"passiveness" poems
His strong hands gripped me everywhere, he knew my sensitive places.
My eyes shone due to my intense obedience and humiliation.
I started to perspire in an excitable way.
My legs began to shake.
I could feel his affection through his endless kiss.
I felt intimidated.
He loved me.
I can still feel his indomitable hands around me, he knows my vulnerable spots.
My eyes glisten from my potent passiveness and embarrassment.
I break out in nervous sweats.
My legs are trembling.
I can feel his devotion in an infinite smack.
I feel terrorized.
He's attached to me.
Jun 3, 2016
Jun 3, 2016 at 6:15 PM UTC
Contentment is the greatest evil in the human grab bag of emotions.
It’s born out of the head of ignorance,
it resides in the heart of the blind.
It manifests its evil doctrine of passiveness throughout the body,
until fully enslaved by inaction.
It turns agents into sun tanners,
activists into office workers,
outlaws into accountants.
It puts preservatives into culture, it laminates laws,
it places crowns on faceless leaders.
It slaps a smile across the ***** the beaten, the neglected,
the racially profiled.
It mutes news casts,
veils the homeless man that lives behind office buildings,
glorifies the paycheck.
It makes the walls of homes seem bullet, terror, bomb,
corruption, and death proof.
It allows sleep at night,
it kills the monsters under the bed and the ghosts in the closet.
It causes hundreds of thousands of suffering people to simply, disappear.
It insures, “birds like to be caged,”
and “pain is just part of the human condition.”
It whispers these misconceptions
like a priest insuring his congregation of the power of Jesus. Contentment, you see, corrupts the very concept of progress.
Progress is deemed by the million-pieces-of-paper-owners to be founded in terms of economy.
Progress is deemed by the people-who-stop-us-from-returning-to-state-of-nature to be founded in terms of control.
Progress has forgotten it’s maker,
just as dying old men forget that they were once bounced on a loving knee.
Contentment leaks from the Western world
and infects all those around it.
When you are no longer content
you will begin to see the holes in the patchwork of life,
and wonder how it was you hadn’t seen them before.
When you are no longer content, you will at last demand change.
Dec 23, 2010
Dec 23, 2010 at 9:09 PM UTC
Just a black ***** to y'all.
But a hero to me.
A **** to some.
But a poet I see.
Violet and Hard.
But I see passiveness and heart.
Legendary forever you'll be.
A poetic **** who made history.
Dec 27, 2015
Dec 27, 2015 at 3:23 PM UTC
sink into the silence
nothing left by nothing
a silent trip adviser
to blame the past on
levels of induced mindless
consumption that dealt
with the singularity breath
ghost located in page
after page after page of longing
caress and sniff and smell
the burning rubber sensation of
ice melted fire drops
dealt to deal with dealing
memories forgave in the think tank
calm in the blue raindrop
frisky frisk touch of soul
felt with eyes wide open
and a heart made of gold
to last ever last in the synaptic
convulsion that twitches and squirms
of a mental addiction love and pain
and parlor trick injections
did i mention the hopeful twist
of a sudden quick thinking passing
love is love actually and codeine is
a moment of unloved passive regret
o d on your section of unblinking
overwatch i snorted the powder
to happiness everlasting
cuddle with my corpse
i want to be the little spoon and feel your heartbeat in my back pressed selfishness to hold my soul and revel in the passiveness of unthinking
let me lick your inner soul and taste
the salt of a lie left on cracked breathless lips
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 8:14 PM UTC
I tiptoed into your garden delight,
with blue jays singing in my eyes.
Those little birdies,
in flight formation,
to and from
your nest.
We had met earlier at a bar,
happenstance,
lit the candlestick.
Now in the soft meadow,
our breaths gasping,
as the flame grew.
So wild and passionate.
Suspended passiveness,
a winner.
You clawed.
You bit.
You echoed.
Flesh ripped from my back,
black of the night screaming,
as your cat rose.
Our pent out clouds bursting into the rain.
Your tail a wagging,
wagging,
beckoning the blue jays
onto another flight.
Battle wounded
but feeling good.
Those little birdies,
found flight formation,
with a zip in their wings,
to and from
your nest.
The night stretched on,
planting a seed of friendship
beyond your garden delight.
Needed rain feed our drought.
