The Thing That You Love or That You Hate.
Poem of perspective - take a picture in reverse
Play with the soil of the earth; it smells of anchovies.
Earthworms, leaves, decayed matter – the mud oozes between one's fingers.
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Hand painting, colors smear across the canvas, butterflies, grass, trees form
The heart yearns for symmetry; I say take a picture in reverse.
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Jelly on toast, take a bite. Yum! There on the corner of your face, a dab lingers. Yuck!
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Manicures or Hand masks. Exfoliate the dead skin. Submersed in ancient traditions of mud bathing to rejuvenate the mind and body...
I’d rather sit in a sweat lodge, where pores release toxins, and inhale the fumes of others as they too release toxins.
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The thing of pleasure or the thing of discomfort is the thing.
You love, or you hate; the choice is yours!
About the Creator
Kristine Milewski
My inspiration comes from recreating beautiful scenes with words that capture nature, positivity, and resilience in the face of others' perceptions.
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Happiness Is Easy
Oh, Death, my companion so familiar, I start pondering a question that weighs heavily upon the fabric of existence. How is man, in his raucous concert, to rise above darkness of depression and the obsession with small things, so that he can then dance his circle of life? I am not sure, Death. For as much as I am the keeper of their moments, I am afraid that mankind as a whole is not ready for it. Their years are full of dissonances; their songs — with a background of the clangor of the shrill cries of trepidation and shyness. Nevertheless, amidst the chaos of insecurities and fears, there are scenes of spirituality, and mankind learns to see the divine streak in it. It is in those cracks and within those seconds of heavy breathing, that hope is truly found—It is a song of restoration and new beginnings. But how do they maintain this state of affairs, Death? Given that the lovers bear their hearts burdened by the weight of their own mortality? How can they be comforted if they are in a state of confusion when shadows of despair are hung over the horizon? Perhaps, Death, it is not my place to seek answers to these questions, but rather for humanity to discover their own harmonious response. Maybe that is what they need to do, simply to listen to the music only their souls can hear; only know that they exist — temporarily but beautifully. All the rest, is silent. But, Death, while I try to forget, I ponder whether humans possess the resilience to confront reality and transform grief and happiness into a weft and warp, in essence, into integral parts of life. Ultimately, the duration of these experiences in the grand ballad of existence holds no significance; it is the depth and resonance that truly matter.
By The Cafecito5 days ago in Poets
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