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SL 4d
I am nothing more or less
than a pathetic line of symmetry.
In this paradox of existence,
a listless, feeble entity.
I am nothing more, and nobody
for the universe to see.
A dissonant heap of dust,
and never a beloved priority.
The child inside is terrified
Misshapen intent
Quick to doubt
An injustice
Afraid to feel
A silent crime
Killing her mind
Stop wasting her time
Love and understanding
Vital to her fragile existence
I looked within and found a spark,
A quiet flame against the dark,
No need for praise or grand applause
I am enough, just as I was.

The mirror once a place I feared,
Now shows a soul that's grown and cleared,
Each scar, a story, brave and true,
A map of all that I’ve been through.

I speak with kindness to my name,
No longer bound by guilt or shame.
In every breath, I start anew
A promise made, to just be you.

So here I stand, both soft and strong,
Not needing crowds to sing my song.
The journey taught what time can't steal
To trust myself, to love, to heal.
Haven't always loved myself. It was a hard journey to find a way to. It took a large amount of pain- both my own and what I've caused. I knew I had to grow or I'd never learn to properly love anyone- including myself.
To those I have hurt, I truly am sorry. That man has died, I buried him and burned the shovel.
I S A A C Mar 20
you can’t see me in your future
you can only see me if your present
should i accept this as blessing?
he will see it in time, my shine
my brillant blues draped across the sky
my wings meeting the sunlight
do you dream of me at night?
plagued by nightmares of you leaving my side
skipping away for a dusk ride
tripping over some new type
i want to fulfill, i want real
i want to understand how you feel
i want to help you stay still
deep breaths while the tears flow
rivers and oceans full
i let you in to my soul, still wasn’t enough
wasn’t enough for you to know
whether you wanted it or not
said you cared but it feels like you are stringing me along
wanting for my confidence to kick in
for the ending of my swan song

i tried to be perfect, still trying hard
you make me feel undeserving
still trying hard, trying the hardest
i am too far now, the farthest
planted seeds in the winter
of course there was no harvest
my mind is too good at being honest
the linchpin, my fondness
Steve Page Mar 8
Curiosity over Certainty
breeds Questions
that have Validity.

(Thanks to Ted Lasso
and Richard P. Feynman.)
I get curious when I hear the same short quote from numerous people. Like 'doubt is not to be feared but welcomed'.  After reading more of Feynmans thoughts, I realise I agreed: an honest life breeds curiosity.  Questions are an honest response to the complexities of the world.  We need curious leaders.
Solutions to the challenges of living in community require open, honest and curious conversation.
That's what marks my conversations with God anyhow.
Ken Pepiton Mar 5
La la Joconde, the joke as one may yoke
two or three re calling

details in mystery more than mere

completion intentional sfumata mere pure

clear as if nothing seen through reflective lead

subtility shown few, seen through granite reflecting
eastern wall of my tower, thought grand, a cave

operationally… stage left
your right, redirecting light, from my west,

tricks perceived as light a little brighter, turn
a detail, eyes made to speak irrelevancy,

observe a casus artis sui, as done, indeed,

as we may imagine natural reflection no brows

at the edge of Earthian evidence of ductility,

so subtle perceive the effect reason perceived…

we believe we are seen, face to face,
gentle smile entertained, flickering scintillating,

slight smile we are told, see this from 2025,
online PDF
better on your phone than in the Louvre
imagine Leonardo, with wifi

while tracing nerves, pursing the kiss,
shaping how we say smile, slightly

and we find the makings
of an ever imaginable
clear plain vision
slight smile,

providing word frame soft smooth transistion

low spatial frequencies,
imagine that, elusion, sfumata soft
allusive, recessive expression, towb ra' beheld.

The Mona Lisa keeps her smile, ah

lead us critical seer of details where the works

work their magic,
as we imagine the measure
of man, male model mundus mind holder
Earthian two tree vascular neural node
fruiting through root or branch,
while using fire
to pop seeds

Imagine meeting Da Vinci yesterday,
getting to know, his quirks,
and something

of life five hundred years ago.
Having some old smith ties,

compounding confounded springs
from old cars
in trigger assemblies
on the east side
of the Kush.

Verily true being man,
here we be, there be time,
here we think, there we may imagine

thinking, mere will
to be kept
for my art sake, or something,

try the spirits, feel the dense purity,

find the peasant story, find

the first hearth told naming day story,
the first hearty wake attended after all,

tie to the old religions casus belli got lost,
loosed and blown past nnnand gates,

goodness, Mr. Feynman, I can fix a flat.

That was the summer of '44…

at Alamogordo, south of trees planted
for several seasons in the 1980s,
at Ruidoso,
on Mescalero land, many trees
paid directly

to the Holy Alamo Church

where Andy Riddle died,
and sense you would not know him,
I ask you to trust me, he was saintly.

A celibate spiritual ******, was he,

a classically trained scion of some
airline fortune, Braniff adds some flair

this cult had heirs of Vanderbilt
and obscure Four Square base support,

with tendrils in Orange County Birchers.

Wild, wonder if what if, look at us now…  
as true believers, grown old,
to be reviewed
on Global TV
by members
surviving a lie,
a religious cult,
with credible ties
to Ronald Reagan,

and the take down
of Pandora's Box,
as the Domino Theory, has religion init,

decoding dementia devine design,
what if wonder if works best, then what


first we get the idea, we all see it done,
magnificent math positioning dominos,

true cause and effect demonstrations,
of promethean planning, fore thought,

functional failures readjusted, think
a gain, see, we learned what never works,

by trying a thousand times, ok, no hell,

no heaven not matching one that works here,

on earth, as if this were where forever occurs,,,

to us. Readers of time signs as we stay busy dying.
Trumps performance. the pretty in pinks the fraction of attention, once
word was whatsoever two or more agreed to call true, at once, is thought,
so true, so touching, so seriously addressing the smallness of Earth,
and how much attention is spent living, day to day,
some days hard, some not so hard, time to waste reading Isaacson/
Maria Feb 20
A glass of wine, a rainy evening…
The window’s wide open, the candles blink.
The wind is trying to put them out.
Silence fills her. No need to think.

She feels good, and no need to hurry.
Tears of heaven delight the ear.
She has no friends. She has no girlfriends.
And only her cat is always near.

She is contented with her aloneness.
There’s no fluster or moping at all.
She’s pleased with herself and she is honest
With her own conscience and with her soul.

She doesn’t want any loving thrills,
No worrying, no passions, no needless doubts.
All is got over. Nothing remains.
Enough as it were so many fouls.

The wine is drunk. The evening is chilly.
The window’s wide open. The candles went out.
She calmly goes to pure bedroom.
No need to hurry. And all is out.
in the silence of my room… I
dance the loudest,
pray the longest
cry the ugliest,
laugh the modest,
dream the youngest,
stare at empty walls for promise,
break down the strongest,
overthink within a guilty conscience,
play out my scenarios worthy of their flowers
planting fields of doubt for all my anxieties
to have a fruitful harvest

in the silence of my room… I
am truly at my honest.
Cyril Jan 2
How unfortunate it is
that words will be just words
if not sent to a lover.

If I spend my days
stringing verses together,
and weave them into threads,
would it be long enough
to travel the earth,
and arrive where you are?

Would you hear my sighs
in these tangled mess,
and think that these verses
are fruits of restlessness?

These fragments of truth,
imperfect and raw
are all that remain.
These clumsy lines,
void of pride,
and stripped of ego.
You're lucky to be clueless.
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