"agitating" poems
The arguments are so agitating.
Why can't you just love me unconditionally?
Isn't that what we're supposed to do?
We are family, aren't we?
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 6:29 PM UTC
☮ ☮ ☮
**Society needs more Social Justice.
Humanity needs peaceworkers.**
Peace and Social Justice must be promoted aggressively. There are inequities that must be addressed. Power is not equally distributed. Neither are resources or wealth. Neither are poetic gifts or vision equitably distributed. Unearned privilege is rampant. Poetry must confront this global crisis of capitalist exploitation and manipulation. Poetry must speak to the masses. Poetry must radicalize and inform consciousness to new levels of social change. Marginalized citizens must be empowered. All ****** gender-based, racial, religious, age-based, homophobic, xenophobic, and gynophobic bigots must be brought to see in a new way through our poetry. Community building and local empowerment are of the order. Our poetry must be global in scope – yet rooted and grounded in local community empowerment. Selfless acts of service to promote and increase Social Justice are needed. Lives selflessly devoted to establishing social justice are called for. Our poetic lives must be laid on the altar of the dis-enfranchised and unrepresented. We, as consciously aware poets, must advocate and speak out for those who have no voice.
We, as poets, must, through stirring words of Social Justice, embody through our radical verses the burning hope of a just and sustainable future. This future must become increasingly collective as formerly marginalized consumers become empowered community-builders – through our poetry. As poets of the sustainable future we will empower and inform. Our poetry must collectivize, entitle and enslave. We must speak with ONE VOICE: the voice of change and social justice. Our words will rise with healing in their wings and lift whole communities from despair to radicalized self-awareness in communities filled with strident, intolerant and maniacal practitioners of PEACE & SOCIAL JUSTICE. All poets who do not lay their entire creative and lyrical selves on the altar of struggle to bring CHANGE and SOCIAL JUSTICE will be LIQUIDATED by our own EMPOWERED POETRY. IN THE END WE WILL WRITE A PURE POETRY OF SOCIAL CHANGE, ALL IN CAPS, AND THIS POETRY OF SOCIAL JUSTICE AND EMPOWERMENT WILL BE READ OVER THE GRAVES OF ALL SELL-OUT, CORPORATE, FASCIST, SNITCHING, SELFISH, UNEMPOWERED AND UNEMPOWERING TRAITORS AND ENEMIES OF SOCIAL JUSTICE. IN THE END THERE WILL BE NO PUNCTUATION OR EVEN WORDS ONLY PURE IMAGES OF CHANGE + VISIONARY COLLABORATION IN SOCIAL TRANSFORMATION/MAYBE SLASH MARKS/OKAY MAYBE EXCLAMATION POINTS TOO BUT ONLY THOSE !
WHY? BECAUSE THE ONLY GOOD POET IS A LIVING POET WHO HAS LIQUIDATED EVERY FALSE POET NOT COMMITTED TO THE STRUGGLE FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE !
LONG LIVE POETRY IN ACTION THROUGH CHANGE!
WRITE/SPEAK/AGITATE
FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE & EMPOWERMENT !
**POETRY IS STRUGGLE☻
STRUGGLE IS CHANGE☻
CHANGE REQUIRES SOCIAL JUSTICE☻
SOCIAL JUSTICE BRINGS PEACE☻
PEACE BRINGS WAR☻
WAR BRINGS CONFUSION & DEATH☻**
(SO DON’T BE CONFUSED)
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 9:03 PM UTC
If wishes could be measure,
Clem would have reign in wealth,
Before he had a date with death.
Poverty battled with him with all pleasure.
In the tribulation, all his gray eyes saw was a
jubilating future.
In my clan, the death are kings,
Their testimony barely bear guilts,
Tales of that of dove and angelic.
In these imperfect world, they are made perfect and heroic.
That of clem wasn't different,
No hair suspected him of having a great for a kin,
Who in death embraced him to a golden casket, in Italian suit, shoes and a cow killed.
His burial got what he never begged for in hundred fold
Hmm! A late beggar decorated more than a groom to a royal fold.
As all gathered round his six feet for a final bye,
The in prophesied happened, Clem breath resurrected and all flee,
Even the priest, men, women and their kids.
Clem awoke into a dream,
Agitating against mankind and why array of
fortune should perish with a beggar like him,
While there are countless beings escaping death each dawn in perpetual poverty.
