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Elizabethanne Jul 12
The first place you call yourself-
a monster
where you admit 
that you- are a liar
Home is
where you learn becoming human 
Tethered inside stitched up skin 
you have enough emotions to- 
spill out 
But home is-
wanting for many things and getting none of them 
Half-feral and doing everything to not bite the hands that feed
You fold and fold and fold
until you are smaller- 
until you are not even really there at all 

- Home is where you go to disappear
Ghosts are tramped souls
Neither belonging to this world
Nor belonging to afterworld
They hang between the two worlds
They possess astral body
Subtler than the physical one
Which stands destroyed after death
Ghosts appear properly dressed
I have heard
Wherefrom their clothes come
When they leave everything physical
In the physical world
Ponder, ponder
Seekers seek and then tell
Ghosts suspended between the two worlds, wherefrom their clothes come? Do they wander naked?
Persephone May 6
She drowned herself in books
Exploring worlds that helped her breathe
old willow Mar 18
Truth and lies, I once distinguish the two.
Reality is truth, but why...
Because Reality is constant;
Time is truth, because it is constant,
constant because they cannot be change.
Understandable, some cannot accept the truth,
accept reality, why?
Because they cannot change the constant.
People will root toward earth,
Love will attract one another,
Sad will follow happiness,
these are all constant, what we call truth.
Lies is just another constant,
a constant that does not match their own,
therefore, people label lies away from truth.
Leila Mar 7
Existence is so fragile
Just one thread pull unweaves
The entire universe away

Drowning in this intoxicating matter
When I breathe I start to get dizzy
A rush of blood pumping inside
This makes it real
This is what makes sense
This is a fantasy alive
What reality is merely based upon
Enjoy
old willow Mar 1
Be still toward one’s heart, not letting it control one’s body…
Be still toward one’s body, not letting it control one’s mind…
Be still toward one’s mind, not letting it control one’s heart…
Ultimately, all thing began from the heart.
As such, we must live and fashion our way to our heart.
To forgo all things...
Let time fly by, as a long time friend would.
Let life drift over our head, as the bird do.
Let the wind embrace us as we ***** the hill, as nature wield.
So long, so far, the Stillness of all things comes and go.
Life are borrowed, not owned…
When hollowed, we are simply paying back the debt we own.
Heaven cannot move me,
Earth cannot bend me,
as such, my heart is truly still.
old willow Feb 8
I dwell in this vast world.
Seeing loved one's passing through life.
Believe that my heart can soar above heaven.
Believed that my heart transcend heaven,
Yanking the soul of my people away,
Place them back on earth.
If my heart still lingers on earth,
How could I soar nine heavens above?
If my heart is above heaven,
Why would my heart desire mortal dust below?
Dust to dust, mortal dies,
let begone bygone, cleaning the dust off myself.
old willow Feb 7
Living carefree, unrestrained,
That is my heart dao.
To live so freely, transcend reincarnation,
one must overcome life.
Whom to where my eyes stride,
See trillions upon trillions of mortal heart dao.
The road is endless, so is my heart.
If the heaven wield, then earth pave.
If the world shielded, then my heart pierce.
The ocean is many, the many is one.
The dao is many, the many is one.
The heart is many, many is one,
Greed, Love, Hatred, Jealously,
desires stem from the heart.
The myriad things are dao,
ultimately the many whence one.
Ken Pepiton Jan 16
When an astronomer says, very densely packed,
of matter - as in the Oort cloud,
he is in another scale of thought, augmented
by science used with knowledge of
fore gone conclusions as to
metrics on con sci user's
speed of thought,
where
reality doesn't care if you believe it or not.

We are all past-understanding,
we are the lifeship earth peace makers,
the entire crew, auto, right, mathic-myth,
sentience intended to manifest
in time to make that
final ******
pop the bubble of babble's biggest fuss
race
to spew the luke warm from my mouth and watch,
each drop of venom sprouts a rod
of an almond tree.

{I predicted the return of this riddle}
Maybe and whatif are not
ex-act-ed-ly, no, actually
-- see, slow… see
maybe and trust are crushed words, compacted
as the density of any den of thieves becomes
assumedwiseasstreetspunky, slang, coo'
thoughts merge from phrases to signals
true rest may be, if we survive
next as we imagine it,

resting in truth, matters or not,
spirit of philio or spirit of sophia,
we agree,

shoulder to shoulder, elbo-grease and oompha
songs,
hup, we hup, we lift the foot from the mud,

find the boot has lost its irony soul,
sould,
American, LSMFT, never forget!!

When the joker told the thief of the must be
way, the liar, himself, believed
the whole story…

that was magic, not a trick, not a cheat.
You know reality does not care.

{evidence, in the mystery of iniquity working thread}

The reason beauty is, is you. Seeing, you doing the
seeing, witnessing the irrationality
of iridescent humming birds
playing in my cloudless
January sunset,

all along the 33rd parallel.
May be we do not live in a special time or a special place but chances are good
as any in the moment that we each can make a moment special for a seer, with a subtle wink that says yeh. this is how to grow old in time.
Yes,
I was in love.
But not with you.
I was in love
with the
moments
and the
memories.
I was feeding
off an
ego
of false hope
and
games;
games that
haunted me
and
made me
want
more than
you truly
deserved.
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