"concentrating" poems
Radness
The Philosopher’s Stone is not just a spiritual metaphor but an actual substance that can transmute lead or mercury into gold. The Stone is a product of Alchemy. Unlike chemistry, which only deals with physical matter and energy, Alchemy makes use of etheric and astral energies to reconfigure matter at the quantum level. Alchemy is to chemistry what a cube is to the square; it is a superset of chemistry and is capable of so much more.
How Etheric Energy Overrides Physical Laws
Alchemical achievements require successfully gathering, concentrating, and multiplying etheric energy. When this energy reaches a critical threshold, it overpowers the normal laws of physics and allows seemingly miraculous processes to take place. I believe it does this by biasing probability. By amplifying the probability of minor quantum effects, which are normally limited to the subatomic scale, they manifest on the larger atomic scale. In this way, one element spontaneously transforms into another.
The world around us is made of subatomic particles that regularly undergo unpredictable jumps, teleportation, bilocation, superposition, and other strange quantum behaviors. Why don’t everyday solid objects do likewise? Because the random quantum jittering of their subatomic particles collectively average out to zero. Think of a large crowd of people; seen from the air, the crowd as a whole is stationary, even though individuals within the crowd move in seemingly random directions. It’s because their movements are random and uncoordinated that they average to zero net movement on the whole.
The world we see around us is merely a crowd of subatomic particles whose individual quantum jumps aren’t apparent because they average to collective stillness. Physical laws that govern our everyday world, known as the deterministic laws of classical physics, are merely the laws of the crowd. These laws are what’s left of quantum physics after the unpredictability is removed through statistical averaging. They are not absolute laws; they are just the most probable manner in which matter and energy behave.
Physical laws can be bent. While the probability is incredibly low that enough coordination and coherence develops among the quantum jitters to manifest on a collective scale, that is exactly what etheric energy does. It alters probability and thereby skews the laws of thermodynamics, gravity, electromagnetism, and chemistry.
Alchemy does not violate the laws of physics, nor does it always follow them, rather it bends them as needed. It operates upon the quantum foundation from which these laws arise in the first place, via etheric energy affecting the probability of quantum events.
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 8:59 PM UTC
My dentist, at the time, was a woman,
a young woman,
an attractive young woman.
As she leaned very close above me,
busily engaged
in repairing my broken tooth,
I, laid back horizontal in the chair,
had nothing to look at but her face,
and more particularly, her eyes.
She, however, concentrating the whole time on my tooth,
was not considering
where I might be looking.
The task at last finished,
once again on my feet,
I noticed what I had not seen before.
My lovely young dentist
had put on some weight
just round the middle.
As I smiled at her
and put out my hand to hers
- in thanks or congratulation? -
she leaned towards me
and returned my smile
most charmingly.
What could I do?
A formal British handshake?
No! A small kiss on the cheek,
and then, in continental style,
another small kiss
on the other one,
a spontaneous, friendly gesture,
nothing more.
If in fact it had crossed my mind at that point
that it might be
a not altogether unpleasant experience
to take the average of the two kisses
I had planted on her cheeks,
and give her a third on the lips
that were now beautifully visible to me,
I resisted the inappropriate temptation,
so swiftly
I might not even have thought it at all.
Except that, on reflection, I probably did think it.
Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 at 2:53 PM UTC
If somebody asked me if I still loved you
I'd say yes
If they continued to ask me what I loved about you
I would say
I loved how you laughed at the things I said. The way you stopped mid sentence and kind of chuckled. You'd cover your mouth and your eyes would dance and your shoulders would shake a little.
I would say
I loved how your hands played the piano. I always knew that there was some beauty in humans but never like the sight of your fingers dancing over the keys. You played so effortlessly, like it was nothing. I could have listened to you forever.
I would say
I loved the way you obsessed over your hair. I know I would always rag on you for being too into it, but it was endearing. Whenever you played with it a little I wished that I could do that too. I also loved the smell of the gel you used.
