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Thinking always brings everyone to a common level.
Thinking is the communist of mysticism.
It is a pool of common feelings.
Thinking makes one equal to all creatures.
Every atom is regarded the same.
And so thinking unites existence.
Pondering in my room
The unity of anger is a paradise of redness.
It is a wall that cannot be broken by any means except understanding.
It is the self in its royal attire come to announce personal truth that cannot be shaken, or maybe it can.
Either way one is in doubt concerning one's abilities and shrinks from the strong servants.
For one's reality is that of a fawn, brittle and weak, yet attacked by the world just because it lives.
It is the red eye of the world and it presses down further on it still.
It is a unity in which you can see all - from a jail cell.
It is understood misunderstanding.
It is being stuck in a rut of being.
It is the moksha of being dumbfounded.
It is a hundred martyrs vying for sorrow.

But calling anger a unity necessarily makes the anger leave and the unity come.
Dreaming in ivory she heeded nothing.
The solace rushed through each cell like unalloyed ecstasy.
Evaporating her last sigh, she let go of the agony left viable within.
Life wasn’t absolute anymore, self identity was consumed.
A lifeless corpse with no earthly ties, no human needs.
Decay began having his way with her devoid flesh case.
Life flourishes from blight so gracefully.
What once contained memories and dreams, was now reduced to naught.
Get familiar with knowing silence, it is the permanent outcome for us all.
Dave Robertson Aug 2021
Indigo shades steeping
to Indian ink blackness
******* thought
to a beautiful, terrible singularity
where words struggle
to escape gravity
but on we fly
Don Bouchard Jul 2021
The Master slept; disciples saw the coming storm,
Threw a blanket on their Lord to keep him warm.
Clouds congealed, grays grew dark;
Lightning moved in flashing arcs.

More than a squall, the winds carved trenches
In writhing waters grown black beneath,
Tipped with frothing benches.

Grown weary of the crowds, body spent with care for others,
Still He slept the rest of an exhausted man,
Unaware the growing fear of brothers.

"Wake up! Do you not care if we all drown?"
Was it Peter who shook Him there,
Amazed he slept so sound?

He sat up from sleep, looked at the water,
Felt the wind, turned to the water,
Scolded, "Peace! Be still!"

The winds dropped; so did the waves;
The boat bobbed gently in the calm.
The men, awed, stood on the silent boards,
Marveling at the Lord.

We live upon on a tossing sea,
Torn by hate and fear in a storm of strife,
And no one has an answer we can see.
We're sailors fearing the end of life.
When is the time to turn to God,
Whom we forget still cares,
Waits "sleeping in the boat"
Until we're desperate in our prayers?
Thinking.... Mark 4
Emily Feb 2021
Who are you? Who have you become?
Who are we? What have we ever done?
izzn Jan 2021
Profound poetry
What does that mean?

Is it the surplus amount
of big words conjoined together
for a trade of a 'masterpiece' honouree?
Is it the simplest of words
drawn into each other
to paint such a beautiful imagery?
Or is it those blank spaces
that speak volume
about a person's well being?

Profound poetry
What does that even mean?
Lyn-Purcell Jan 2021
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║                𝔯𝔬𝔯𝔯𝔦𝔐 ,𝔯𝔬𝔯𝔯𝔦𝔐             ║
╔══╝       𝔢𝔰𝔞𝔢𝔩𝔭 𝔢𝔲𝔯𝔱 𝔩𝔲𝔬𝔰 𝔶𝔪 𝔩𝔩𝔢𝔗         ╚══╗
║  𝔪𝔞 𝔡𝔫𝔞 𝔰𝔞𝔴 ℑ 𝔱𝔞𝔥𝔴 𝔫𝔞𝔥𝔱 𝔢𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔢𝔟 ℑ 𝔩𝔩𝔦𝔚    ║
       ╚═╗      𝔢𝔟 𝔬𝔱 𝔱𝔫𝔞𝔢𝔪 ℑ 𝔬𝔥𝔴 𝔱𝔢𝔢𝔪 𝔡𝔫𝔞
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Tried my hand in something new, mirror-writing!
One of the most prominent people to do this was Leonardo Da Vinci though it is unclear why despite all the ideas that have been suggested.
I found it quite fascinating!
It was a bit of a challenge to format, but I'm happy with the end result.
This poem reflects something I ask myself internally everyday.
And what better way to share it than with the 'hand of Da Vinci'?
I will definitely be experimenting more with new styles.
Stay safe everyone!
Kind regards,
Lyn x
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