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There are so many
Different angles
On the Ogden Temple

I see symbolism
From every other direction
And then some

I would peak in
But the gates closed down
And my bishop's biphobic

I wear a different crown
A poem that came to me
For an instagram post

Check it out ;)
Nathalie Sep 19
I trace your lips with my finger and I get lost in the deep pool of your eyes ... I let myself linger in the swell of these emotions that surrender me yours...mind, body and soul ... I embrace this dance with divine grace and a love so complete...I am witness to this gracious desire beating in my chest that knows no bounds and pushes me to the edges of my imagination...There is harmony and peace that is found at the centre of this unearthing devotion ... It has embodied a life all its own which lifts me to new heights in the temple of my dreams.

JT Sep 1
My body is a temple
Ancient and crumbling
I speak in languages
Old as dust
The sea
Retreats when I come near
The earth
Quakes beneath my feet
Bow to me
When i walk past
Don’t mistake me
For one of the gods
Even they
Fear me
Even I
Fear me

Ylzm Aug 8
Jerusalem, will of Man, of Ishmael, and not Isaac
Dome of the Rock and not House of God
A constant thorn and not peace of the Earth
We weep as those who wept at the Second Temple

Jerusalem, a lure, a trap, a stumbling block, a sieve
******* to false prophets and worldly kings
As Ishmael sent away, so shall Jerusalem be exiled
For One greater than the Temple is here: Immanuel

Jerusalem, Bride of God, shall descend from above
Trumpet blasts in skies, the world shall see and mourn
All Israel gathered and her enemies judged
The kingdom of the world becomes the kingdom of God
Awesome Annie Jul 14
I kneel before the temple of tomorrow, while still lingering in yesterday.  Cut by broken promises, and choking on the words I couldn't say.

Here I cried a river so vast, that it became a sea. I cupped my hands but couldn't catch, all the shattered parts of me.

Prayers slip from red stained lips, but it's just to heavy in heart. There's no more a clear reflection, that ripples do not part.

I have hope tucked in my pocket,  I built this raft with dreams. But I can't keep from drowning, it's busting at the seams.

Waves pull from the earth, my heart now ticks to the rhythm of sorrow. I can't mend what's already fallen apart, but I can find faith in the Temple of tomorrow.
Sally A Bayan Jun 14
(of Angkor Wat)

Two years after, i still think of that
forest, where an old temple stands...
most structures were carved with intricate
designs and images...architecture was
influenced by their Khmer culture...

posts, frames and doors are stilled
statues are tight-lipped, like frozen
witnesses...drowning in the voices
and noises of flocks of tourists,
reminding me of the noise and confusion
of my daily my own world..

i went up and down many stairs, went through
doors within doors, i lost count, while catching  
my breath, wondered why there were just door
frames............silent walls, old posts, and old
trees gave a cold feel of a distant past......yet,
in my mind, an aura of magic and mystery
hovered upon the entire if ghosts
of wisdom, and lots of stories lay dormant,
imprisoned......within the structures...

two summers and monsoon seasons passed,
my thoughts on Angkor Wat, haunt me still,
and bring back my thoughts on those doors;

some doors on our paths are closed shut,
some are ajar...some open easily, but are
ignored, or feared...some, close too soon,
before we make our first step to enter...
some stay open, yet, we become complacent,
some, have no closures or finality...leaves
one in limbo....
how will we know if it's the last one for us?
how many doors more...for you? for me?
does death give an end to life's entrances?
........or, is it just a beginning?

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
January 2017
(TAngkor Wat is in Siem Reap, Cambodia)
Eric Jun 7
Little horizontal linings, with bountiful treasures finding , happiness between the walls of tidings.unwinding the fact we're all crying , inside an it's denying the lying .
The here and now in my Little House of hell, words may tell , but moral of the story is , I'm unwell. This Little House is small these days , as if I fell . Looking up at things , I just can't tell. I try to be one with all , but I realized we are in hell . There aint no way out , dying , happens to be a dream without a doubt . Where no screams or shouts , can be heard even when it came from your heart and you felt,.... out.
And just came back to the same Little House.
-I feel stories need to be told -
Planejane2 May 19
The temple of my soul,
I humbly apologize for taking advantage of you.
Negative down talking you.
Letting unhealthy things enter you.
Attracting the same demons over & over again.
Letting just anyone enter you
Sometimes not allowing you to move,
Being still in the bed because I didn’t think you were deserving to show the world
Moving too much, misjudging your strength & underestimating your need for rest.
Letting my mind get so sick that it resonates with you too.
I’m sorry, I promise I will be better to you.
you look at me like you might drown in me
a body of water, to rinse away the exhaustion
you look at me like there are depths you've yet to dive into
uncharted territory
you trace the inches of me like there will always be more to love
like you will never grow tired of the skin I'm in
I've grown up knowing that my body is a temple
but I've never met someone so dedicated to worshipping it
You once told me
that Monday was Thursday,
Tuesday was Friday
and Wednesday...
-well Wednesday was Wednesday
and I believed it to be true

You were the force
that pulled the sun across my sky
and brought rain,
miraculously placing laughter
on my parched lips.
You wrote the maps
and formed minutes into hours
-letters into words
And when you smiled,
I believed it was just for me.

Your wish was my command
and my truth was your word.
I happily danced
when you pulled on my strings.

You vanished in a storm
and the blur of October, November,
Here one moment, gone the next
-with no goodbye,
apology or promise-prophecy.

But my world kept flowing
and the sun traced its arc
across my sky without your help.
My chest rose and fell
and Monday was Monday again
-the rain poured of its own accord
and my cracked lips found song.

Perhaps you have returned
from time to time
to your empty temple
-found it void of worship
and the voids filled once more.
Perhaps the legends are true
and you have become
deaf and blind
-unable to find your way back to me.

I should like the rumours
to be true
because my world turns
just fine without you.
I have no further words for this poem. It is all at once everything I wished to say, and nothing of importance.
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