And it was a hoot to perch
outside your window sill
the next night
and next
as you cupped your hands.
Logan Robertson
5/3/2018
May 3, 2018
May 3, 2018 at 11:11 PM UTC
Its 1:30 in the morning. And I’ve begun to think of the rarities and adversities in life, which shape
us into the hollow ghosts called humanity. Machines that listen, and obey. Becoming slaves of a
mundane existence as we go about our days. Wake. Eat. Sleep. Repeat. With the slight possibility
of variation that may never come to fruition. Why must we consume, but not provide? We
multiple uncontrollably, take from this earth, yet never seem to substantially give back. Something
so beautiful and yet so abused. To give, may be to take away from ourselves. But is selflessness so
horrible? To make the life of another better, at the small expense of ourselves should be but a
small price. Yet the few whom know this and continue to give out of the goodness of their hearts,
are scoffed at by the selfish majority. Why must we, the hollow ghosts of humanity, make
decisions for whatever objective we may have, in whatever situation should be presented, and
then complain of the results or the consequences should they not go accordingly? Rather than
vowing to improve on the matter of contempt? The decision was made, and cannot be
changed. Why fret so much, over something that is now unchangeable? Why not simply decide
within one’s self to, when presented with a choice of a similar nature, make a different
decision? We, being the hollow ghosts we are, dwell so frequently on the past. Thinking so hard,
as if to change events of times long behind us. We think, as if to comprehend our very
nature. And in the absence of the desired understanding and/or enlightenment, we complain
about our very existence. As if anything and everything in our daily lives may hold precedence
over the very fact of our existence. As if to curse our Creator for making us such simple creatures
not able to grasp the complexity or diversity of His design. Rather than taking existence itself for
face-value, and enjoying the many fruits of this beautiful earth, we **** ourselves with selfishness
and passiveness. And we, the hollow ghost of humanity, will ultimately be our own miraculous
yet untimely downfall.
Apr 15, 2013
Apr 15, 2013 at 8:01 AM UTC
I
“Poor wanderer,” said the leaden sky,
“I fain would lighten thee,
But there are laws in force on high
Which say it must not be.”
II
—”I would not freeze thee, shorn one,” cried
The North, “knew I but how
To warm my breath, to slack my stride;
But I am ruled as thou.”
III
—”To-morrow I attack thee, wight,”
Said Sickness. “Yet I swear
I bear thy little ark no spite,
But am bid enter there.”
IV
—”Come hither, Son,” I heard Death say;
“I did not will a grave
Should end thy pilgrimage to-day,
But I, too, am a slave!”
V
We smiled upon each other then,
And life to me had less
Of that fell look it wore ere when
They owned their passiveness.
1.5k
I'm every rho you know in alphabet rhyme football
every proof patterned in logic that you'd measured utmost to every new fall
at every fit you'd know you're the number one of profit of rage
having perfection to perfect what i am like being the true prophet of rage,
I'll get at you birth heavy like genius, having you walking with peg legs, as calculation wind blown like every pin known true like it's been age
mixing with my mics you'd think i was truly bald
when actuality you're singing with the control of my voice as time newly halts
not knowing hindsight, i'm now informing my women what the u in **** as the mimicking fault
slippin ************ thats why you're face lacks
bo legged at everytime you'd think i didn't know as you get your face jackED
murderin while a professional wrestler i had you employed and now before you, you embrace jack
**** with my bald *** of growth, it's just that fact of being me when at that has your race blacked
women know and men of woe is sorrow receiver catching your space MACKED
who'd ever say that ******* with you all like you could ever get me arrested
another attempt will give me back the sleep you jacked in me when i'm a natural depressant
i'll expose that my wife made you and now you're without legs
tryin to sing with a guitar like you're singing without pegs
'difference is strength when i return as mediocre
i'll tell you know that i jacked you up so you know that life's the owner.
i'll bring you back to when i was born, that would be the age of the brown at '82, jacked them all like if i was in the back of the discovered future exists parallel like you ever knew like how I proved anew,
like my wack smile i gave you to have you know i owned yours as duck rapper interoggation like your *** that proof of scent you're drag like having your *** to think now that you're cooking food.
you're cooking while every chief is now overlooking the passiveness, like how every german hybrid british will have to have you as i move near
feel rhyme as i have you feel time, woe wish now what you couldn't now know that my women own time to have every man to know that both sides know fear
every discovery is everything that i hold dear
**** what you all are cuz what might is that sight as all in are known peers
majority of chaos inferiority as the majority known how which is what you not've known like how they hold on is what i hold all to known dear
actual is obvious to have you all at blank stag actual wrestler like you ever even owned deer.
