Perception shifts—the world tilts
What once was fixed now softly wilts
Each moment holds a different hue
And in the change, I find what's true
To hope, I hold with open hands
Like seeds I scatter in dry lands
Small acts of care—repair begun
A thread of light, a rising sun
I mourn the lost, but still believe
There’s more to hold than just to grieve
Beyond the noise, I sense a thread
Of voices rising, not yet dead
I've learned that truth is often slow
And healing grows from what we show
Patterns form beneath the pain
A wider light, a deeper name
© daniel miltz
Not everyone sees things the same
Peering out of different sets of eyes
What one depicts as truth and facts
Another will view as deceit and lies
Remember perception is not reality
And reality is not what you perceive
Reality lies somewhere in the middle
Between what we detect and believe
Is the left eyes sight as the right eyes
Or do they compromise then agree
Do the eyes come to a conclusion
Before the brains told what's to see
Who's to say Who's wrong or right
To us this world is still a mystery
The truth we may never know
Or is the truth there for us to see
Your eyes are like a treasure casket,
Filled with gold,
Eyelashes like the tree after a freshful rain,
Cheeks , soft like cotton
Smirking face, elegant charm.
imagining you is like,
imagining a landscape,
Which has everything that you
Wish for , desire for
Wanted,are obsessed with
And the aroma of soil,
Reminds me of you,
Everytime i see you,
This is the way , i see you.
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..^_^.. \(({~~}))/
(({{{@}}})) % Roses say a lot,
Both in scent and how they look,
..””””.. Admire all of her
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If you look at a still pond,
you’ll see your reflection,
but it’s more vivid or unclear to see
because it is not meant for showing your reflection.
A mirror was created for that job,
but why do people like to see their reflection in water
when it’s not as clear as a mirror?
Because, at the end,
people like the imperfect thing
in which they see goodness.
I was looking at the world through my eyes,
curious to see its parallel side.
I had grief because I was seeing it through blood,
but as I heard my praises and insults,
glanced over the beautiful mountains
and growing poverty,
that became my biggest pride —
to witness the world like this.
But when my hand started to grow cold
from the pain and suffering,
I saw the blood was in my hand.
(“Anagogical Moments Merit Badge”, 2011, original oil)
In A World of Our Own Making
Everywhere I look I see what I see
Through a lens of my own making
A composite fly-eye’s view
Of everything I have ever seen,
Heard, touched, felt and known
A world of my own making in constant flux.
Everything is thus a filtered projection
To a kaleidoscopic mind
And yet the coming to realization
Of the light within and behind the projector
Is a process of reminder and recollection
An undoing of an unknowing at our core.
Even the hardest rock or highest peak
Eventually falls apart and washes to the sea
But eventually is too long for me
In my rush to have it all now;
The taste of alpha and omega
And all points in between.
But then the nectar of the flower here
Now reaching up through the crack
In the sidewalk of my concretizing mind
Is as sweet as that of any
Wild and free blossom
That I will never see or know….
(7/1/25)
immediate and intimate
is rapture felt when nodes gyrate
borne by currents of our senses
truth as felt, mind cannot truncate
why live out life in past tenses
when each moment breath commences
ushering with it boons of grace
reading through ego’s pretences
embrace release; release embrace
that origins we may retrace
strobes of light that heighten delight
gentling touch, slowing down life’s pace
vibrant by day, at peace by night
doing what conscience deems as right
making void-centric our soul’s view
our aura radiates God’s light
touch leaves to feel fresh morning dew
each rainbow we see, seems like new
as does caress divine sublime
as bliss ignition does renew
accent occurs in timeless time
in slow steps to heaven we climb
there’s no fear for God dwells within
His heartbeats echoing love’s chime
When space and time vanish, what then remains,
save the light of awareness self-aware
and in that pristine state, there are no chains,
for we shine as Self, delusion stripped bare,
with no agenda we wish to declare.
As one without a second, we’re the all,
pulsating with delight, in a bliss squall.
Mind labels in symbols, objects perceived,
with each from the other, different deemed.
Bemused by illusions, we are deceived,
by myriad impressions to us beamed,
hypnotised by the forms, which we have dreamed.
Freezing flow of time, piercing pores of space,
at a stillness point, we see our true face.
J-eweled
E-yes'
N-atural
C-rystal
A-nd
B-rilliance
U-se
A-rt's
N-ectar
©bfa061225
Monocrostic (Birthday of Jen B. Cabuan)
It's conscious.
It's deliberate.
It's empowering to the extent you decide.
Reality is forever up for interpretation ~
Is life ugly or is it beautiful?
Your decisions determine your life,
drag you down or become uplifting.
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Day as fine
As the girl I spot.
How beautiful she looks, I thought.
What is so great? i ask.
Is it her skin?
Or the contour of her face?
The outfit?
Nah. Something deep, I realise.
Is it
Her intangible passion For reading, that's burning Brighter And brighter?
Or The glossy images of pages
Perched on her sparkly eyes,
Holding millions of stories
Etching all deets
In her young mind?
Birthing perceptions. Insights.
And changing opinions.?
Or how invested she was
To not acknowledge the world around?
May be that's what
Is so beautiful about beauty?
I feel it
but not see it or specify?
A picture is what it was Of self in the past.
Q-uiet
U-nderstanding
E-mbraces
L-ife's
V-irtues
I-n
E-thics
U-nless
M-ind
E-rases
R-eason's
E-quitable
Z-one
©bfa042525
Monocrostic (Birthday of Quelvie G. Umerez)
Did you think if we were a projection
Transmitted via our displays
We were real while our perception
Carried us through the years and days
On the screen of a thousand faces
We did manage to see us, but then
Little did we know, that such cases
Can occur without any plan
We weren’t looking for someone, we were
Filling the gaps, posting stuff
Putting comments on pictures we shared
We’ve been courteous more than enough
Till the day of the strangest conjecture
That perhaps simultaneously came
Into our heads: this projection
Is well known, and it has its own name
You said I love you with such grace
I dashed out with I love you too
Now there’s no time and no space
Gone is the projection we knew
Every night to your spirit I’m calling
If you hear my calls, you won't say
Be assured, my love, I'll be falling
Into your arms one fine day.
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