Poetic T 19h
It takes one star to guide me,
            but a million
     to momentarily lose myself within.

It takes one star to dream upon,
          but a million
     to lose it within mirages of self.

It takes one star to go out that,
        but a million
   still glow, but I miss that one the most.

"We each have a star we gaze upon,
               Let it always flicker for you,

Tick-tock the hands of the clock plock
the pendulum swings to the immutable
rhythm of hypnotic seconds measuring time,
the soundtrack to the great oeuvre that is

our life. An existence we perceive
ephemeral, thus instinctively preparing
suitcases since inception, on an earthly
sphere we interpret merely as a vestibule,

be it a pretty one awaiting to embark
on a journey to a destination unknown,
neatly folding experiences one by one,
hiding mistakes between the nethermost

layers, shameful feelings, regrettable deeds
tucked under blankets of tears, loving
sentiments nostalgically stowed as valuables
in secret pockets where fears glow.

Achievements meticulously placed in side-
compartments for easy retrieval, references
just in case, identity printed in capital letters
on a stateless passport holding the blank

ticket stretching ears to heed announcements,
last call for immediate boarding, hopefully
after blowing on candles times enough
for departure to be tolerable, desirable. Yet

the bell tolls every so often unexpectedly,
rendering the baggage of a life time instantly
redundant, while climbing the invisible ladder
naked, slowly dissolving into the ether, a rapid

transition between who we are, have been
and will be once more, pure energy melting
to recompose, metamorphosis in tune not
with the pendulum but with the mute

timeless cosmic flow encompassing all,
the solemn moment the weight suspended
from the pivot ceases to swing.
On death and beyond
Grace 1d
never compare me to the sun
i don't need to be the centre
of your universe
and besides
i always found the moon to be
far more intriguing
The universe caught sight of us
It watched our hearts intertwine
It listened to my prayers
That you would someday be mine

It saw your eyes glisten
When in mine, they found hope
Yes, it watched and saw and listened
And responded, simply, "Nope!"
MartaM 2d
***
Horror! I would utter only once as Im not on my deathbed
Not soon
Yet the horror of delusion, of personal misconception
The horror of the decay that is never too slow
As I have lost my objective
As I have been brought to the place
Low
Horror! For the passion, for the fire that is gone
The battery is low
The brain is swollen I can’t hear the crowd, thought
I can see the mass to which I belong
And I have always belonged
No thought, no cry, no adjuration may change the state of things
The universe is steady
And the universe I’ll leave
The space of the celestial and the space of the prime.
I faded, and the essence I believed to provoke my gain
has also faded away
(Or was it just a vivid delusion?)
Nothing I could believe may change the mass I am.
‘How many hairs on the palm
of your hand?’ my father used to ask
waiting to note, whether I would look.

‘None!’ gullible little me would reply
as he smiled asserting the quest
was in itself indeed the first

sign of madness,
to my bittersweet disappointment.

Little would he know then, that years
later growing up I would no longer search
yet would suffer as it happens from

mental distress,
to my tortured existential struggle.

Learning to hide hints and symptoms
of derangement I would confide
only to my Self, beloved faithful ally,

thereby exhibiting the second sign
solaced by Aurora to believe it was fine
whilst enjoying the conversation.

A dialogue between the many versions
of Self unfolding, for me to discover ego
laughing to my jokes, caressing my cheeks

whispering words of soothing power,
sympathising with endeavours
clement with my limits, coaching me

to courageously strive
to surpass them.

Counting stories of imagination
which would later be written
by my hands holding fountain pens

pouring ink on mute white papers,
a life of insanity within which
reason finds its peaceful abode.

As I now look around and observe
all the sane normal people who neglect
listening and talking to themselves,

I realise that my soliloquy engenders
a unique blissful bond, whereby
the trillion pieces composing me all

interconnect soundly rooted
in essential loving accord.
On talking to self
Everything is not what it seems, it seems?
Even the seems are pulled apart!
The fabric of our entire existence seems to be woven in the dark?
Everything is not what it seems, it seems?
Even the seems have started to rip!
It seems I'm losing reality but reality doesn't exist?

You see..

Everything is what it seems, it seems.
No changing or diverting!
It seems the seems can stitch them selfs,
It's ever re-occurring.
Everything is what it seems, it seems.
The seems are self repairing.
All is one and one is all so please quit this dispairing.
Can some one tell me the shape of the universe please? Are you sure!?  :)
We are all stitches in the cloth
                           of the universe,
each a moment holding
        the past & future together.

For without these
                   overlapping occasions
we would become frayed.
Undone not learning from one another.

But we are but one stitch among the
                    many colours that are
woven as far as the eye can see.
            patches that collected together.
Simoné Jan 20
When people walk between us
even for only a moment
along the street
I want to stop them
and ask them how
they can stand in the way of fate

And when people glance
even for only a second
at our smiles passing by  
I want to grab them
and ask them if
they realize they’ve just witnessed
one of the universes finest tricks
You have to capture it
While its still alive
This unspoken poetry
That lives inside of me

Untamed
Unrestrained

I want to see you
Nestle it like a
Newborn baby
Wrap it around your tongue
And taste it

After it escapes to enter the pen
From digestion
To clocked
It aides us all
Birth your §oul to me
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