Lucero 7d

Sometimes there are mysteries
Here and there
Needing to be solved
By you and I.

But where did the time go?
It flashed before my eyes,
Just in time for me to realize
Some mysteries weren’t solved
By you and I.

Some were solved
Independently
For we aren’t one in the same.

We are human,
Yes we are;
But as a matter of fact,
We may need each other
To solve some mysteries,
Yet we are capable
And strong enough
independently.

We have our own paths to follow
As we aren’t one in the same.

Although we may be
Each other’s puzzle pieces,
We are free to be free
And experience life
Through an independent lens
Aware of all the possibilities.

Nohémie Nov 2017

We're like the ocean and space
Two different entities that from afar, gaze
Two entities admired for our greatness
Elements of unknown and mysteries are what we possess
Our deep rooted issues are always hidden secrets
And you love in waves but I love with distance
And we love each other despite our incoherence

Surbhi Dadhich Nov 2017

How many bridges have we burned
How many lessons never learnt
Try and do but then we don't
Say we will but know we won't

How many flames have we shot
How many mysteries never caught
Reveal but then very well refuse
Admit but still confuse

How much more can we take
How many do we blame for our own mistakes
We know what we need to intercede
But how far do we take that belief?

How many desires we breed
How many sins we commit
Though we know for what we aspire
Still we keep on fits with betrayed trials

How many years have flown by
How many tears have we each cried
Far too many I believe to count
From lips that move without a sound

How many theories never understood
How much head we put
How much we neglect
The oscillations of solace..

Back with A collaboration with Mike Hauser...
A great experience....Exciting journey..
Brianna Nov 2017

Because what it comes down to is I am planning on drowning all my emotions.
You will need a submarine to find them at the bottom of the sea.
You will need the best diving equipment you can find to get to them.

It's going to get cold down there, the deeper you go the darker it gets.
There will be unseen monsters that will make you want to run and hide by how they look alone.
It's going to get scary down there, you will find it harder and harder to move; harder to breathe.

If you ever make it to the bottom of the darkness, which no one ever has, I bet it's going to be something else.
I bet it has a lot of mystery.
Maybe it will be the key to getting out of the darkness and into the light?
Maybe it will hold the answers to the unknown we are so fond of getting lost in.

Because what it came down too was I would rather drown in the ocean of my fears then to continue to be lost at sea alone.

Apollo Hayden Aug 2017

Like neo in the matrix-
hand up, palm out to stop the bullets being sent my way.
In mid air, inspecting and reconfirming with self, seeing this for what it truly is.
Some stay comfortably asleep, always revealing their true selves when you're seeking knowledge of self;
the agents of the matrix tryna sabotage and block the progress.
Still plugged in, believing the lies of this manufactured world.
Speaking through harmonic tones from one of the four chambers of the heart,
planting seeds in the ears of those who choose to hear, always hitting the mark.
It's the
poetic mystic,
swimming in the subconscious whirlpool created by two fishes;
two eyes closed and one open in triple black darkness, letting intuition lead,
In tune with the feminine energy, listening attentively.
With the Oracle I speak deep within my dreams,
fighting to recover forgotten history while they wishing that I would just shutup and go back to sleep,
but this soul burns with a desire to seek truth and so I continue to seek.

Seema Aug 2017

As I read through the mysteries
And the sense of mythical terror
My pupil widens, when suddenly
The page unfolds, matrix error

The lights, slightly flicker
And I feel those scary chills
The goosebumps popping
And a hallucination, of blood spills

The writings on the article,
Would rearrange somehow
Living me terrified, and thus
Confusing me with the then--and now

Wondering if it may be contagious
Or I may be just overthinking
But alone in this marooned house
I just keep sinking

Shaking off the delusional mirage
I finally find, myself safe at task
But then who am I and who is that, I --
That is wearing my shadow mask

Who is real? O' this is not true
If she is me, then where am I?
Who is she? Just like me
But her, everything seems a lie

Am I stuck in an invisible world,
Sucked in, a whirlpool of images
There seems no way out
My mind amplifying on edges

A hologram perhaps an illusion
Sapping my memories into the new me
A robotic machine or a demon
I don't know, who holds the key

Everything I see, is a reflection
Of me and my life, present and past
Nothing makes sense at all
Just, my name was,
                                  read out,
                                                  last!



