Time is ours in a way -- forward and back, present...out of all we have collectively seen and correctly imagined enough to chose from and prosper~ or keep going down in flaming defeat.
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When I add water to the birdbath each morning, lots of bees show up to take drinks while birds approvingly tweeting. The little colorful love-birds are the bravest, flapping around me while in my connected process. Water, birds, bees, dogs, fleas...somehow it all works out for the best when each does its small part.
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Alike the moon we wax and wane, until the day we doubt the flame.
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Just because the math works doesn't mean it equates to truth. Example: the math works, respectively whether on a globe or a flat earth.
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Bigotry is flawless.
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“He who tendeth first the hearth of his own soul,
doth rend the veil 'twixt self and all,
and in that silent concord, mercy ascendeth
as river, flame, and marrow through the bones of the world.”
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"Verily, the word that endureth is a crucible wherein silence flames to splendour."
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A flattering tongue and a charming smile hide the deepest venom.
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I am very poor at small talk. Language, people interaction needs gusto, deep commitment or it is a waste of precious time. Life has so much more to offer. Why there is true poetry. Not talking cute rhymes and mere flashy alliteration.
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For love is the battle that will forever be fought but will never truly be won. Love will always burn the flames that ever so stretch the length of eternity
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The hotter the flame — the brighter the light.
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If you’re not willing to fight the fire — you’re entitled to the flames
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One mustn't dwell on their flaws when looking the storm in the eye.
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I've no need to march or demonstrate, I've no need to wave my flag, just to prove to all the doubters, that I am English and proud.
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Love is never wrong. If there develops a flaw, it was in the people...Love is always Love. Perfect.
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Some of the richest most powerful people in America are also the most flawed.
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Some of our greatest English poets, did not rhyme anything. Poetry is a compelling sense, a feel of flare and rhythm that tingles the Soulful Spirit, setting mind and heart tunefully singing.
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Indeed, life is for living. Burn brightly! Both day and night, blazing way to find. Every pore, every thought we have, an electrified flame of being. Hell a cheap, phony duplication. Each of us, born of blessed starlight. Greater the divine fuel as we move on.
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Like no other season, autumn flaunts proudly its many colours. That’s my idea of Trooping the Colour. ~Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
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The soul flame is the fire of love from the image where it came. It came from infinity the continuous creation of love. This is the divine feminine, the unity of humanity.
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Life is like a bicycle. When it goes well, ride on. When it has flat tyres, push on. ~Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
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In the stillness after sorrow, a gentle flame of love continues to burn.
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We are born as flames and die as ash because the world doesn’t know what to do with the fire in us.
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Teaching means guarding the flame of wonder in a child’s soul—gently, daily, faithfully.
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Fine fabric of poetry closer
the frayed edges of language, loose
threads of thought we light, to keep
from unraveling. What lasting value,
if any at all, rises in the smoke, is
sustained by memory of the lyrical
flash.
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Nobody is perfect. No matter how calm, collected, or "perfect" they look. When you know that you have flaws and you work on them, that is what makes you better.
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What must be acknowledged is that even the detritus of a failed system is fertile ground and the expectations that formed such flawed constructs will bloom frivolously within that context.
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Poetry is a life-long odyssey...sort of like, getting on a wood-craft, sailing off toward the horizon, praying one is dealing with round notes and not flats. The poetic heart floats and sinks with every lyrical journey.
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"Crazy things reality and reason!
It exposes the deepest flaws and the shallowest of poor judgement".
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All the Jezebelic acts are clustered in the plutonic thoughts, that the road is not long— save the sense-minded have the light of flashing into the darkness. We put lips on every unwelcome acts. And we pray that God will chain our legs from treading thorpath, but flopath.
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