How long can nature bear a world that sinned
As oceans rise to swallow up the shore?
Our business greeds are scattered by the wind,
While maddened skies demand we build no more.
The dying forests gasp for cleaner breath,
The rivers scream against their concrete chains,
We dance a blind, collective march to death,
Ignoring patterns in the monsoon rains.
And yet, hope stays put in the soil and seed,
If human hearts untangle pride from power,
To take from Earth no more than what we need,
Before we reach the final, fateful hour.
The cycle heals, erasing every fear,
Though man has lived behind a fenced frontier.
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Happenings | 20.09.2026 | Earth, nature, ocean, rain, river, world, crown of sonnets
At what point do we reach the turn
The second before the spiral
At the moment of no return
When all regrets are visioned vital
To our demise, the urgency of the blind
Fat with profit driven policy
Ignoring burnt grass, paying no mind
To food shortages that became normalcy
Wrapped up in pathetic fallacy
Autumn hides false prosperity
Imagined lands of Albion's dream
Fields of flourish not concrete seen
Too scared to admit that we are beyond
Any points of green
Extrovert
to
Introvert.
Insecure
to
Secure.
Group
to
Individual.
Uncertain
to
Sure.
Hermit
to
Community.
Member
to
Alone.
Chosen
to
Willing.
Tent
to
Throne.
Feeling
to
Thought.
Castle
to
Forest.
Accept
to
Release.
Brain
to
Chest.
Through the light of a candle,
The awakening of things past can occur,
Or feelings of things still to come.
Can you feel the flow?
Can you read the signs?
I am a man who woke from the dead once.
I never thought I could fall back into the bedrock.
How can a man be born again after being saved once?
I have found a miracle from God in the impossible.
A second chance, a second man.
A second awakening from now an older man.
This isn’t a time loop, no a new dimension.
Not a layer not a flavor of an onion layer.
Another retry but with a far different token.
I wisp this heavy coin into the pinball machine of life.
Yet, my body feels light, my bags stripped from my body.
Those tarnished bags, taped and stitched to no avail.
I asked for help, I received a wipe.
What I truly needed was not what I wanted.
Oars appear now I must row into chaos fog anew.
This time neutral with wiser blinks.
This second awakening, angels have taken the wheel.
Where it goes is I know not, anywhere but here.
You call Him a God of pain, a master of a cruel terrain,
But how else does a sleeping soul break its heavy mortal chain?
If the world were only comfort, a soft and endless sleep,
We would never look inside ourselves, nor ever climb the steep.
You say He stands aloof and high, ignoring every tear and cry,
While forcing helpless, fragile things to bow beneath His sky.
He is a loving Father, guiding heirs through shifting sands,
Our training is the molding of His patient, tender hands.
But look closer at the "True Sons" and the paths of thorns they trod—
It was not a cosmic punishment, but the wounding of a God
Who bleeds within the creation, who shares the heavy weight,
Not a tyrant on a distant throne deciding human fate.
The illusion is a heavy fog, the fray is fierce and blind,
But the pressure of the dark is what refines the human mind.
He does not demand perfection from the lost who weep and pray,
But the cracks inside our broken hearts let the light illuminate the way.
For love is not a gentle sun that keeps us safe from harm,
Sometimes it is the winter wind that wakes us to the dawn.
My Mum is going through an "Awakening,"
I don't get it, I wake up every day.
They said it takes years...
And forever?
Surely that can't be.
What's a twin flame?
Why is it so important?
I can see four flames in our fireplace right now?
Sha-dow government...
I have a shadow too, it follows me.
We hang out.
Mum even spoke to her friends about some families who rule the world...
What about our family?
How do we get there?
She said we chose each other...
I don't remember doing that...
I wasn't even here then.
Silly Mum, but I guess it does feel like our hearts are forever.
Apparently... We were asleep once.
I was asleep yesterday... And every night.
I still love my Mum, even though she doesn't make sense sometimes.
She says that our uncle and Grandma are still asleep too?
I saw them last week.
Did I mention that I love my Mum?
She says for now...
To tell the truth,
Be kind,
Discover what is right and stand for it.
She also said it's important to be a great listener.
