#intune
Skin on soil - I sink
My lungs a network of roots,
I breathe with the leaves.
Dec 7, 2021
Dec 7, 2021 at 2:41 PM UTC
Questers of truth
With mystical souls and mystery minds
Once in awhile need a rewind
Slowdown the pace
And seek for places and spaces that
reignite the spirit and water the soul
Seeking for places and spaces that speak peace and fill the mind with ease
Seek places and spaces that bring uttermost connection
A home away from home
A haven
© Sonia Ettyang
Feb 24, 2019
Feb 24, 2019 at 4:38 AM UTC
The marriage of pen to paper gives birth to poetic imagery.
So full of life that its authentic nature can be felt every time you read.
My heart nurtured in its soil so deep that my mind thinks poetically. Aligned with the body and soul, I become poetically whole.
Jan 27, 2017
Jan 27, 2017 at 7:17 AM UTC
In your courtrooms and on your dollar bills it says In God we Trust,
but the only god they serve is (G)uns (O)il and (D)rugs.
Peep game, or forever keep being played by the system put in place to play games upon your brain.
It's an energy exchange to gain control, to steal your soul when your spirit's vibrating at an all time low;
so sniff these lines I write to get you high-enough to become aware of the other side.
We always see the bright side of the moon but if you close your eyes and use your intuition then you'll be able to get in tune-
with the owls and the wolves that howl at midnight, and the black ocean waves that rise.
It'll pull you in where the veil is thin, and you'll see beyond the lies of this holographic universe; to get in touch with the great spirit you don't need a church.
There's only one God that lives and sits on the throne, and that's the most high who resides inside of your holy temple.
Jan 12, 2017
Jan 12, 2017 at 9:11 PM UTC
Robins scurry, heads askew
listening to an underground frequency
smooth rasp of worm skin slipping
through subterranean mazes.
The ever-changing pond
mirrors varied green and clouds
mythical beasts reflect and rest
weary from endless migration.
Eagles ride the wind
fingered wings minutely adjusting
as the current rockets them aloft
on a thermal through the blue.
The heron balanced on a spine of rock
cares only if the tiny fish
silver under the surface skin
will soon belong to him.
Each in tune effortlessly
on earth, in air
never regretting being here
or there.
While earthbound creature, I
am reconciled to a grounded fate
as winter rain lashes the edges
of my ragged, useless wings.
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 11:04 AM UTC