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v V v Apr 2019
She told me to
"Imagine a safe place",
a quiet place, somewhere to go
when the fog is at my feet.

But everywhere I went was
crowded with doubt
and a lingering loitering
presence on my shoulder,
come out from the fog to
hurl accusations and taunt.

I can only assume
it's a he on my shoulder,
an enigma,
my father's doppelganger
come to dredge my mind
of all the **** he dished out
when I was a child,

and feed it back to me again.


I tell her I'll need more tools
and stronger ideas.

So she gives me a seat at
the head of the table
where my ****** committee meets,
and a gavel to establish order
or bash in their brains.

She arms my dreams
with weapons and courage,
gives me REM when I'm wide awake.

We fashion a furnace of love,
hot enough to vaporize the
cold darkness pouring into my gut,
customized with levers and pulleys
to push and to pull in the fight.

We tally
Alpha and Beta waves,
trained and retrained,
hard coded messages
sanded smooth by repetition.

       Through it all I give too,
       and what I give is all I can give,
       it is the warmth of what enslaves me,
       and the thought of letting it go….  
       Well.... lets not go there right now.


In the long run I'm not sure that
any of it will be enough,
I am weakened by the war.

But occasionally there
are shiny spots that simmer,

You see,
I may have found that place,
the place she first told me to find
way back at the beginning,
the place to feel safe, although
it isn't really a place per se.

If it were true
I could finally ascend to
where no fog can go.
Where my father's voice
cannot be heard,
nor the ghosts I grew
up with.

A place of love and honesty,
where my furnace would sit idle in awe.

There is a picture of us
on our bedroom wall.
It is the perfect depiction of
all that is safe for me.

I look at your smile
and I see peace.
Nothing can penetrate
your radiance,
you are everything
I've never had,
double layered and
impenetrable
by all of it.

By all of the ****.

I am learning to go there
when the fog is at my feet,
and the ghosts are in my ear.

When the accusations come
I can escape there with you,

and together we can drown them out

if only for a little while.
Recently began therapy for my "issues"  related to PTSD.  Needless to say the therapeutic tools available today are much better than they were 20 years ago.
A Reading from the Book of Puppets

Her
Ventriloquist venom is never ending
engineering every word I should say


Pity me as her words drip down from my mouth
Look to me... my paralyzing awkwardness admonishes all attempts at paucity  

the ***** of vernacular continues
Manifest as a million babble born words
look at her and you’ll know why
Would you sell your soul
if you spoke staccato and she smiled sadistic?


And when she’s not there
I lay prostrate on the railroad tracks
of her impending presence

restrained
and retrained in the tailisman rope of your arrival
Look there now, a Tongue tied in knots, a mind firing (shots)
I am reduced
she is labyrinthine, in both style, and substance,
a sapiosexual maze, a soothing syrup mixed with
biter bile


why then does
nothing feel better than to see her smile
Why validate her pleasure
with my defeats?
Stuck and ****** into a singular melodious smile, the tune of which I can’t help but dance to

Why? Because at the end of the day

your eyes jut out
candelabras in defiance the night
notifying the world
of all you want but have yet to receive
a shallow existence .... a marked man... a million morbid motifs
made of mucus and stuttered star beams

You are that rare being, a glimpse at myself both wretched and alluring
A soul already tainted::: still I seek to embrue, the boredom
I am voiceless
in this decaffinated life

a tendril of hair
a woman domestic
a shadowland chaser
a light that’s poetic
The addictive tape worm of my soul

cdh
Inner Child Mar 2015
My inner child is so often sweet and mild
      My inner child has a inner guide to keep her from being too wild
      My inner child likes to savor chocolate and life
      My inner child loves learning and hates tests
      My inner child strives to be her best
      My inner child loves the beauty of nature and the beauty within family and friends
       My inner child does not want to be retrained and  longs to create beauty out of pain
       My inner child not having a happy childhood the first time around is having a second change at childhood so join her in her happy dance this time she is not just watching others dance
Nat Lipstadt Jan 20
“a decade old is forever new, for
truth is never old.”
Pradip Chattopadhyay 


