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Vera Ezekiel Apr 6
Dumi,

I like love revealing
Hate unlatch
I'm no chameleon
You're no holier
So don't mix me sweet and kola
Cos I like my water settled.
loggi Oct 2018
I got a couple of things to say
That I feel would clear
All that fog that hangs
Inside my head
and makes it
so hard to
think.
But if I open my mouth
All the mist will
Come out
And I won't see
the truth.
Debanjana Saha May 2017
Why is that appearance
matters so much?

short
tall
lean
fit
chubby
fair
dark
so on
&
so forth.

This virtual world
expects us to be perfect.
And if we are not,
we just tend to
hide ourselves!

But why can't we judge
through the soul?

bold
beautiful
passionate
tender
inspiring
Authentic
gener­ous
affirmative
intelligent
genuine
&
so on..

why is that our senses are
so accustomed outwardly
rather than peeping inside
one's soul?
Strangeness of virtual world -
This virtual world seems so dangerous..
we connect to each other virtually
but often when met in person
everything vanishes into ashes
as if nothing mattered at all
rather than appearance!
Arlene Corwin Mar 2017
Sitting Outside A Day In May  
      
I find myself not only wondering [but]
Thirsting, needing to know when and how they died, [but]
Thoughts or suffering or not: in short,
The state before and during…

I observe a skin that’s wrinkling,
Drying out and shrinking,
Hear and spy a bird in tree,
See the freshness, spring’s new growth,
The only thing I really see is death, a passing.

I allow myself my breaths,
The moods, desires -
All that goes along,
Forgetting for the most part.

Deep down I see the buds of parting
And an emptiness because
I have no answers.
All that I can do is wait and act and meditate
As if life equaled all time-in-the-world.

Every year in spring
I find I’m writing,
Charting age unconsciously,
Literally marking time.

Not sad, not glad but emptier
Than years before,
(or maybe more).
Noticing, acknowledging a substance;
The substantial underlying all the grandeur.

Sitting Outside A Day In May 5.21.2016
Birth, Death & In Between II;
Arlene Corwin
Underlying awareness, outward gladness!  How can that be?
ghost Oct 2016
With empty hands and heavy heart,
I hope to die before I'm merely art.
By: Gretchen
The question regarding the question relies on what the question really is.

If the question implied is a question directed outwardly, then it may be misinterpreted as a question to oneself internally.

Otherwise, a question explicitly directed inwardly is critical to deciphering the question that one will address outwardly.  

If an indirect question is questioned through the user, then the question itself becomes a metaphysical question to choose from.

In the event a question is said through alternate means, consider the quantitative/qualitative state of the question at the time being; as it may be resolved by asking the question in a subconscious level indeed.  

Superficial means tends to seek fundamental questions to the reality of the state one naturally possesses.  

In the case where the unconscious decides the opportune event to question the conscious reality, one must interpret the means in examination of the intrapersonal mentality.  

If the question is imposed through correlative thought and subliminal expression, then the question itself is related to a parallel conscious state intertwined with the unconscious state of mind of progression.

If the question is relative in combination to the solutions mentioned above becoming apparent, then one has means to ask the question without questioning the question itself in disparate.

Otherwise, the question continues to perplex the question through the continuation of irrelevant questions that one will have thought; creating a treacherous belief so concurrent one could not have fought.

Therefore, is the reality of the question portrayed to the reality you live in or the reality of others? As this poem was conclusive to subtly evoke thought in the questions we construct.

By: Michael M. De La Fuente
The thought of the question was introduced to me whilst reading Carl Jung's book, Man and his Symbols.

— The End —