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Long, slow walk,
Of steps in contemplation.
Low, slow talk,
To self in concentration.

To the end,
Where unknown in time or length.
To defend,
The self’s unknown source of strength.

Keep going,
Meek in determination.
Keep growing,
To find self-revelation.

Patient trail,
The beginning left behind.
To prevail,
In the meaning that you find.

Quiet thought,
Coaxing stubbornness to yield.
The road sought,
Inner secrets are revealed.
Instagram @insightshurt
Blogging at www.insightshurt.com
Buy "Insights Hurt: Bringing Healing Thoughts To Life" at store.bookbaby.com/book/insights-hurt
Eyithen Aug 29
If my life was a book
Would anyone read it?
Would it be happy or sad?
Romance or Action?

If my life were a book
Would it be like a John Green Novel?
Or would it be morphed into Fantasy?
Would it be filled with Mystery like a Nancy Drew volume?
Or filled with Drama?
I think i would be a trilogy; possibly more,
Because one book won't even cover a day's worth of thoughts.

If my life were a book
Would it be made of experiences and feelings?
Contemplating the small stuff
and finding the beauty in everything?
Would it be like Narnia?
Everything metaphorical
Filled with personification and anthropomorphism.

If my life were a book
Would my inner demons become monsters or a curse?
Would my love interest be a charming prince?
A rouge outlaw? Or someone i would least expect?

If my life were a book
I can only hope it would be a great adventure.
One with foreign lands and exotic animals.
One that defies gravity
And goes against everything we can imagine

If my life were a book, if one were to read it,
They would learn more about me in a hundred pieces of paper
Then they could in a day.

If my life were a book
One could possibly know me better then i know myself
Because we often reveal more than we intend to without ever knowing it ourselves.
The river stretched out before me,
elven and expanseless.
I faced my opponent without fear or trembling,
my enthusiasm to succeed a far cry beyond healthy trepidation.
I dove headlong into the icy, brackish waters,
brazen and breathless,
determined to reach the far shore before first light.
I did not consider the confusion that would ensue.
The air was forced from my lungs, leaving me hollow,
hagridden and hapless.
I could feel my panic mounting as I pressed onward,
its thin fingers winding around my heart and clawing up my throat.
My vision began to dim, the world around me growing dark,
laden and lightless.
My teeth chattered, my muscles seized.
I could feel my flesh begin to convulse
as I was suddenly watching myself from above.
“Heartbroken and helpless,”
were the only words I could muster as I watched my struggle.
I was taking in too much water but could do nothing about it.
I’d strayed too far from shore and found myself stranded.
Misbegotten and meaningless.
That is what my death would be,
its story going unuttered and avoided,
the lips of my loved ones never being tainted by its recounting.
Panic-stricken and powerless,
I didn’t have the strength to keep swimming.
My arms and legs and chest burned with exhaustion.
I could no longer even see the far shore glittering in the distance.
Even and emotionless,
I allowed my limbs to go limp and my lungs to languish.
I slipped below the waves and let the weight begin to crush me.
I did this to myself.
Laden and lifeless;
I’d breathed my last, my cause of death an uncalculated gumption.
I took the leap with uninhibited **** for the journey ahead,
failing to count the cost or acknowledge the danger.
Misshapen and motionless,
my corpse danced beneath the surface, bobbing and swaying with the current,
cursed to float downstream for an endless eternity.
I’d done this to myself.
War-ridden and wordless,
my spirit writhed in agony.
If only I’d fought a little harder, been a little smarter, held on a little longer…
Maybe it wouldn’t have ended like this.  Maybe then I would have made it to shore.

A bend in the river gently curved before me.
Craven and colorless,
my corpse glided silently along the glassy surface of the water,
a sojourner doomed to serve the current as my unforgiving master,
drifting outside the realm of season and time.
Ashen and aimless,
the waves lapped insistently against my face and arms,
bidding my lifeless form to arise,
reminding me that I did not control them, for they owned me.
Oaken and offenseless,
I heard a voice whisper through the trees and along the river’s surface,
breaking the deafening silence of death
and causing the forest to thrum in tense anticipation.
Beholden and boundless
the motion of the river suddenly broke,
releasing my limp body from its eternal clutches,
expelling me from its unquestionable cycle.
Frozen and futureless,
my corpse moved toward the shore as if propelled by some unseen force,
my hair and clothes being tugged at by the low-hanging arms of willow trees,
drawing me closer to my destination.
Sudden and seamless
the still small voice came again,
beckoning me by name to breathe,
to return to the land of the living and carry on undaunted.
Awe-stricken and angstless,
I gasped as air was ****** into my lungs, a spear of Life driven into my chest.
I trembled as my hands gripped the earth,
feeling it move through my pallid fingers for the first time.
Golden and groundless,
I heard the voice once again,
inviting me into abundance and life,
promising me everything I’d died without knowing.
Forgiven and fearless
I stood up, the last vestiges of my grave dripping from my clothes.
I felt the world solid beneath my feet as I followed the voice of my Master.
My deathbed behind me, I did not look back.
Eons of water dripping on a stone
Altered and absorbed into creation--
But I need suddenness of something known
From Epiphany and Revelation.

Realization's not slow and steady,
Rather spontaneous elevation.
My need to learn demands I stay ready
For Epiphany and Revelation.

Show me no small lessons that life presents,
But insight with dramatic sensation!
Life unfolds in a series of events
Of Epiphany and Revelation.

Even silence is thunderous rapture
Triggering profound imagination.
Knowledge springs from the wisdom I capture
With Epiphany and Revelation.

Who I am today is a product of
Awe in my moments of education.
It's these times in life that I've learned to love--
My Epiphany and Revelation.
Instagram @insightshurt
Blogging at insightshurt.blogspot.com
Buy "Insights Hurt: Bringing Healing Thoughts To Life" at store.bookbaby.com/book/insights-hurt
Isaac Aug 7
To write is to breathe.
Letting out the inner heart,
the inner mind,
the inner life.

Write, for it is good.
Don't wait to be understood.
Just write like nobody can stop you.
Write out your dreams,
your revelation.

Write new and fresh lines.
For there is a whole world in you
to let out.
And time is short.

To write is to breathe!
Don't hold anything in.
Be free.
Be alive.
Written 7 August 2018
Kalen Doleman Jul 24
It doesn't exist.
Give him a name, ideas, nationality,
all put together to create a personality.
It doesn't exist.

This reality is something to persist.
It's a crisis existential in nature we resist.
a life of meaning and motion if you wish.
Superlative, expansive in its there.
A world of reality it's not fair.

Because overly outwardly inwardly we stare.
and knows its truth, in existence, unreality to ensnare.
It does not exist.
It does not exist.
It is not there.
It's cool to know that its all not really there. We all have masks but when we over come them we see the truth of reality and it all becomes clear, it's so beautiful.
David Hill Jul 21
Mars was bright that year,
And reflected off the lonely lake,
As red as the belly of my upturned canoe.
I stood ***** by the lapping waves,
Washing off the stale bug dope,
In the smoke from my campfire,
(The mosquitoes, too, were bad that year.)
The accusing war-*** eye
Looked up from the dark water
And asked
“What if you broke an arm out here?”
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