I would say
I loved how the sun hit your eyes. It would make them spark like you had something witty to say, and most of the time I think you did. The blue would look like the underside of a flame, bright, hot, burning. I think I hurt myself on them.
I would say
I loved how you breathed. Just sat there breathed. I wish I could have laid my head on your chest for longer, held my breath for longer to hear your heart beating. Sometimes giving up my life just to be in yours seems like a better option.
I would say
I loved when your glasses would slip down your nose when you were concentrating, whether it be on music or schoolwork. You'd push them back up with the delicate tip of your middle finger, shoving them back up to the safety of the bridge.
I would say
I loved the way your arms looked around my waist, like there wasn't a single thing that you wished to hold more. Your smooth skin was what I wished I could feel on mine again. I don't think there's another thing I wished I could touch once more.
Lastly, I would say
I loved how you tried to stick around until the very end. It wasn't easy for you, I know. But ******* it you tried. I think that's what I loved most about you, that you didn't give up because it got too hard. You gave up because you knew that I wasn't ready. I'm never going to be.
The only thing I hate is how I have to write all of this as "loved" and not "love" because I'm supposed to have let go of something this trivial a few months ago.
I'm sorry.
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 12:54 AM UTC
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This poem is self translated version of my Hindi language poem titled "शिव लीला" published in pratilipi on (June. 2018) Can be read through the link ==>> https://bit.ly/2Z9Z57t
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His neck has entirely turned blue due to Kalkoot, This is just a Leela of Shiva
He has taken everyone's pain and sorrow for the betterment of the world
He is the keeper of all the three loka's and also called as Trilokinath
He hold the holy Ganga in his locks, but do not drinks a drop from it
He sits on the yellow Tiger skin mat and keeps meditating for years to come
He satiates hunger by Datura and Madaar and drinks Bhang to quench thirst
He has a marvellous third eye through which all the three lokas are visible
Sitting in the Mahayoga posture, He keeps on concentrating and meditating
Brahma and Vishnu also bows before him with respect and feels blessed
Such a beautiful holy Leela of Shiva. Nothing else but Shiva's holy Leela
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Kalkoot(Line 1): A poison generated due to Samudra Manthan ( The Churning of the Ocean by Devtas[Gods] and Asuras[Demons] )
Leela(Line 1): "Divine Play" (Just a pastime)
Shiva(Line 1): A God (The Destroyer) in Hindu Mythology
Loka(Line 3): Three three different worlds/realms. Swargaloka, the land of gods; Mrityuloka, the middle kingdom of men; and Pataloka, home of the Asuras, the fallen gods, and demons.
Trilokinath(Line 3): The Lord of the Three world/realms.
Ganga (Line 4): The Holy river whose flow and speed is controlled by the locks (Jatas - The thick hair strands) of Lord Shiiva
Datura and Madaar (Line 6): Poisonous plants (Datura stramonium and Calotropis gigantean)
Bhang (Line 6): Poisonous plants (Cannabis Plant)
Mahayoga (Line 8): Also called as Mahamudra – The Great Gesture (a posture for meditating)
Aug 22, 2019
Aug 22, 2019 at 12:15 PM UTC
Hardly concentrating,
The night before irritated me.
Head hits the desk,
I'm out cold.
In a wonderland of eternal sleep.
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 8:40 AM UTC
I wanted to write a poem about the joys simple things. But I’ve lost the meaning of them since I’ve been away it seems. For many years I’ve served duty tours, it’s just the life that I have lived. So I write poems of war and of warriors and death; sometimes it’s all I have left to give.
I picked my brain for images of candlelight picnics on sandy beaches, but I opened the basket looking for ammo to load in my weapon breaches. Oiling my guns may not be romantic, or when I lace my boots up tight, but you can bet your **** it comes in handy when you’re caught in a fire fight.
I tried concentrating as hard as I could, trying to envision more peaceful things. Instead I was reminded of Black Hawks with M240-Bravos in weapon slings. It seems I can’t be normal or think like a normal human being, I’ve been battle hardened inside my soul and this is part of what it brings.
