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I cannot describe this feeling
Of complete tranquility
Where the sweet birds sing
And the church bells ring
As I stroll within this cemetery.

My imagination running wild
I thought I saw a women
Then I thought I saw a child.
I heard the sound of laughter
But no one to be found

This is just my imagination
They are asleep beneath the ground.
Some years ago I  strolled within a cemetery
It was really Quiet .I find cemetery s very peaceful
And tranquil.
 Nov 2018 Jesse stillwater
Jen
I’ve come to know
That this much is true…
I am a living ghost,
Weighted by
Invisible rusty, chains
And cursed as if
Crossing over
To another life;
Walking through
The city near the old hospital;
Crossing the street,
Something feels
So, familiar here.
As if a portal,
Only I can see;
But, to where?
It draws me near.
Moving forward, falling back, moving forward, falling back;
A pendulum swings between both eyes,
Hypnotically.
Small glimpses of heaven
Brought to life in this one;
I chose to separate from it;
Yet, it will always
Be there waiting
If I make the choice
To give my entirety to
The spiritual side.

I am human and flawed though.
I am scarred a sinner.
I am holding heaven while creating Winter.
This poem came to me tonight a couple hours after waking from a dream. I took a nap and usually I'm not a napper but was exhausted from not sleeping much the night before and was drenched in rain from my walk home today, took a shower, turned the space heater on, had mashed potatoes and meatballs, and then passed out to a meditation video playing only to awaken with one of my furry friends laying on me (Raven cat).  This poem just came to me like most do.  It is difficult to explain, but relates to some spiritual experiences I've had and the "tug and pull" involved with becoming closer to the light and then falling back to human and material world.  The hospital I mention is one I would walk past on my way to and from work over the summer, and every time I would get the most haunting feeling as if I had been there in another life.
Pale the drown of tears before the light
That loneliest hour of the day or night
From breathless slumber to death's door
Seeks the soul the haunts of peace
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