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"tethers" poems
#*Your hair stills heart's rhythmic meter   For this I wish forever Strands spun with goddess gossamer;   softer than touch of mother Your eyes dazzle with no glitter   For this I stare o're yonder Locking jewels with coins of others;   Leaves throbbing chests emptier Your form flows as gentle rivers   For this I grudge past swimmers Glory bequeathed to the winner;   drown will the losing suitors Your voice humbles angel choirs   For this I listen eager Songs molding seraphs from satyrs;   in harmony with nature Your being stirs wildfire   For this I bear the pleasure Ethereal flames dance together;   fueled by spiritual tethers You are my love light of summer   For this I waded winter Glowing 'bove, spring was made greener;   blooming nascent desire*#
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Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 5:29 PM UTC
To My New Love
#*You are my love light of summer.   For this I wade through winter. Glowing 'bove, the trees are greener;   blooming nascent desire* of which I never knew I'd need   let alone make a heart bleed girl, you got me on both my knees   praying you'll also need me, too, to finally be complete   or otherwise reach life's peak. *Your hair stills heart's rhythmic meter.   For this I wish forever. Strands spun with goddess gossamer;   softer than touch of mother* of which I never knew I'd need   let alone cause ex's envy girl, you got her so **** ******   she blames you as much as me, too, as love for you made her weep   and revealed her love is cheap *Your voice humbles angel choirs.   For this I listen eager. Songs that shift the course of rivers;   in harmony with nature* of which I never knew I'd need   let alone so romantically girl, you got me frantically   writing you some poetry, too, and I hope you now can see   that maybe I'm also sweet *Your soul ignites wildfire.   For this I bear the pleasure. Ethereal flames dance together;   fueled by spiritual tethers*      of which I never knew I'd need   let alone spark fantasies girl, you got me crying, "please, please!"   that you never take the lead, too, cause this would be a done deed   if you wanted it to be.#
0
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 2:19 PM UTC
To Beautiful: From Desperate
Tethers that prevent flight from shaken swollen tears feathers spent in woeful plight and a snipers cross-hair sight amid muffled explosive cheers Brothers in Arms never lost to forgotten years and the sound of a distant gunshot is all that he hears. R.I.P. Sgt L.J.
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Jun 25, 2014
Jun 25, 2014 at 10:50 AM UTC
Brothers in Arms
If only we were figures... Accentuated in the night sky. Starlit effigies bound by cosmic tethers... Secrets of the universe many would attempt to pry. If only we were figures... Painted on pored upon canvas. Fantastic renditions by masterful painters, Abstract oil swirls dancing to a whimsical opus. If only we were figures... Given life in the lyrics in a song. An example of harmony in verse, Bridge and chorus...where we belong. But we are only figures... Trampled on by indifferent feet that came to mock. We can't undo such a potent curse... We are but grounded figures outlined in chalk.
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Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 9:30 AM UTC
Figures
Perhaps there are 100,000 forms of darkness, 100,000 forms of what they call depression. I know one or two of them. There is no suffering scale, no way to compare the suffering of one human being, or one illness to another. So we hold candlelight vigils build totems to gather the universe and pull back clarity around one another’s edges But I can't burn sage inside me. It may attract the bad you hide from. Or is it the good that scares you? The world beyond the bond of hearts is a town without pity. A dull inhumanity of systems failing the people we don’t look at. In this way the brittle tethers of association are tested. Hand in hand greeting the blackening sky, bearing down like the face of a missing child’s parents, staring at one another knuckles clasp tight. Your smile the remaining mirror at the end of the world. If you were here, or I there I’d be home right now. On the inside we’re both waiting for one another still. Because I’m the same, but not. I am ruthlessly forgetful. Names, birthdays, work schedules. But I know the way your hair looks in motion. The way your face looks refracted through a cigarette ember. How when your mood shifts, the church in your eyes becomes torn, battered, and bare. If we could just give another go-round. It would be different, Remember, your best. Where you are, might be, may go. When it used to feel so good.