Sep 5, 2018
Sep 5, 2018 at 11:20 AM UTC
I'm waiting, for someone to care, for people to change, realize what they're doing and why. I want to stop thinking that I am alonee, want to know there's someone else that thinks like I do you and sees how the rest of these people are so shadowed and blind. I want to see the good times again, and I want to remember these moments, knowing there are more to come. But my hope is falling through my fingers, as each day passes drearily in the same **** way. Without Change. And I wonder why people think their way of life is Okayy. I want to fill the lonely emptiness and longing I have, but they continue to make me more and even more empty, leaving me a shell of the wonderous possibly I know I can be. Just held back by their thoughts of their reality. They can try to listen to me, like anyone should, but I know they just don't understand, and I just wish I could change that, and let them see what I see, how ugly they really are. Allow them to know what their actions really spell.
I want to escape to a place with passion, not passiveness. A place with spirit and soul and color and good vibes, full of true originality and heart. With NO INTENTIONS. Just truth. Just simplicity. Just happiness and laughter and love. No consequences. No melodramaticacy. A place where there are no fake smiles, only unstoppable dimples. Made by REAL and TRUE moments, moments so rare to me now I can hardly remember the last. I just want the truth, not lies. And I want everything the world can offer. Is that too much to ask? I want risk. Where did that go? I want to be and feel like an entire human being living for true happiness and potential, fulfilling dreams, no matter the circumstances.
But these kids, these future conquerors of the world, they continue to allow themselves to be completely controlled by the social norms of our ******* society. I refuse. But it has no mercy, society is a killer, high school it's ally. It controls, infects, then kills the soul. A sad death all too willingly accepted. It hazes the youths real priorities, and takes over the immune system, rejecting difference.
Dec 14, 2013
Dec 14, 2013 at 9:03 AM UTC
Your childhood dream
Your teenage dream
Your 20s dream
Your 30s dream
Your 40s dream
Your 50s dream
Measure them in decades
Transfixed before a distorted hall of mirrors
A cycling fun-house
While presidents come and go
Parachute pants, bomber jackets, bangs
When you’re drifting off to sleep
What feeling awakens in your heart?
What small feet run across your translucent landscapes
Cubists blocks of what might have been
Twisting , reforming…, parallax
Like Etcher in motion, Inception
Dark cities floating overhead while eclipses burn red
Do your hands tremble with rage or with despair?
Or do you lie perfectly still, resigned
Practicing for your casket
Selfies of your head sinking into starched pillows
You’re responsible now
Clerks and coroners pat you on the back
The least you can be is responsible
Hunting down dreams in dreary forests
With bow knives and bandanas
Is foolish
Better to fill out your W2s
Calculate your interest and help with homework
Don’t be selfish
Let others burning with madness, desire and discontent
Dream for you
Shape the future for you
Preferable to be content
An anti-pioneer To Nest in paperclips and razors
Satisfied with consolation prizes, Ms. Congeniality
To sink silently down the toilet of trivialities
Floating listlessly like a ****
Flushed out into the polluted ocean of time
But let us not dwell on dreams
Let us drill, let us dance, let us down
Korean BBQ and snap-shot sunsets
Never mind the shadows swirling
Through you, deepening with every tock
Civilization calls - You must be integrated.
Not like days of yore
On the hunt
But wrenched into a mechanical maelstrom
Input into a coded vision
An alien incubator zooming through metallic tubes
You are an app
Of Aborted dreams
Of pragmatic passiveness
Fingered by millions of strangers
To **** time and hope
Jul 23, 2016
Jul 23, 2016 at 6:59 PM UTC
There is the iron gate.
It’s ornate.
A work of art.
Not really a deterrent to anyone that yearns to be beyond it.
It’s just a gate.
But it’s the start of the journey that will begin at the long driveway that holds us apart.
But it’s just a gate.
It’s pretty but it won’t hold me back.
It’s just another barrier to your heart.
