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a goblet of salt water
for eyes bereft of tears
a mosaic from the ruins
hangs on the wings of tomorrow

-uncharted
Tommy Randell Feb 2019
Cross-legged
But serious and still
In an upstairs curtained room
I balance two slender shafts of Light
One in each upturned palm

Kites resemble Poets                   Poets resemble Kites
Because they fly                                            Enthralled
Only to be held                                By upturned Faces
By outreaching Hands

It could have been the other way round.
But, as a matter of Fact
Flying this Kite today
Seems to be a matter of touch
And hardly a dangerous thing to do

Is touching Knowing finally do you think?

I close my eyes against the light
And steer the Sun
By heat alone

Seeking the purity of something

About to take place
A wonderful moment of meditative connection
H E L E N A Feb 2019
It's strange.
Progressively faint,
Denouncing a saint.

It's strained.
Every smile forced;
A pain to paint!

It's a disdain.
To detach it from my veins,
Watching my affections wane.

It's a change!
Perverse propulsion, *******
Into a new unwilling, unsuspecting
Star, sun, sky.
From the hollows of her heart.
K Balachandran Feb 2019
A mystery gripped me unawares,
One without form, shape or color
All I could make out is this dear:
Weaved  out of million fine strands
Its essence is all; all of it a mystery.
No distinguishing mark, you’ll find
Its warm grip transcends limits
In such a state I was left, for which
A name none  has ever invented
Even that’s not a need, of course
Being the one of it’s kind, a name
For the singular mystery won’t suit
It’s beyond the realm  of identities
The mystery is just that,get it right.
Kat Dec 2018
Each rose I met promised to explain me
the wonder, the joy
of transformation.
The perennial grief,
at the sight of the world becoming,
is the grief of wanting to understand but not being able to.
How much greed there was,
in my longing for a garden.
Isabel Aghahowa Nov 2018
when my brain stops beating
and it stops festering in its perplexing notions
and stop-motion contraptions
it's veins and nerves
will turn into strings and wires
for bold machines and troubled moulds to gather
as it floats above the murky water
eating the life it rests amongst

tampering with the wildlife
it so valued, in its shelter
that now lives in ash  
as it melts into the soil and becomes a stone of reclusion  
that looks upon the stars by the coast
and meditates along the margin of its past life
Jonathan Oct 2018
I can break the laws of the universe

It's true
Everybody can
Everybody has

Even you!

It happens in a special place that exists in the peripherals of your mind
When you look for it it hides
When you think about it it ceases to exist
And you can never find it
But you visit it almost every night

This space is the brink of your subconscious!
The space between worlds and realities!
A singularity, where physical law is a mirage!

On the nights we sleep but don't dream, we visit this place
It's between the day's last conscious thought and the following's first
In this space hours past in faster than an instant
There is no body, soul or mind
There is no void
There is no colour
There is no concept of empty

Pure, absolute nothing!

In this space, the entire universe ceases to exist

We wake the next morning with no recollection.
We know objectively that time has passed,
And eventually the feeling of our temporary transcendence fades
And we carry on without asking

This happens to all of us,
On nights you sleep, but don't dream
And in that space

You can break the laws of the universe
This was an attempt to illustrate the concept of Solipsism, which puts forward that the universe exists only because we consciously perceive it.

Quite mind-blowing.
Alyssa Underwood Nov 2015
It is out of the heart’s cavernous longing and furious search
for love, significance, acceptance, approval, identity, security,
freedom, belonging, innocence, intimacy and transcendence—
out of its primordial memory of what was lost to us in the Garden—
that we begin to ***** idols for ourselves.

Unconsciously we hope they might restore to us a taste of paradise,
taking away our fear and shame and isolation.
We yearn to go back but, alas, we cannot get in from there.
We ache to connect to beauty, to be desired by it as much as we desire it,
and Jesus is the only door by which we may enter.
He is the Beauty, and all the rest are simply there like pealing bells
to arouse our hearts to Him and tell us that He is coming for us.

Still, as if we haven’t quite yet heard and believed the message, we keep
aimlessly trying to forge a false righteousness through our false gods.
When they are lost or the dreams of them unrealized we are devastated,
for the shadows, echoes and reflections we had supposed would finally
make us feel good about ourselves have been exposed as frauds,
and once again we are left to feel naked but without fig leaves to cover us.

It is at these precise moments, when the bottom of our false hope falls out,
that we are best prepared to encounter Christ in His intimate fullness
and most apt to recognize at last that He alone is everything
we have been so desperately wanting.
It is our boiling point, where the unbearable weight
of failed expectation so crashes in on us that we are finally
begging God to lift our idols off of us and deliver us from them,
pleading with Him to come and capture us,
crying out to Him to possess us fully.
~~~
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