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Apr 27, 2018
Apr 27, 2018 at 11:58 PM UTC
Distracted, But Not Changed
I'm like other guys... I drink, I cheat, I throw tantrums, but I want to love you anyway. I break hearts, I've broken one too many... yet I am asking you to entrust your heart with me. I'm asking you to try me, I'm not different... I got the dude stuff you know and somehow this isn't just about love... albeit I hope you can be the peg that tethers my lust... I want you to swallow and never spit me... I want you to be my last... I want you to be the lady my kids call Mama, the very last drumbeat of karma. I want you to be my fate, to be family that never goes stranger... I want you to share with me this vaguely baked cake of the rest of my life, I want you to be my wife and if these words cannot prove to you that you mean a world to me then I'll peacefully walk away because I know we cannot force affairs of the heart... The Heart cannot listen to what it doesn't want to hear... I love you and that's why I'm standing here... I need to know whether I stand a chance or not... I'm not different and I'll never be... I just hope I'm worth climbing thorny trees for, worth the rough roads, worth the hills for that's what true love is in my bible, it's about two people holding hands and walking past the rough and the smooth, past the hard and the soft, past the hills, valleys past the winding and the straight road, true love's combining effort to lift the light and heavy load... knowing that the prize of love is having someone to share with the good, the bad, the happy, the sad. Am I that person you'd expect on this lifelong journey to eternity? will you be my honey through bitterness of waves waiting ahead? Will you take the discomfort of a ring for me? Will you marry me?
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Jul 21, 2016
Jul 21, 2016 at 3:20 AM UTC
Marry Me
I'm like other guys... I drink, I cheat, I throw tantrums, but I want to love you anyway. I break hearts, I've broken one too many... yet I am asking you to entrust your heart with me. I'm asking you to try me, I'm not different... I got the dude stuff you know and somehow this isn't just about love... albeit I hope you can be the peg that tethers my lust... I want you to swallow and never spit me... I want you to be my last... I want you to be the lady my kids call Mama, the very last drumbeat of karma. I want you to be my fate, to be family that never goes stranger... I want you to share with me this vaguely baked cake of the rest of my life, I want you to be my wife and if these words cannot prove to you that you mean a world to me then I'll peacefully walk away because I know we cannot force affairs of the heart... The Heart cannot listen to what it doesn't want to hear... I love you and that's why I'm standing here... I need to know whether I stand a chance or not... I'm not different and I'll never be... I just hope I'm worth climbing thorny trees for, worth the rough roads, worth the hills for that's what true love is in my bible, it's about two people holding hands and walking past the rough and the smooth, past the hard and the soft, past the hills, valleys past the winding and the straight road, true love's combining effort to lift the light and heavy load... knowing that the prize of love is having someone to share with the good, the bad, the happy, the sad. Am I that person you'd expect on this lifelong journey to eternity? will you be my honey through bitterness of waves waiting ahead? Will you take the discomfort of a ring for me? Will you marry me?
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52
A circuit land, Overshadowed by late, orange, blooms. Tough powers tower high, Mirroring fear to passersby. Forest rich with opportunity, Potential plots for growth, Short showers bear us fruits, Of evermore enriching schemes. Spikes of hopes, dreams and wonders, Base levels of lost sympathies, Crying wounds of hungry symphonies, Howls of jeer, malice, and thunder. A shattered system holds us together, A web void of its structure, and spider, Leadership is not without its tethers, Binding back what was once deep. Inside those who not heed, Of the instincts that lead to their greed We need you dreamers, to help us gaze And see the stars again, through that lamp lit haze.
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Jun 1, 2012
Jun 1, 2012 at 11:22 AM UTC
GTA Glow
The weighted press of measured steps on stair accompanied by an echoed call to the familiar. The first syllable of her name severed  midway, yet it tolled long after the utterance rang out. The comfort of routine; tethers of association snapped under the strain of realisation. A mocking gift from forgetfulness... ...she left him.. Mechanical body shifts fighting urges to hesitate and listen to her vanished sleeping breath. Vacant the cold bedroom, the chamber harbouring her scent on fabrics, pillow and scantly furnished dresser top. Each sniff raw as salt on opened wounds. She left and left him only remorseful residues from the harvest of three years and five months.
