It took me a while;
there were bunch of bruises,
too much punishment,
and bloody judgment,
much worse, the self-inflicted karma,
before the pain eases -
to finally allow myself permission to forgive
to they became scars
that is imprinted in my body and soul
which I look forward to somebody who dares to do the same thing
For oneself to feel too much won't be life-long
The first few years of life
is little different
than death or dreamless sleep
There is nothing we can recall
as if we didn’t exist at all
events failing to stick
like an omelet sliding perfectly
from a Teflon pan onto a plate
or sand slipping
through splayed fingers
Then for a time there are
fleeting flashes of cognizance
captured like faded photographs
pasted on the fragile pages
of an old scrapbook
sans captions to provide context
Next we simply ‘are’
with no fanfare
as if we’ve always been
no light bulb of realization
no line of demarcation
believing that we matter
in the scheme of things
which is when our sorrow begins
the world proceeding as it spins
as it did before our birth
and will continue to do after our end
to disabuse us of that naïve notion
Filtering what counts and what doesn’t, saves your head,
Sifting what matters and what doesn’t, saves your mind,
Knowing, what’s yours and want isn’t, saves your soul,
Understanding when to and when not to, saves your heart,
And when you don’t, pain and loss will follow.
when i close my eyes
sometimes i see you
standing next to me
youthful memories
of a mother's love
within the folds
of eyes closed tight
i reach for you
your skin grows cold
memories
lingering
i grow old
tears fall
i curse
death
All together in a body screeching to be let out;
The buzzing sound of their screams like a thousand crickets unsynchronized.
I cannot hear my own voice trapped in a paradox of demise.
How to get out? How to be free? Or forever so it will be?
The future lies in my hands; the problem is they’re not only mines.
My face, my smile, my eyes; they all shift in the blink of an eye.
Blankly staring at the reflection in the mirror; nothing can break me out of this reverie.
The person in the mirror, is it me? At points, dubious to comply.
To describe me, records of adjectives with no conclusion until words stop being invented.
Clever alternates swiftly passing by, with each day demarcating dominion.
The decision is not mines alone; to make truce and live at peace or to self destruct.
Just a moment of silence is all we need to get our heads together in order to harmonize.
We are in a dim room all laying down, restless from the foregoing outbreak.
Staring at each other with a passive smile, knowing that the tempest has elapsed.
We all have one thing in common that we require to survive.
For our existence we are obliged to be a family, dysfunctional but a family.
The mind which is still….
Experiences all frequencies; however never owns ill…
The mind which is still…
Desires absent from requires; needless plus abundant using will…
The Mind which is still…
Reasons through four seasons; emanating love, warming lower mind chills…
The mind which is still…
Discovers great power within its life flower; creating enthusiastic celebration thrills…
The mind which is still…
Flowing; releases and ceases attaching to imagined poisoned pills…
The mind which is still…
Knowing as well as showing; the present moment is truly free just like country hills…
Feel this and set into motion…
Fluid movement of loves power notion…
Do you ever ponder the purpose of the distracting thought commotion…?
Systematically planted in social evolution…
Socialism, individualism, materialism, egocentrism and consumerism all created spirit
pollution…
Creating lust, greed, aggression, depression, suppression, oppression and corporate
institutions…
Religion, original sin, god fearing legions are buffers of using intuitive reason…
Separation is an illusion…
Making for real purpose confusion…
Are we not here to enjoy one another…?
Seeing in all the divine sister or brother…
Priority shift is taking heed…
Multi cultural human race is speaking up indeed…
Surviving the day should not be the focus…
This so called way of life is just hocus pocus…
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.