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Abby Aug 7
If I am still
I can hear the birds
I can hear the house creaking
As it stretches towards the sun

If I am still
I can see the skin on my hands
The lines
And things they have achieved

If I am still
I can feel my heart beat
I can feel the air moving
On the tiny hairs
In my nose

If I am still
I can feel time slow down
I can look at myself from above
And see how wonderful
I am

I can see
How much wonder
There is
Words' Worth Apr 20
Why won't you answer my calls?
Does the phone ring off the wall
Are you thinking of him
Why do you rock my world...

I know love's a word away
You just need to say you love me
In a letter posted to the heavens
You shake my earth...

Do you think of me with each season
They'll keep changing
And we won't meet
But, I know we will have changed.

So, move on.
A poem on being single and alone.
Anmol Mago Apr 12
Dear Grim Reaper,
The world is nothing
But a somnambulent dream,
Humans are but
heaps of dust - gyrating,
in a state of terminal lucidity
Bizzarly pompous and
Brazenly hypocritical,
we live a life of mistakes,
accentuated by grief.
Sorrow rules over our minds
as we obey our puppeteers,
not a moment of seclusion,
not a flicker of reason.
Haunted by the
ghoul of acceptance
we submit

A great beyond - unbeknownst
lies smudged in grimace,
in the middle of the abyss,
a cosmic whisper
                               --overheard
Having been referred to on multiple occasions as being “depressed”, I am offended. Every time. Having a chronically macabre state of mind and being drawn to a melancholy atmosphere and writing does not make one depressed. Or a psychopath. It does not mean a person is on a journey to being a serial killer or committing suicide. Some people, such as myself, just happen to find comfort in things deep and meaningful. While some comedy, joy, and love is to be revered and enjoyed more sparingly the sad, twisted, and horrid truths of the world can uphold a better sense of completion, joy, and love. This does not make one depressed or mentally ill but perhaps just more...... thoughtful.
Melody Mann Mar 19
Now
She who lives in accordance to nature unfolding is an entity who governs with equity,
Embracing the beauties of organic origins she preserves life's virtue,
Holistically embodying the spirit of now she carries an impartial tranquility,
Restoring balance towards fickle fabrications many are led to believe.
​Much of spirituality
tips its cap at
surfing well,
the changes
of a human life

Reading the tides;
our internal compass

pointing at the outer world
following suit

Aligning with the cycles
of nature
by
hugging trees
while howling at the moon

Witnessing the earth
while
trying to be
brave

Setting our leaves free;

Making space
​for Spring to bloom again
There is a saying, "You can't stop the waves, but you can learn to surf" This poem is a nod to it.
As legs hang on rusty hinges
the strides of doorways
lesser long

wisdom crisps its palms 
up to the hearths of winter
on walks

Older finds joy 
watching little jelly movers
under the snowy leaves 
of autumn's fall

There is freedom 
in holding back;
experiencing exuberance
perched high in cedar
witnessing the now moments
of a uranian world
from a fifth dimensional view

Knowing that Love
sourced from the heart
affects the observed
just as true.
The Spiritual benefits of moving into the slow lane
Markie Waters Nov 2020
Whirling, airy, smoky-immanence.
A sad, sad song is tuned for me.
Grey char, blending orange shine, eminence.
Now that this Old World is ending
Remembering all the good moments that you cherish so, only to have time push it away.
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