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Oct 3, 2015
Oct 3, 2015 at 4:12 PM UTC
The harvest
I. AM. A. Piece of **** Here's how i roll. I plop the excrement, directly in the pool. I **** on chairs, This is where i place stool. Plip plob drop loads, Crenated blood cells and lymphatic drool. Hurt my kidneys in a fight with truth the other night. 7 brutal, flooring uppercuts to the Latisimus dorsi.... I am > "this girl" That one that's taken more hits in the face than Tyson. The one that makes Jenna and Sunni Leone look like pre-school dropouts of **** Guys say. "She" "got the," "best head." She has nothing in it though. Her brain's finished by the time words leave her lips whole. thats as far as it gets the words pass her **** then she falls, grab her hips. Prepare the sword for the stone. The one with the baby whole in her dome. She's not good, much else. Her black hair and wisdom lines go bout as deep as her shirt. Depending on the day. Pervert. Lets do ANOTHER line. "Oh My GOD!" "We did so much ******* Coke in cans. Filled with whiskey flask-hand. "This night's gunna be one to remember", if his member is inside, that's my gender, Blend it with all the worst intentions, Use the worst intentions. Stab the heart of conviction. Tear it to tethers with tension. Rip the strings of friendship. Tease the knots of frayed linen, Like its the only thing ya got. "I am so high right now." I forgot what earth looks like. Probably like my town. Only place I've been. I'm 17 ya see. Its the only thing you got. You don't deserve roses, flowers, Laurels. No trees. No dime bags, no speed, no crying hag. I can sure **** 25 yearolds. Saying your better never sounded more like a lie. Worst thing is you have that prevarication internalized. I have a god complex... Wanna save em all... Can't save a ******* one... I did lie once... It was... When I told you that you weren't... A piece of ****
0
Apr 13, 2013
Apr 13, 2013 at 12:58 AM UTC
Bottle Full of Copenhagen Backwash
I. AM. A. Piece of **** Here's how i roll. I plop the excrement, directly in the pool. I **** on chairs, This is where i place stool. Plip plob drop loads, Crenated blood cells and lymphatic drool. Hurt my kidneys in a fight with truth the other night. 7 brutal, flooring uppercuts to the Latisimus dorsi.... I am > "this girl" That one that's taken more hits in the face than Tyson. The one that makes Jenna and Sunni Leone look like pre-school dropouts of **** Guys say. "She" "got the," "best head." She has nothing in it though. Her brain's finished by the time words leave her lips whole. thats as far as it gets the words pass her **** then she falls, grab her hips. Prepare the sword for the stone. The one with the baby whole in her dome. She's not good, much else. Her black hair and wisdom lines go bout as deep as her shirt. Depending on the day. Pervert. Lets do ANOTHER line. "Oh My GOD!" "We did so much ******* Coke in cans. Filled with whiskey flask-hand. "This night's gunna be one to remember", if his member is inside, that's my gender, Blend it with all the worst intentions, Use the worst intentions. Stab the heart of conviction. Tear it to tethers with tension. Rip the strings of friendship. Tease the knots of frayed linen, Like its the only thing ya got. "I am so high right now." I forgot what earth looks like. Probably like my town. Only place I've been. I'm 17 ya see. Its the only thing you got. You don't deserve roses, flowers, Laurels. No trees. No dime bags, no speed, no crying hag. I can sure **** 25 yearolds. Saying your better never sounded more like a lie. Worst thing is you have that prevarication internalized. I have a god complex... Wanna save em all... Can't save a ******* one... I did lie once... It was... When I told you that you weren't... A piece of ****
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61
*Heal my heart heal my soul Let your spirit take control of what little there is left of me Heal my heart heal my soul Set me free from the strong tethers that bind me Heal my heart heal my soul Help me fly span the skies that beckon to me Heal my heart heal my soul Guide me to a land where freedom awaits me Heal my heart heal my soul Together let us take control of our destiny Let us walk holding hands Into a world that understands Peace and harmony*
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Jun 10, 2015
Jun 10, 2015 at 11:24 PM UTC
Heal my heart Heal my soul
The heavy downpour took longer, easily, it spread all over, the weight of water, drenched the ground, the plants.....it doused the body and silenced the mind. I stared at the gloomy, grayed horizon...while rain poured without end. the water level rose...and swelled, all active and dormant fears lost their tethers and darkened the floodwaters. It seemed, the sky really needed to cry. and here we are, humans, twisted...tangled up in the chaos of a grieving universe. With just thin raincoats and light scarves as shields, how do we escape the aftermath of life's heavy downpours? For lots of reasons, the sky disencumbers...and cries. sally b © Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan August 31, 2022
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Aug 30, 2022
Aug 30, 2022 at 9:45 PM UTC
Escape
Vigilance, sentinel. Vigilance… The moment you close your eyes, you let dreams in. But I am done. I vaporize all worries and cares, I disconnect from all earthbound tethers. I will fly. Nowhere to go but up, nothing to lose, and nothing to fear. - The first steps to freedom are always the hardest. To obtain true freedom, you must make certain sacrifices… like security. To grow strong means to build a castle around your infant self, to lock the door and hurl the key far out, over the castle walls. It is to the distant hope that an innocent someone, will disregard every brick. And walk right in with the key. N.H.
