“It is myth that God questions us. God is Pure Consciousness, reflecting mistakes & well doing. God guides the Soul’s evolution. We face Him-Her when free from garb. To stand ***** is to know that we learnt our lessons, completed our soul contract with Divinity, graduating onto next rung, into a progressive mission or completely merge into Oneness.” GhairoDanielsQuotes

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Death is a best friend
she visits often to dissolve old cells
tweak dioxyribonucleic acids  
carrying silver sword and bamboo pipe
to draw breath, pointing to moon
caped in indigo velvet with hood
her whispers are silent breath on
white linen pillow

I invite her to sit on my bed
she admires an octagonal quilt red
removing her cape, accepting offering
of camomile tea, her eyes smiling hollows  hyena, warrior, eagle, dung beetle
all at once, elegantly slow she settles
closer, ******* my ears, cold breezes
ripple down my legs

With sidelong glance she asks :
“So what is your claim to fame ?”
I reply : “I know not a name. Fame is
a shadowy flame, an orange-purple
one flickering to become lame.
All the same, I claim to be the highest
version of what Source intended
nothing more, nothing less.
This is free fame, oxygenated.
That is my game, if insane, let it not
be a shame, or a blame.”
Smiling, she asks next : “How have
you helped fellow humans ?”  

I reply : “With Pluto Sun squared as
a dominant in my Chart, I undertook to
integrate escaping gloom into Light for
Self and others. As God granted Ketu
long periods of rulership over my form
I pulped Self in backwaters, where
angels fear to tread, to be a Presence
for fellow humans.”

Her hollow eyes with high cheekbones
move closer to my face. Sipping from floral teacup, fingers spindly, she asks :
“How ***** will your spine be before
THE ALL ?”
I reply : “Not as ***** as when I practiced kundalini and hatha yoga, though I detect
zero regrets, bereft of debts, slate clean
as an uncooked bean.”

Laughing, she replies that Divinity
will be pleased with my use of poetics
whispering : “Know that your spine will
revert to 21 years when I draw your
breath into mine, to gently carry to
Divine. You will sway on your way
into a ringlet bay of rosy everlasting days.
17 more good cheer years, hear my Dear.”

I watch quick footsteps across the
garden path. A thoughtform follows
slender caped back : “My claim to fame
is to be what ****** desires me to be  
~ Co-Creator of my own destiny.”

Next time Death visits, I will word it this way.

______

*[new poetic form: L&N : Letters & Numbers]

You treated me like I was your toy,
I had plans to become your boy,
I thought of what all,
But never imagined this fall.

The fall of our love,
The fall I will serve,
This isn’t what I deserve,
I thought our love could preserve.

Yet we are standing here,
With eyes full of tears,
We could have been peers,
If you had kept me as your dear.

Instead, you asked me to help you,
I thought this was to grow closer,
But you were just my player,
and your game ---a love slayer.

I would give you that,
You are a very good liar,
And I am just a cryer,
Now start finding your new buyer


Wrong is what I am not,
for even after your plot
My heart still loves you,
All it is perceives blue.

Are you happy now,
After treating me like a cow,
Is your personal vendetta complete,
can I find someone else to please.

But I will still ask you,
Why did you choose me,
What made me a key,
What is that you plea?

When I see your photo,
Tears fill my eyes,
my hairs start to rise,
While my mind still ask---
“Why me?”

My love for you was true
But you treated me like your crew
Now I need something strong to brew
To forget that you ever flew

The sky, gloomy and cloudy
Flowing tears, loud and mighty
So strong that trees sway,
So strong that bees scatter away

For this was not a cheery moment;
Leaving the lands in such an oddment
The violent wind is preying on the dwellers of this region,
Making them wary of the fuels they hold in their possession.

Should we stop? They mutter
Of course not, leaving this land to suffer
The sky in grief morphed into anger
Sending the lightning to strike like a dagger

The great night’s storm won't go away;
Causing this phenomenon to enravel today
Leaving its fingerprint on display
Letting the world know who to blame  

One by one, they pray for the storm to pass
But the storm always finds its way back
Back stronger than ever and ready to attack
Seeming like the world in on a precarious track    

The birds intend to go south
Only to realize they are headed north from their seasonal oust
For they had no sense of direction
Due to the north being the warm south's reflection

Leaving the world in some kind of dystopian imperfection
Driving the polar bears near to extinction
Day by day, ice melts into water with sorrowful sighs
Just as water is tainted from mankind's mines

Exchanging the atmosphere for oil
Making the corruption seem like soil
Allowing the planet to get rotten and spoil
Leaving mother nature torn and toil

For this is not the final stop;
The days of final destruction are approaching;
The days of final destruction are approaching.

Polite conversation, versation

passive voice of conversare,
literally "to turn round with,"

run along with, become
associated within determined

pleas… many askings
if it please the crown,
with mastering mind's mission

per
usual suspicion, sneaking from
under stood stones been up holding

all we are allowed to learn by law of sin.

For we are in the only atmosphere in ever,
now, where we are acidifiable in base time,

converted using sublimation, suggesting,

sub certain chthonic sense, a shiver,
a quake in fracking joined terranes, uplifted

as the staked plains in Texas,
and the Mogollon Rim, in Arizona, as seen
using augmented eyes, we wise, we see

we have seen farther than any actual doer,
of the process, form and function as a one off,

once through the wringer, then stretched
on real tenter's hooks to dry and bleach,
to sun bright white, crystaline face stretching

feeling joker urge, make a
mind chuckle, think it through to a what if,
in no time at all,
imagine all we know is, was
not made as we may think we might
have, in essence, in us, as we think
we might have the exact same key
fit the exact same lock on instants,

timeless instants we may play

Should I call myself a traitor
For not honoring my needs
When I fall for you again
When I'm struggling to breathe

In the pool of old regrets
I'm still asking what it means
As I'm sinking to the floor
As I'm drowning to be free

I lament my current ignorance
For forgetting certain things
Like when I lay down in the dirt
From admitting our defeat

There's no basis for return
If you're always in my dreams
I had finally let you go
Until I ruined everything

I shouldn't play with fire
When my heart is made of weeds
But I was so desperate for attention
And the comfort it can bring

So I'll call myself a traitor
Cause I'm only hurting me
When I'm crawling back to you
And am on my hands and knees