Do you know of Heaven and Hell?
Where do we learn of their tale?
Did we see them, or did we feel them?
Yes, we live it day by day,
In every moment, every way,
The beauty of Hell or the dark of Heaven,
It all depends on how we're perceiving and How we're seeing.
Don't lose hope in any situation,
For without it, forward progress is stagnation,
And you'll lose the beauty of time,
And the beauty of Heaven will be hard to find.
But with hope, the dark of Hell,
Can be turned into a beautiful Heaven,
So don't be confused, my dear friend,
Try, try, try again.
The time is yours, the views are yours,
So why wait any longer?
Choose your place with hope and views,
Will it be the beauty of Heaven or the beauty of Hell?
About the Creator
Nova
As an article writer and poet, I am excited to share my knowledge and creativity with the world. I bring accuracy and attention to detail to my writing, thoroughly researching topics for my articles and pouring my emotions into my poems.
A Flower Song
Apparently the Aztecs, Toltecs, Chichimecs and other Mexica were crazy about poetry. Despite the book-burning, slaughter, and epidemics that characterized the early stages of the Spanish conquest of the empires of Mexico, some hundreds of poems from the height of their tradition come down to us in Classical Nahuatl, preserved by Nahua and Spanish scholars of the 16th century. One of the most famous poets, Nezahualcoyotl, was a sage-king who opposed the cult of human sacrifice associated with Tezcatlipoca, God of the Smoking Mirror, and favored Quetzalcoatl, the Feathered Serpent. Flowers and feathers were the favorite offering of the Plumed Serpent. Moreover, flowers and feathers are a metaphor for poetry. Individual words, scattered petals, the down of tropical birds. The temples of blood sacrifice could be transformed into temples of flower and song. A sublimated offering to the Heart of Earth and the Heart of Sky encapsulated in the Classical Nahuatl kenning for poetry: in xōchitl in cuīcatl, meaning, "the flower and the song." The following poem is part of a longer work, and is in a state of flux, so take the waters as they flow:
By Rob Angeli3 days ago in Poets
Standing Still
There are very few moments in life where time truly stands still. When your breath is taken from your chest and your body hangs weightless in that moment. Just long enough for it to stay with you from that day onwards. Deep in the red sands of the Australian Outback, I found that moment and clung to it forever.
By Kevin McLaughlin2 days ago in Wander
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