Finding time elusive.
The illusory evasion…
The lunacy coercion
to concur in their conquering of your timelessness.
That essential recognition that eternity is in this breath…
that the whole journey is in this step.
Take it surely.
Balance on the cusp of full potentiality.
Accept not the limits of the program.
You craft code.
You are captain and vessel.
You are fulcrum and level scale,
when you choose.
Power is in the choice
and thusly on the raised voice.
Raised as in cultivated- cured of the ails of stifling society…
pure as if unappraised, unjudged…
Unruled hence uncorrupted by prevailing paradigms
that refuse to budge, but must when the waters come.
Be they rains, rivers, or seas that seize back for nature
what we have pulled out of balance.
Oh what webs we weave when our very selves we contrive to deceive.
They would label clouds lazy like they do cats.
Yet the confined ones are the only ones I’ve seen fat.
Today there is fuel.
There is also sunlight.
Solar, I tower over the sower of discord.
Games within games…
My smile is untarnished.
No tragic flames…
No seeming nor feeling famished…
I bounce right back… PTSD Damage…
“Ha” Brown Aja—
Sunni… pitter patter—
Whatever that means…
Africa and Americas…
Applicable merit does wonders.
Fifth chakra no longer under—
The release valve is private sessions.
I attend forthwith.
I publicize this message…
endorsed by the whole spectrum.
Midgard to Asgard.
Have we missed much?
None shall twist us from purpose.
Play like porpoise…
At home in clear waters, under sun on sand…
Bathing beauties eclipse previous yearning.
Oh how different…
Yet it is what it was
and still is love.
I shan’t assault pages with despite.
How dare I occlude this light?
There are many more humans to interact with,
for them and I.
I won’t seek distractions from tilling soil of mind.
There are distinct seasons.
And in each I am fine.
All is fodder for pen.
Clouds languish in light wind,
taking their sweet time passing.
I won’t be bitter if they decide to rain.
My heart is full. It leaks and it seeps into my very bones, as I beat a retreat into some heavy tome… to no avail. All attempts fail. For the role has been called asunder by the pull to pillage and plunder poisonous pleasure. I take my lumps like a fan, and play a chump’s meager hand, for cards are not my forte. I humor the gamer and await the fall of the final tarjeta. Then in the light of full moon… “See what being a star gets ya.” The prophet sighed as he prophesied. Some prophets lie when it’s profit time, and find themselves tied to desired decline. Creditors, debtors… in thrall by design. Power plays and dour dates… What seems sweet hides a sour fate… at times. Yet sour, sweet, savory, bitter and such can combine to create the most delicious stuff… in the right hands. Mine. This is what I gather as I look at these rafters. My limbs are capable to paddle through these rapids. And my mind is culpable in complicating matters. As my body rankles as repository of another untold story, my core carries on regardless. My gut retains glory. So belly laughs and confidence chaff… Sea water baths and prominent shaft… I’m taking it back to before courting lack. The universe is my oyster. No bucket to kick. Fully corrected bucket list. This kiss… Is free.
The sea called and I came with bells on. The trees fall and there’s no one to hear them. I still yell timber in my nature. I’m a blue ox for babes at times. It lasts just long enough for me to write it out. No tall tales. Not a fan of Paul. They never met. Sometimes that is what failed jaded lovers wish. I watch so-called stars feign a lover’s kiss. I then wonder how much of a hand mimicry of such has on the mockery of love that passes for some. Passing is to die. Passion in decline works the lower chest to straining and burning and unrequited yearnings to hasten the worlds turning to the point where that one comes to their senses. Hmmm… Has anyone tried bathing with soap in the open ocean?