PTSD is what they call it, they say I need some aid, but it just feels like second nature, pulling the pins and throwing grenades. I’ll go home one day and I’ll look the same because my wife can’t see my scars, I’ve hid them all inside myself and that’s what makes this hard.
They tell me I’ve been lucky, I didn’t get a single injury. But the damage was done inside of me and that’s what they don’t see. So I’ll go home a “lucky one” and act like I am fine, and live my days pretending, while keeping this war trapped in my mind.
Jul 24, 2012
Jul 24, 2012 at 6:07 AM UTC
Things are different on the open road
There's so much to watch out for
So much to worry about
But
If I'm supposed to be concentrating
Why can't I get my mind off of you?
You're all I think about
You occupy my head
I'm trying to learn
The rules of the road
And I can't even stay in my lane
Because your eyes
And your smile
Are enough to drive me crazy
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 8:15 PM UTC
Elizabeth and God exist in a sunflower grave. Her mother and father slit her stomach open and watched the contents pour out like
spaghetti confetti.
Tommy, Elizabeth's boyfriend, rode his ocean blue Huffy, until the tread on his tires grew bald and until the grips were blanketed by dead skin. Looking for her, panoramic views of the horizon leapt beside him. Silhouettes of his legs, churned and kissed the orange and caramel dusk. With every tear in his hamstrings and calves, the **** in his sky grew and swallowed the memory of Elizabeth Mendenhall, Honor Student.
Margot, Elizabeth's twelve year-old sister, was an idealistic soul. Taking a Sharpie, she wrote on her sister's wall, "Liz, there is no death greater than the loss of self, and no life greater than one where we continuously search for what self is." Margot struggled with concentrating and frying eggs - but focused on the sunflower garden, dangerously and perfectly.
Hilary and Brendan were thirty-five and thirty-six years-old. They stabbed their daughter thirty-seven times. They don't know why they did it, they just couldn't think of a reason not to do it.
She begged for her life. The yellow petals of the sunflowers caught blood-drops and, after enough struggle, floated down to kiss and lay on Elizabeth's slow-twitch body. Hilary looked at Brendan and said, "What does this mean?" Brendan shrugged and said, "This is new to me."
The garden was an oven, and digging her grave was like pulling back on a cheap, plastic latch. Elizabeth had pale, pre-cooked pie crust skin. The slits in her stomach looked like peeks into a cherry stuffed filling. Crinkled lips looked indented by a stainless steel fork, back and forth, side to side. And the soil rained upon her like the reversal of hot vapor, returning home.
Elizabeth and the Sunflower Garden.
May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 5:37 AM UTC
Creating
that fallacious intimacy
wrapped
arm around arm
with a nameless
body.
It's easy to get
temporary satisfaction
from it.
Even though
you're chilled
and hollow inside.
The want
of not being lonely
can be too strong.
Keeping up
the exhausting task
of costant contact.
Never really
developing
a bond deeper
than physical sedation
can tire out.
It will ash away
as soon as you move
an inch
in that position
which is holding
unstably present.
Distance
would be the ruiner
of that
shallow fantasy.
But...
to be hundreds
of miles and moments
away from someone.
To be
alone and removed
from the one
who you have
a real, unrelenting
connection with.
To know
you are singular
in that very moment
but not unsupported.
Having them
somewhere you're not,
holding onto your
spiritual thread.
To achieve real
intimate foundation
in knowing the body
doesn't have to tie you
together.
That's an ember that,
when set to breathe,
engulfs you both.
Understanding
and feeling comfort
that when surrounded
by faces
and being unknown to them
is alright.
Since
that person
who lingers in your mind
Is a whisper
off your lips
and is there
in that place you
left them.
They've penetrated inside
that fortress of caution
and self-preservation and
they get you.
They are there,
hidden
and carried with you.
With their hands
cradling and cherishing
your heart
like the treasure
it is.
The enormous responsibility.
To be
the keeper of
warmth and familiarity
and home.
Even though
being separated
from one another
you are reminded of what
exists between you.
