When I feel my hand
And the sensations feel
My world is real
Strange reality, love reality

Mother reality
This is the source of my fantasies.

To be, to this immense sensation
Knowledge
         and time and life’s
Uniqueness, displayed in every moment.

Daily, this is but one day.

The words I have not to say.
The world I have not to understand.
Moment to moment, stranger by the day.

How unique? How unique.
This unique! This. Uniqueness,
Displayed so believably.
But death is the truth, inconceivably.

That, is belief through ignorance.

We do not die. We do not live.
We love, we are nothing. Death in life.
Suspended in the air. Subjectively…

Flower of the spring to winters child
vibrant beyond her ever unfolding
horizons of sweet beauty blooming

There is color in the heart of winter
rainbows in the eyes of spring
and life is the character of summer
never sought and never seen

Love blooms on her branches
the seed of beauty, eyes abloom
lips of lilac, and kiss of wine
Intoxicating, cries of June
under lamplight and under moon

Silver are her rings, and auburn hair
dancing glimmers everywhere but here
yet closer, my heart is there
With her dawn of ecstasy in the hallow morn…
as the autumn wind or summer sun

When you build a fortress around your heart,
you not only make it harder for those who approach to enter,
but make it harder for exiles to find their exit.

In other words: the cage you build around your heart is a prison, not a sanctuary.

To the great brothers and great sisters of Her womb
To the great Mother and great Father, shifting through and through
Calling upon them for the great wisdom of our age
To bridge the gap between science and the sacred

This land has no boundaries, all conventions are made believe
and we are made to believe that politicians have our backs
while the preasts of a false language preach hypocracy to our faces
This is not our Shangrala, we have lost our grasp of Eden

Turning our garden into a guard, lost, we have turned a paradise
to a prison; old men casting aspersions of disrespect to a newborn,
blaming a victim of an obsolete tradition, casting salt onto the soil,
and calling it a blessing.

The prophets throughout the ages have seen a brighter world,
one that had, at its core, the truth; we are all one spirit, inhabiting these many forms.
This illusion of form and distance, made to be overcome, has illuded many, but not them;
They gave us the wisdom to escape the eternal womb of the mind,
and grow gracefully in the warmth of the Father Sun.

Trained to be beaten and broken, our new prophets have been beld and misled.
We call this machine, cold and calculating, Education; beaten and broken from the inside, our prophets are internally bleading: rose red ink on term papers with F wrote large!  

*******! The first words of resistance cries. I am my own authority,
I seek the truth, not your lies!
Tearing down the walls, and begining to tell a new story, we new prophets challenge "the way things are," because nothing is certain;
Our conscious evolution transcends to the stars, and starts in the grasses slowly showing their infinite patience and strangth, like a soft blade breaking the solid ground of traditions floor.

Be the evolution, brothers and sisters, fathers and mothers, be the change, and the change becomes you!

Agape and Appreciation

~M

Body of the shadow
slowly creeping out for dawn
to cover His light with ours gone

In the hours before dawn, they call us Leagion,
and we are many
cursed with the gift of eternity;
life dances above us, broken and alone.

We ear the sounds of lingering silence
drawn from the mouths of babes
sacraficed at the ashen altar;
to remind us: death comes for us all!

And it's all for you, my nightmare
Night Mare!  We ride the horizon of your iris,  
deep as the vacuum of space,
collecting this occular accuity
for a chance to inhabit our grace.

Creating a new poem is like creating a new story
a new paradigm from the depths of history's bowls
from a nightmare, we are to create a dreamscape
something that tantalizes the soul, and draws us near
to the greater perfection within ourselves... who knew?

Creating a new poem, much like a new society
has to start from within, and be drawn out somehow,
and some will be more inspired than others to invent
their own approach, to instill their own values,
to be critical enough to recognize what is most sacred

Creating a new poem demands the ability of the artist
to take hold of his or her feelings, thoughts, and intuit
the flow of consciousness in just the right cadence
remembering the song of ages that goes and flows

Being the poet that you are, your heart is stretched and open
yet you are afraid to be as the caged bird: freedom frightens you!
And in creating your new, new poem, you would be as angels
singing from the achrimony of the ages, singing light and dark
good and evil: but remember god and devil are just a letter off both ways.

Creating a new world is like creating a new poem: if you let go
and just do it, the miracle will wash away the banality of a bygone age
and the new **** will be born as a rose red flower in flames
before the technocratic temple of bright lights and *******

Create a new art, artists, poets, and those average ager's
be a revolution in the heart, an evolution in the swing,
bring first the arrogance, then the confidence of knowing:
you are the master who makes the grass green: the universe in your eyes
the solar flare in your step, and change this world from a prison
to a paradise!

Create your new poem, and singe it like a caged bird!
Give your language the power of princes, without the pomp
believe in yourself and let go of the awkward moment you had
with the love of your dreams last night; create your new life
and transform this new poem into a rally cry for the poet class!

What deliberate words--contrived symbols--convey
this withering dissatisfaction, this love lost and unrequited?
That I am too good to be loved,
too beautiful to be tainted by your narcissism,
too innocent to be scarred by relationship?
My heart dreams of a daily death,
ribbons of rose red, seeping into a skyline I recognize as my own face,
and it's beautiful impression makes my heart too true to be known,
too real to be understood,
and too lovely to be shared and passed over.

The power of the almighty surges through contact with a chemically induced innocence
drinking **** and alcohol, one sage experiences a heightened level of unity consciousness.