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Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 1:18 AM UTC
Relax
downpours in june are expected in london like the rushing to the tubelines at closing time the warmth of the morning undone raining in june is nothing short of a crime. like children in suits the 9-5ers leap from raindrop to raindrop with umbrellas writhing against eachother like tethers only for the briefest connections can we stop. there's no point looking into a rain-battered soul its only when we move apart can we truly be whole.
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Jun 15, 2019
Jun 15, 2019 at 6:08 PM UTC
raindrop to raindrop
Night, and there is nothing more fragile than this fever, an opus of guitars swelling with song and water, fluent as the nocturnes are tuned to the lower scale and strings vibrate deep within the marrow as they ascend, the soul blowing glass, and filling the lungs with a long slow taper of light, streaming as fingers are brought to bear on frets covered in hoarfrost, and stray hair is pushed back from countenance, to reveal the fractions of fire caught upon iris there come slow indulgences, and forgotten things, to twine the body in banners of winter silk, scarves about the wrists, roped in tethers and these feathers of night-blooming jasmine hang in long strands of pearl, from my temple, teal threads of opal and heather braids twine the tone, the time is not all poems upon a blank page or songs to coo the concert of souls muted in chambers acoustically formed of minutes, stolen in a glance, at glimpse of skin or the tender touch of cheek as eyes brim soul-filled to overflow, nocturnal blends the silent pause between movements upon a page where there is room for words, though never found ,but in gesture and margin's note that lays soft upon the tongue, behind lips suited for sighs these lost manuscripts begin a long hand of notes held whole Let the music play again, its plea, eternal, my love, please do not forget how to preserve me, for this is night, and it is fragile....
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Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 6:54 AM UTC
Nocturne:
I am fixed to the walls of this house so tightly joined to it, this bed through sinew and bone thread, thread, thread another plait into me the night, the breed she is with that ****** needle and thread, thread, thread knows I can’t stand within it the vignette the solitude the white coats, the men of the word those in the mire of the clay all prescribing the same thing a hit of perseverance “Oh, okay,” “oh, okay,” “oh, okay.” I lick, lap at the slow drip so tightly fixed to where I always have been don’t come in, don’t go out “I’m sorry,” in the pooling of spit one hand in the ***** reaching into the pit the ********* night I don’t say in vain “Okay,” “Okay,” “Okay,” she waits loosens my thread slips those little tethers so much good slack I run take my hit of perseverance I burn burn, burn, burn right up in the fire of day she waits for the ash the sun rises and sets on the same thing, always always always always they don’t understand those free feet, walking the narrows I watch them all go no wince, no limp no thread, no spit the way that it seems, from my portion of shadow, “Oh, okay,” so easy
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Dec 19, 2022
Dec 19, 2022 at 5:04 AM UTC
“Oh... Okay.”
Knowing you, I am like a girl                                   who willfully touches hemlock to her tongue. For among the boney noose of pearls                    strung up my spine,                                  you, with hands that can hold         both knives and violin bows                                                 leak a piece of air into the streams of my back And I let you—I                       let it fever its way around stringy tethers,        up to the oven of blood in my head                                                         while you lick your lips (the moon pours out) and I do not watch this                                  because now I cannot even trample          across floors of lemongrass                                   or brace the line of my jaw for a tender fist. The earth simply throws a plump tomato at my chest                                                smirks simmering in its oceans                              but all I can do is fall there                                                 lay near                                                               lose years                                                                       expire here— (the sodden match) (the hot scoop of iced cream)                                while the froth of my heart grows cold and colder. So I can’t even smash your head                   (a skull I love)                         into the wooden wall until it is as                                                                  soft as a boiled pomegranate.           For my own flesh is a puddle of sputters on the kitchen table                                                  ready for you to eat (dine, my darling, dine!)
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Nov 21, 2012
Nov 21, 2012 at 1:29 AM UTC
Aneurysm
Knowing you, I am like a girl                                   who willfully touches hemlock to her tongue. For among the boney noose of pearls                    strung up my spine,                                  you, with hands that can hold         both knives and violin bows                                                 leak a piece of air into the streams of my back And I let you—I                       let it fever its way around stringy tethers,        up to the oven of blood in my head                                                         while you lick your lips (the moon pours out) and I do not watch this                                  because now I cannot even trample          across floors of lemongrass                                   or brace the line of my jaw for a tender fist. The earth simply throws a plump tomato at my chest                                                smirks simmering in its oceans                              but all I can do is fall there                                                 lay near                                                               lose years                                                                       expire here— (the sodden match) (the hot scoop of iced cream)                                while the froth of my heart grows cold and colder. So I can’t even smash your head                   (a skull I love)                         into the wooden wall until it is as                                                                  soft as a boiled pomegranate.           For my own flesh is a puddle of sputters on the kitchen table                                                  ready for you to eat (dine, my darling, dine!)