this man, ten years of inspiration, ten years of friendship, here,
on HP,
provides nourishment to my lagging body as it nears eight decades
of Earthly occupation, for
his eyes and heart and his mastery
of the songs of the tongue,
have wrenched me straight,
we, attentive to the tears
he makes me weep, for his insights penetrate my insides,

even now as one, unexpectedly, reflects midst
yet another first poem of the day, my eyelids blink away
the wet,
my brain revels at his pithy, how he corrals,
encapsulates the daily smoke and fire of life,
it truest value,
in words that make one wonder,

what admixture of mineral, chemical, history,
adventures, atmosphere, parentage, spices,
love gives him these super powers to gentle
seize the moment, size our souls, causing my
cheeks to wide smile, while mine eyes sheds
monsoon droplets of feelings so deep, that
my repaired heart oxygenates my very soul,
making me high, my mind reels that a day will
come inevitable
that one of us will be unable to sit by side,
swapping tales of granddaughters, and
other earth meaningful events, to walk his
streets or he, mine, finishing each other’s
couplets.

to think that I awoke with no intention of
composing this paean, but his brief pearl
knocks my head side to side,
and with the
tears, come words,
that age, or an entire
decade,
cannot restrain,
retrained to modesty,
for regarding my friend
Pradip,

my boundaries expand and cannot be
contained, even by my delimited vocabulary,
the paucity of my skill, the insufficiency of
the adjectives acquired over a lifetime, but
do my unequal-to-the-task best efforts,
but without choice, but compulsed, compelled,
one more time, to say,
to my new day,
perhaps my last,
I love this poet~man.
this is one of my truths.
<>
Wed Jan 17 8:31am
City of New York

<>

read the poetry of
https://hellopoetry.com/pradip-chattopadhyay/
<>
truth is never old.” Pradip Chattopadhyay  lipstadt
Joe Wilson Apr 2015
A child of the fifties, born in mid-forty-nine
We hoped for a future where all would be fine.
But many like me became angry young men
Things just weren’t so fine,  it was like that back then.
The class system flourished, it was ever thus
Kids from estates discouraged from fuss.
The woollen school blazer was so heavy in the rain
Barathea too expensive,  so much lighter again.
But the grammar school system saved so many of us kids
Success was on merit and we rose from the skids.
“You’re the top two percent who’ve got into these schools”
They delighted in telling us, the such snobbish fools.
And then it’s to work and a living to make
You give such a lot just for crumbs from the cake.
And surviving it all was a fight on your hands
The boss on your back with his pointless demands.
Men called for strikes which meant countless lost days
And wages reduced I recall through the haze.
The making of goods soon slipped into the past
Strike followed strike, it just couldn’t last.
But that was the then, and it can’t be retrieved
Ships, pits and steel in which folks all believed.
People took sides, but both sides were so wrong
Communities torn open that were previously strong.
A generation of workers were thrown on the dole
Made to feel of no value by those in control.
When crossing a picket line unsticks family glue
Through it the wives bore the brunt as they do.
Some men retrained to escape from such follies
Others just survived gathering supermart trollies.
And then we moved on into bright retrained days
Technology beckoned and computers amaze.
Learned how to programme them to do work for us
And all about memory and the serial bus.
Then we started to write and note it all down
And the hard looking back made us think with a frown.
It had not been so bad, as the anger suggests
Though life seems to be such a series of tests.
Part way we took turn to raise kids ourselves
Notes put to one side at the back of dark shelves.
With no one to teach us, we plodded down that road
Our children, so wondrous, sound paths they both strode.
Each has now married and set out for themselves
It’s past time to get back those notes off the shelves.
Sitting at the  keyboard and pondering life
Casting one’s mind back to those days full of strife.
It could have been different, I think that, we all know
But protagonists have muscle that they do like to show.

