art
Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
Love is...
I regret my inability to overcome the pain of all my disappointments. So I try to live without expectation and there by maintain a threadbare existence. To simply live and to simply give. To look beyond the story of suffering into the truth of love and all the joy that is contained in the overwhelming currents of intimate connection. The story of Shama is the story of myself. The story of the peaceful goddess who exploded into a myriad of pieces and somehow each piece found itself and grew itself a new whole until the old reflection was no longer broken. But complete and unified in its own power. For itself, by itself, this is the nature of my soul. And if you are its reflection than yours too. For I am as timeless as the history of cosmic motion. Universe without beginning and without end. I call upon your higher self to trust again. To suspend all beliefs and concepts and simply trust in the unfathomable depths of each living breath. For it is in the breath that true being emerges. All else is just the containment and therefore sacred only in so far as it reveals the core.
By Crystal Pearl7 years ago in Poets
Bone and Sinew
All I have are words. I will never be a man of riches, nor privilege, nor exquisite means. I have, instead, only these humble words that pour from my heart; bled through ink onto bone of paper and sinew of print. Words that I have felt so deeply within my very being that they have shaken the surface to be set free into the world. To find their way to that which gives new meaning and sends them soaring on high with such elation and grandeur! Though softly.
By Steve Boggs7 years ago in Poets