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29
I can't fly without feathers So why are you putting me in tethers I can't swim without fins And still your sticking in the pins And pulling off that little dolls limbs Like right out of the fairytale grimms' Your vicious as hell with that voodoo doll of twine You made in my image so it would be mine I constantly feel the shivers run down my spine I don't understand why you keep me here entrapped And leave all of our potential so untapped Instead you think I must be kidnapped It's trust that you're so desperately lacking Wish you would just relize it's not me that's been slacking
0
Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 11:19 AM UTC
Voodoo Doll
They say there is a stone that tethers the heart. A stone that calms the mind, even in the most horrendous of storms. A serenity stone. We have spent centuries searching for this stone. We have written letters of hope, expecting word on its whereabouts. We have chased after those who appeared to be the stone, but they only proved to be jagged daggers of glass, white-hot and coated in venom. They break at the slightest touch. Yet they say there is a stone, one that is unshakeable, immovable. A serenity stone. We are in dire need of this stone, but with each passing day, we believe that these tales are mere fantasy. Where we believe there to be hope, we find only torment. Where we believe there to be solace, we find only cold abandonment. As time marches forth, we are surrounded by those who have found their stone, and our mind grows darker, and hope withers away. They say there is a stone, one that will not abandon you. A serenity stone. But we cannot find her, and we are slipping into madness.
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Nov 20, 2016
Nov 20, 2016 at 10:55 PM UTC
Serenity Stone
Our palms press down Muscles flow in eager rapture Our shoulders broaden Spines lengthen Our hips press down Fluid motion twisting Around and through and above We grow in balance Feeling high above and far away But here in total darkness We see through feeling And here in total darkness The light in me reaches out And tethers to the light in you.
0
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 3:21 PM UTC
Namaste
I am curled upon myself in eleven hidden dimensions predicted by Superstring Theory, confident revealing my whereabouts precludes guessing my velocity. Paradox of uncertainty handed down by Heisenberg, mental Mobius of mind, tethers my strong nuclear force, I am King of Quantum. I vibrate in energetic strings octaves below scale of Stradivarius, seeking a unified framework for the duality of space and time. Like a black-hole event horizon, where no thought escapes this gravity of mind, I ponder blinking out of existence.
0
Mar 21, 2012
Mar 21, 2012 at 5:59 AM UTC
Signature Singularity
The wanderer follows No hallowed path Set forth for her By the sagacious few. Nor does she live To build her past For far off futures Whose seeds are sewn. No familiar face Has she ever seen That greets her where She decides to sleep But travels with The wind in her hair: The only companion She chooses to keep. All empires return To dust that birthed Them from the nothingness Of barren ground, And push the ambitious To build them tall For fleeting futures On foundations unsound. Such men still laugh At one like her Who possesses nothing In their eyes, And lives in chaos Of shifting destiny With no respect For human lies. But no future goal Controls her fate Nor worldly tethers Bind her past So she is free To contemplate Her relation to The earth so vast. She is the dust from God’s fingers that’s fallen on Ungrateful land And shows the blind And sinful people Their origin from The present at hand. They deride and mock Or at best ignore her And value what God Did not confer But she is more than the earth and sky And none can take What belongs to her.