©Joe Wilson – Perhaps it was just an illusion…2015
Noelani Kamai Jan 2017
***
Three years and what do I have to show?
A love sick husband and his alcoholic foe.
There are bottles upon bottles awaiting disposal,
wherein lies my empty proposal,
I will quit.
I will be better.
Things will change.
But does he know of my sorrow and my conflictions?
That maybe "us" isn't the right situation?
That time only told of our failing and misery,
and our inability to escape our unforgivable history.

I hear the hurt in his voice when I call him every day
and I know of the words he's fighting to say,
I can't do this anymore.
I hoped things would change.
It's over.
You try to convince yourself that things will be better.
You try to convince him of the things you wrote in that letter.
I will do what you want me to, to keep you here,
but I cannot sacrifice myself, to whom I am sincere.

A hopeful relationship ruined by an act of selfishness.
A yearning to love but retrained by oppressiveness.
So does hurt, and a want to love save a ****** connection,
or does fate condemn it to eternal damnation?
jessiah Sep 2014
Workers jump to your hoses
Poets jump to your pens
The men with guns are sure to jump
Before the crisis ends
They subtracted from 8 million stories
For the glory of one
Attacked innocents
Retrained our eyes to comb the distance
For incidents involving incendiary elements
An attack with no relevance
Just bullies stuffing our will
Into the locker of remembrance

Nothing to fear when space is still darker
Nothing to fear when the sun is still hotter
The Earth will turn the darkness
Over their heads
The light will make it
City of Martyrs
Never a truer hero than time
Who fights for our honor.
09/11/2001

A bit reactionary, but how I felt at the time.
Third Mate Third Jun 2014
all bite at first,
but some do not lose the taste for it,
and they become the haters,
needy to be put down,
or at vey least,
restrained and retrained

but I doubt most can

I am not a hater, just a doubter
david badgerow Oct 2011
I wanted so badly to touch you,
that night in my car,
I wanted so badly to touch you,
just my hand on your arm.

I wanted so badly to speak to you,
to say something cute,
I wanted so badly to speak to you,
but in awe of your beauty
my voice was stricken mute.
Dumbstruck-- I was struck dumb,
by the power of your presence,
my heart and lips grew numb.

I wanted so badly to hold you,
that night in my car,
to sing you a love song,
or hum a few bars.
But I didn't do that,
No, I must have been slacking
thats why I'm out here at midnight;
not begging, just asking:

If you're not busy tonight
with other boys,
If you will sit and listen;
I have retrained my voice.
It is not weak, no longer out of bounds,
and with it I wish to speak,
to make cohesive sounds.
Pauline Morris May 2016
Welcome to her house of many bones
Step into one of life's great unknowns
With broken dreams and shattered heart
In this carnival of freaks she is apart
For the price of a ticket you can see
All the horror, and agony there could ever be

All we ask is to put down your stones
On the left is a kingless throne
No love was ever ment to stay
I don't know why, it's just that way
On your right is the dreams that's died
Where want and reality did collide

In the next room you will find
All the demons that are in her mind
Young man, please step back
These demons will, and do attack
On her arm's you'll see the scars
Made with their talon like sharpened claws

Please don't dottle, let's hurry along
This sad little journey we don't want to prolong
Up next you'll find
Human monsters of every kind
They all wear a clever disguise
You won't even see them unless your wise

Of the shadow men take no heed
Off the sorrow they just feed
The closets doors all are open wide
Not one skeleton does she hide
Please don't be scared, please don't shout
The are free to dance about

Last but not lest I want to show
What happens when the anguish grows
Tormented by years of unbridled strife
In the coffin lies her pitiful life
It's not her body, for she is the walking dead
Heart in taters, screams echoing in her head
Eyes opened wide with years of dread

