When I stare into the stars they remind me of how you illuminated my entire world,  before the sky got so tired cause it's left in the reflection​ you imprinted​ it with. These days grow longer reminding me how all the beauty is precious before taken for granted.   Than it doesn't refuse to break through..  As season may change the reason that mark just  exactly everything in this heart.   Leaving the pluses​ absently  beating in your presence.  The ocean may collide with its heavy blue waves crashing but doesn't quite compare to these eyes that collided with my soul that lit up the darkest depths deep within.   Everything taints in your reflection cause I doesn't surpass the beautiful unique  soul that stood before my eyes..  Even in the most concealing disguise  she will shine ever so bright an that right there was my light..  An  nothing could dim such a twin flame that could never drain..  Even if its ever taken away.  In my heart chained down in your reflection..  The truth that steers my direction
Another hopeless poem x.x
You crown my realm
with real fairy dust
from a land afar.

I’m coming
where the bees sing
and you read poetry
while I cry.

Unicorn tears
of magic reign
forever while the sun shines.
When the rain falls
you float.
               'neath onyx skies
                           crystal balls
                                     filled with
    ­                                                   of
                       golden chalices
                                                to hold
                                           the wine
                                 of illusion
                                       spiders spinning
             whose gossamer
                      capture tales
             ­                                    kings
                       ­                                      castles
                   ­                            princesses ~
                                 wizard wands
the night sky's
                              rearranging stars
                                               into patterns
                                                        ­   to be read
                                                as words ~
                            cryptic languages
         ­               clouded
   ­                                       within
                   and samurai
seek the key
                 while dragons
                  ­                                   flames
                                                          ­ of  passion
                                                    ­     into
                                      the cauldron
                              that lights
                     the banks
of a river
              of dreams
                        cliffs rise
                                along the edge
                                     casting shadows
                            that plunge deep
                         to nightmares
                 hearts climb
and fall again
                   caught by
                                      the jagged edges
                                                           ­     of love
                                                  and bitter
           ­              climb and fall
                                        by incantations
                   the moon
Venus Apr 11
When I reach down to my knees,
Just before I touch down to reach my toes,
Will I collapse? Or will I rise?
Something about the life in the itchy grass
Makes me wonder:
Am I anything more than what I have become?
I splash the pond of thoughts and ponder
The water intertwines with my veins and I can feel it, cool through my system as I stretch back to my shoulders
And I can feel it dancing it’s way to my brain and repairing tension in the dry wasteland of negative tendencies because it speaks to me softly a song that I have not heard before
“I am evolving into some higher potential,
Becoming a new kind of beast.
Something charming and kind,
A moss of mystics
and the dreary
Sometimes I feel the present colliding inside,
as the future declares war, both pressing upon,
I’m unable to focus on the present. Be with me
now. There is no poetry without some sort of
suffering. Despite how much this poem seems
to lack.
(knowledge variable)
SoZaka Mar 27
We make our own reality
without a word
of vocabulary
tell me a story
write it in the stars

sing my blessings
shout my praises
tell me that you love me
by spelling out my name
in your mind
and in mine.

tell me our voice comes from above
its all better for the wiser,
who knows who to love
who to love

and that's you
and that's me
and that's you
and that's
another realm of love
As I look out to others to find myself, I do. It seems that my heart convinces my mind with a subtle hum to take up that position and lay on it as time goes by. I see someone’s art and feel as if they described my whole life. I sit and listen to someone’s album and I feel as if they have been watching me since birth. How else can they do something like this, something so random, and yet so familiar to me, someone.
Arlene Corwin Mar 12
Lying In Bed In Truth

I lie in bed.
I look down at this body.
Not very interesting.
I wish to feel the single this.
Separated and detached,
No past which wants to show itself;
Just now.
Alone but not a lonely I,
For as a Buber labeled it,
An I and Thou,
All others also I and Thou
Surrounding and surrounded by…
Monads all.
Single souls.
Working on and out the hole
And whole of this existence.
Fingers typing,
Eyes a-skyping
Mind hard to describe
Where is it?
What’s it doing?
All and nothing.  
What’s it want?
A knowing all integrally,
Unseparate yet separated.
This is mysticism underrated
In a nutshell.

Lying In Bed In Truth 3.12.2018 Nature of & In Reality; Circling Round Reality; To The Child Mystic II; Arlene Corwin
the mystic side of existence.
When the truth blows, it kills all the liars
in a explosive way, it dents history, as it
should. Left for all future eyes, as it reads
into the past. Potent and poetic, hopefully.
The only problem with the self,
that is, there is so many various
ways that the perception works.
Eternity maybe longer than life,
arh and lucidity in the sense of
my Muse, acting as a Higher Power,
suspecting in yearning that isn’t
human. Poetry leaves only passages,
it’s like any other art. Lessons in
symbols. Not in a state of constant
dreaming. Individual fate. My
own future, being a parent - present,
melts in my hands now. I’m in
a constant state of illumination.
(knowledge variable)
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