Griefs stricken for his old him,
He rose, undertook his golden casket, sold it and became a king.
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 7:04 PM UTC
When I have a yen to sin , I do it with my unbounded pen.
Thick black ink turns blood, spills in a mysterious patterns,
And it simultaneously writes my own redemption.
My spirit undergoes a transformation,sings freedom song.
In this unreal plane of my action, I become superhuman.
Every word that swims in the deluge of emotions quickly,
Sends SOSs, incessant, demanding sublimation.It's done.
I pay heed and then find, I am in the word's possession.
That decides, what would be my next course of action.
I stay firmly put between agitating emotions and imagination.
Apr 27, 2016
Apr 27, 2016 at 12:49 PM UTC
I have spent
Too many miles
In the beds
Of strangers
Pick up trucks
And
Roaring
Freight trains
To settle
For a quiet,
Small
Life.
I am a wayfarer,
Wanderer,
Vagrant.
No walls can keep me.
I am too
Massive
For civil norms,
I am
Too much
For a habitual society.
A roof would
Keep me from the stars.
How could I
Give up the rising sun?
A door would keep me
From all of the strangers
That I call my allies.
There is too much of this world
That I have caught
A glimpse of,
There is still
Deep-rooted mystery,
I can feel it beneath my feet
With every mile I roam.
The magic rouses
My being,
Stirs my soul.
Though
This may feel like a curse,
Some just weren't meant to
Fit
Into
The puzzle.
Some
Are
Free radicals,
Disturbing the peace,
Agitating the possibilities,
Proving
Freedom isn't dead,
Freedom isn't free,
Freedom is something
That must be stolen,
Freedom is to be
Taken into your own
Two hands.
Feb 25, 2016
Feb 25, 2016 at 9:56 AM UTC
Growing up way back
when life was simple.
There were wringer wash machines.
On Monday morning I remember my mom
fill the wash machine with hot water.
Add soap powder, but watch or it will clump.
Then she added fels naptha soap
Which was a bar, and you sliced off
pieces for the extra ***** clothes.
SIMPLE?
Now she added the clothes
While they are agitating
You wait...
You have a second tub filled with hot water.
to transfer those clothes into, for rinsing.
You always used the same water over.
You started with white clothes,
then eventually by the time the
dark clothes came around
the water looked pretty gross..
SIMPLE?
After rinsing you use that magical wringer.
Which is two rollers that sqeeze all the water out.
Time...it all takes time..
Then into the wash basket.
Laundry back when life was simple...
By then your basket if full of wet heavy clothes.
Out to the clothes line.
But first you had to run a dry cloth to wipe
the dirt off the clothes line.
Hanging up all that laundry
with those cute wooden clothes pins.
Not even clip ones were invented back then.
But the bag which held all the clothes pins
was real cute, it looked like a dress...
SIMPLE?
Socks, ****** shirts, slacks, towels,
oh those heavy towels
and my favorite the sheets.
Time, it takes time to dry those clothes.
Laundry back when life was simple.
Back then everything was ironed.
Starched and there was no spray starch,
or steam iron.
Mom would dip the collars of the shirts
into a bowl of starch,
and roll it up,
it was ready to be ironed.
Laundry back when life was simple...
How can that be a simple time.
I watched my mom and grandma
do this every Monday.
Starting early and it would be evening
when she would finally have
the clothes folded and put away...
The next day was for ironing.
~~~
SIMPLE?
We have the simple life
for now we can throw in a load, have it washed,
thrown in the dryer, and hung up
in a couple of hours.
Taking a coffee break in between
the washing and drying...
by ~ judy
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 11:03 AM UTC
Paranoia,
I'm drenched in it.
This lunacy is so agitating,
I swear she is out to get me!
Why does no one believe me?
I see her everywhere, am I dreaming?
Jun 20, 2015
Jun 20, 2015 at 1:11 AM UTC
~
Underneath a crushing moonlit
Roses are dancing in a glow garden
Cram of comeliness whispering through my pensive
Applaud an agitating mind of dragging love
That submerging under a poetic passion
A wild **** of beauty wishing to crave a romance
Stressing on mind that makes
Bubbles of emotions simultaneously,
Touching and filling the empty dreams
That essence of heaven creating the melody of divine music
Passing through the poet's nose and nails
Deep ache popping at the heart and stone
There render of love conceiving to catch a **** of heaven
A tangible gaiety that creates so surprising illusion
The glimmer chords becoming to splash
The utmost inflames growing to outburst,
Bursts into the fire of gaiety--
Psyche pouring a fathomless passion till the twilight
Where there I am dancing alone with my shadow,
Ah! my Love--
Oh! my Love ----
What a Crushing Moonlit!!
