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The mind
Is fertile

Any age
One can learn
Genre: Minimalist
Theme: Enroll
Iska Sep 19
Meanwhile I’ve just sat by and wrote poems about her passion pretending it was my own. Little did I know, a seed was planted and she was watering it as it grew into a dream I never knew that I had buried.
Iz Sep 15
It is 10 pm and I’m shrinking again. the familiar shame that is causing me to concave, But I don’t want to die, just wanted to.

I am just tired of light feeling like cheating. I am tired of nutrients becoming a nuisance, Do you hear it snap and curl and twist inside you? or does your leaves get baptized with your healthy? can you grow without thinking about the darkness of your shadow? no? you mean you oxidize each exhale as if it was your own?
He said write about a seed
write about the trees
write about the happy that grows all around me
old willow Sep 13
I walk through life,
writing countless stories.
Surely of thousands stories,
a dozen would be deaths.
Plucking death from life;
is plucking seed from a fruit.

What is there to gain?
We say life have no reason, purpose, nor excuses.
So what say we live?

Plucking the seeds;
I witness countless threads.
From the bitterness of fate;
to the sadness of departure;
down to the solitary of loneliness.

I fear fighting those who have nothing,
those with nothing find comfort in death.
But... is death truly nothing?
Life is full, but emptied to the eyes of death;
Therefore, I tend to see life as nothing
and death as nothing;
ultimately, seeing through life and death.
Every thought I sow
Continues to grow
And the end result
Seems simple to know

Every thought in mind
Produces in kind
I can clearly see
The divine design

An apple’s small seed
Grows apples indeed
And thoughts of one “type”
To more they will lead

A seed, like a thought
Is tiny, but not
With faith, both are sought

I’ll think just the best
And bypass the rest
By divine design
I will remain blessed
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Seeds amaze me!  I love gardening and growing all types of plant and trees.  Right now I'm saving peach pits from all of the peaches we are eating from our yard.  Each pit contains literal instructions on how to build a peach tree and ripe peaches using just water, sunlight, and soil.  Our thoughts are seeds also and they produce after their "kind".  My peach pits won't grow apples - that's just contrary to Divine Design.

We can use this understanding of seeds, thoughts, and Divine Design to increase our manifesting skills.  Learning how to create with your mind is an important part of why YOU are here on earth at this time.
Poetic T Aug 31
I'll burn you all like your stumps,
          cutting you lower than you define.

You thought you were surpassing
         maturating high with fake

                               terminology that

        never matured more than a seed
                      of contemplation.

Your dead before you reach my height,
                limp stumps brittle to the flow

of my breath..

windswept failings, your just a seed
                dead in the wind of change.

But the only thing you fall is fake...

          I'll grow beyond your seeds of discontent.

           Watch my syllables plant in the young,
                    growing in height that you never

clipped, every word is nourishment that is
                neither an ego to grow.

But I1'l grow with every sentence read.
         your my wind, gusting me to new

Ground to fertilise the metaphors of nourishment
              that i feed to the masses, no pesticides
                   were used in the growth of this word.
Pockets Aug 28
Wake up
Spill some seed
Dig a hole
Plant yourself at the type writer keys
Water with whiskey
Give it some time
That’s how you grow the best lines
Devin Ortiz Aug 6
The universe used to whisper dark melodies,
in the secret garden of mind.
Seeds were sewn with thoughts that were ravenous for the wicked sound.
Each idea bloomed into insidious beauty, humming a haunting tune of its own.

When dusk set on the infinite, the ghastly chorus set too.
Silence boomed, poisoning the life of creativity.
What grew now, was gnarled indifference, a green of dark envy.

Borderline blasphemous and a challenge just the same, a tune of antithesis finally became.
The garden sang its own song in finality.
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