I'll keep listening to my Mum.
The dark night of the soul, the void seemed like forever
All around me was a wall, all by myself I was my savior
I was the solution, I was the answer to all my questions
I was in evolution, which kept me look ahead to the lessons
Deserted in a desert, there was no place to run for refuge
In the darkness I just sat, I wouldn't run from the deluge
No more fighting, I surrendered to the pain
No more running, I was tired falling again and again
I trusted the process, however small the steps were
I utilized inner forces and with time I journeyed far
While I thought I was gonna die, I turned out way more strong
With happiness now I cry, I arrived where I belong.
She grabbed my hand and pulled me through everything I couldn't see or feel.That's when life struck me for the first time.
We fell to the ground, staring at the sky.That's when the sky struck me for the first time.
The way she looked at me was more powerful than her touch.That's when a pair of eyes struck me.
I watched her hair dance in the air.
That's when the importance of the wind struck me.
The day I saw her do the same for someone who wasn't me,
that's when jealousy struck me.
A conversation where everything I felt became the problem—
that's when my flaws struck me.
Sitting alone in the place where we once fell together,
that's when melancholy struck me.
And lying in bed, seeing her face every night before sleep,
that's when love struck me.
I drifted through my days with vacant eyes,
watched the years dissolve to useless gray.
I never paused to marvel at the skies,
nor cared enough to savor my days.
I called it life, this numb and silent crawl,
where every spark of joy was choked and slain.
I heard no beauty in the sparrow's call,
nor felt the quiet worship of the rain.
Then sickness came — a cold and crushing thief,
a heavy clock that echoed through my soul's hall.
The striking dark brought a sudden belief:
to merely breathe is not to live at all.
I reached for all I'd failed to understand,
for every dream I'd left to fade from view.
But time slipped softly like forgotten sand —
too late to grasp the world I never knew.
The monk did not arrive with thunder,
only the cedar-smell of rain on wool,
a brass bowl ringing softly at his side
like a small moon struck loose from sleep.
I asked him how dust learns to carry God,
how bone and bruise and breath become a lantern.
He pressed one palm against the earth.
"Listen," he said.
So I listened
to sap climbing the dark ladders of trees,
to river stones knocking their blunt prayers together,
to my own blood beating its red-winged bird
inside the cage of my ribs.
All my life I had mistaken motion for meaning.
I ran after bright doors,
gold noise, city smoke, applause sharp as pins.
Meanwhile, the soul sat patient as an ember
under the tongue of silence.
The monk spoke again, low and slow:
"Light does not enter you.
It remembers"
Then something loosened.
The night air tasted of iron and wet leaves.
A stray dog slept beside the shrine steps, dreaming.
Far off, a train unstitched the valley with its thin blue cry.
And there
not in heaven, not beyond the mountains,
but here, in this trembling heap of living dust
a small flame turned toward itself
and knew its own name.
As CHILD awaits
their bubble to burst,
the winds of change
whirl in with thirst
Mother nature caresses
carrying SEEDS for dreams
bestowing greatness
for a child turning TEEN
life begins at eight
as sun pops out behind clouds
spreading joy all day
Christ awakened Dionel from the death-filled night
Whose heart bloomed with the Cathar’s fire
Syzygos brought the age of new gnosis to light
Christ awakened Dionel from the death-filled night
To be Valentinus, his Church back in daylight
Graced with Montségur’s black crozier
Christ awakened Dionel from the death-filled night
Whose heart bloomed with the Cathar’s fire
Another impoverished evening
draped so strangely harsh, the moon weeps
for one more burning a soul must retain....
And she clings among lost stars
with frozen heartbeat thawing minutes
weighed on jagged sounds of owl's play.
Yet, an intercepted light begins to kindle
as she gazes at an old man by a lamp post,
seemingly collecting crumbs of reminiscences--
The tick of hours mirroring her own disquiet
while couples pause to catch a flurry of mist:
She quivers, turns away from the glass pane
listening to the teapot ... her meditative chant for now--
Till a discovery of self-awakening lifts gently
Where a tiny place in her bosom invites calmness
yet to be born ...
through growing roots of spirit- fire.
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