She wears her soul on her nuclear skin
Brightest chartreuse yellow
morphs into roseate pink,
promising peace
she illumes from within her
There is only one of her,
yet is never alone
her golden rays cascade
warmth in cobalt skies
embracing as she dwells alongside
touching universes both eternal,
balanced with an external expression
in both realms reflection
overlooking the gallant mountain tops
gentle undulating waves,
fullness in emptiness
amongst Spring’s delicacies
a force of nurturing generosity
fostering spirit giving endlessly
championing her cause
She watches from behind
the highest hilltops,
below the erosion formed summits
Setting onto the lowlands
and forbidding foothills
as her changing light
transforms the ether
she gazes at the unfolding
of the stars, faint specs,
she is still, in their presence
as the blue evokes
his calm, she catches glimpses
shades of salmon trail faded ones,
they bring hopeful sonnets
May she let subdued
light shine upon her
blushing rays?
Perhaps one day,
whilst the night’s indigo sky
looks after her
How much proof is enough?
How much would it take?
Are the subtle signs enough?
Would you notice them; if they came?
Have you met with synchronicity?
(Grace... is her last name)
Would physical proof be too much,
to cope with, for your brain?
Would you tell the world about it,
hoping that it's going to change?
Would you shout it from the hilltops,
or pretend it never came?
Would you keep it to your self?
Could you ever quite explain?
Would you want to if you could?
Knowing they wont feel the same;
Would they think you're going crazy?
Are you lonely in that place?
Did you search around for others?
Did you find them? Or their names?
Did you put it down to coincidence?
or problems with your brain?
Was the big red pill too scary?
Was the blue pill swallowed again?
Have you left the door half open?
Or have you closed it all the way?
Have you seen 'Geoff Thompsons' channel - 'Meditate and Motivate' ?(Youtube)
Have you checked my other posts...
you can find them on this page!
If any of this work speaks to you;
- just know I can relate!
Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.—my noble brother of freedom and peace,
Peace and justice ringing from mountaintops like consecrated chapel bells,
Bells resounding high and low across the hilltops and the valleys below,
Below, where the meek and humble gathered to sow their seeds of faith.
Faith, small as a mustard seed, yet mighty enough to move great mountains—
Mountains of despair overturned through the pursuit of equality and justice for all,
All God’s created people, without exception, endowed with equal human rights,
Rights granted by the Creator to all humanity in our blessed pursuit of happiness.
Happiness and freedom flowing from God’s love into the heart of humanity—
Humanity awakened to equal justice, righteousness, dignity, and emancipation,
Emancipation and representation earnestly sought, courageously fought, and won,
Won through radiant visions of hope shedding luminescent light upon the weary.
Light filled with saving grace from above, restoring strength to the brokenhearted,
Blessings from the Creator—bestowed upon those fashioned for everlasting love.
© Dr. Joseph S. Spence Sr., Ph.D., Epulaeryu Master. All Rights Reserved. December 1, 2025.
Woodland to saunter
Braced up across hilltops,
Tendrils of leaves curl like locks
Fresh the mist sprinkling my face.
An airspray of radiant mist
Flows on her grasses evergreen
Till birdland stirs and whistles..
Joy in her field's embrace.
Velvet lays on ground
My dream-like eyes twinkle,
While blooms come dancing
A raucous merry-go-around;
The light tap on the skin,
Curious heart so ravenous
Through every magical whim.
Somewhere to surrender,
Melting down my cheeks
Upon the forest floor
The nature of my inner beast
Drips from thrill of wonder
From rare absence of reason,
A moment where innocence drifts
In wilderness ' arms blessing seasons,
The childlike creature in me
Soars into ladders of bliss!
snow d
u
s
t
e
d
hilltops
d a z z l i n g wintertime display ~
moonlit wander/
l
u
s
t
I climb high up the tortuous path
Of a ragged hillock and
In pensive solitude I look around
Upon the universe that surround me.
There from on high
I spy so many mysterious wonders
That God endowed this worthy earth,
And blessed all His creations
With wealth, momentous and great.
The waning sun creeps down over the horizon
To gain its well-earned rest.
A reddish dusk tinges the hilltops
As swallows glide serenely below the ridge
In search of a homely sanctuary
To dream the dark night away.
The multicoloured flowers in the valley
That swing in nightly breezes,
And feed the insects bright;
The trees that grow so mighty
Whilst bushes provide haven to so many
Graceful creatures of the wild.
The glorious stars that light the dark
The dazzling sun that ripens crops,
The lakes and seas that ripple
And reflect the mountains high:
Is it not easy to understand
How blessed we all are?
Yet do we ever stop
To thank our dear Lord
And ponder on these gracious gifts?
New moon vanishes into a blush of russet
where humid air twirls along with clouds,
and stars burst…
flickering above hilltops
to cast my anguish across the sky:
How wanton gulls crisscross on a flight;
their shrill rattling an echo that my heart pales
from an image of first passion’s gaieties
outlined by his maze of treachery, of ruse :
Forgetting not my lesions from one August night,
tears split forth in torment
without measure:
Naïve at eighteen then, I drank yesteryear’s pain
hoping fate could heal me from such drilling spin...
then to wake up fed with grace
to echo new morn's canticle of beginnings
1st place.
Courage and confidence, like lifeblood, flow in me.
From life-giving streams, waters of wisdom I drink.
