Be The Poem…

Be the Poem, the Writer, the Artist & the Muse…
For the Poem is your Life that you must Think of
to Write, yet still Feel deeply to Inspire as an Artist,
all the while in Infinite Grace, Love yourself as the Muse
to constantly Evolve and Bloom.

My inspiration for this poem came from one
of my favorite Indian proverbs or axioms
that says that everyone is a house with four rooms,
a physical, a mental, an emotional and a spiritual.
Most of us tend to live in one room most of the time but,
unless we go into every room every day,
even if only to keep it aired, we are not complete person.

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Here

Through that open window I fled…
and that was just one aspect of my journey here.
Never judge or fear; it gets you nowhere though
sadly so many are “Now Here.”

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Snow White Dreams

“Mirror, Mirror In My Hands;
Who’s The Fairest In the Land?
Not I, she cries. Please Not Me!
Please let me disappear
from which I am being 
summoned to always see further
within me …”
Blood curdling screams ring out.
“Where am I? Oh no!”
It calls to me with it’s insanely plan.
I am exhausted, faithless, and wearing thin.
I called to death but he laughed at me.
Faster I run, tripping on the branches
of my perpetual dream.
Never to escape my Snow White Dream.
(To Be Continued… Maybe?)

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Unmasking Who We Are

We all wear a mask & for moment
maybe able to hide who we think we are;
but there comes a time, when worn to long,
we are unable to remove it without
tearing our own skin.

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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

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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