Come, Fly With Me

The bird whispers for you,
“Come, fly with me.”
Your body aches though still
rising at dawn with
accurate joy; a child who 
knew only laughs so long.
Only certain flowers
die with a smile.

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Salvador Dali Art

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Evolving Matter

With my tired eyes I laid to sleep
beneath an earth of a greater peace.
With a tired mind my function ceased,
claiming all its right within a deadly freeze.
With a tired soul we slept as one,
unable to wake though our energy fluttered
in rhythmic haze. Within understanding the
earth and I reawakened as tireless flowers
unforsaken from any love created.

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Art by Sandi Calistro

Divine Sin

A fools throat is an open sepulchre;
with their tongues they have used deceit;
the poison of asps is under their lips:
God is everything including me; and if so,
how can he pardon my sins if sins really be?
For my iniquities cry aloud for punishment,
and my transgressions demand only my own
forgiveness therefore I need no validation,
I am my own. No man is righteous yet still
divine in his creation.

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Photography by Cristina Otero

Quote influenced by Romans scripture

The Trip

The sweet concoction drips from the vile.
One drop, two… Ready or not the peppermint
sting penetrates our tongues like an ocean
wave chills sun-kissed skin. Eyes dilate
and our trip begins. A volcano of color
erupts before me; everything splendidly
illuminated. Holding my hand, you’re swimming
in the deep beside me. It tingles as if fish are
nibbling at my feet.  Feeling weightless,
vibrating pulsations of intensity rush over me.
The chair under me sinks below as I push
to stand from the purple velvet seat.
Soft like lotus petals beneath my fingertips.
My toes curl when my bare feet touch a
seaweed carpet dreamed. Dripping in
sweat not even halfway through the
experience yet. Blinking twice just to make
sure of the beautiful sight. I stretch out
to touch the perception I see as we giggle
and laugh. Liquid air I breathe into my
lungs within each gasp watching as particles
float above glistening. Rhythmic hearts
beating fast. Closing my eyes for a moment
to relax as you ravish me. Like a faucet gushes…
the wetness below flows. Your fingers trace
my body repeatedly slow and I fall into your
enchanting grace beyond my wildest dreams.

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The Beauty In The Attempt

Is it you that is fading away from me,
or me from you? All I feel is distance,
a slight loneliness… My days are long
as each mark upon the clock echoes
“Tick… Tock…,” within a maddening 
rhythm that never ceases to stop.
I find myself at a loss for words even
worth being said. Both fading further
regardless of which one of us it is.
If you don’t care enough to break the
silence once in a while as I travel our
once parallel track as friends; I guess
you’ve taught me a wonderful lesson of
how much easier it gets to let go and
be even more grateful for the blessings
that surround me still. Giving me an
opportunity to show my appreciation
of those who may not fully
understand me but what matters is
the beauty in the attempt. 

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Artist Kumi Yamashita

Ocean Love

Oceans of waters dancing naked
to the horizon push you beyond me
to the shore I seek. Your love rolls in
with every tide & is dry landed out of
my reach. Like a shipwrecked boat 
left to die, your bones show. Almost
drowning out at sea. Each drop of blood
shed is like oil & it seeps back to my
waters; killing me. Craving your love,
I continue to reach further, more swiftly
than ever before watching the moon
as he watches me. As the tides rise I
finally swim across to your shore,
pulling you from the netting until you
give into me. I hold your hand, kissing
you to breathe & to the bottom of the ocean
floor we tumble so carelessly in a love
unknown to be. 

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David Delamare Art

To My Mom

She complains of her winkles, I do not see.
And talks of her graying hair but its always
been the same to me. She worries over her
weight and the gravity age proceeds but all
I see is the same mom I have always adored. 
Beautiful and elegant, not a flaw in my eyes.
Solitary when she reads. Handwritten letters
in the mail every week. Someone who has
stood beside me no matter what hell I endure
or cry. How could I ever deny when a hug is
all she asks, but she knows me so well that I
have always been distant with my grasp….
I love my mom more than anything and what
she has taught me I could never repay, I just
hope when she looks at me she is proud of
the person she sees today.

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The Reality of Art

I have always thought this painting
speaks volumes about our society.
No one hardly wants to be real
anymore so they hide behind a mask.

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James Ensor “Self-portrait with the masks” 1899