~
@ Musfiq us shaleheen
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 4:23 PM UTC
your touch,
deafening noise
chaotic choruses;
clouding my mind
agitating hourglasses,
showing me that time exists.
but, why do you do this to me?
after claiming connection..
–
meditated movements
in the moment,
is what i crave;
in my tension
setting intention.
opening
and activating the root
of my sacral desires.
–
do you not have it in you?
bass dissolving;
enough to take the beat away
into your fingertips?
with half of your heart
touching me;
calculated caresses,
preplanned movements..
haven't you ever
let yourself lose control?
haven't you ever
closed your eyes
and seen into my soul?
yes?
no?
maybe?
lost eyes tell me otherwise.
–
do not touch me,
unless you mean it..
Jul 25, 2014
Jul 25, 2014 at 12:54 AM UTC
Anxiety reverberates through my body. My chest becomes so heavy that it feels as if a cinderblock has been lied down on it. All of my body's involuntary functions pause to listen to the demons that live in the back of my head. The demons announce to my anatomy that I have no worth, no value. The demons mock my lungs, "Why work so hard to keep her breathing when nobody on earth wants her alive." My body receives the criticisms and obeys the demon's demands. My lungs quit. I cannot breath. My mouth quits. I cannot speak, the only sounds escaping are soft screams. My ears quit. I hear nothing, besides the demons. My stomach quits. It tries to commit suicide by consuming itself causing me to curl into a ball in severe agony. My eyes try to fight off the negativity. They push the negativity out through tears, but it isn't enough. They look myself over in the mirror, trying to find some value. My eyes explore my entire body, searching desperately for something beautiful, something worth fighting for. They find nothing, but disappointment. My hands fight too. They find a blade and slide it across my wrist, a demon escapes me through the tear in my skin. My body feels a slight relief, but soon a different demon rekindles my self disgust. I let the blade dance across my body, over and over again, feeling slight relief each time. Eventually my entire body is bleeding and I am still only slighting relieved of my pain. My eyes work with my hands on the search to find a place to help the demons to escape. There is no place on my body left, that I could use to release my demons. My crying has stopped and enough demons have left my system to breath comfortably. I put the blade away, and slip into bed, my entire body aching. The physical pain is much easier to handle than the physical and emotional torture the demons would have caused. I lay in bed, trying to be as still as possible to avoid agitating my wounds. I cry to myself silently, because I know I'm going to have to rip myself open again tomorrow night. I feel numb enough to eventually to fall into a slumber. Will I spend the rest of my life rereleasing the same demons over and over again, just to feel unsatisfied and numb? Are my demons right? Is my life worthless? Especially considering I'm at my best either when I'm unconscious or when I'm numb? I am so tired of being numb. Agonizing numbness.
Aug 16, 2013
Aug 16, 2013 at 8:55 PM UTC
Such falacious thread
is pulling tight
from no Holy Book
I know.
For those, self considered
right, allocating this
self seething show.
Creed or colour
should not divide.
Derogatory agitating collectors
paid off with sheer synthetic pride,
sponsering religion as their own
connector as they twist and they
tear at its written word.
Packaged to a self corrected tone,
fantasy provides absurd images
directed at the degected zone.
In anothers name they do their worst,
projecting miss-shaped Holy vows,
they drain sacred trust
for evil's thirst and so that
impieties seed should sow.
If you do aim to speak this way,
then have the courage and take that
leap on your own head.
Leave pious scriptures from
any religious source and form
well alone whatever faith or race.
For it is true that people will
for their own self enhancement
treat religion with disgrace
and thus, try to
demenaor such elegance.
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 11:48 AM UTC
The setting sun profusely
showering golden yellow
over scattered Mughal ruins,
dragged history of dead centuries
in to their conversations.
In Delhi
history rocks one back and fourth
as if in a swing, when one sees
own predicaments from different angles,
realize, the role of a rolling stone
in the incessant flow of time.
