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Just Know

Most people change, some don’t

Some swim or sink, while others float

I don’t think I’m him, For I am no joke

I need to plant the seeds to grow

For I bleed and reap what I soe

I get what I give, So I give my all,

Just Know.

Thee Mind, Body & Soul, Be all of me, from head to toe.
To Heal. To Learn. To Grow.

To Just Know!
There is always Power in Knowledge !
Our every talk
an episode of competitive mind athletics
As each tries to outpace the other
On the eccentric field tracks of conversation.

We are more like ****** – militants,
For after every hello and before the next goodbye there always remains a trail of carnage;
Inside my eyes and on your face are the grimmest battlefields;
Emotions are always the casualties;
Paying the price for two egos clashing in frantic effort to maintain the gravities of inner pride.

Your name and mine;
Two eagles wrestling every hour
trying gravely to unsettle the establishment;
To shift the equilibrium,
To make the universe lose its balance.

The survival of our acquaintance is based on something stronger than the spiritual;
Our mutualism
One flower least expected to flourish
I think nature made me for you;
I am the antithesis to your existence;
Only in our duality can peace exist;
Two powers of chaos
Tumultuous forces that cannot live without each other.

I think you know that I am the best thing that is ever going to happen to you.

{She Smiles and nods}

For Teyana, Let me embrace your chaos. From the upcoming love anthology "TEYANA"
LDP May 18
Little Choices
Make a big difference.

So choose with your heart
And let it manifest.

Explore The
And The
Words Will
Everyday is a heartbreak.
I have shut the doors to my mind, I shut myself out
         For inside my head there exists
a thick darkness that seeks to engulf me.        
      Pain – Fear – Rage and Love.   
Shapeless monsters hiding – waiting to devour me;
Now to the heavens I look, towards the enchanted skies;
glittering and shimmering with cold- but warm enough
to house my sullen soul.
I will look towards them; and find my solace.

Everlasting and steadfast, I am enthralled by you.
Tales from the surface of my within,
The ones I won't tell no man, I let you hear
In the beauty of the night, you wink and glisten.   
      I look up at the night sky,
our eyes meet in the appreciation of devotion;  
of a love between man and kind.  
Enshrouded in the warm embrace of fleecy clouds;
she covers my world with her glorious silver smiles;  
Lady Moon, Queen of the nighttime cohort.

I look up at the night sky,          
and there he remains like a friendly old man frozen in his seat;  
pointing the way to that may need it,
his hand remains steady as he guides.  
He is a lone star,
shunning communion with comrades and compatriots;
he shines alone, a jewel in solitude.

I look up at the night sky,
      they glide past on the wings of the wind
like gracious phantoms.
They weave and churn showing off their flexibility
and volatile dancing skill;      
Teaching me how to survive in a world which loves a few.
The grey clouds flip and flop, they boil and bubble.      
Rejoicing in the fellowship of flying embroidery;    
they promise the gift of life giving rain.

I look up at the night sky,
  my eyes cannot see them, but yes they speak to me.    
From places out of the reach of civilization;      
intuition and heartwarming reassurance flow;          
from matter and energy,
at the bounds of space and time,
from regions further than the confines of the known multiverse;
at the feet of God.    
The black of the night and the blue of day – the only barriers shielding them from my sight;

They reignite my spirit and set alight the torches of hope
inside the rooms of my soul;            
I know not what they are,
            but they watch over me and they watch over you.  
Look into the skies
and you too will hear their silent voices.  
Stare into the splendor of the night
and commune with your inner beauty.
You will be set ablaze.
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"8th March 2018
A pen found its ink
A purpose found its man

 The mother of all that's beautiful
brought me a gift
A life skill that would be my passage of lift

                  He came to life in unhealthy mental weathers,                    
his soul was birthed in shabby unearthly waters
and bound to mine
in an everlasting covalence.
he was given to me an agent of healing – an outlet,
a living freedom;
         a drain for my pain,      

a gift and a curse he is a stain on the domain of my name – but
I take pride in our duality,
my existence paradigm was on the edge of a cliff
suicidal - I lay on my back under the roof
of a gloomy identity
my name and my frame
soaked in melancholia of a quantity
that exceeds the infinite.

You and I
Are a year older
I am a decade wiser
I can feel it in my hair
the truth in its absolute quintessence
is a universe closer.

The way you hold my mind in your gloves
gives me sleepless nights and faceless days
but who am I to question my panacea?
I promise I will make the most of what we can be.

A savior, a tutor, a sage
My poet, my light, my flame, my light.

A year ago - i became a poet. Help me appreciate my penman. This is my first post here with you family. Thanks.
Theia Rhea Jan 13
Gadiaseite ~ gad-EEE-ah-site ~ NOUN
The great abyss of the empty page, a wishing well with churning waters so deep you can't see the bottom—only the shimmer of coins shine through, entwined with the efforts of past attempts—you can recover the wishes but only if you hold your breath and dive into the unknown waters.

Derived from the Latin word Gaida meaning waiting and the German word Seiten meaning pages.
Chris Neilson Jul 2018
A poet's lot is not a lot
when you give all you've got
while waiting for a spot
to light up the world
of more than kindred scribes
with barbs not bribes
of sycophantic submissions
to the converted

Shouting in the din
won't win awards
or applauds
whispers in ears
going through the gears
and tears for fears
after too many beers
burns and crashes

it's all about the luck
fate plays its part
right place, right time
and every other cliche
don't measure the quantity
but feel the quality
of a voracious vocabulary
free from poetry police constabulary

Streams of consciousness
flow into fast flowing rivers
to broad majestic estuaries
out into glinting bays
opening to deep oceans
of letters, lines and stanzas
to the ultimate final piece
of a wordsmith's lifelong work
Some musings
Pagan Paul Jul 2018
As his words flow like honey onto the page
with a nod of approval from a linguistic sage.
Long gone are the days when a woman's plays
would look at the poet with a romantic gaze.

His sad verse no longer makes her cry,
his love poems fail to lift her heart to fly.
Her attention wanders like a lonely voice
away from sanctuary, towards more choice.

And as his pen drifts across a blank page
he remembers the ladies, being centre stage,
the looks of adoration in a beautiful face,
deep pools of experience for his art to embrace.

Melancholic he dips his pen again and tries,
imagination musing her gorgeous ****** eyes.
But the words won't flow, so defeated he cries,
and arranges poets tears into convenient lies.

© Pagan Paul (2017/18)
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