By
concentrating and honing
in on the weight
which lives
there.
That love
and loyalty
and equal respected commitment
to take care of what
the other is given.
The total
vulnerable
surrender of
yourself.
That is something
worth wanting.
That is something
to daydream for.
That...
is what we all
crave.
© NDHK
Oct 30, 2012
Oct 30, 2012 at 1:10 PM UTC
When I was younger,
I used to always see which raindrop,
On the window of the car would beat
All the other raindrops to the bottom
Of the window.
I'd sit there, watching, concentrating so hard,
Just to guess and be wrong,
As another raindrop would pull ahead
At the last second.
I was always so amazed by the raindrop
That won, that I'd pay no attention to the others,
In the same way, you're that raindrop that won;
You're all I paid attention to,
And now the only raindrops that win
Are the ones that fall down my cheeks.
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 10:31 PM UTC
Long Curly brunette hair falling down her spine
Sad brown eyes staring at nowhere
Tanned skin in the dead of winter
Like yellow on black she always stood out
Bruised lips from biting too hard
Uneven nails that used to caress her lovers back
Concentrating on the new book she's reading
But her mind is wandering,
Longing for closure she know she'll never get
Untied conversed laces tied around a tree
Symbolizing that she'll never be free
untold words she'll never speak
Silence is the only thing she seeks
faith means redemption
And redemption she knows she'll never get she's a brunette beauty seeking solitary
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 3:52 AM UTC
A lion,
born in a western world
caged and tamed to follow a system
History of its ancestry runs deep in its veins
Pain drained and forgotten,
for aspiring to fame to escape from the bottom
got caught in the game
And the path to fame was floppin’
Started shottin’, plottin’ schemes for currency
To fulfil its dreams of living free
But obstacles arise,
disguised as necessities
time consuming tasks that mask the truth
Bill bills money power
No time to stop sinking deeper every hour
Bills bills money power
No time to stop
..And appreciate nature, flowers,
Bills bills money power
Bills bills money power, power,
Power is suttin they’ll never have
cause powers that be, mediate a mentality
that’s blind and cant see
Busy concentrating,
contemplating 'bout money when
energy should be spent on education,
cause knowledge is power,
And power is creation
Innovation of new and, wonderful things,
And, some do wonderful things
But this lion, inside is crying
Was hard as iron, but finds he’s dying,
Spending time on petty crimes,
Chooses to sit at the back of the bus,
And cuss his friend with the word
******
Talkin’ bout gun trigger,
For fun I figure its dumb,
But makes sense,
When he’s watching 50 Cent talk nonsense.
Jan 13, 2011
Jan 13, 2011 at 1:30 PM UTC
You bite your bottom lip,
Do you realize that?
When you're mad.
When you're thinking.
When you're concentrating.
You bite your bottom lip;
And I fall in love with you a little more each time.