In India past centuries, co-exist
forming a deep water pool,
on the banks of which,
the cities are made.
this pool makes its presence felt
amazingly in contemporary life,
you can see your face,
and life itself reflected on its waters,
--as if walking on the shore of distant times;
an exhilarating feeling, eerie too at times.
History was a live presence,
all along with them, future loomed
with grievous air of uncertainty
he and she, two lines drawn parallel
(not by them but others, who know better!)
over the busy today of Delhi
gloriously old, yet decidedly new
and an uncertainty vastly between.
one easily gets lost in the labyrinths
unless fully imbued all this contradictory complexities.
she said, in dreams she was a princess
who fell in love with a poet penniless
but sung his songs only to her heart,
she never did want anything else
she was blissfully unaware of the
complexities of labyrinths,
the king got furious, she said
like some parents of present times
who don't hesitate a bit, to **** in cold blood
their children who cross the lines
killings in the name of honor is on the increase
every day you are informed.
in the story of her nightmares
it all ended in tragedy:
the king without mercy hung
the lovers, who preferred death
than getting separated
He walked back alone,
making way through
the ruins of past strewn
with an agitating heart,
here, the time is a still pool
that refuses to flow,
he thought
between the sunset of past glory
and an uncertain dawn
he and she stand separated
by a dark frightening night.
Nov 14, 2011
Nov 14, 2011 at 11:51 PM UTC
start with a bucket of dusted gravel
tip into a cold pan, a wriggling jungle of alphabet
gasps.
drown.
rock the pan of words in arms
agitating the line-breaks
the twisting plait of water
spurts the lightweight
sediment over the edge
to a scrap pool of dog-tailed idioms
the rest charges, a collage of schooled fish
the pulse in the rubble sinks
like a dictionary to the base.
ransack the salt-swamp of dazed stanzas
as a malnourished mole
catch a lump, grasp between digits
it twinkles under caked mud.
free it from parasite-adjectives
strain from the crocodile water
a chiseled torso of words in the rock
all along.
Mar 25, 2012
Mar 25, 2012 at 7:06 AM UTC
I've been waiting
For an hour or so,
And now I'm agitating,
I'd rather tie a bow.
I've been waiting
For your precious hello
And when it comes knocking,
I'm the happiest you'll know.
Why aren't you calling?
Have you lost interest?
This morning I was banging
My cabinets for a dress.
I'd still be waiting,
You might change your mind,
And then you'll give a ring;
Well you know, that's alright.
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 5:49 AM UTC
The sea is becoming rapidly salty
No matter how much skies rain
The waves are strongly agitating
And my ship can no longer sustain
So again and again and again
I want you to look at my vane
I want you to be so much closer
I want you to heal all of my pain
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 9:43 AM UTC
being famished, malnourished of the words,
adorned on a sapphire platter, looking sumptuous,
but as I try to pick one of them, it disappears,
leaving behind thin air, devoid of those nouns,
adjectives, verbs and prepositions, I so desire,
but they are not for me to grab, and gobble down,
I am meant to sleep empty, without a trace
of something creative, to simmer in my mind,
the concoction of imagination, thus remains dried,
and I look for the flies with an incredible vision,
into the worlds of worlds of chronicles,
so that I could seize them into my fist and
appeal for a single ray of light, that could
awaken my senses, making me experience things,
agitating me to see new dreams, the slivers
of which can be scattered on the pages,
bringing to existence, the wondrous universes,
still unexplored, for me to step through,
and find that one fruit I could feast upon,
to fill up my drained urn with a fragment,
of a blessing of that miraculous muse
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 10:13 AM UTC
I am sick of poetry—
its useless, meaningless strings
of words
elegantly dressed in profound tailored suits
of gaudy fabric.
Who is this who speaks against the soul—
ignorant and foolish, deriding the gem
of thoughts vibrantly propounded into motley lines of literary art?
Ha! Literary art?
Similes are like a bad joke,
alliterations are agitating,
personification ***** and,
hyperboles are more horrid than death
Poems are not simply stanzas of well-contrived writing
Of fanciful sentences stretching the mind.
Each letter spells purpose,
Then in the right lighting
Reads entirely different
Yet still masterfully designed
It is simplicity secreted beneath heaps of perplexity
and effortless rhyme,
bombastic diction contorting
the most puerile of deliberations into virtuosity—
two-dimensional make-up of verbiage—
flinging arbitrary words and
lines left
and
right
Christmas
The entire concept is ludicrous.
