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Healing your mind and soul requires personal distance
from a world that does not provide the nutrient of peace
Sit quietly by the waterfall and entrench yourself in it
take the journey of self, allow your  thoughts to blossom
beneath God's parapet, lies the resurgence of still life

Healing your body is an aftermath of wholesome assembly
drink from the waters of obsolete and be that empty vessel
that holds space with everything and everyone, ...
Do not move nor speak, just breathe and be immortal  
inside this magic hour you will find,  the breath of life

Extinguish the embers of your burning fire, take time
to sift through your feelings,  allow them to take flight
Permit the dusk to settle and allow the dawn to rise
for they were both created for tomorrows afterglow
heal your mind, soul & body, remain in the flow..
The Lily looks up,
the Moon gazes back,
both knowing well,
they will fall,
soon.
I remember the full moon last year, lighting up my terrace. The flower plant looked sooo beautiful!!
One special flower was shining exceptionally bright, its face turned up toward the moon, as if it was shyly glancing at it.
It was such a magical moment............truly inexpressible!!!
Life is a needle
I am a Camel
What hope is
There for me.
ljm
Read your Bible. It's interesting.
Once stood I
by this sleepy sunset sea.
His sour gaze gone,
the sun;
eventually on his knee,
in mellow mutiny
upon molten melancholy.

Calmly buoyed he,
hung on ethereal a canopy,
offering colored company
on the momentary brink
of honey coated eternity.

Gently, the ***** of Rán
his flames of mead swam;
         Kvasir's mythical lore,
         dripping the mead of yore
o'er her pewter poverty
mulling the briny sore
of this late afternoon sea
from divine a golden door.


Thus, poetry laden
this marine a maiden,
now merry and awaken,
mulled with love molten,
sprawled into eternity,
in resplendent mutiny,
haunting and holden
with heavenly honey…
Rán is a mythological Norse goddess, whom I alluded to with deference when I had to close in on the intimacy between fire and water in the poem. Though not related to the depicted serene panorama in the poem, she has nine daughters, who personify waves. Hence, the phenomenon of the 'ninth wave', I guess.
Kvasir, on the other hand, was born of the saliva of the two warring families of Old Norse Gods, Æsir and the Vanir. When the war eventually ended, Gods from both lineage chewed berries and spat out the mush into a cask. This is how god Kvasir was created in the tale 'Mead of Poetry'.
Being the wisest one in Midgard, extraordinarily perceptive, sophisticated and poetic, he traveled far and wide, learning evermore and spreading his art. As fate would have it, his itchy feet brought him to the two murderous dwarfs Fjalar and Galar, who killed him afor his divine blood. Then, the notorious duo mixed it with honey, thus creating the Mead of Poetry.
Odin eventually redeemed Kvasir's legacy, the Mead of Poetry, after long a journey through testing tribulations. Since then, it is believed that Odin shares part of this drink with the very privileged human beings, bestowing upon them the divine ability, poetry.
Etymologically, Norwegian 'kvase' and Russian 'kvas', both mean 'fermented berry juice'.
:))
Death is my own covetous possession,
A hand-me-down with the worn edges
Of a closed, burnished keepsake box.

Death is the memory of a tree-lined walk,
A daguerreotype, a trompe-l'oiel des bois,
Sight itself turned within, but without end,
A forest of unstirring eyelashes, like long uncut grass,

Death is the stillness of pewter leaves,
And sorrow is sadness in love with itself.
Petals in the breeze,
swirling around trees,
cherry blossom dance.
I don't know why, but I have a sudden urge to see cherry blossoms, even though the season isn't here yet..............:(
I sought to pierce the astral screen
discover things which lay unseen

existence layers to strip and peel
all cosmic secrets to reveal

with book and spell I tore the veil
beheld all things beyond the pale

creatures that rule the land of Leng
ghoul’s midnight feast, the yellow king

fungi that steal and eat men’s minds
horrors made gods that sit enshrined

the gates of mortal souls open wide
to blasphemous things that crawl inside

I descry the future’s dark corridor
where the stars are an endless sepulcher

and now I know my folly’s curse
my reason slips, my thoughts perverse

I must escape and look away
lest in this charnel house I stay

but I cannot stop through act of will
my vision seeks, strains further still

the last recourse causes gorge to rise
I must be free from these hell born eyes

the knife clutched in my shaking hand
I gouge and stab my sight be ******

and for a moment I am free
but then I am brought to my knees

o’ gods of pain and fear abhorred
my sight but clearer than before

all vision now within my mind
I would bless who could make me blind

with eyes which cannot close or hide
forever gazing and open wide

nor even death will seal them shut
on these horrors my soul must glut

my body fades I cannot die
and eternally through madness fly
A Halloween item. In honor of Mr. Lovecraft.
i want love with sleep in its eyes,
that when it yawns, and stretches
the bedsheets in a sleepy *****,
whips the night out the window
and breathes out a darling "good morning"

i want love that wears pyjamas,
that smells of stale-ish coffee and toast;
slightly-burned, like it always will be,
but on which butter melts, without a protest,
under the spell of a seasoned kitchen waltz

i want love next door to lust;
a semi-detached carnal passion
who, once or twice a week, comes for tea,
shares a bottle of wine, and raises a toast
to old times of late nights and later mornings

i want love with sleep in its eyes,
with its forehead rested against mine
with its legs entwined, arms aching,
but enraptured in the same embrace
i've grown to fit into so well
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