The large mahogany doors that stand closed to me are just that.
Closed
But not for long.
Open for me, I can hear you singing our song
Open!
Bring me into your outer world.
It won’t be long.
The marble foyer is cold.
The chandelier?
Bold!
The emptiness is a blessing in disguise. I know you are watching
I can feel your eyes, upon me, a gentle caress upon my inviting skin.
You don’t fool me,
I can feel your sin.
Please, you invited me in.
The hallway is cold and dark, the cold of the rooms that are left and right of me is stark.
There is no fire burning in these outer rooms. No life for me to wonder about and yet, I’m here, wandering aimlessly in these empty halls, and the echo of my lonely moan is projected back to me on an angry shout.
Where could you be about?
I’m drifting past the library that is filled with your intelligence
And past the solar filled with unearthly blooms that drown me in their fragrance
But there is no other sign of life
I walk the raw edge of madness upon a finally honed knife
Madness is gladly pressing upon me and its pungent aroma is rife
But I’ll continue to glide toward an essence that is pure
Because it calls out to me.
Waiting.
Wanting.
Listening.
Asking.
Wanting to know that what is coming is sure.
Down barren hallways and steps of stone.
I’ve traveled them all.
I did it alone
Across a landscape that was draped in a colored shroud
I stepped into a chamber that was devoid of all sound.
I’m here
You’re there in front of the fire
Surrounded by nothing, you stare at the flames that reflects back all your ire.
Your mirth, your understanding, your passiveness is greedily eaten by the hungry lick of a relentless flame
But as I glide silently to your side and cast a mercurial look at the hearth, I watch the roaring fire become soothing warmth and know that I have gained your inner sanctum and your life will never be the same.
Douse the fire in the cold hard hearth
I will forever be your flame
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 3:01 AM UTC
Forgive me.
Forgive me for not asking your forgiveness.
For not accepting you as a savior.
For not believing the mythology
embedded in the narratives.
For not condemning the subsequent religion
as inattentive to your instruction.
For condoning the charlatans
who steal money wielding your image.
For tolerance of the spiritual quagmire
permitting no advance.
For passiveness at the psychological torture
and centuries of persecution
performed in your name.
All in the name of an individual
who taught the simple supremacy
of Love...
Your memory deserves
a better testament.
-fr
Feb 13, 2014
Feb 13, 2014 at 7:32 AM UTC
The bloodred Sun rises.
Misplaced souls and victims stuck in the upper parts of the atmosphere
giving the rays their ominous colour.
Blood particles risen from dead bodies float high in the air
painting the sky in orange-red.
Clouds form where humidity is highest, travel west
to a grey society, with hazed heads
where it rains Dead.
Blood reigns on our hands. Emphasis on reign.
Silently participating, masters of passiveness.
Shackled minds, broken chest
every infant born deaf
For sheep speak and think the word of the flock.
So wisdom's lost, past mistakes made will
eventually lead up to another rainy day.
This vicious cycle will stay the same
the climate acts according to our rainy ways.
For the smell of rain and the taste of blood
is ironically the same.
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 9:58 PM UTC
we are imperfections of the universe
Power greedy beings, who do not understand
All knowing, stupid creatures of habit.
Believing in all, Realizing nothing
with questioning morals
We lie in the name of love, **** in the name of God.
We judge everything, as if we have the right to.
We depend on the passiveness of non-violent people.
To bully them and prove our power
Stating they are "weak", when in fact,
Are intelligent. Amongst the powerful morons that govern our society.
They **** children, for freedom.
Stealing their innocence.
We all watch on, intelligent and stupid alike.
Do nothing and justify ******
Learning nothing from the past,
We continue to be guided by falsehoods,
Such as religion and democracy
Millionaires, **** for oil. ****** the youth of a chance for peace.
Blood rains down on the world,
Lies, hatred and envy grow.
Until one day, no one will be safe.
No one will know the true meaning of love,
or peace.
We will blame the media, society, parenting.
Anything but ourselves and the ignorance we hold so dear to our cold hearts.
Forgetting that we all played a part in digging the mass grave we will all one day lie in.
Where will the politicians hide when the bombs strike the world?
Jun 23, 2010
Jun 23, 2010 at 5:45 PM UTC
I am the wood burnt and cracking, my strength lacking.
