To remove yourself from yourself is a sleepy process. It settles itself in comfort just as we do. We brandish our teeth at it and turn our heads. We dance around concepts of growth until our pillows hail us again. Can one really blame another settling in it? The simplicity? Just as we fear the uncertainty foreseen at the end of our lives, there has to be a dear complacence to it-- an ease. As life was never a grace, more than it is a fleeting gift, as desperately as it rambles its purpose.
An angel sent to croon its neck
Among humans, though it fails to beget
To know its purpose and its name
Why the cabal of heaven hath sent it
Not to mingle among them
But to elicit in them the freeing of their mouths
And the shackles that God frets to shatter Himself
The violin. o, how it sings
The holy strings of heaven's flock
The twine that sews ones lung
To hum their omnipotent hum
The one whom lends their ear to the
song of heaven
Too, finds themselves among suits sewn white
& wings tucked neat at hems.
O, the violin. how sweet tis to be
Once more, in the great halls of the holy
to be educated is to brood
long, drawn hours at a screen, at a book.
spine bent like a hot comb
the anxiety of a new class. it shunts through one's God-kissed skin
like an iron brand
in truth, it is best not to think so feverishly.
into a future that which only the almighty knows.
he watches us pace ourselves to the pits of hell
where even he himself cannot be bothered to pluck one out of!
so, do not worry, dear trying person
to punch and nail for a world that slips
through one's fingers like milk
you are still attempting to mend what thou
knows is unmendable.
which is, sure enough
commendable.
one would picture the almighty
large, beyond the scope of our eyes
statues are created as such
symbols of their impressiveness, their demure
humbling us to our insignificance
it is a human concept
size
it is written, lord created humanity
in His image
He is but as large as us
His voice doth not boom
but it doth find itself ever present
in our bodies, our hearts
this is where it booms.
where it finds its width.
Silence berates me. It entombs me. Yet, it sulks on the top of my head, a circlet of melted, pretty gold. what am i to do, silence! you are ever present. i shoo you to the skies, & you are back in the blink of an eye. know you not the meaning of personal space! tho, who am i to outcast you? thee which compliments me, and me which compliments thee.
Just as the leaves age and wither
To grow and blossom green
the human spirit, too has the capacity
to be conscious of itself,
its footprint on the sand of reality
its face can age and wither
to grow and sprout anew
to be, not but another leaf green in the sun of spring
but, a potent bulb of mass
holding faintly, elatedly, the prospect of life
red, blue, yellow, violet
it will change, as the season do.
one should be happy to exist in their own skin
to know their change is imminent
so long as they heed themselves
words on a page no longer read as word
but instead slabs of food for the mind
to devour, and digest
a warm meal that feels to one's heart
one cannot serve a farer love
awareness of self hath benefits like no other. love, hope, passion, drive. these are but things only our active selves see, in their true meagerie of color. i love being alive, i love existing. i love being alive! if everyday felt as today, would the affect demean itself? it hasn't so far. i pray it never will. it never will! life, o life, i hold you so dear. to see you there, to know you Are there. to know you are of prevalence. do not abandon me. wrap me in your arms, life. hold me tight, never let me loose. life, life! you art such a treasure. life, life. you are here, alive, with me right now. thank you. thank you for showing me what it is to be real.
make known ones intent, you!
to shift ones tone, ones habits
is a practice only love doth sew
one that wills is one that wakes
and soon one will cry to the stars
"my lord, i grew!"
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