The light and happiness are always there mocking
You'll find her over there in the corner rocking
Yes she had to be retrained
In the straight-jacket she will remain
It's for your safety, not hers
For the pain she endures
Is not for weak amateurs

Exit on the right
Single file, please don't fight
Enjoy the rest of the attractions
We guarantee a hundred percent satisfaction
Unless in this carnival of woeful souls you are captured
Then your only hope will be the rapture
Hank Desroches May 2012
A gear that does not conform is a wrench in the works.
Remove the gear until it can be brainwashed, retrained, forced to mesh.
How to fix it?
How to force it?
The hammer?
Not a surgical tool, by any means, but this isn’t a surgical processus.
Accuracy requires thought.
The bludgeon is a much simpler tool.
A simpler weapon.
Certainly not as successful as perhaps another, but casualties are to be expected in such lock-step, industrial machinery.
It was the height of modernity a century ago -- but the world is changing, and the machine is grinding slowly into the primitive darkness of archaism.

The world is changing. Rearranging.
More and more gears are dropping from their cogs into the morass of the behemoth.
More and more are getting lost in nauseous darkness.
More and more gears.
More and more wrenches in an aging, beastly, anachronic and inefficient monstrosity.

Something’s gotta give.
Byron Fast Apr 2019
He takes Lady for a walk
A ***** down, murky ground
A sly, hairy stench of warmth.

He takes Lady for a walk
Toenails scratch shattered shells
A fishy desire for something wild
Something half alive.

He takes Lady for a walk
She licks the competition’s
asinine assumption
But a moment of odorous ardor.  

He takes Lady for a walk
Tethered from the nether
Restrained from region
Retrained from reason
A charm bracelet away from her freedom.
I saw something (a gift) that my friend would like. I picked it up. I decided that the next time I see her, I'm going to give it to her. I started walking to the place where I knew she was going to be. A few steps to it, I feel my heart pounding a little. With each step, the pounding increased. When I reached the door, the pounding was making my hand shake. Exhaled. It didn't help my nervousness. I retrained my courage. I went in. She wasn't facing me then she turned around and saw me. We smiled. My heart relaxed. Approached her. Gave her the gift. I saw a pretty smile on her pretty face. That was a long walk, but it was so worth it.
Àŧùl Jul 4
1.
I successfully survived the accident,
Thanks to my good Karma in this life
Not in a previous one.

2.
In '09-10, I volunteered for the society,
Educating underprivileged kids and
Their parents too.

3.
Now I'm a successful professional,
Thanks to equitable opportunities
Available in Bháràŧà.

4.
I may have lost my golden years,
But I am in no way literally lost
In the competition.

5.
That accident triggered a cascade,
A chain of unfavourable events
In my family.

6.
My mother lost her knee caps,
Due to her efforts to bring me back
And long standing hours for that.

7.
My father broke his acetabulum,
When trying to save me from falling
While he retrained me.

8.
But I'm thankful to Bhàgàwán,
That both of them are alive
And I'm finally successful.

9.
I don't resent my destiny,
For costing me more than
A complete decade.

10.
My ordeal began on May 7, 2010,
When I landed inside the hospital
On my potential deathbed.

11.
But I knew that I must survive,
For my sentence is not yet over
Here on this planet.

12.
My spirit didn't depart that day,
Although I lost years & friends
Due to the accident.

13.
I didn't fall from Grace of the Lord,
Instead I was sent back with a mission
Amidst the humans.

14.
To teach the lesson of love,
Not through conversion
Or bloodshed.

15.
But through the words of wisdom,
Consideration, love, truth
And experience.

16.
Through these poems of decency,
Rhyme, structure, rhythm
And magic.

17.
The magic is love,
The structure is evident
And the rhythm is so divine.

18.
My parents smiling is my success,
The golden sheen of future
Is my redemption.

19.
In the end,
I speak to you, O Gauri,
You do realise that you're my future.

20.
To you I have promised,
The intensity and the
Love you deserve.

21.
Not short of words ever,
Not because of vocabulary
But because of my passion.

22.
The passion for my life,
The passion for my love
And my love is you.

23.
Never forget what you want,
I'm solely yours, darling,
Yes, you want me.
1 poem. 23 verses. 362 words, 1872 characters