I am the smoke swirling with the wind , my memories swirling reminders I have sinned.
I am the embers cackling and flickering, mymy fears and doubts bickering.
I am the flames hot and passionate, my love and rage full swelling lacking passiveness.
I am the ashes all that remains a memory of the heat and intensity, the end of our shared chemistry.
Jul 23, 2016
Jul 23, 2016 at 11:00 PM UTC
There are men who are boys
they dally about in their passiveness
waiting to be showered and flowered
with no sense of a loved one
they blossom in selfishness
awaiting for the plans to be drafted
and nights to be illuminated and crafted
There are men who are players
whisking games on the preys
as their charisma prevails
and their prominence remains
they tick all the possible boxes
dining with winning romance
Clocking whilst shooting
There are confused men
they are loyal but not committed
never aspiring a family or title
they are emotionally repulsive
present but absolutely absent
Living for today without a future
enjoying a nest whilst single
There are many good men
once the fog clears there they stand
Past the boys, the players and confusion
they will cater and give their all
loving their woman unconditionally
they brace and embrace love gracefully
putting to sleep all the pain and misery
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 2:58 PM UTC
the magpie's machine gun shattering croak.
i too would have wished it,
if the damage was unintentional
the two of them would
have taken me to a hospital,
instead... they took me home...
and that was the end of the near-death experience,
but as one old man said:
what guarantee do i have to have fallen
and later not be bound by a wheelchair?
none, i said, three stiletto dances later,
i'm seeing a wheelchair-bound youth
giving a rap tat tat lingo western motto
'boots on the ground boots on the ground
so we can print our stupid opinions
as if they're morals' dance...
but then i was walking into the woods
with a migrating cloud of crow...
a migration of messerschmitts...
and into the forest, sat on a wooden stump
waiting for the owl's call...
but i left the forest before the night came.
*what sort of power is this, a power that cannot
reach me, but requires a passiveness, a permission
to only enact choices like abraham's choice
to circumcise himself and then later circumcise
isaah (translated as a need to sacrifice with death)
to disapproval, because it mentioned
circumcision, like: an unsheathed sword.
so what power is there, if power is riddled with
bureaucracy and muddled, and chaotic, and in
quicksand? before it rises, it falls, like an weak dough
that is baked for pita bread rather than bloomer bread
of working yeast? what power is that, if the power
is merely a sidelined chronology of passed-on
responsibilities? democracy is but an idle fancy
that breeds lost young men and exploitative old
perverts... the old men should be enshrined with
making decisions, but in a democracy they're deviating
into thoughts about ******** and ***** extinction...
if you dare educate children you also dare to
not educate old men, and for that reason, you're at
your weakest.*
Feb 20, 2016
Feb 20, 2016 at 2:31 AM UTC
Blameworthy,
That's me.
Bound by judgment
And childhood nightmares.
Did I mention sleepless nights?
Even though my eating disorder has dissipated
I still forget to eat at times.
What's wrong, darling?
Who told you that
You're not good enough?
That no one wants you?
Who would lie to you and say that you aren't beautiful?
Look at yourself.
Attractive and thin
Friendly and loved
By everyone.
Have you looked at me recently
Or ever?
I am your antithesis.
Grotesque and bloated
Introverted and lonely.
I wish I could be like you
But I will not try to let that happen.
I need to somehow embrace
This unsightliness
This passiveness
How I let people walk all over me.
But do I accept it
Or do I change it?
In essence,
You are nearly sublime
And all I am
Is one mess of a life.
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 12:04 AM UTC
I am tired
of being told
that I shouldn’t
express what
I think and
who I
am
yes,
I know it’s
in my best
interest
the world is never
ready for somebody
to challenge their
ideas
but I’m tired of that
this needs to happen
if I won’t speak up,
who will?
passiveness got me
no where
activeness has always
seemed to work
I know the risks,
the issues, what
can happen if I
go to far, but I
live in an age
where anyone
can say anything
and that alone
is worth exploiting
so I will say what I think,
what I believe in, how the
world should be!
I will scream it from the rooftops!
from the hills and in the valleys!
my voice will reign through the land
and as more ears turn
to face me and learning
sets in I will give one
fair caution to those
out there listening:
I may not be right,
I may well be wrong
don’t worship my prophesies
take them, and make your
own
Mar 14, 2011
Mar 14, 2011 at 7:01 PM UTC
worthy of me, meeting you
It seems that I have been held in some dreaming state of my mind...
