The Firey Speck

The Firey Speck

In a moment where the wind blew
For a brief grievance, my coat tail knew
The fiery dust which embraced my eye
Came to proclaim a message of a thunderous lullaby
To be awake is to steady see
The anguish and anger always sent for me
A song for the hornet and wide winged bat
Inside of my shattered heart, my reaction is a frivolous stat

When the speck hit my eye
I should have washed it out with lye
The burn would have paralyzed my will to see
The dream that this would set us free
But now I’m waking up to be hurt
All of my feelings are stuck in the dirt

For some wish to learn at the university – receiving methods and assignments in strenuous diversity
Others are not for the will to learn from the school book
They rather get it word of mouth from the bell and informed hook
I suppose it matters not where education arrives
For as long as the trail of questions convince our begging lives

When the speck hit my eye
I should have washed it out with lye
The burn would have paralyzed my will to see
The dream that this would set us free
But now I’m waking up to be hurt
All of my feelings are stuck in the dirt

{bridge}
A refrain of speckled puzzles convinced me to see
A dark illumination that’s paralyzed me
If not for the will to sing this song
I’d refuse to believe the dance to belong
The color of a miss-step is the shade of a fading white
No one has to wrestle in the error of the unseen night

A frivolous stat! A frivolous stat! A hornet without honey and wide winged bat! A wide-winged bat!
For seeing without eyes are like bees without honey
A purpose to be drawn without the necessity of money
The speck in my eye became an enlarged reflector
This inspired a pathway to become the most desired nectar

When the speck hit my eye
I should have washed it out with lye
The burn would have paralyzed my will to see
The dream that this would set us free
But now I’m waking up to be hurt
All of my feelings are stuck in the dirt

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HIGHLIGHTERS

HIGHLIGHTERS

I’ve been writing every day as a method to clear a path of healing for me. Writing has always been the most fluent way possible for me to reach a place of clarity in my life. When things get reckless, I write. When I triumph- I write. Even if I’m not sharing everything, keeping a journal and record of what happens is a great reminder to reflect on what life offers. What ends up happening, however, is a formula becomes adopted to achieve proper schedules of releasing what I’m writing. This eventually becomes mundane and then recycled algorithms become the nature of writing. At least for me, this has been the case lately.

When should I release it? Will this gain interest? Am I writing to solely gain interest? As a writer, I’m constantly plotting what stories to release which would engage the reader. I’m also hanging on the whims of innuendo and the symbolism. I enjoy the playground that comes with words and poetry. Escaping with words to find a deeper reality. Not talking so much is actually a window for exploration of possibility.

The word abbreviation is a long ass word. The definition is clear – to shorten. Limiting the space in the room. It’s a journey to write the lines behind and ahead of me. My life is about highlighting the pockets in between my dream and waking life reality. The course of social media is full of highlighters.
This is the age where everything, all at once is being shared. (Even that one status that released way too much personal info😳) This, That, and the *Third* is all over the Internet. These feeds are directly constructed to your own liking. What we want to see are largely based on what we choose. We are selective at best. We choose to ignore or focus on whatever interests us.

What’s feeding you is what others are being fed? “You are what you eat” or I suppose you are eating what’s been eaten by others. It can completely depend on context obviously but we are reminded of the other happenings in the world based on what other people share. Everyone is sharing and some really care, some don’t.

The illumination of poetry helps me escape when the cry for redundancy takes over. I have to give time for digestion – I’m sensitive to energy AF. To Emotion. To the thing that makes us react and think. Body Language is telling. (It surreal at times because my subconscious is paying attention deeply) The fire is hot and the truth is to uncover those things that we might want to run away from.

When one adopts the fullness of fire – one is not afraid to be made aware. Truth comes to open you up to your vulnerable misunderstanding.

There is always more to the story than what you’ve heard or processed. Tasting the light means being filled with illumination. Words can be spoken to shift the paradigm of where the sound is soon to go next. In the essence of color and vision is the statement of light. The words will come as long as you stay faithful to the life that you are living. Beautiful days are one with the days that bring sorrow – how well do you pay attention to the cross streets of thunder and sound?
Pages are highlighted by significant details of recognition. I’m taking notes of what is noticeably there. Note for note. Line by line. I’m reading the passages before me as constructed by the passing of time. I’ve found it more efficient to write under the spell of passion. I’m reading the book of life by virtue of experience, constantly highlighting the moments to seize as information. Time must be recycled again and back to the fire I begin. It pleases me only to taste of what can become of myself. To venture far away in my head – dreams that build a kingdom out of reality. I want to be real at this moment before I wake up. To discard the mask and swallow the pills of my dreams. The side effect is my waking life. Worming through until I can properly manifest a life I’ve always dreamt.

Poised

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Just yesterday, while I was in another room, I heard a boisterous shatter. It turns out, my mirror broke into pieces! Out of nowhere, I couldn’t understand, how it shattered so quickly! I looked in a Poised position in the reflections of the shattered pieces and I stood there and marveled at the glances of myself, appearing to break my image. Pieces of glass which rested on the carpet, instead of the tile. Which means, even in my heaviest attempts to remove any particle, it will become buried under the comfortable softness of where I walk. Quite interesting that mirrors contain a sense of bite. They still yet assure, a sense of understanding even when broken.

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The drifting days are pale in the memories of autumn. The icy thunders of winter are reminded of its charm while sealed in a capricious space of existence. Taking a more earnest heed to the things heard; rear a syncopation of order. It is easy for entropy to take hold as the placement of randomness flourish the mind of boisterous arrogance. Slowly, the market system gradually becomes, like snowflakes of an avalanche; who begs to reckon with it?

The questions remain, yet a still persuasion in the conduct of questioning. If by chance, the moment is given to those who doubt, the functions and structure of life within; answers apprehension. Preparation designates the flow of the answer instilled. Always in a manner of gentleness and respect are these realizations of truth made known. While the mystery of true spirituality is revealed to us; the misconception of code and tradition often blocks the gate where its revelation glistens. Almost, at the defeat of surrender: does the hope of truth rise within the spirit; whole with its consciousness.

Joy is hereby manifested as the contemplation subsidies and the reminder is awakened, by the witness of the light. The gifts given to us, are fully able to be exercised by the fulfilled will of salvation. The testament of poised evaluation; remarkably enables, a conviction understood and deemed to be thoroughly engaging.