In scowls of my foes too, beams of smiles I can see.
With my flawless faith, all my endeavors I link.
I wipe off my conflicts as though they are sweat drops.
Graces, like dewdrops, kiss me with a gentle touch.
Compassion in me like the monsoon rains drizzle.
Kindness grows and flourishes like palms on hilltops.
For stumbling blocks and obstacles, I don't fear much.
With the passion of selfless love, I sizzle.
In the dusty embrace of Jharkhand’s tribal hills,
Where once vibrant green swayed like laughter in the wind,
Now the palash trees wear a shroud of soot,
A ghostly veil draped over their fiery blooms,
Once fertile earth now a canvas of neglect,
The hills stand as silent witnesses to forgotten songs.
Not long ago, the arrival of a car sparked joy,
Children, wild with wonder, chased it like shooting stars,
Now, when planes carve through the sky towards the city,
They scamper to the hilltops, hearts fluttering with dreams,
Curiosity ignites, imaginations take flight,
As if the very air whispers secrets of the skies.
Boys return home, eyes alight with questions,
When will they soar through clouds, touch the heavens?
In classrooms, tales of space unfold like cosmic tapestries,
Their visions stretch beyond earthly bounds,
A longing for the stars, ignited by flickering screens.
The mind, a precious jewel, must remain untainted,
To dream lofty dreams, to let aspirations soar,
Whether or not the stars align in their favor,
Let visions and imaginations rise above the hills,
Like eagles on the wind, unbound and free.
If I were a butterfly, I’d dance among
the daisies,
And sway with the branches of the
trees,
Through the meadows without any
worries silently as a whisper, I’d hover
under the clear, big blue,
My soft and delicate wings freely
fluttering their vibrant golden hues,
If I were a butterfly, that’s what I’d
do.
Across the water’s surface of the rivers,
I’d leave ripples of light behind as I glide
on through,
If tired, I would hitch a ride upon a
floating leaf and enjoy the view,
At Dawn on the hilltops, I’d drink
the morning dew and enjoy the fresh
air too,
If I were a butterfly, that’s what I’d
do.
In the Spring and Summer, I’d
sip sweet nectar from the flowers,
If too full to venture far, a snooze I
need ah, a rose petal to my rescue,
In a garden, children are playing
and chasing shadows in the Sun,
It’s best not to close my eyes lest
they catch me, as that won’t be fun.
If I were a butterfly, that’s what I’d
do.
by Zyrool
October gallops in as stolid as a gray mare,
a blunt wind snorts furiously through autumnal trees.
Foliage rattles, but does not fall, it clings still
to green stems.
Appalachian backwoods have tough roots,
shod as they are into an earth salted
with a dark gritty ore.
Bears are foraging and reaping,
their black silky pelts clamber over gusting winds
to reach the furthest fruits
before first snows overburden stoic pines.
Today the sky is unharnessed
and racing at full tilt
It whips my raw lips like a wet mane,
it rears up to stamp down upon its own
animated onslaught.
I adjust my rucksack and reshoulder a shotgun
grin, eyes watering
caught under the stampeding gale,
buffeted now by its muscular flanks.
I need to bridle this striding wind,
to halter its headlong charge,
or better yet just surrender -
turn my back on it,
let it ride me
as we leap down from the hilltops
whooping it up like cowboys.
The waters are murky
And the skies are growing dark
A girl on the hilltop
Now sings like a meadow lark
The sheep in the fields
Turn to home before the rain
They've got miles to cover
Over hard, rocky terrain
The sun sets in the west
While the moon is on the rise
Sleep comes to the weary
As the girl sings the reprise
Love blooms in the distance
Promises have been exchanged
Life upon prairie lands
Has finally been arranged
Crops have now been planted
And the animals well fed
No one now looks behind
The only view lies ahead
Silence engulfs the nights
None know what tomorrow brings
Peaceful dreams are pursued
And on hilltops she still sings
at last the traffic comes to a halt...
a quarter moon peeps between hilltops
while a lingering ache stings my flesh in hours moist with mid-dusk 's need
for quiet reverie:
I unzip my clothes ready to surrender to the mist and coal of stillness;
all the grains from fluid limbs crawling upon my toes; tingling and penetrating the parts numbed by dredge of toil...
and dying a bit to inhabit this silence,
my being morphs from the brute of noise to a fey of nothingness...you know,
that shedding kind of skin in gradual push- pull of my cocoon, changing the life movement where transformation becomes open, alive...
just then, I crown this moment a fractal
change , like a winged monarch loosening
old shape...a ritual born from my desire
to cross over a streak of limits:
like so, by washing the blisters of a truant day,
there are only two streams waking
my feminine energy...
one is serenity, the other-- symbiosis.
See snow settle on windows.
Chimneys gently, carefully, puff out smoke and I
see irradiated lamp posts linking
cable-lines across the street.
Near a frozen wall of bricks and wires,
I fly over water pipes.
Ich fliege über Wasser, der Himmel zu,
wo ist Frieden, weißt es du?
Gutters pump out sleet
and newspapers wrapped in shiny plastic.
I watch grey watery clouds swell
and thicken in the sky.
The cold air wraps my wings
and butterflies meander with the wind
to hilltops we fly in.
Soon –
my wings will hold
a flower.
The golden sunshine
Adorns the hilltops with such
Royal coronets...
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