T'is que que of mine
If this search is in vain
Must cease to perish
in this hunt
And I did risk
t'is inquest through hope
and prayers ..
stillness yet subsides
that takes up
trials and errors
till I hit it right ..
ah, cut the chase!
better than a life of lies and phonies
if my beliefs be in disbelief
Till I realized he got me, in grief
under his wings
trying to understand what love craves
sure better than a life of disgrace
No one has reached
this peak of ours
so why whine
whose blindness claims
I sayeth, it is unreal
I'd rather die deceived
by dreams than give it all out...
is it possible to say sorry..
because it's too late now
Perhaps, it's about to blow
my patience to my gentle heart
Ive been and heard so much -
what have I learned
But fool's am I
for one moment
I gather and rather write
just to release.
have the freedom
to achieve my best soul
can't deny past the vice he must
be double standard to all the crowd considers just.
Oh well, I understand the Way blindly stray., we errs fast..
If we will to be
such wildly hues
even if this search for hidden glories
Proves blasphemy at last,
be sure thine venture
Is not mere cheap talk
but an exacting test.
The fruit of love's greatly;
Whoever it tolls,
t'is knows passiveness.
When love has pitched hers
tent in someone's *****
Love pain will **** to death
managing any task just to survive
Love forces her to be his prodigy
He cannot take this till infirmity
That he is floundering in a sea of sins
T'is man desperately insane just to win over priceless love
Nonetheless, all these boils down
when U and I love,
I admit, I am blind or fool.
We just get wiser
and see in crystal clear
what is best and of worth!
Jan 6, 2016
Jan 6, 2016 at 3:42 PM UTC
I loved you.
I showed it.
You knew.
I tried.
Tried to help, tried to heal -
but now I see,
you really hated my zeal.
My excitement, my attempts
at giving you love
in return, you gave contempt.
How was I so blind?
So blind to your passiveness,
was I out of my mind?
The answer is yes,
I was "in love" -
really just infatuated, I guess.
All I wanted was to give to you
what everyone wants most -
something real, something true.
I gave you what I could,
and what did you do?
You took my love and threw it,
you threw it all away;
but this was long ago,
now what do I have to say?
Well here it is, you arrogant little boy,
I wish I could hate you -
you treated my heart like a toy.
But to hate you, it'd confuse me..
Truly, hating anyone,
the thought just drains me.
So now, I hope you see;
you're not the one I hate,
really, it's just me.
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 12:01 AM UTC
I should not have washed the shirt you wore
You have left
No traits of you to be found
I still could smell your scent
I still feel the texture of your skin
the silkiness of your hair
on the tip of my fingers
I am infatuated with you
My vulnerability comes short of your passiveness
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 10:47 PM UTC
Wake up, because your dreams are only temporary
Sleep, because in your mind is a sanctuary
Lay down, because in your passiveness burns a fire
Stand up, because there will be a spark of confidence
Quiet, because in your silence plays a symphony
Sing, because music is life
Whisper, because someone is listening
Shout, because some cannot hear
Reach, because something lies just beyond
Retreat, because patience rewards you
Climb, because you never know what is at the top
Fall, because someone will catch you
Embrace, because there is always something to hold on to
Let go, because there is always more
Understand, because knowledge is power
Ask, because it is better to know
Listen, because you crave enlightenment
Speak, because wisdom is meant to be shared
Trust, because many accomplishments come with help
Never trust, because even your shadow leaves you in the darkness
Feb 19, 2014
Feb 19, 2014 at 5:08 PM UTC
The field of passiveness, sits next to the forest of confusion. This forest echoes true sorrow from it's creator, but that sorrow was only a state of mind; one of many the daunting trees express. They all call in any who are unfortunate enough to be caught under the hypnotic pull. They say you become someone else when entering that forest. You have to rebuild yourself from confusion, but for what... To stuff away the being you once were. Try to understand that the being you were and the being you become are two pieces to the "real" being. The forest is a stage of transmutation. Most die before realizing this, because most fear what they become. Causing them to falter when they need to move with haste. The truth is, the forest cannot be understood. it can only be embraced.
May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 3:05 AM UTC