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Suriving The Trauma-

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  • Suriving The Trauma-

    Surviving the Trauma ...

    The thing about the strength of the psyche, and the tenacity of the will heeding it -- mountains and hills and valleys become inundated with the spirit of the world. The lingering transfixion(ment) is some starry wind, buckling the knees, opening the dark mouth. The tenebrous fabric of our solemn reality. We are entwined within the machine, slaves to screws and dollar bils, with the manifestos buzzing on our lips like bees. We are uncomfortable, very itchy; and we scratch ourselves upon this very fabric, Life.

    Our mission is a bleary-eyed seemingness, where we move the blocks between us both. Suddenly you are there. The wind stops. I can feel my heart. Can I feel yours? Suddenly breathing stops, too. The storm is inside, and the trees are dripping. The stillness is my dream, and here I gain impunity, and there is no punishment which would bring me back. The cavern of my echoing sorrows, the shell of my being, the sweet winds of honeysuckle bringing me freshness and the scent of water. Float near to me, heavy, in the insect's choral symphony. Don't say 'this is too much', and you can become with me.

    Invitations to the fearful, to the scared to move, scared to feel pain, and breathe once more. It's the littlest things whch when misunderstood, we fall at the mercy of. We hinge ourselves upon the denseness of someone's thought. We are tubed from the living light, and we drop coins as we walk by. The summit we reach is not the end. When the sunlight goes down, is all sunlight gone? No one has seen the end of the Sun.

    And that is what matters. Past thoughtless patterns of eloquent gestures, made to believe 'i am well'. Made to believe in all manner of untruths, such as 'this will last', which belies my own clinginess, at the hands of the moment which is robbed -- whether by my hands or not. Into the darkness of the seminal delight, a moment's caught in your star-loving eyes, warm bathing in the materia. Little broken compass. Say that your love is honest, in the light where we take the secret dark passages ... say you remember.

    That love be like the shining instrument which creates its scope. The view of seeing and understanding. Step by step into the night ... sunset.
    Last edited by amenOra; 12-24-2017, 03:38 PM.

  • #2
    I’m catching up on your poetry. It’s all great. I hope you don’t mind me making a suggestion. If you broke this into sections more readers would be less overwhelmed and really have the privilege of hearing what you have to say, seeing what you have to show, and delving in deeper into your subject matter(s). You have so much to share. You might need to make it easier for lazy readers! (Of which I am one). I’m guessing you do it this way as a stream of consciousness, and it works. More people need to read you. Maybe I’m off base. ???


    • #3
      You speak true. I had made the attempt it looks like to separate into paragraphs, but didn't leave the white space between Paragraphs. Thanks for your kind words.

      Thanks for the feedback, and reading me!


      • #4
        You are as rife with ideas as a sea with waves, amenOra.