My HP Poem #1973
©Atul Kaushal
LonelyPoet Dec 2013
"D"
What if my right was your wrong and
your wrong was my right? If we play pretend
words lost their meaning and these sentences
never began. What if you try to listen to my eyes
and feel what I shout, where making sense of my
life it's a comma where you stop move along but
without any doubt.  What if I take your happiness
and live it as my own, I know I've read this essay
but the pages keep going on. If you could realize
that I create my joy, the questions in your book
won't be handle like a toy. What if the lines you
write are backwards because that's all you know
yet one day you're forbidden to express your feelings
and thoughts. If you can't understand why you're
trying to be retrained, why can you tell me to be a
pencil when I've always been a pen?
Burn his words and letters,
Remove his touch from mind,
Forget his smell, however well;
Some fetters cannot bind.

Take his pictures from their frame,
Remove his dreams, before you sleep;
It's true the mind can be retrained-
But as for memories, those you keep.
Lady Elle Jan 2015
I fell so in love with the story
That I suppose I forgot where I was going
Too infatuated with the fairytale
Wanting the bargain more than the sale
More in love with the Hallmark promise than him
More eager to be someone I’m not just to fit in
It’s all too easy to forget what we cannot see
To relish on everything we cannot be
Easier to love the dark when the light wants in
Easier to lose, when you have no hope to win
More than anything, I wish for a life
Not defined by materials or hype
I just want someone to be proud to utter my name
But not only for fortune, envy or fame
To live a life that’s simple and sincere
To cast away all insecurity and fear
To keep away from the fake and wrong
To show someone who is weak they can be strong
We live in a world of manufactured hopes and artificial dreams
My mind turned deaf from my own pitiful screams
It seems we’re so focused on what we cannot have
Let’s start appreciating the good and negating the bad
I want to give more back than I have received
To help even the most hopeless to believe
I have been selfish enough to learn better
Useless anger and a childish temper
It all has led me to embrace what I should
The happy, the deserved, the love, the good
Reality can ****, so we choose to pretend
But there can be no beginning without an end
So to all that have done me so UNsolid
And in the demise of my dreams you have plotted
I swallow my pride, my bitterness and hate
Your maker is not me, and he will decide your fate
I will admit I feel sorry for where you may go
Because I have a feeling your high will send you low
I would fear showing my hands if I were you
But that is why I hold them high in truth
I have forgiven you mom, dad, brother and brutes
Lovers who stole my innocence and youth
I break free of my constricting ties and roots
I break free of the foundations laid by you
Ones I have allowed to hold me back
Walking blindly, stepping on every crack
But today is the day I grab the axe
And with a swing of bravery, this cycle I hack
I will not allow my own thoughts to break me
And I will finally allow my heart to be free
Let it all go and lay it all out
I am tired of drowning in this narcissistic draught
I am saying it out loud, so it’s got to be true
I look in the mirror and say, “I forgive you”
And with all of this, I unshackle these chains
And if all that’s left are Earthly remains
I am certain I will be okay
Because the new concrete I have laid
Leaving, completely unafraid
Released of the burdens that once kept me retrained
I can only pray I leave this world better than it was when I came
And I hope that when I am gone, something I did made a change
Copyright - Lady Elle Poetry
The night is as dark as ever
in a rapidly changing World,
that never changes.

Daylight saving is fine
as far as I know
but what I don't know
is
who is saving it
and why.

Perhaps it's being stockpiled
in case the Sun burns out
and we'll then be charged
for it,
(pay per ray)

Nothing else is new that I know of
not that I know of much,

in dreams
occasionally
genius touches me
that
I do know.

