weightless apology

There's a light that one can see within the darkness of their mind
a glorious radiance which can be seen with love and tears to bind.
From 'Simple Observations' ongoing writings since the early 90's.
Jeremy Betts Apr 8
It's my mind isn't it?
It can't escape,
How can I lose it?
It's physically connected to me,
Why can I not control it?
I shouldn't have to fight it
But I do and it's constant
And there's not a moment of silence
No positive inner guidance
As it holds a constant stance of defiance
Enjoying it's facade of ignorance

Mark Wanless Mar 26
how does the poem
write itself in human mind
uv Mar 26
Reaching out for great things
Even when they are far
Your hands might be small
But your mind has no bar

Seeking out rare things
May be bright as a star
Your eyes may be keen
But it might be better afar.
Reaching out for great things, even when they seem distant. Despite physical limitations, the mind knows no bounds. Sometimes, the pursuit of greatness is best admired from afar.
Mark Wanless Mar 25
if a pleasant thought
enters your mind do not sell
it for excitement
One idea,
To a thousand thoughts.
Some prove true,
Others are false.
Cruel or kind?
Nobody can tell.
Not even I,
The creator of this shell.
For my own,
Are unknown,
They choose,
They decide.
Leaving a complexity
In our evergrowing mind.
Why anyone,
who has seen the eyes of divinity
would ever think that they should leave
whatever space or place or mindset where
they found it, to deny intrepidly that,
without a doubt,
they sincerely believe
that they
saw nothing
out of the ordinary;
no mysterious magic miracle
meant to mean something
to the eyes of wonder
worn by children,
full of mystic revelry;
That there
in this world
with mind unmarred
nothing surreal occurred;
no mysterious light was seen
which no one else could see:
and (hold on)
dismiss that which is in his view of the world which he verily sees,
…and just … look away…
is strange to me.

Why would someone want to leave
the presence and the peace
of creation for some dream?

What motivation could there be to dismiss reality
…for some make believe world…  
that, in which, magic things - do not - exist?

I certainly cannot believe they’d look away intentionally…
Not me!
Composed on or around 1/10/24
Some final thoughts of an addicted mind on communing with god through drug induced means… a last desperate effort by a mind seized to justify its toxic, self-destructive inclination by making it metaphysical. It was deceived.

The devil in the room
Wants to know if you can see him
Doesn’t believe that you can see
Wants you to see
Doesn’t care if you believe
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