Feb 3, 2016
Feb 3, 2016 at 9:35 PM UTC
Here I lay in my comfort composure
Listening to every rythm of my music
Removing my white earphone to listen
To listen to the beauty of nature raining
Picturing myself as a randrop falling; free
Picturing the placid movement of water
Moving as one, cold breeze and falling with heavy gravitational pull
Thinking back to when I'd lay in
_comfort_
Listening to every perfect beat of your heart
Concentrating on the whispers of your spirit
Being attentive to your chords as you release them
Piercing my mind, _quaking_
through my flesh
To simply un-wither that was even desintegrated
Your love circulating my veins
Simply
By speaking
Rippling accross my seams
Bolting through my body more
than any drug ever
Hanging me on your hook
Touring to the meadow in my
dreams
Conquering the battles in my
nightmares
Re-writing the words on my page
that is life
Then
After enough re-painting
Of my story
You started to un-write my book
Crossing the hearts
Tearing the written pages
Oh how I could only stand and
_stare_
Oh how all you did, difficultly
_Glare_
The whispers your soul gave
_withered_
Cleared and filléd my mind
_vacant_
Was I abandoned by your heart
So easily the welcoming door
Became an unbidden command
_requested_
This hour
Is when I play it back;
Remenisce about it
Laying alone, in discomfort
Listening to no beats
Not even one of my own
Then I close my eyes violently
Shoving back the emotion
To silently replay those words
I love you
Always
Crashing down
Bolting tar through my body
Poisoning my mind
Rippling through my veins
That same poison
Is what I use
To **** inside me
What demons creep
See the story has a twist
What I feared most
What demons I feared even more
Is exactly what I became
The poison inside me
Crisply ogling at me
Inside the cage
Compresséd
Inside what
We call a
Mirror
Sep 27, 2018
Sep 27, 2018 at 9:30 PM UTC
Juliet looks at her watch
feeling bored, Mrs Saad please stop blabbering
Juliet glances at her friends
ah cmon, stop pretending writing notes
Juliet stares at the whiteboard
The alphabets are dancing
The sentences jumbled up
Juliet looks again at her watch
convinced Mrs Saad would never stop
Juliet peeps between Steve and Chris
there is Romeo looking so serious
concentrating in Literature class
Romeo is the most outstanding
His art is most envied
Now Juliet feels ashamed
To win Romeo, she should at least
try to write a stanza of poem
role play a scene from Shakespeare
and write a script for a play...
who would notice her enchanting beauty
In Mrs Saad's literature class
unless she proves the beauty of her brain
in a form of literary texts that convince
and win....
Jun 14, 2013
Jun 14, 2013 at 9:18 PM UTC
“that’s a Simpson’s sky,” you say,
pointing to the fluff strewn across the highway sky,
I smile and nod, concentrating on the music
we’re driving to Cornwall in the curb lane,
pointedly avoiding what’s uppermost,
halfway there from Toronto
“driving makes me think,” I think to myself
and turn up the volume on Buddha Bar III
and talking fades into the rearview mirror
black Firebird, racing stripes, eager to pass me
I hold steady – he should know how to use the passing lane!
he bobs and weaves and nips at my fender
it washes in waves over you so palpably
I feel it crash on my shoulder -
your father passed away yesterday
rolling the window down slightly, you light a cigarette
I roll down mine and light up, too
our ritual – one feeding off the other
we’re driving to Cornwall, to family,
to mother, alone now among children
“what will you say to her?” I ask you silently
we’re driving to Cornwall
towards loss, towards hope
with a black Firebird close behind
I move the wheel slightly
to avoid a can of Pepsi rolling in the lane
the rear-view mirror catches the firebird
deliberately swerve to hit it and exlode
its contents in a little puff of vapour -
highway music
bonaventure saptel
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 11:37 AM UTC
Yes, ear hustlers exist.
They at home, at work, and even at church.
Instead of concentrating on themselves.
They seem to be concentrating on your conversation.
What little bit they hear?
Has now became a blown up story.
With more added details than they ever know.
That's how the ear hustling stories goes.
One small detail that they came in the middle of has destroyed many relationships.
What makes us get involved in things not related to them?
Is the oldest question to ever be asked.
Ear hustling in school.
Ear hustling in the homeroom.
Makes you know that many are concern with you.
What rumor that is spread?
Never has that much truth within it.
Maybe a half percentage if at all.
Oh, the rumor mill won't ever fade.
Some people lives to talk about people they do and don't know.