A
rhyme
goes deeper
than its sound,
and
a single word
normally goes deeper
than its context suggests.
A random
notion may not be
as arbitrary an idea as one
primarily
assumes
it to be.
Nothing is simple about it.
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Just like I said
It’s easy to do.
******
Hypocrite
Misled
Piece of ****
Ignorant
Foolish fiend
Virulent
Philistine
Infantile
Aberrant
Juvenile
Miscreant!
True poetry at last!
Stripped down to pure emotion
A lovely middle finger manicured just right
The quintessence of feeling etched with furious care
Thought and emotion woven together to make an unlikely masterpiece
And so it is discovered: the marriage of two conflicting entities can and will engender beauty.
Dec 3, 2011
Dec 3, 2011 at 2:40 AM UTC
Spoken Word Poetry.
Prosecute me.
Feed me to the wolves.
I cannot live
with what I have done to you.
I am beastly.
Pale behind the curtain.
Thick with the deceit
you have cut through.
You are calm.
In this sea of heresy.
You are the light in my day, illuminating.
That's why it's frustrating,
And grating,
When I think of us copulating.
Systematic mating.
Somewhat creating.
All because I am hating
Who you have made me in to.
This pulsating,
agitating,
being.
Alienating instead of
a l l e v i a t i n g
this excruciating complexity.
I was detonating.
And it -
it was fascinating.
Not it.
That was just penetrating.
Suffocating and terminating my bond with you.
Separating.
So that I could begin accelerating
And clearly a r t i c u l a t i n g
Who I really wanted to be.
It was i n c a p a c i t a t i n g.
And yet intoxicating.
Because you are what I want.
Despite it all.
I want you.
So prosecute me.
Please feed me to the wolves.
I cannot live with what I have done to you.
You are calm.
Whilst I am on fire.
Oct 3, 2016
Oct 3, 2016 at 5:21 PM UTC
There will never be a pause now
it is the season of the first song at last
the tremulous heart has found partner
in the world's quivering.
With growth and green fires, birds carry the wind,
shaking out the bronze into a shrillness,
warming and agitating every alcove.
And also from up out of each lost pond
comes the lilted piping of frogs.
There will never be a pause now,
The oldest news has gone through every chamber.
like a road unveiled between mountains,
The sun tightly wraps my seeking to you.
With all the beaming, ingeminate sounds,
with all the shaking green in us,
there will never be a pause now.
May 25, 2012
May 25, 2012 at 3:33 PM UTC
O word I love to sing! thou art too tender
For all the passions agitating me;
For all my bitterness thou art too tender,
I cannot pour my red soul into thee.
O haunting melody! thou art too slender,
Too fragile like a globe of crystal glass;
For all my stormy thoughts thou art too slender,
The burden from my ***** will not pass.
O tender word! O melody so slender!
O tears of passion saturate with brine,
O words, unwilling words, ye can not render
My hatred for the foe of me and mine.
1.2k
the beep sounds from distant slowly fades inside my head
the box quivering with agitation gives more sound of beeps
something i never felt before hits me hard, inane race stirs up
I-
stand back, not knowing when the senses left and came back
Thrills - run wild over ups and downs of not so lovely brains
the beeps buzz around like the never end ceasing sound of 'OM'
something I never desired for me, mockingly banters around
I-
stand back, not wanting to feel the same air again and the heat
What new it possibly could fill me with when everything around is ragged and rusted;
When there is no paint to color them and there is no scrubs to clean.
What can I possibly speak on my behalf, there is nothing more I have left for explanation. Like some dementia, I circle around my own periphery to find out what could I have left behind and end up questioning all the things which were there with tags of well-accepted meanings. The meanings now slowly rises up like smokes from the chimney of the distant brick factory. It suffocates me already! yet the distance so far and it will never reach me. And I pick out my pen and start giving every subjects and objects disposed in me with the marks of asterisk. Now then, I go for the corner which I can't find anywhere because I am already floating in the space of nowhere land like a nowhere man. Just plain agitating suffocation is the feel you get in nowhere land. Blood ***** up all my stored energy to rush and cover a distance of less than one hand from heart to my brain. It fountains out through my eyes. But no reds!!! Just blue!
Let me clear some space from the middle of everything and give a big asterisk with a big question mark '?' on its side.