I wonder if performing seals
get fed up,
I don't mean with fish,
but do they ever wish they
weren't so artistic?

If I elect to play 'snap'
is that a snap election
or just
miscommunication?

bundling my belongings
into an old canvas sack
trundling along
not once looking back
as it all disappears,

years ago
I think I did know
but not anymore.

the lights are still burning
and those yearning for hope
can get it for free
from the wandering missionary
who
used to be a minstrel until he
retrained under yet another
government initiative.

I still see the bare bones
of the lacklustre,
with homes enough to spare
I shouldn't be able to.

Harder times
failing visions
blurred lines
the ever changing
always feels the same.
Lewis Bosworth Sep 2017
When what I want is to grasp
The words of a dead writer,
In one-half a column torn apart
By my failing strength.

It’s history or fame or a mix of
Stars on the Hollywood sidewalk
That tear up my collector’s zeal,
Not the celebrity of the goal.

You have only to look at one
Page to see a spirit, a substance,
Which shines so brightly, you
Blink and want to cry.

My reading genes are walking
A tightrope, the right brain is
Laps behind its left-hand cousin,
Rebellion devours my senses.

A dash of ****, a dab of prayer
Are in a crystal container at my
Bedside, their warrantee intact,
Pox on paragraphs unseen.

One last look at the print on
The wall, its ancestor apes staring
In defiant glee, **** sapiens
Will not be retrained.

Cognition, behavior, labels for
The weird act of digestion of
Grammar and words and a dose
Of  heart-managed trust.

What I want is to read, to buy,
Not rent, what was promised,
Yet I am a para-genetic freak
Unable to decipher zip.
  
© Lewis Bosworth, 9/2017
If I rhyme,
Maybe you would find my words beautiful,
Finding something profoundly disturbing more chewable,
Washed down with wine and cuticle,
Your fingernails scraping down my throat
Don't.
I don't.
I don't need that ****.
Maybe you would find my words beautiful.
But ugly and disjunct, sitting, freely thinking
I feel as though my train of thought has retrained it's tracks
Let's go to a place I don't want to go to.
The dark velvet blanket begins its descent
Sprinkled with stars gleaming
like diamonds on display,
Shadows cast their images over mountains that surround me,
Like hugs ancient warriors they stand guarding me like a king;
And I feel loved.
I lie in my bed nestled under a great cottonwood,
While the mountain breeze caresses as a mother's tender touch,
Sounds of night merge with my own inner thoughts,
And we are one.
Night creatures wake to start the second shift
My soul is at peace,
And I feel God.
I am part of this time and it's a part of me.
A marriage of a kind for all is in perfect balance.
Natures plan of existence begins its restful stage,
Would my mentor understand that I failed myself today
Surely yes !
For he has set the scale of life to balance in the end.

This is a time of rebirth, a time to counsel myself,
A time of reflection and meditation,
A cleansing of my heart of the days burdens,
Of self criticism without shame.
Could I ? Would I ? Did I ? And why are all clearly defined with understanding
Night is my solace, I lie wrapped in the cloak of God's protection,
With the mountains my companions,
The creatures my brothers and sisters,
Yesterdays hurts are only a thought,
Todays burdens only a memory.
Problems of tomorrow are quite retrained
As the soothing sounds of nightfall
Lull me gently, oh so quietly to sleep;
And I feel loved.
ZACK GRAM Jul 2021
Gotta banger miss me with that
F-35 Hover in the hanger
Back talk catch a hand
Pitch a curve
These booksheets mental ward
Mutually assured hypersonic
No name or reward a game no award
Put out a Rap...Sold like a baggy
Pants sagging no entry field of dreams
A limo on a train track
Show a soldier position of power
Learn facts relax 2 the max
Got you on blast
A fiend delightfully beautiful cash
No dodge or sprint a spirit
Drop the cup in the cemetary
Look clearly see clearer
Nachos nachos
Wrist tat spit noise zman