0
Feb 3, 2012
Feb 3, 2012 at 6:55 PM UTC
Dust
I can't fly without feathers So why are you putting me in tethers I can't swim without fins And still your sticking in the pins And pulling off that little dolls limbs Like right out of the fairytale grimms' Your vicious as hell with that voodoo doll of twine You made in my image so it would be mine I constantly feel the shivers run down my spine I don't understand why you keep me here entrapped And leave all of our potential so untapped Instead you think I must be kidnapped It's trust that you're so desperately lacking Wish you would just relize it's not me that's been slacking
0
Jun 21, 2016
Jun 21, 2016 at 11:10 AM UTC
Voodoo Doll
Life is a sacred journey. No two are the same. Respect for divergence is paramount to a holistic experience. Life is not about status-quo or expectations, t'is simply what's made thereof Lyphe is a sacred opportunity not to be taken lightly Our Bodies are our umbilical vessels which tether us as mortals to "Reality," which, in itself, seems to me to be a reduction of potentials from chance to actuality such ephemeral eternety; infinite limitations; actualized potentials; possible paths- these are but some of the koan-like attributes which lead me to use the rather ambiguous and ambitious term "sacred." Truly, it becomes whatthefucksoever One may well will to create thereof. Action is Manifestation, yet Thought begets Action. Therein lies the sacred gift of Life. 'T'is all too oft taken for granted. Every living being (i am convinced) has an equally vivid depth of experience and I find it more than somewhat offensive that humans (with a lowercase H) feel they are the penultimate organism. All is One in that existence, itself, tethers us all to everything and probably even beyond, and so to be so hubristic and arrogant as to assume a hierarchy so convieñantly crested by mere **** Sapiens Sapiens* seems to me to be an anthrocentric and narcissistic projection of that meddlesome ages-old archetype of the "Ego," that is to say "God," whatthefuckever that means! Find it in thyself to be humble enough to accept that each and every iota of "Creation" is, by virtue of association, equally sacred; divine. Heirarchy, thus, seems to be a manifestation of some desire for order; control; a yearning to alleviate some hypothetical insecurity as a result of being essentially "absolute, infinite" (vis-a-vis the domain of Consciousness) yet contained within a vessel that is mortal, and, thus, ephimeral. The Ego doth so loathe it's own limitations: too bad it's far too arrogant to realize that most of the limitations it experiences are illusions, allusions; charades of an insatiable Consciousness Hell-bent on experiencing something it won't redily allow itself to experience! What a Holy fuckton of incredulous, ineffable, impalpable, inspirational **** that would be, eh?! (insert interrobang) I am me (I think...) as thou art thee; so why can't that just be good enough? Could it be? What obstruction precludes such harmonious divergence? I reckon 't'is but us; and very little else, indeed!
0
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 9:37 AM UTC
Lyphe
Life is a sacred journey. No two are the same. Respect for divergence is paramount to a holistic experience. Life is not about status-quo or expectations, t'is simply what's made thereof Lyphe is a sacred opportunity not to be taken lightly Our Bodies are our umbilical vessels which tether us as mortals to "Reality," which, in itself, seems to me to be a reduction of potentials from chance to actuality such ephemeral eternety; infinite limitations; actualized potentials; possible paths- these are but some of the koan-like attributes which lead me to use the rather ambiguous and ambitious term "sacred." Truly, it becomes whatthefucksoever One may well will to create thereof. Action is Manifestation, yet Thought begets Action. Therein lies the sacred gift of Life. 'T'is all too oft taken for granted. Every living being (i am convinced) has an equally vivid depth of experience and I find it more than somewhat offensive that humans (with a lowercase H) feel they are the penultimate organism. All is One in that existence, itself, tethers us all to everything and probably even beyond, and so to be so hubristic and arrogant as to assume a hierarchy so convieñantly crested by mere **** Sapiens Sapiens* seems to me to be an anthrocentric and narcissistic projection of that meddlesome ages-old archetype of the "Ego," that is to say "God," whatthefuckever that means! Find it in thyself to be humble enough to accept that each and every iota of "Creation" is, by virtue of association, equally sacred; divine. Heirarchy, thus, seems to be a manifestation of some desire for order; control; a yearning to alleviate some hypothetical insecurity as a result of being essentially "absolute, infinite" (vis-a-vis the domain of Consciousness) yet contained within a vessel that is mortal, and, thus, ephimeral. The Ego doth so loathe it's own limitations: too bad it's far too arrogant to realize that most of the limitations it experiences are illusions, allusions; charades of an insatiable Consciousness Hell-bent on experiencing something it won't redily allow itself to experience! What a Holy fuckton of incredulous, ineffable, impalpable, inspirational **** that would be, eh?! (insert interrobang) I am me (I think...) as thou art thee; so why can't that just be good enough? Could it be? What obstruction precludes such harmonious divergence? I reckon 't'is but us; and very little else, indeed!
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85
Love, Stronger than death, Its yearning pull, Gripping the heart, Binding the spirit, The ties, so powerful, They reach beyond life, Spanning nether worlds, Travelling unseen, Crossing boundaries, Emotional tethers, That cannot break, Not now, not ever, Holding, holding, holding, Until the course is run, Life lived to the full, Then reunited, ah, Stronger than death, Love. ©Paul M Chafer 2014
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Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 5:58 AM UTC
There Is No Never