The last (for today) beep sound bring me back to my senses. The message from the other corner of telecom network doesn't seem to make everything alright but I seem to collect my own image on this world.
"Maaf garnu hola tapai le samparka garnubhayeko number uthena"
I hurl my bag and zip my jacket.
Take me where you want to, take me where now I need to
Take me home or let me crawl;or just let me kiss the ground
Enough is never enough. More is less than more. take me out if you can
I-
stand back, moving just means passing out and coming back .
Let me pass or take me through. Its a cold new year day, isn't it?
Well, HAPPY New year!
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 4:38 AM UTC
Amusing to most cynics, these tragic tales of love.
Questioning his mercy, the one who watches from above.
Diabolical confrontation, an army so strong.
Sleepless nights withered, pondering what went wrong.
Meek perception of a fickle minded clan.
Denouncing an ambitious child, an insubordinate man.
An intense adoration, eloquence of being crazed.
Contested against vehemently, all hell aggresively raised.
Not unrequited, not unfair, a beautiful symphony meticulously shared.
Infatuation so strong, hope for lives to be paired.
Cacophony of society, this petrified state.
Throngs of loathing, a cumbersome hate.
Agitating separation, an indignant ploy.
Hearts shattered, like a worthless toy.
These bonds of unfair blood, creators of an avenging soul.
Guaranteed devastation, eager to come out of its hole.
Upset the master plan, cause his own disease.
Let there be genocide, In god's decrees he did not believe.
Buried alive, weight of there mutual debt.
Grieving loss, Giving up on everything left.
Beaten, he screams in mortal vanquish.
His very soul on fire.
He forsakes them all, allows his blood to douse there funeral pyre.
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 2:50 AM UTC
The long day's journey comes to an end,
I have matched my gains of memories
with forgetfulness, the fruits fallen wasted,
in my mind's tally sheet, it was marked bit odd,
every loss ultimately was accounted as gain,
and the result finally was calculated thus:
"You are a traveler through space-time continuum unlimited,
the journey itself is the real thing, (though every bit an illusion)
desire nothing else, that doesn't make any sense"
Sitting on a beach bench, alone in a timeless evening,
eyeing the unceasing, agitating waves,
converging dark clouds and boats in panic,
I imagine this:
the skies are clear, boats on waves dance in rapture,
you are near,
on the branches of trees, evening birds
begin to sing, a song so rarely heard,
then--
fingers of gentle wind, touch my forehead,
I open my eyes and see-
you sitting near with a smile,
all storm clouds were eaten by sweeping winds,
sky, has a deep hue of blue like in my imagination,
as if we are nearer to infinity.
As ever the universe smiles gently to us.
The orchestra of birds
on the treetops is in high octave.
What is left for us, man and wife,
to do then in this hour of peace?
Come let's run to the waves,
and dance with them, as long as you wish
we've created this day for us by request.
Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 7:34 AM UTC
Creating a moon, pale, soft and melancholy
with words, bleeding wounds, trembling with pain,
putting it up above the dark clouds, on a lonely sky
and make it reflect in water, turbulent and agitating,
so that you would see my anguished soul in flames,
wasn't easy, it took long sleepless nights and wasted days.
Did you understand this; then what did I get?
Am I a wanderer as they made out, or the opposite, a lonely seeker?
Wasn't I trying to look at life, putting aside all pretensions,
being simple and becoming aware as one,
who has no control over anything, that happens in life
except, knowing myself, to be in touch with things
hidden from us all through the walk,
**over the cantilever bridge we walk on
jutting in to the sea, with only the other end fixed,
as we walk forward to a gap opening to the waves
that roll below, I look above at the galaxies and smile,
I realize, the purpose of this run is to swim,
across the cosmic ocean, to be one with the limitless.**
Jul 27, 2013
Jul 27, 2013 at 1:07 PM UTC
As the dawn comes
The new life begins
Waking up
For the new chapter
Welcoming with positivity
Sound of wind
Whispers a hymn
When sunlight touches
Good vibe injects
As time runs
Can't expect
Things may fall out
That accords to the plan
Feels agitating
Causes to ruin
A happy day
You've made
But things fall
In a certain situation
Makes you realize
And understand
Someone's worth
As the twilight comes
Moon started to show
The sparkling stars
Brights during night
Brings hope
For those in the dark.
Feb 6, 2020
Feb 6, 2020 at 3:21 AM UTC