©sim

I had mixed feelings while writing this poetic fiction story.
Apollo Hayden Jul 2017

Oceans of thought provoking reads
sends his mind sailing as he drifts off and dreams.
Words come to life, creating abstract scenes, activating DNA.
Dimensions stretch, never again be(lie)ving in the same things.
Rose colored glasses cracked, hit by the truth, leaving such a painful sting.
When it all subsides, night vision eyes will be what will assist him in his dreams.
It's the desire to seek out these mysteries that keeps him intrigued by intricate things.

Alva Cardona Jun 2017

__________

I had no control over my birth. But I remember
what it felt like to be born. It felt like dying, as I was
being pushed through a tunnel and toward the light.
I heard a scream. It was me. I was screaming my lungs out,
and it hurt to breathe because no one taught me how
to take my first breath of air. I just did, and my lungs
were brand new, unused, and filled with the liquid
of the amniotic sac in my mother’s womb. I was
drowning again, crystal-clear fluid that tasted
like salt leaking from my eyes, like river water trying
to find its way to the ocean. I was in shock. I was
confused, as I felt hands all around my raw skin, but not like
before, when they hit my back and cut the umbilical cord.
They were comforting and warm, unlike the hands
of the ones that dragged me out of my mother’s uterus.
I might not remember how it happened, how I came to be,
or how I came to this world a shiny new human, with
ten fingers and ten toes, and a head full of hair
(I heard my parents counting each tiny digit sticking out
of each limb, and tracing soft hands around my dark curls),
but I remember that feeling of warmth covering
my trembling little body like a cocoon, the low words,
whispers and coos, and the melodious lullabies sung
by mouths with hot, sweet-smelling breaths.
I was the center of so much attention even though I
felt shy and naked, and did not understand what
all the fuss was about, why I was suddenly the most
important person in the lives of two strangers that were
apparently expecting me, and wishing and praying for me
to be healthy and perfect, and theirs. And I could feel
how much these people loved me, even though they
had not met me, and the unspoken promise of unconditional
love and affection that they were going to shower me with
during the duration of that thing we call life.

No one taught me how to open my eyes and see the world.
No one taught me how to keep my eyes open, to feel
awed by this planet, or wonder about what’s beyond it;
I just did, the same way I obey gravity and
the many other laws of the physical world
and the known (and unknown) universe
without anyone asking me to, or without
defying them. But I still have many questions
about the serendipitous realm we inhabit,
where our lives are as fleeting and bright
as a comet, looking so mighty in the night sky
when seen from Earth, even though they’re
ice-covered rocks and dust particles
floating around in the vacuum of space.
When I go through that tunnel and toward
the light again, I’ll try to remember my
so-called life, the lessons I learned, and
the souls I met before I go through the
wormhole and break through the spheres,
into infinite arbitrary dimensions
and parallel realities.

Cam Apr 2017

You can leave wires alone, hidden away
and they still get tangled, tied up in knots,
twisted around in angry coils, like a pit-full
of leathery snakes.  Everything appears to work still fine

and it looks nice and shiny, like it always did.
Dusted off every week. Our visitors admire it,
and family don’t notice it anymore.
It’s part of the furniture, there every day;

useful and pleasurable though it is, in its way,
if it broke, it would be replaced. So why,
though untouched in anyway
are the wires in such a state?

So, moving the furniture, you try
and release them. You try and follow the trail,
from where they used to run straight and true,
to where they now entwine and choke

each other with their tiny knotted fists of flex.
And you think this is beyond the laws of physics,
That an inanimate object can come alive
With such malevolence.


You look for explanation, such as
spectral interference or evil black-eyed
midnight fairies with sharp pin-teeth,
who, in glinting moonlight, spin and prance,

Whirling the wires around, as if in some frenzied pagan dance.
Rather, though, (and you know) it’s the small
unseen twists of time that, uncorrected in neglect,
have snared the wires in their own catch net.

However did it come to this? I ask her,
and she looks at me, as if
I shouldn’t be surprised. For so
it happens every time.

How and why do untouched wires entangle themselves?  It's so frustrating!
Timothy hill Apr 2017

You lay at the hem of dirt.

Decaying rot and smells have begone for century's.

Vampire haven and alter high grade of appeal.

Worm's jump as bird''s approach.

He he, you will not succeed for we are specialy made and protect by our creator so hi.

The birds perch of the dead bark growing amber.

Whistling as his friend, path is full of head lights as night tilt's on-wards!

Last second, from those berry on the lawn of his favorite landing.

They were laced with dmt too seed his constuct.



Before words his movement where advancement of a plain

Dark with a twist.
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