"metempsychosis" poems
Beginning, aware, darkness, discomfort, fear, constriction, fear, emerge, shaken, washed, fear, breathe, cry, cleansed, wrapped, warmth, cry, awakened, opened, blinding, pain, cry, cuddled, warmth, safe, sleep, awake, hungry, she, need, love, them, those, bed, home, play, learning, friends, fun, joy, her, desire, love, pride, fulfillment, union, us, we, baby, life, accomplishment, dying, fear, memories, anxiety, pain, fear, love, light, tunnel, blinding, receding, aware, darkness, beginning…
* *“From nothing we are born to know,
…into nothingness we all shall go,"
"A journey after gifts we give,
But before we do; -live.”* * *
Jun 5, 2016
Jun 5, 2016 at 11:50 AM UTC
Tempus Fugit:
Nought is eternal,
Nox is ephemeral,
And
The Charred Canvas
Of
The Night Sky
(Noctis Lucis Caelum,
Scala Ad Caelum)
Bedarkened & besmirched, bespeaks
A
Love-Worn Wayward, Wayworn.
In the
Citadel
Of mine
Temporal Heart
Time
Streams infinitely
As an
Exhalation of The Ethereal One.
The Chronology of
The Arbiter of Fates
Shalt Destine,
Herald Eternitas
Upon
The Phantasmagoric Horizon
Of
Mine Mind's Sky
Wondering
Upon
Days of Yore.
(The Hither,
The Thither,
And
The Morrow.)
These
Luminescent Children are
Are born
To wax Luminaries
Then,
Wax Nebulous
For all eternity.
O, Metempsychosis;
Born of
Edicts Unseen,
Of that
Which was,
Is,
&
Will Be.
(For
All things
Are
Circular & Cycling,
Existentially.)
We were conceived
Infinitely
To
Infinity
And beyond.
Let He, Let She
Whose
Ears & Eyes
Of
The Unuttered Anima
Be unstopped, unfurled
To resonations:
Deep within.
The Emerald Lifestream Anew
Dost begin.
The Sovereign of Songbirds sings
Esprit d' amour
To those who wait.
(Se' Lah.)
Jan 6, 2019
Jan 6, 2019 at 5:21 PM UTC
Hatch me,
from worldly confinement,
shaking me
as I unconsciously sleep walk
into a new realm
of pain,
torn apart
like little bags of ******
releasing me
from the puppet master's strings,
leaving my mutilated back
slightly stitched
after exposure
to this metempsychosis
Oct 1, 2012
Oct 1, 2012 at 10:31 PM UTC
Metempsychosis
Some stories last many centuries,
others only a moment.
All alter over that lifetime like beach-glass,
grow distant and more beautiful with salt.
Yet even today, to look at a tree
and ask the story Who are you? is to be transformed.
There is a stage in us where each being, each thing, is a mirror.
Then the bees of self pour from the hive-door,
ravenous to enter the sweetness of flowering nettles and thistle.
Next comes the ringing a stone or violin or empty bucket
gives off -
the immeasurable's continuous singing,
before it goes back into story and feeling.
In Borneo, there are palm trees that walk on their high roots.
Slowly, with effort, they lift one leg then another.
I would like to join that stilted transmigration,
to feel my own skin vertical as theirs:
an ant-road, a highway for beetles.
I would like not minding, whatever travels my heart.
To follow it all the way into leaf-form, bark-furl, root-touch,
and then keep walking, unimaginably further.
Apr 17, 2015
Apr 17, 2015 at 1:38 PM UTC
Under the indolent sun
Who burned my skin without move
My dermis melts
My flesh bursts
My bones break such of the Crystal
Perverse vision and melancholy
My body gets tattered
And the keen mind that I was
Of the wise person's dream I loses the thread
Who lets leave powerless
All of my own
Feelings intermingled with ashes
I come there to believe that I died
Then why am I so happy
Dust of heart , powder of soul
Flies away and mix
Would I finally find fulfillment,
You , who thought make me blind
You who thought of getting out the life
You give me eternal death
Soft karma and Metempsychosis
Will wake me up from the dead
Would rebuild my body
Would tame my soul
To return to you again
Alchemical breath and piercing look
You probed the depths of my bowels
You the most beautiful fiancée
O thou death O my end
Do not give up your poor lover
Fusion of life in a yoke of feelings
Will make of us only one love
Continue up to the ******
Paroxystic of our two being
Both diving at the bottom of the Styx
Mar 29, 2015
Mar 29, 2015 at 9:35 PM UTC
Draining pools of blackened filth
Tiny pockets amass
An ocean of sludge to horizons end
Stone heart is cast away
Descends to the bottom
New blood bursts forth
Seeps into empty spaces
Mortar for the soul
In this wounded way
Ascend to begin again
Aug 14, 2017
Aug 14, 2017 at 12:13 AM UTC
There’s a comforting concept of metempsychosis
The spirit moves on while the flesh decomposes
But the birth rate’s exceeded
So new souls are needed
And this is the number one problem it poses
Feb 7, 2019
Feb 7, 2019 at 3:04 PM UTC
I am young here, but everywhere I am actually unwavering and endless.
I am blessed with each breath but spanning birth to death,
I've many times left my earthly vessel breathless.
I am told I'm well spoken, well read, while really I'm untold-
With many scars healed, much time traversed, and wisdom learned manifold.
Here today I'm sun kissed but really I'm sundry...
Meaning I am several, all at once I am and have been many kinds.
I am samsara, metempsychosis, this is my ode to the transmigration of the soul.
A new version of something from the past, I am with these new eyes forever old.
Aug 17, 2016
Aug 17, 2016 at 5:15 PM UTC
The fresh puff of fragrance
of my flowers,
as carried away
by the eastern winds,
unnoticed,
silently, in an instance.
Impulsively, I tried a chance,
with my sublime mind,
to scatter heavenly essence.
Mar 31, 2016
Mar 31, 2016 at 7:19 PM UTC
One not an ounce of fear
she crawled out of her pupa
evolved so clamorously
flaunting such aura
delicate beautiful wings
so small and thin, of great fragility
but an appetite for the world
larger than a king's hunger,
greed for power, wealth, gold..
"Stay! - just a second longer"
But she had to know, had to see
...had to explore
...had to have it all
strayed away too far from thee
little wings
remoulding colours
in memories of her valour; her ambitions;
forever etched in one's mind
a harrowing flight
let them bewail such occurence
let them seek consoling thoughts
who believes in metempsychosis
she found home in the lights embrace
Jul 28, 2020
Jul 28, 2020 at 2:05 AM UTC
Life and Death form the grand spiral of time
To take heart, diamond or garlic, and cully sleep
Providing the baptism for the dead who will
Not understand the sword and sorcery of the
Eternal Tables avowed solipsism upon the astral
Realm of unmanifested being.
A deity twin-saviour, an ineffable Tuat
Child of the child- The axiom of the
Four Last Things; A fetch whom obsecrated
Anubis and Abraxas to combat the
Hell's on the one hand and to sustain
The Heaven's on the other,
An aletheia spirit return carrying a
Hand of Glory which licked the expanse
Carnal dust to link metempsychosis
Assignation and arise a spiritual gewiyya
That a saint in heaven would grieve to see.
ELEETE J MUIR
Mar 28, 2022
Mar 28, 2022 at 8:30 PM UTC