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Break free from the internal prison....
Seek not what lies ahead which is, at best,  in its present state only fiction.
A dreamt up rumination of imaginary outcome and scripted conclusion.
The past that whispers at the periphery of your mind.
A reminder that poisons and taints the present.
Be content with what you see before you.
The skin you inhabit.
The situation that you find yourself in.
Bask in this glorious moment.
This oneness with all that surrounds you.
The walls of your fortress are of your own making.
Breathe......!
This moment is yours....
As I gaze across the water I am reminded of the stones I cast as a child.
Interaction with my closely guarded emotions merely skimming, avoiding  the deeper connection with my soul.
As the pebbles cast long ago in childhood, dancing across the sparking, sun drenched ripples of the the river.
Of course I realise now that the stones found their way to the murky depths of the river bed.
A cycle of light and dark, of pleasure and pain.
Patiently awaiting the current to drag them, inch by inch to the light at the waters edge again, trusting in their journey, unquestioning.
The stark realisation cuts deep... Is startling in its clarity.
In darkness one finds strength... and an appreciation for the light when once again it emerges.
Instead through fear of pain and loss one creates  a play in which they are merely actors.
Well versed but stagnant, life scripted, safe, predictable.
I surrender to the darkness.
Within  its shadowy depths lies treasure.
I dream of a long awaited  freedom.
I find myself alone on a beach.
Pale sands before me stretching to the azure blue of the ocean.
I turn and I notice that there is but a single trail of footsteps in the sand behind me.
The soft golden plain before me untouched, unspoilt, virginal.
I breathe the warm sea breeze and my throat is tight and rasping.
I glance down at my body and discover I am naked.
Vulnerable and unprotected.
My form is thin and fragile and I muse I must have been here for a time.
As if emerging from the deepest slumber, bleary eyed and cloudy of mind.
With a tangible feeling  within of a severance, a long awaited shift.
I squint far in the distance and to my surprise I see a house atop a hill.
I notice that the windows of this house are crisscrossed in iron bars.
There is a long drive leading to a a set of unyielding padlocked gates installed  amidst  high stone walls that surround the property.
I remember then...This is the home of my childhood.
An incarceration felt long after I had flown.
Those same bars and walls carefully recreated and erected in my own life, by my own hand.
I take a final glance and turn away.
The single set of prints in the sand a reminder of my own path , waiting to be trod.
Realisation that the old ways can no longer serve me.
An awareness of the power within me to break free from those who seek to control,silence and limit my growth.
The walls and bars offering not protection, but oppression.
A disconnection and detachment from others and ultimately from oneself.
Waging a war against an invisible enemy until one is but a vessel full  of fear and discontent.
I shall not visit the house on the hill again.
My home shall be without walls and endless as the ocean before me.
Some would have
You to believe that
     Love is blind

Love isn’t blind
       At all
Love sees every
        Color
Love does not require
Sameness to love
          
Love sees every shade
And every relishes
        In each one

Love seeks to understand
And give freedom of
    Expression to every
      Brilliant color

     Love has perfect
             Vision
That sees and celebrate
          Every color

           Like love
         I see color
       And it is indeed
             Beautiful
            
      Love in color
              It’ll
     Change your life
 May 2018 Jesse stillwater
Pax
Too many shattered Mirrors
Mirroring my sins.

Too many walls
Hindering my wings.

My growth remains
  still
as silence Kills.

How do you love the
Unloved?
I was never a writer
I was just some poet
Who seek some
understanding in my
understatement @pax

at times I feel so tired...
thanks to those who still read me..
 May 2018 Jesse stillwater
Meera
My pen bleeds
As its ink seeps
My words cry
The seer weeps
I keep scrawling
Until my pain recedes
Walking on my way
Where my lament leads
Crumbling to bones
Changing to fit the needs
My frailty drives me
As nothingness breeds
In madness I did
Those fearful deeds
Now I'll have to pay
The price of my greed
Making me suffer
My demons succeed
In the garden of love
I feel like a ****
I am looking for my way
To the flowery meads
Where the chains will be shattered
And then I will be freed
Sometimes you just feel lost and there seems no way out
 May 2018 Jesse stillwater
Meera
He doesn't burn photographs
He doesn't join therapy sessions
He doesn't smoke too many cigarettes
Nor he drown himself into alcohol
He scratches his wounds daily
And never let them heal
He doesn't try to get rid of the pain
Instead he let it grow on him
He waters the seed of sorrow with his tears
He feeds it with the manure of old memories
He takes it to sleep with him
And nurtures it in himself
Till the moment when every single drop of his blood gets replaced by this pain
Until his fragile heart can bear no more
And his soul starts overflowing with emotions
That's when he dip his pen into this pain
And empty his heart on a piece of paper
He bares his soul for us to feel
He creates poetry that the world would cherish for centuries to come
That's how true poetry comes into existence
Two words
Off-guard
The same
meaning
With simplicity,
you move on
Love- hard
To live on
_ like
Two lovers ** combined
with gravity
What do we address
to people that

words appear
The same tear
Familiar place fear
Her address you hear
What is next to bear
It reminds me of twins
you got them bare
pinned offspring
the ((Spring Robin))
Two different eggs

(( Organic fresh/Rotten))
Robin Robin
Bo Hip-hop in or Baby baby
Janice Joplin sing sing_
You row gently
down the hill her name
Gave you the chill
But meets together
  the same
New singer machine
threads become

Hooked the bobbin.
Oh! Brother?
D-Danger DNA
The same address
His last name
Mr.Robbin's
Mrs. Jones got a thing

going on
Embarrassed he
pops out_
Still life kids
firey-fly lids
Sparkle out
I have two words
((THE SAME))

Why do we say
the wrong things?
No opinion
U-R forced
same boring
clothes
Address from I-Phones
Medieval Castles The
husband or Wife
I am waiting for _

He'll be coming around
Her mountain
Japan Fuji apple hike

Blew/Blue
_ remain
Ate/Eight_ sides moon pain
Nose/Knows_ windows splash rain

The bird Crane
  Mailbox Lois Lane
Superman  no address flies her flame
The crane to lift her poem words

Love falls Canadian waterfalls
How her hair falls
the tree twins
Go timber__
Shapes/Escapes
The type small, medium

The lodge curves large
INN/  She's In
Or he's not
your type
When you point
it's not cool and polite
The pencil point
She is skinny
as a pencil date

Mom fruits and dates
Grate/Great
Her candle
Burned her address
The next townhouse
Was exactly the same
In everyone's
Genes/Jeans
Song Billy Jean
Writing is in all
of our genes
I'm the Robin
that
flew with
your tweet of words
How something is addressed to us no fuss. Poems to me are a big plus no matter how many words you use it can light up another person perhaps the same or different we define things and love to write open up our heart of wings
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