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 8:21 AM UTC
See I wanted to write about you and everything that I silently picked up on up
if you're wondering what I picked up on
Body language and cues
The way you tensed up when you were about to hear bad news
your anxiety
how it at times it came crashing down and you didn't know what to do
I reassured you the best way I could
when you're concentrating or deep in thought about something
( I knew not to disturb you )
opening up to anyone was a task in itself
you hated doing that / I understood
The way you like to sing off key you think you sounded horrible singing wise
I disagreed
Personally, to me, I thought you sounded good
you told me a lot of info about yourself gradually over the months we got to know each other
I told you a lot of things as well
but one thing is for sure I picked up on several things you weren't aware of and I'd never tell you this
but you're easy to read just like a book
if you're annoyed, angry or upset
you might think oh no one cared or noticed
I noticed
as it was written all over your face meaning you had the most readable ****** expressions
if you're wondering how I knew about your moods
it's simple really I could tell in the tone of your voice
if you were about to cry you had a certain tone of voice that suggested quivering in I'm about break down and cry tone of voice or how you were upset you had a certain way of behaving that let me know either to give you space or to comfort you
if you were mad ( depending on what the issue was / who the individual was and how long ago it was in addition to the details determined everything )
how you'd need space or you felt upset / still brought up the issue no matter how long ago said everything
and how could I forget your favorite songs the way you hummed them
favorite food and snacks
I still remember the details that you told me
the way we both know I'm fine or I'm okay
is a complete lie when either one of us
is upset mostly you though
when you're upset or down it's like I can sense that your energy is off / vibes are off some way or another
but one thing about our friendship is how we told each other several things
and because of that I still remember how you react
favorite snacks
your dreams and what your plans for the future were
how you handled relationships
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 12:56 AM UTC
*Spring is going to back
Silently dropping the purple petals
Bored noon,
The melancholy flute's of Shepherd
Seeking the missing spring
Roll up,
Roll around the idle noon
Random impulsive air
Bunch of dark clouds at the sky
Pensive
Seem illusion of that known
Pied crested Cuckoo
Beyond the horizon,
The eyes looking for
Sounds (Tip Tip) of the sudden drops of rain,
On the leaves of Quail,
Washing
Differentiation of mind
On the leaves of Arum,
Ever Keeps as the containers
Integrating
Concentrating
Compiling of soul
Weird one wrapped in mystery
Mind
Life
Seasons
Coming up the lyrics of rain
Fusion with thy mystic music
Afternoon has grown heavier
How my mind moves!
Chased away birds returning home
The heart is rapidly expanded
Rain continues to move around
Nature demands a new ground
Looping, hearing of the same song
Shadows filling with the feelings
Perhaps this change of thy
Bound to sketch
A new face of impression*
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 12:41 PM UTC
09/09/10 13.26
Just eaten the last of your figs x
End
There is just so much to know about the fig.
Andre Gidé, D.H.Lawrence,
Gabriela Mistral
Poets all
Have tried
To decode
Its secret enclosed form.
*Since nothing escapes
the smell becomes succulence and taste.
A blossom without beauty, yet a fruit of delights...*
A year ago
When I brought autumn to your table
I tried to explain
The fig’s ****** nature . . .
and failed.
I was too shy
And mumbled something about
Its gynaecological aspect.
Now I know you better
And your hand has cupped
My testicles
Can you not
Appreciate the similarity?
The size and shape is
. . . similar
It seems male
This secretive fruit
But when you come to know it better,
You’ll agree with Catullus,
It is female.
Oh fig, fruit of female mystery where everything happens invisible flowering and fertilization,and fruiting in the inwardsness of your you that eye will never see till its finished and you’re over-ripe and you burst to give up your ghost.
Yesterday
(After we had eaten figs
From the blue bowl
Bathing in the golden light
Of your September garden)
I felt that ripe and secret cleft
Open to my ***** touch
And kiss and kiss
Kiss and kiss
Touch me: it is softness of good satin, and when you open me, what an unexpected rose! Poets have not known the colour of night, nor the figs of Palestine. We are both the most ancient blue, a passionate blue, richly concentrating itself because of its ardor. I spill my pressed flowers into your hand. I create a deaf meadow for your pleasure. I shower you with the meadow's bouquet until covering your feet.
Feb 10, 2013
Feb 10, 2013 at 2:34 AM UTC
I should’ve been concentrating on reading a book.
But instead I sit here, at a modern day typewriter,
Asking, what do pronouns mean.
What’s the hidden meaning?
Do pronouns contribute to society or take away from society?
Do we as citizens of America understand what it’s really like to not feel comfortable in a said type of pronouns?
Or do we just feel uncomfortable in our own thoughts and use pronouns to cover it up.
