surreal poetry
Surrealist poetry embodies the essence of poetry itself, drawing upon shocking imagery and lyrical incongruities to comment on the inner-workings of the mind.
How would you live?
How would you live if you had a secret portal buried deep in the center of your being that could take you to a place where every answer to every question ever asked sat waiting for you ready to jump out the moment you decide to beckon it? How would you live in this world full of people in a society if you knew that at the root of each individual identity it was you just playing a game with yourself ego hide n seek with a singular, eternal cosmic puppeteer? How would you live in the day to day mundane mediocrity if you were able to see that the chaos and order and radical energy it took to get you here washing the dishes walking the dog waiting in far too long lines is something all together magickal, that there’s nothing boring about the billions of cells in the tip of your finger going through mitosis to make sure your fingertip still exists, that simply sitting in the dirt and being warmed by the sun is not an act of laziness but of devotion honoring the blessing of life. Would you live as you do now? Because, my dear friend, I hate to break it to you but it's all true. Everything we need comes from within, we need only be silent enough to hear it and brave enough to search for it earnestly. And there's the lonely little fact out there that we are all a Me in our own heads. I am I and though I see you as you, you see you as I and I as you just as I see you and in that way we are one. Sacredness does not need robes or diamonds or even the respect of those who encounter it, sacredness is, whether a fool can recognize it or not yet it is simultaneously something only ever found in the eye of the beholder. A temple with no god is a pile of rocks and an ocean no matter how polluted is still mighty still commands respect and may still kill. The more I understand the more I see that knowledge means nothing if it is never put into practice. So I ask myself how do I want to live?
By Lolly Vieiraa day ago in Poets
My Pain. Content Warning.
I felt your rain upon my face as it trinkled down my throat. I danced in rain all about your place; squished it between my toes, accepting the cleansing restoration, return of all lost hope, peeling back the layered sands as the lands still flood below. lifting worship, I praise your name, cause your strength is how I cope. A gift to all of God's creation, let Jesus steer your boat. He calms the seas. He brings you rain. He will keep you afloat. He has the keys to break all the chains; to Him I shall devote. He loved us then, as He loves us now; restores all whom are broke. He is our peace. Oh! Hear how He cries. . please. Don't get trapped within the smoke. Everly patient, graciously waiting, Jesus Christ come quickly you alone are our only hope!
By Dina Evans 2 days ago in Poets