Throw a ****** over a fence
5 million trillion
New case on the news
5 million billion trillion
5 billion trillion zillion
5 trillion zillion quadz
Qz quotient quotations commas zeros
Write a 5 an zero non stop
Write it till you get a cramp
5 billion trillion
5 trillion zillion quadz
Looks like a 5 0 double 0
5 double 0
Double 0 double 0 double 0
Say whatever
No king Pres embassy czar
5 double 0 double 0 double 0
Double 0
Put hundreds on it
5 trillion zillion quadz
Qz quotient quotations  commas zeros
One 2 8 shift in front a 9 to 5
24 7 posted
No opposition I copped
Sold and spent
No sleep
If I slept? ... what a question
U answer what u answer
It wont help me snooze
Everyday is work
Posted
Like J N B
Trust in the business
Wish
Proposition invention
Retrained no explanation
They nation they God
Brothers and sisters
4 limbs, a brain, senses...
Encapsulated the vision...

In the beginning Apple and Archy
In the beginning lamb and creation
In the beginning time and space
The beginning erased

I was Apple, Zeuz, an Arthur
I seen creation
I seen time and space erased

Zacks a G
Zacks Apple
Zacks Ancient
Zack's Herculean
Zacks Lamb of God
Zack seen everything

In the beginning
In the end
Its about Zack  that's me not you
You're a Jew
War
Star BG Jul 2017
We have flown to the moon and beyond,
BUT still do stupid things like can’t live in peace on our own planet.-- war is sacrilegious and a tool for the elite.

We have the best natural healers BUT still do stupid things like trying to use old remedies that don’t heal. -- doctors need to be retrained.

We have great healthy foods BUT still do stupid things like fill our bodies with food causing sickness.--
Time to learn that many foods are filled with chemicals.

We have amazingly creative people BUT still do stupid things like listen and support wrong causes. -- TV programing and news needs to be given back to the people.

We have many who are filled with wisdom BUT still do stupid things like teach our children lies and garbage.  -- education system needs to be changed so the truth is taught.

We have wonderful allies inside Mother Nature BUT still do stupid things like abused Mother Earth and all her allies. --Wake up world they are our allies.

We have great wisdom and gifts BUT still do stupid things like don’t listen to our heart or cultivate the gifts within.-- we need to listen to our own great selves.

We have great qualities inside oneness BUT still do stupid things like continuing to live in separation with our neighbors.  Time to know we are one and meant to live in peace.


We have great beautiful hearts as humans, BUT still do stupid things like allowing ourselves to believe lies fed to us by those in power. -- time to breath, ground with open hearts.

We are all Divine Let us NOT do stupid things. Let’s share to make the world a better place.Time to live in peace, abundance, joy, compassion, freedom, and oneness, connected to all beings of universe.

StarBG © 2017
Restrained from hope
But retrained from fear

A sense of trying to grab into reality
Yes into,
As I’m out of it
As it slips through my fingertips
Like a thought could trigger fatality

Rivers running down my cheeks
But I can’t feel them
The sea salt scent trailing into my nostrils
But I can’t smell

Trembling from loss of light
Though a purge of blinding light
is within my heart
Telling a story
Of Already wilting flowers
being cut from their stem
Before being given another chance
Before they realize they’re wilting

Now I can’t think of anything at all
Except my shadows running across the wall
Like it’s frightened
Of me,
A madman
A sacrificial lamb

Scared of what I am
And what I may become.
Graff1980 Sep 2019
Whats the point
of dwelling on
memories
when all they bring
is misery?

When we hit repeat
on our favorite
sad song
so we can
sing along
while we cry
reflecting on
what ifs
and why,
why, why.

Whats the point
in letting the pain
consume the better parts
of our rational brain,
do we have to explain
how we need to be
retrained?

Whats the point
on reflecting on
abstraction
in books and songs?

When I wake
to tears
with unknown
origins
what is the point
of this confusion?

— The End —