Do pronouns cover our darkest, most dangerous, truth-telling secrets...
Or do we just hope and hope and hope that it will?
God, now that I finally understand what gender is to me,
I think I used she/her pronouns to conform,
And they/them pronouns to hide
And finally, he/him pronouns to accept.
To accept who I am.
To accept the “real” me.
To accept that I am different.
Jan 8, 2019
Jan 8, 2019 at 11:08 AM UTC
Wish someone had told me ,
That I would've known
Life is so beautiful
And i wouldn't be left alone
All those scars will fade away
All the pain would be gone
I wish someone had told me
Wish I had known
at times when I thought I was weak
Well those moments made me strong
Wish ,Someone had told that 'freak'
A moment you lived is a moment gone
that self-harm was stupid
Even though it felt so real
Concentrating on just the pain
Never figuring out what we really feel
That the wounds will heal
For a purpose I was born
And it's not the weight of the world I bear
Just my own
And no one was to be blamed
For the emotional wreck I turned out to be
You shouldn't forget the world for a name
And be so blind that others can't see
All those nights spent crying and cutting
It all looks so point-less
What the **** was I mad about ?
I haven't even seen the world yet
That I loved too soon
And learned too late
True love is pure
sometimes one has to wait
That losing someone is a part of life
You have to take that in stride
It'll all make sense after a while
To have patience and not act vile
That the haters will hate without a name
To be yourself there's no shame
Hate and love is part of the game
Few words cause no harm , one shouldn't feel stained
You will find what you seek
If you don't , you didn't try hard enough
That life can be cruel at times , unequal and rough
But you 'gotta take things head-on
You have to be that strong
In Admitting your defeat once in a while
There's nothing wrong
That life can be like weather
At times sunshine , sometimes rain
And even if life knocks you down
It shows you the way to rise again
Wish someone had told me ,
That I would've known
Life is so beautiful
And i wouldn't be left alone
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 1:34 PM UTC
You go on your own
But you don't want to
Its crowded and loud
And the groaning and moaning
Only serves to dishearten you
You're told that is good to go
But the pain your body feels
Tells you that's not so
You can leave if you want
But you don't want to appear weak
When you finally decide to quit
Your body beaten down and sore
There is no sense of accomplishment
Just the nagging pain in your limbs
That tells you you can't take much more
You shuffle your feet
As you head to the door
Trying not to show any pain
And concentrating on not falling to the floor
As you get into your car
And wonder,
Why did I join a gym?
Feb 2, 2010
Feb 2, 2010 at 6:17 PM UTC
There’s always a bustle here
In my ritual place of ribs and beer
The sharp scent of ginger and coriander
The acrid burr in my nose of seared flesh
Fusion food served around me
But I go for Hirata.. again.
Can’t argue with taste, and it tastes
Korean bbq and Buddha beer
A brief nod to the moments of clarity
As said by drunks
The beer bottle cool in my hand as I reflect
Beads of condensation forming on Buddhas belly
And I’m here hoping for Constant
It’s now my third attempt
In as many months to catch a glimpse
And tonight apparently the stars align
Jupiter and Mercury on the rise
As I walk in
There is a way about him
So much bluff and bravado...
reminds me of someone I once loved
There is a mischief in his smile
Something warm in his eyes
Even beyond his jokes of his ego
Too big for the Room, apparently
I don’t discourage..
He’s honest in a way that piques
So here I am
Third time lucky finding Constant
To my delight he recognises me instantly
“Lucky Buddha for the lady?”
His eyes dance..
I interpret, maybe to much
But believe he’s pleased to see me
So we joke..
We laugh
I watch him get an earful
For not concentrating on the flow
The manager in tow..
and he side-eyes me and winks
Inwardly I hi-five myself for
Timing this so perfectly
So here I am
Trying not to watch Constant flow
Trying not to blush as he looks my way
“I’m too old for this **** I think
Then feel like a kid
When he throws a grin my way
Dec 12, 2018
Dec 12, 2018 at 4:25 PM UTC